Friday was my very first exam/final. I wasn't quite too sure what to expect, given that the hype over exams is so much greater here. While preparing I had convinced myself that this is because most students at Stirling Uni don't attend lectures. By skipping they don't really learn what the class has to offer (Note: Several classes have little to offer. Experimental Cinema was not one of these classes. Lectures were fascinating and very informative). Most of my studying occurred the two days before the exam and consisted of watching Bruce Conners' A Movie, Tracey Moffatt's Others, and Margaret Tait's Portrait of Ga. None of these films are very lengthy and are all well worth the twenty minutes it would take to watch all three. If you only check one out, watch Others! It's the most fascinating film that explores the sexuality of film and television through different races. You'll notice a fair number of well-known scenes including snippets from The English Patient, The King & I, Dexter, and Sex & The City. This studying involved some analysis as well but the great thing about experimental cinema is that there is never a wrong answer. As long as you make connection and look at the films from unique perspectives then you're set.
Thursday night comes and just as it is when there's a big event right around the corner, I was unable to sleep. I set my alarm for 7:30 to give me plenty of time for the 9AM start time for the exam. I wake, shower, and start making a breakfast of eggs, toast with jam, and a glass of orange juice. As I'm cooking the eggs in walks a floor-mate who doesn't sleep at night. This is normally due to his recreational use of.... Aunt Mary, Bamma, Grass, Juanita, or whatever you care to call it. (Disclaimer: I don't know these names from earned street cred. I Googled it all.) Anyway, he walks into the kitchen, looks at me (mind you I'm dressed nicely with a salmon button-up, dress jeans, and fashionable boots) and asks, "You OK, man?" "Yes I'm okay. Why?" "Well did you not get sleep?" "Yes I slept just fine. Why?" "You just don't look too good, man." Can you believe the nerve? I mean, I felt great, I thought I looked good too, but I guess that wasn't so. I'll take 8 o'clock insults for $500, Alex.
As I walk to the exam it's a gorgeous morning. The sun is shining and there's only a slight breeze as I cross the bridge of hell (This 50 meter bridge is, most days, no different than walking on hot coals. It's a brutal b**ch-slap from Mother Nature each trip whether it be rain, wind, or snow). I get to the exam, walk into the large lecture hall and am greeted by a haunting memory. At each seat three yellow exam booklets and a sheet of paper asking for personal information sat in perfect order ready for the mass number of students that would be taking the exam. It was like standardized testing in elementary school or the awful ACT of high school years. The only difference is that there were no mints. I guess they think us university students don't need the pep up like we once used to.
When the exam started there were over 60 people in the room. I had never seen more than 40 in lectures or seminars, which goes to show how epidemic the act of skipping class is here in Scotland. Overall, the exam went well. I felt quite good about it and finished with about 2 or 3 minutes to spare. I won't bore you with details about what I wrote.
After the exam I had agreed to grab coffee with two friends who were also in the class. I'm not sure I've ever mentioned them by name: Erin (New York) and Agnes (Denmark. Ironically the one that gave me that terrible 'candy' on my first ride to the University!) We go to the trusty-dusty Starbucks at the Uni and talk for over an hour and a half about a range of topics from what dogs we want to have when we grow up (a husky for me) to media presentation and how we prefer to travel. The conversation was quite nice, given the both of them are similar to me: independent and intellectual (That's not meant as boasting. There's just a clear difference from those who would prefer to talk only about the concrete and those who wonder into intellectual debate). We sat in the sun sipping out our iced lattes and watching bunnies hop by the patio where we had sat outside. I was starting to get hungry and had no major plans for the day so I asked the two if they would possibly be interested in walking to Bridge of Allen (15 minute walk East of Campus. Opposite direction of town) to find a place to eat lunch. Neither of them had plans so they agreed and off we traveled to what would become one of my best Scottish days.
When we walked into the quint town made up of stores covering only a six block stretch of one street we found a restaurant that was bustling with locals, many of whom where sitting in the outdoor seating under the sun. It was about 65 degrees on Friday, but for Scotland that's GOLD. Shorts and short-sleeved shirts all around. Since there were so many people and one visible table still outside we agreed to stay there. A busy business means they must be doing something right! I ordered a glass of wine to celebrate the end of the exam, and it was so relieving. After months of 3P or 4P wine I was glad to have a real glass. The entree I ordered was a salmon and crayfish sandwich with a side of salad (not the same kind of salad you'd get in the US. It's several pieces of pretentious lettuce sprinkled lightly with balsamic vinegar and little oat-shapped object that I have no idea what to call) and chips (fries). The whole meal was simply divine and the presentation on wooden plates with the canopy of the restaurant taken back to allow the sun to reach all the customers made for a successful post-exam treat. There were also several dogs sitting faithfully by their owners, which is always a plus!
The restaurant was only steps away from the brewery that I had gone to the Sunday before and so I asked Erin and Agnes if they would be interested in checking out. They had heard a lot about it but had never ventured there, so we went. I had had a glass of wine so I wasn't going to get a pint (it was only 2!) but I was willing to taste test. The others both got the raspberry cider, which had the consistency of a smoothie given the raspberry pulp that remained in the cider. We sat in a back corner and continued talking about everything imaginable for over an hour. At some point during that hour three Scottish men had come into the brewery and had sat at a table catty-corner from us. We were within earshot of one another, so it's no surprise that our accents had given us away. It's always a conversation starter, so the three men began talking to us. They had thought we were all from The United States, given Agnes's accent is unnoticeably different from mine or Erin's. She had lived for several years in California as a child, so she picked up not only flawless English but the accent as well. The three Scottish men were remarkably friendly and were quite interested to hear all about our studies and future plans. They were, I would guess, all in the 50's, which made this next part even more spectacular. The three of them insisted that they buy us each a pint so we would speak highly of Scotland when we got back to our home countries. We argued that we would have spoken highly of the country (ir)regardless of the drinks, but as my Grandma Plummer would have said... never say no to a drink! I'm not quite sure how to tactfully say this next part but there was a surprising amount of flirting going on. Three of them. Three of us. And yes... Erin, Agnes, and I were all the recipients of middle-aged flirting. We couldn't stop laughing. As awkward as the situation sounds, the three of them were like the Three Stooges, so naturally we were in hysterics with the whole charade. We went back to talking to our own groups and then suddenly we find ourselves each with another pint of raspberry cider in front of us.
> Here's where my name comes back into play. I've used Jakob Weibl as my alias here to make me feel like I fit in a bit more. It's European, and it starts conversation. I've used it as my Facebook name, and most papers I've written. When I told the men my name though, they brought to my attention one of the greatest concerns of an individual in theatre. Theatre, especially New York musical theatre, has been founded on the progressiveness and genius Jews. Jakob Weibl is as far from a Jewish name as it gets. Let me spell it with a list of Jewish music theatre individuals with their jewish names: Irving Berlin, Jerome Kern, Gershwin, Richard Rodgers, Oscar Hammerstein II, Leonard Bernstein, Stephen Sondheim, Stephen Schwartz, Jule Styne, Zero Mostel, Betty Comden, Adolph Green, Barbra Streisand, Joel Grey, Danny Kaye, Ethel Merman, Kristin Chenoweth, Idina Menzel, Arthur Laurents, Harold Prince.
The point is, Broadways filled with them. These men had a point. I'm going to need an Actor's Equity name that is a bit more Jewish. I was thinking Yentl. I'll still need a surname though. Any suggestions in the comment section would be greatly appreciated.
By the time we left it was 6:30PM and the sun was still shining. We weren't drunk by any means but we sure loved life! As we walked back to campus with the sun still high in the sky we laughed and shared some more stories all while still slightly shocked over what had just happened. We agreed to hang out again before possibly not seeing each other again. So, shortly after finishing this post I'm off to town to play Eucre with them and another flat-mate followed by the film, Waiting for Guffman.
Before yesterday I had never heard the word Eurovision. Maybe I had heard it, but I had no idea what it was. Maybe you've heard of it and maybe you haven't. It's a live TV broadcast throughout all of Europe (except Turkey because of some racy female kissing at the end of one performance) that showcases vocal talent (along with costumes and general WOW performance features) from each country that wishes to participate. For some time leading up to the competition, each country holds their own vocal showcase program to select their finalist. Only 24 finalists get to compete (commercial free) on the broadcast. Since many of my friends are from Europe we all went to the University bar and watched. It's a BIG deal. There was barely a place to sit, and the cheering for home countries was magical. Some of it is a joke to be honest. The costumes are as garish as could be and they try hard to go for the visual element to cover up poor singing. After they all perform there is the vote counting. You're to call the number on the screen for the country you are currently in with the vote of the country you wish to win. So the results are shown one country at a time, dedicating a certain number of points for that particular country's favorite performances. This also stops countries from voting for themselves, which is prohibited. Denmark ended up winning (I called it right after she performed. It was brilliant). I'll likely never watch or follow it again, but to have gotten to watch a yearly tradition of Europe was well worth it.
Well folks... it's that time. Not only for me to wrap this post up but to give advanced warning that there's not much more to come. I'm off to the highlands in the morning with no connection to the outside world. I'm going without a phone, a computer, or an iPod. Only me, some clothes, some money, and my camera. Who knows where I'll end up. Who cares? I'll be back on Wednesday night and may post on Thursday or Friday. No guarantee. After that, it's next week's post to finish off my journey in Scotland. It's a bit surreal that I've been here for three and a half months and only have 10 days left, but all things must come to an end, only to bring about life's next great adventure.
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| As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind. To make a deep physical pate, we walk again and again. To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives. - Henry David Thoreau |
Anastasia Beaverhausen
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