Here are some more myths - this time about being Scottish, and Scotland, and the truth:
You must really like Celtic musicI feel a bit guilty about this one, because I'm completely indifferent and ignorant about it. It's not something I ever considered being interested in until people starting talking to me and assuming I knew who Silly Wizard and Alisdair MacDonald are. I'm just not that into it which brings me to the second myth...
I bet you know a song about thatI think people think I grew up in a bothy playing the fiddle and singing about the events of the day. Suprisingly enough, these were probably much the same as your average American teenager's daily events - crushes, exams, avoiding gym and how many calories I ate. Not when the herring fleet is coming back, or how my new tartan is coming along, or should I cook my porridge for one overnight or two. I have a neighbor who always asks me this no matter what the circumstances are: 'Hey Marianne, I see it's the 60th anniversary of Hiroshima - I bet you know a song about that'. I don't.
You're a cheap bastardActually, this one is true.
The Scottish climate shits in bedWell, it does and it doesn't. I can definitely remember some summers growing up when I never, ever actually felt warm. But right now, I think that beats two months of 90 degree plus days - now that qualifies as serial fecal incontinence if you ask me.
I have a great uncle from Scotland.. or is it Ireland?Yeh-up.
And I do like oatmeal, whisky, and brawny men in kilts with no drawers.
My son and I decided to stop at Rose Hill: Home of the World's Biggest Frying Pan on the way home from the beach. It was less than overwhelming. I had an image of a huge skillet thrusting skyward like some culinary Stonehenge. Instead it resides in a bandstand and looks resolutely industrial, like some kind of smelter. And it reeks of stale fried chicken (speaking of which, it always used to amuse me when KFC was on 15-501 and was next door to Jiffy-Lube).