Category: Uncategorized

boys of the lough

Originally written on 20.01.2002.

First an art gallery. Then a concert of Celtic traditional music. How much culture can a kid take. Last night, I went to a concert by the band Boys of the Lough. As I mentioned before, they play a selection of Scottish and Irish traditional music. Sort of along the lines of bands like the Chieftans. They’ve got the full lineup – mandolin, fiddle, pipe, accordian, guitar, and cello and they masterfully blend these instruments through reel, jig, and walking song (though my undiscerning ears can’t make out the difference). Traditional music isn’t really my thing, but they were super talented and I enjoyed hearing about the history behind some of the selections. At times, they seemed a bit too professional and calculated, like the music definitely belonged at a crowded concert hall instead of a country dance. There were some definite high points, though. At a couple of points during the concert, the boys brought on an older female vocalist who sang both a cappella as well as accompanied by the band. She was singing songs that she had been singing her whole life and was visibly moved to sing them once again in front of the eager audience. Earlier that evening, I was watching this show called “Pop Idols” on television. The premise of the show is that teenaged crooners compete against each other on national TV for a spot at a big time record contract. This week they were singing big band standards, and for the most part, they sucked. Watching this older woman made me think about the persistence of traditional music. There she was, singing songs that were hundreds of years old. The pop kids might have their 15 minutes on the television, singing their little hearts out in cheesy, radio ready voices, but will their songs fill concert halls in 300 years?

van meene

This was originally written Saturday, 19.01.2002

Ok, go dig out your copy of Weezer’s Pinkerton. That’s right, you, cool guy. I know you’ve got one. Now put on “Across the Sea” (which consequently is the best damn Weezer song ever) and set your CD player to repeat. That song will be the soundtrack for this journal entry. Why, you ask? (Other than the fact that it’s the best damn Weezer song ever). Today I headed down to the Inverleith House with Timothy, his friend Leonard, and some other girl who lives in the same dorm as Timothy, to check out a showing of photographs by the Dutch photographer Helen Van Meene. Helen Van Meene is a much noted up and coming photographer, who studied for a bit at the Edinburgh College of Art. She is known for her photographs of adolescent girls, many of whom she simply meets on the street and agree to be photographed. Though she often uses costuming, props, and poses with the subjects she photographs, the photographs at least seem to capture a large degree of the personalities and emotions of the girls. The show that I went to see consisted of a series of photographs taken while the photographer was staying in Japan.

Her work is often met with some controversy. This is due to the eroticism sometimes exhibited in the photographs. For instance, in one of the photographs in the Japan series, a girl wearing only a bra (a news clipping at the gallery noted that the model was actually 24 and that she was glad below the waist) is slouched over the edge of her bed. In another, the faint outline of a nipple can be seen through a girl’s shirt. In other photographs, which we saw in a book of Van Meene’s early work, girls are shown topless. So, some children’s protection groups claim that the photographs are exploitative at best, and pornographic at worst. Having seen some of the photographs, I’m inclined to disagree. As one news clipping noted, it is odd that our culture accepts Britney Spears and her hyper-sexualized flirtations displayed everywhere, but balks at artistic portrayals of youth which allude to some sexuality. Indeed, it seems we as a culture are able to accept the idea that it is okay for Britney to bounce and jiggle in the spotlight for the sake of commercialism and pop-culture, somehow appeased by her vows of chastity, while we are made very uncomfortable about honest, intimate peeks at the sexuality of youth, particularly young girls. I admit it, the idea even makes me uncomfortable. But it shouldn’t. The antidote, I think, to reckless, cheap sexuality isn’t to censor or block out every erotic reference. The only way that sexuality can be redefined is by forcing it to be personalized rather than forcing it to conform to a single culturally-accepted aesthetic. I think that Van Meene’s photographs, which are sometimes erotic, but definitely not pornographic, do not so much entice the viewer with the cliches of beauty magazine culture, as give the viewer an occasional peek into the secret world of the budding sexuality of these girls.

The photographs in the Japan Series are quite good in general, and seem to share a common theme. In most photographs, the eyes of the subject are either closed or averted. This is an interesting effect which is particularly evident in one photograph of a young girl leaning against a door. Her dyed-blond, wig-like hair and garish makeup, to me, seem to allude to the cultural iconography of the Geisha, and seem to suggest that she wants to be noticed. However, under the scrutiny of the camera, she looks away. I think this captures perfectly the contrast between the shyness and the craving of attention that is so linked with adolescence. To contrast that photo is a photograph of two very young girls. One looks directly at the camera and both seem to be posing, hamming it up for the camera. This boldness of youth is a great comparison to the timidity of the young girls’ older counterparts. In another photograph, a girl, clad from the waist up only in a bra, is slouched, seemingly uncomfortably, over the edge of her bed. Indeed, many of the subjects in this series seem to slouch, crouch, or hang within the picture frame. Again, I think a really great snapshot of the awkwardness of adolescence.

The backgrounds of Van Meene’s photographs are notable as well. They are often simple, and represent the everyday environment of the photographs’ subjects. In one photograph, the series’ seeming signature piece, placed at the entrance to an exhibit, the background is filled with a tree sprouting many white blossoms. In the foreground is a teenaged girl, clad in a pure white overcoat. The white blossoms and the white coat seem to denote a metaphor, perhaps unintentional. As the flowers on the tree begin to blossom, so does the girl blossom from childhood to adulthood.

Inverleith House
(0)131 248 2983
Royal Botanic Gardens, Edinburgh, UK

An old house in the middle of Edinburgh’s Royal Botanic Gardens which houses an art gallery with a diverse range of art shows.

Timothy
A kid I met at the international student orientation at the University of Edinburgh who has similar musical/cultural tastes as myself. He’s from Albany, NY and goes to Haverford College near Philly. Reminds me of Josh if he were a scene kid.

out and about

This was originally written on 12.01.2002

A late night of Mariokart and sober onlooking of drunken antics left me pretty tired and I slept in until 10. I worked on entering some class notes into the computer and then went to fix some breakfast. When I entered the common room, Iain was there. He mentioned that he was headed for the local skate shop and asked if I wanted to go along. Of course I did, so after watching “The Family Guy” and playing a few more games of Mariokart, we went out. It was pretty cool to see some other parts of the center city that I wasn’t familiar with. As we passed Bristo square, the throngs of skate kids made me think that it would be a good day for a skate. Iain agreed, and we headed on to the skate shop, stopping first at Avalanche, one of a chain of
independent record stores in Edinburgh. There are like 5 of these stores in a very small geographic area. The Edinburgh kids are quite lucky. Though some American staples are un-represented, there was still a really decent selection of independent, punk, emo, and hardcore records. We went to the board shop which had a ton of snowboard and skateboard gear and apparel. Unfortunately, I’m flat broke so I couldn’t partake. After that, Iain took me to a street which he dubbed “Nu-metal Alley”. The moniker was pretty appropriate with young kids decked out in baggy jeans with stripes, piercing, and backwards red caps everywhere. In some ways, it’s sad, but in other ways, it’s cool. Edinburgh seems to have tons of places where kids can just hang out, unaccosted. That’s rad. I wish I could have just run around the city when I was younger rather than roaming surreptitiously from skate spot to skate spot or chilling outside of the Uni Mart or Taco Bell. “Nu-metal Alley” had a bunch of shops including a cheesy skate shop, a metal/goth apparel store, a slightly more mainstream record store, and a really cool and pretty inexpensive poster store. Edinburgh doesn’t have the best live music scene but the shopping can’t be beat. Why am I cooler than Tim and Peter? Well, I have a Weezer poster drawn by none other than Adrian Tomine (of Optic Nerve fame). It was growing late, and the light was fading, as is common around 3:30 in these northern parts of the hemisphere. I convinced Iain to come for a skate, despite his protests about an essay due on Monday. When we got there, it was packed with kids. A couple of really talented kids, and a ton of lurkers. It was like a crowded skate park-completely impossible to get a line. It was too much for Iain to deal with all the kids, but I took a few runs. On the way home from the square, I ran into Timothy, the kid I met at the orientation a week ago. He gave me his new phone number and I told him I’d give him a call about going to see Cave-In in Glasgow on Monday. I love running into kids on the street! There’s no better way to feel like you actually live somewhere. The day was made complete when Iain offered to give me his spare mobile phone for the duration of my stay here. All I had to do was pay for the phone cards (evidently pay-as-you-go, or pre-pay as it’s called in the states is pretty common here). Awesome! What a guy! So, I’m starting, albeit slowly, to ascend from luddite hell.

dirty birds

Originally written 12.01.2002

Ok, so British and Scottish drinking culture seems really, really pervasive. Some of these kids can really take in the alcohol as well. Take for instance my flatmate Iain. He is quite a big fellow, so I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised last night when he managed to drink more than 3 liters of some inexpensive cider alcoholic beverage. Well, by the time he was past his first liter, he was properly pissed. Not only that, but he was talking incessantly about doing his hair so he could “pull a dirty bird” at some club in Edinburgh called Opium which sort of caters to the alternative, nu-metal crowd. Apparently, the dirty birds really go for a unique haircut. Another flatmate, Marco, and I first gave Iain an astro-boy type doo, but that wouldn’t do it. Neither would the Sum-41-lead-singer-esque style that we tried next. Only liberty spikes would do. This seemed to be a point of particular anxiety, and after a bout of uncharacteristic whining, we helped him put his hair into liberty spikes. He did the front, and did a pretty good job (evidently, he’s spent hours on this in the past), while Marco and I did a slightly less than stellar job on the back. Even still, it was good enough to pull a dirty bird. Okay, so to clarify (because initially, I was probably about as confused as anyone reading this is now), a dirty bird is sort of a dirty girl. Yeah, and I thought the whole “bird” thing was just a stereotype. Apparently it’s a full fledged member of the lexicon. So, I asked, how do you identify a dirty bird? Apparently, said Iain, a dirty bird is a girl who’s ready for anything, anywhere. And how do you tell that? How to avoid mistaking a non-dirty bird for her fouler sister? Well, I guess the strategic placement of hands during the club experience serves as a means for dirty birds to make themselves known to potential mates. As for the term “pull”, I thought it better not to ask for the details. I assume it has the ambiguous connotation somewhere between the phrases “hook up” and “score” in the American vernacular. Iain insisted that with his well coiffed appearance he would easily pull a dirty bird (which is a fairly easy task to begin with) and that he would be sure to make her scream “Geoff!” in a coital exclamation. Gladly, an altercation at the club and subsequent ejection from said club foiled any passionate midnight utterances of my forname. All of this spectacle was pretty amusing, but I also found it a bit unnerving. Sure, it’s all between consenting adults, and, as I was told, it’s not like it’s unprotected. Still, such a primal, frivolous exchange of human sexuality seems a bit cheap and seems like it perpetuates the objectification of women. People can argue that the objectification is mutual, and therefore, no harm, and no foul. Perhaps things are different in the UK. It has been my observation, however, that the pressure to gain acknowledgement and validation through sexuality, is far greater for young women for young men. For young men, it’s recreation, an extracurricular collegiate activity that doesn’t go on the resume. But for young women, it seems like society has placed some artificial, added, significance to the acceptance of one as a sexual partner. Exploiting that inequality, even ignorantly, seems somehow wrong. So, at least for me, I’ll leave the dirty birds for someone else.

A bit of an update, it seems that I got the totally wrong impression from Iain’s drunken rantings. I don’t think he was really intent on scoring a bird, he was just talking shit, which, except for maybe Pete, is the official pasttime of 29/5 Sciennes

moving in

This was originally written on 05.01.2002.

We left the hotel around 10:30 by cab. I had slept in more than I had wanted on account of a late night spent writing journal entries and e-mailing people from the internet cafe, but I still had ample time to try to score as much free breakfast food as I could. I wasn’t able to eat much though, maybe its the heavy Scottish cooking or just nerves, I don’t know.

After running around for a while trying to find the office, we got the keys to our flats. When I eventually maneuvered the bulk of my baggage into the flat, I found the place to be vacant and a letter from Erin waiting for me by the mail slot. The flat is nice enough-the carpet seems new, the furniture level, no roaches, etc., but by some cruel twist of fate, I’ve ended up in one of the few residences without internet or phone access in the rooms. Really lame. Oh well. I’ll have to subsist on internet cafes or other sources of access for the next six months. I went out for a while to pick up some things for the room: some drawing pins for the Edward Gorey calendar, hangers for the closet, and a plug adapter for my laptop. I cam back and put the room in order. Its actually nice to have so few possessions that its possible to set up the room in 15 minutes. I tried to read for a while, but eventually just took a nap, thereby killing my plans to check out the university’s science and engineering campus.

I finished reading Franny and Zooey. I really liked it. In the past weeks, Salinger has definitely become one of my favorite writers. He creates characters that are really interesting and human. They’re people that you seem to know, or at least wish you knew. So, Franny and Zooey are two seperate short stories (perhaps Zooey is too long to be a short story, but I think it reads like one anyway) which essentially are different parts to the same story. Franny and Zooey are brother and sister, the two youngest of the Glass children, all of which were (big surprise) incredibly precocious as children and are now coming to terms with being incredibly precocious in a world that can be dumb, egomaniacal, and at the least annoying. While away at college, Franny becomes frustrated with her life, her studies, her boyfriend, the world in general, I guess, has a nervous breakdown, and begins to explore some odd religious practice that she read about from one of the numerous religious and philisophical books provided by her older brothers. So the entire 200 pages or so of text take place in a few hours in terms of the narrative, but despite the slow pace, its really enjoyable. The characters are clever, in just the right way, not annoying, and one finds oneself really indentifying with Franny and her frustration, and contemplating Zooey’s advice as if he were your elder brother instead of Franny’s. Salinger seems to like writing about the unspectacular moments in life, the minor catastrophies, but despite the lack of intense drama, I’d rather read about Holden or Franny or Zooey any day over Hemingway’s hollow men. That’s the thing. Salinger’s characters are anything but hollow and when Zooey starts talking about the futility of blanket angst, the dialogue almost strikes too close to home:

"What I don't like at all is this little hair-shirty private life of a martyr you're living back at college-this little snotty crusade you think you're leading against everybody. ... Don't spring on me, now-for the most part, I agree with you. But I hate the kind of blanket attack you're making on it. I agree with you about ninety-eight per cent on the issue. But the other two percent scares me half to death. I had one professor when I was in college-just one, I'll grant you, but he was a big, big one-who just doesn't fit in with anything you've been talking about. He wasn't Epictetus. But he was no egomaniac, he was no faculty charm boy. He was a great and modest scholar. And what's more, I don't think I ever heard him say anything, either in or out of a classroom, that didn't seem to me to have a little bit of real wisdom in it-and sometimes a lot of it. What'll happen to him when you start your revolution? I can't bear to think about it-let's change the goddam subject. These other people you've been ranting about are something else again. ... I've had them by the dozens, and so has everybody else, and I agree, they're not harmless. They're as lethal as hell as a matter of fact. ... But what I don't like ... is the way you talk about these people. I mean you don't just despise what they represent-you despise them. It's too damn personal, Franny. I mean it. ... It's exactly like this damned ulcer I picked up. Do you know why I have it? Or at least nine-tenths of the reason I have it? Because when I'm not thinking properly, I let my feelings about television and everything else get personal. I do exactly the same thing you do, and I'm old enough to know better."

A few things I forgot to write about yesterday regarding differences between Edinburgh and the US. Yesterday, on the walking tour of campus, I noticed all these security cameras. Today, I noticed even more, in the dining room of a restaurant of all places. I guess those in the UK have a lower expectation of privacy than those in the US (though recent tests of cameras in city centers in the US seem to indicate we’re heading in the same direction). I also noticed lots of little kids running around with Slipknot, Limp Bizkit, Linkin Park shirts. Sheesh.

new places

This was originally written 04.01.2002. I didn’t have net access to post it until now

I’ve been in edinburgh for 2 days now and I’m starting to feel my way around the city. I don’t feel like some tourist on a school trip but at the same time, I don’t feel like its like my city yet, like I do about Columbus, or Austin.

When I arrived at the Glasgow airport, after a six hour plane flight from Newark, I was struck with a familiar feeling; the feeling that the place one is visiting is not all that different than the place that one just left. I first experienced this on my first long trip away from home, a school trip to Florida when I was in 5th grade. I remember leaving the airport by bus and being somewhat underwhelmed. Other than the occasional palm tree, it wasn’t all that different from Pennsylvania. I had a similar feeling when I first entered Scotland, I mean, one sterile airport is the same as any other sterile, right? The further I got away from the airport, however, the more I got the feeling that I was in a very new and different place indeed.

Obviously, the whole driving on the left side of the road is a bit different. Furthermore, rather than the cow which is a common site around the countryside of central Pennsylvania, one finds the sheep to be omnipresent. I am told that in Scotland, sheep outnumber humans two to one. As we drove into Edinburgh, I was struck by how old everything was. Despite the occasional Starbucks or KFC, the buildings resemble the ancient tenements which define the city, and many of the city’s narrow treets and alleys are still paved in brick. Just for reference, the University of Edinburgh, where I will be matriculating next week was founded in something like the late 1500’s. In addition, the city has a castle. Yes, a freaking castle, in its center.

Edinburgh, at least the part of it with which I am now familiar, is pretty cool as cities go. There are plenty of shops and cafes and a ton of pedestrian traffic giving the city a busy feel, but not to the extent that its stifling or overwhelming like NYC. I’ve been walking around a bit, just trying to find my way between places I’ll need to go without a map. The center city is pretty clean, nothing like Columbus, though I’m told that the economically marginalized sections are on the perimeter of the city.

Yesterday was pretty uneventful. There was a short, basically useless, walk around the neighborhood near the hotel. After that, I found a pretty good vegetarian/vegan restuarant called Bann where I got good, moderately priced, and filling bean burrito-esque dish. I wasn’t brave enough to try the vegan bangers and mash, but there’s always other meals. I think it’s going to be pretty easy to stay vegan while in Edinburgh. Even the hotel restaurant had vegetarian options. vegan/vegetarian options are usually labeled as such, and turbinado sugar seems to be offered everywhere. I still haven’t found the food co-op or good dumpsters yet. Maybe that will be my mission tomorrow.

Today I had to sit through multiple presentations by various university departments. The presentation on Scottish cutlure, history, and geography was really good and I learned a ton, though I doubt I’ll remember much. After the obligatory meetings let out, I went skating in a plaza near the university where I eyed a ton of skaters earlier during the day. When I got there, there were still a good number of kids, despite the fact that at four PM it was already growing dark. Evidently the Edinburgh police don’t really care much about skaters. I guess they don’t care that much about marijuana use either, because while I was skating, I saw a couple of young kids smoking weed rather conspicuously in one of the corners of the plaza. The skate session was good, but I had to end it because, I confess, I wasn’t yet aclaimated to the cold,
dark environment. I skipped dinner so I could make it back to the hotel in time to meet the group to depart for the musical

We saw Andrew Lloyd Weber’s musical, Sunset Blvd. Midway through the musical, some poor girl scurried up the aisle only to vommit repeatedly and then collapse right in front of us. Well, the musical was only slightly better than the unannounced spectacle of indigestion displayed before us. Maybe it was the off-broadway cast, or maybe I am forever biased against musical theatre, but I found the plot to be predictable, the characters cliched, and the writer, in many instances, clearly trying too hard to be ever so clever. I’ve grown to appreciate musicals mainly for their value as spectacle and the sets and some of the conventions, like a car chase simulated with some clever use of lighting, the set design, and coreography were very well done.

I’m a little bit lonely. There are a bunch of kids who I flew over with, and am in orientation with, as run by the US school who administers the study abroad program. The kids are nice enough, I guess. They all seem to be a similar type. Caucasian, upper middle class, and go to primarily small liberal arts institutions or larger universities well known for their “resort” qualities. At least quite a few of them knew where Carlisle, PA was located. There were the familiar presence of the white hats, and fraternity letters, but at the same time, most seemed to be accustomed to traveling, if only throughout the US, which seemed to grant them a bit more breadth, and therefore a bit more
tolerance than many of the breatheren left stateside. They were nice kids, pleasant kids, but when it came down to it, at days end, they just wanted to hit the pubs. So, they weren’t my kind of kids. For me, validation of shared experiences is of great importance in friends and aquintences, and I’m not one to spend time doing something I find boring or offensive just for the sake of being around other people. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try to contact some of the kids Dana gave me a lead on.

• Bann UK
  5 Hunter Square (Near the intersection
  of North Bridge and High Street)
  Edinburgh

  Scotland

  EH1 1QW

  +44 (0)131 226 1112

  www.urbann.co.uk

the lads

I met my other flatmates yesterday. Rob seems like an average, good natured sort of kid. Pretty mainstream, I guess you’d consider him a bit of a jock in the US. I think he’s from Manchester, and he allegedly has a penchant for fighting, though I wouldn’t think it from looking at him. Marco is from Abberdeen I think, and he’s crazy. He’s super animated and wants to teach primary school, which I think would suit him. I guess he’s really into Mr. Bungle, which also seems to suit him. Pete is a pretty interesting guy, and he likes to talk, which is alright by me. We had a rather lengthy conversation about computers the other night. He seems cool, but makes me a bit uneasy. He sort of reminds me of some kids I knew freshmen year who I found to be nice enough, to me at least, but always caused me to keep a certain degree of vigilance. Ian is the last flatmate, and the one I met first. He skates, snowboards, and is into post-hardcore, metal, emo, etc. Awesome. He seems to be quite a nice kid as well and is really funny. For instance, he always likes to imply that Rob is a brawler which makes Rob all embarresed which I find hilarious. So, I think it should be interesting. They’re all freshmen, which is a bit odd, but I think it’s better in some ways. I think when people come off to school for the first time, they tend to be more respectful of one another on account of the new, shared experience. Kids who would never be around each other under normal circumstances can somehow manage to co-habitate without any major loss of blood. So, that ought to make things work out a bit better for me.

matriculation

On monday, I went to see my director of study (the equivalent of an academic advisor) and got my classes scheduled. I still have to schedule the individual modules, but otherwise, I’m straight. I then had to hike all the way back to center city to hand in my paperwork so I could get my matriculation card. Evidently, they do all that stuff by hand, and there is a bit of a delay before you can get your matric card. This sucks because you need the card to get access to the CIS labs and to use the library. I found my director of study to be very nice and helpful, almost the antithesis of Supowit (though I confess that I rather like the fellow in a surly sort of way). I also found the lecture to be super organized and well paced which seems to be a rarity in the US. All the course materials are promptly placed on the web, which I also find to be helpful. My other classes haven’t started yet, but I’m looking forward to them as the reading list for the computer security class looks awesome.

meet and greet

So I met some kids today. I don’t like to be superficial, but clothing and style in general is more than just shelter from the elements or a suck for cash, it also serves as a semaphore of sorts for kids with whom one might get along. So, at the universities international student orientation, I eyed the kid in the cardigan and saucony sneakers with interest. We ended up seated next to one another in an info session. Heard of Zegota? Of course. Where are you from? He studies at Haverford (which for the unfamiliar is a small, liberal arts college just outside of Philly). Been to Killtime? Which one? Singapore Vegetarian Chinese? Thumbs up! Franny and Zooey? All time favorite book! So, he seemed like an interesting guy. At least someone to go to shows with. We exchanged contact info and decided to go scope some shows some time.

When I got back from grocery shopping, one of my flatmates was back (the flat had been empty when I arrived yesterday). He was seated in the common room holding a new snowboard. Excellent. “Do you drink much?” he queried. “Not at all,” I replied. “Are you straigt-edge?” he asked. He wasn’t but at least he knew what ut was, which in a land where pubs are as omnipresent as house music, and there is a Whiskey Heritage Center, was good enough for me. He said he had a lot of respect for sxe kids, and had cut back his drinking a bit himself since his high school days. It turns out that in addition to snowboarding, he skates and listens to post-hardcore, metal, and emo. Awesome. He was the best possible roommate to meet first, because the others seem pretty crazy. Two are rugby players, which according to my flatmate is the UK’s equivalent to the US jock. The other, in addition to the being a jungle mc, has also popped too many pills, smoked too much hash, drank too much, and gotten violent enough as to smash another flatmate’s stereo. Oh yeah, he also allegedly gets so drunk he passes out and pisses himself as well. So, it should be a really interesting six months. At least the whole skateboarding housemate streak continues on. The skater and I continued talking about skating and music for a while. Just as was the case in Austin, skateboarding seems to be a common bond that spans ages, states, and now continents. I’ve met quite a few friends through skating, and even though I’m no Tony Hawk, I’m glad it’s a part of my life.

Note: This is the first of my Edinburgh journal entries that I’ve posted to the web. I’ve written others, but they’ll be out of sync as I am stuck in luddite hell at my flat with no internet access and no phone.

you don’t have to eat meat to be strong and wise

At least that’s what the sign in front of Kalpna restaurant in Edinburgh said, though I’m inclined to agree. It seems one has to be a bit wise to find vegan groceries, however, and strong as well to carry them back to one’s flat. I went shopping today for some groceries and had a hell of a time. This might sound like the prattle of a soon to be senile grandmother, but it really is hard to try to find things in a new supermarket. Especially one in a different country without the same names, and sometimes without alltogether, as the products I buy in the US. Peanut butter? Bagels? I had to go down the street to the natural food store (which sucked compared to the Clintonville co-op) to get my soy milk, but otherwise managed passably. There are a great deal of vegetarian options in the UK, though considerably fewer vegan ones. All of the burger patties, fake sausages, and fake cold cuts had eggs in them. From what I hear, the dumpster scene isn’t so hot either (though I’m sure the wet weather has something to do with that). I might have to be a bit freer in this whole freegan thing if I am to subsist. But, as the guy at Strange Brew said, it isn’t about being holier than though, its about doing the best that you can to be cruelty free.