Lord of the Dance

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I absolutely cannot fathom that I have already finished my second week of classes here in Glasgow.  I’m completely in awe of how little schoolwork I have yet to do! I am sincerely hoping that my negligence and inability to figure out Moodle (Scotland’s version of Blackboard) isn’t at fault here, and that I do indeed have a less laborious workload than I’m accustomed to.

I recently read somewhere (presumably Buzzfeed) that it takes 21 days to develop a habit, and I’m starting to get into the ritual of having a toasted crumpet each morning, or as I like to more elaborately label them: English muffins undergoing an identity crisis.

Empirical data offered below:

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What appeared to be a run of the mill english muffin in fact turned out to have a pancake-like bottom, leading me to properly diagnose it as quite the ambiguous breakfast bite.  Regardless of the confusion on the crumpet’s part, there is no second guessing when it comes to how delicious it is! So this breakfast delight has become a new staple in my Glaswegian life.

On the topic of habits, I have yet to start up a gym routine; however, trekking across the steep terrain of Glasgow’s campus has been slowly but surely building up my endurance.  Glasgow, as a city, is notable for consisting of many drumlins (mini hills).  In my opinion there is nothing “mini” about them, seeing as when I eventually reach the apex, I’m quite winded.  I like to reassure myself that the twists and turns of the hills sprawled out along campus make my recent absence from the gym a little more justifiable!

With physical exertion in mind, it brings me to the topic of ceilidhs.  Ceilidhs are traditional Gaelic gatherings, in which folk music is played and dancing ensues.  Being unfortunate enough to have been given the attribute of two left feet, the idea of attending a ceilidh wasn’t overwhelmingly appealing.  I’ve seen my fair share of friends partake in Irish step dancing and while I am absolutely mesmerized by the precision and effortlessness displayed, I knew it would be in my best interest to refrain from participation and remain in the stands as an innocent bystander.

However, once I entered the hall in which the ceilidh was held, something overcame me.  The effervescent atmosphere, enchanting music, and the ubiquity of kilted men, made me want to partake in the festivities.  The accordion player would inform us of the moves associated with each distinct dance and then ease us into it.  As the time passed and everyone seemed to be getting the hang of it, the tempo would increase and our skills would be put to the test.  Fortunately I proved to be up for the task! The dances taught were so rhythmically based, and so reminiscent of high school gym class square dancing, that I believe muscle memory definitely played a role in me picking it up so quickly. So with the music blaring and everyone in high spirits, my embarrassment over my not particularly laudable dance moves subsided, and I was able to have an incredible and invigorating evening.

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For a slight moment, I was even able to say I felt Scottish! Of course that is until I opened my mouth and was immediately asked where in America I was from.  My most recent encounter even pinpointed that I was Italian American! I believe it’s my expressiveness with my hands that gave me away, but I don’t think I’ll ever tire of being asked where I’m from.  Makes me feel like such an intriguing individual!

Stay posted for the latest adventures in Glasgow! Until next time, cheerio!

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