St. Andrew’s Day

Today is the feast day of St Andrew, the patron saint of Scotland. It’s a day when Scotsmen (and women) all over the world …do nothing by way of celebration! Of course, in Scotland, it’s a Bank Holiday, except the Scots, being a pragmatic people, have said the banks don’t have to close if they don’t want to and employers don’t have to give you the day off. (“Ya’ll no waste an honest da’s work fer the likes a tha’ muck!”) St. Andrew is also the patron saint of Greece, Romania, Russia, Prussia, the Ukraine and parts of Italy and Malta. Busy boy, our Andrew! He is also the brother of St. Peter the keeper of the Gates of Heaven. My great uncles used to say that just as St. Peter greets the dead at the Pearly Gates, his brother is right there beside him, collecting the pennies. (“Ya’ll no be needin’ tha’ where yar goin’ laddie.”) And if you don’t get that joke, you’re not a true Scotsman (or woman.)

We Scots have always been proud of our heritage, and unlike the Irish with their overblown St. Paddy’s Day (more booze and less brag, say I) keep a low profile. It took an American Swede, Arthur L. Herman, to tell everybody that the Scots actually invented the modern world – which we did. In that same vein, here are a list of prominent Scots and their contribution to civilization.

John Dunlop – who invented the rubber tire, although for years he spelled it with a y, as in “tyre.”

Sir Walter Scott – who invented chivalry with his novel Ivanhoe. Before that, knights were just smelly old men with swords — who dressed up in tin cans.

James Dewar (not Jimmy Dewar, the bass player) – who invented the thermos to keep hot things hot and cold things cold long before those interlopers the McDonalds, ever thought about it.

James Hepburn, 4^th Earl of Bothwell – who invented Stockholm Syndrome when he kidnapped Mary Queen of Scots (see below) who eventually got to like the idea and married him.

Alexander Graham Bell – who invented the telephone, although wouldn’t you know it, every time a Scotsman gets something, there’s a Englishman hiding in the bushes waiting to take it away from him. (I’m looking at you, Elisha Gray.)

Robert Louis Stevenson –who invented adventure stories which were great for kids until the Baby Boomers came along with their stupid “Awareness” and spoiled everybody’s fun.

James Watt – who invented “spin doctors” when he didn’t actually invent the steam engine but made it look like he did.

John Knox – who invented the Puritans and religious intolerance.

Adam Smith – who invented “Every man for himself” economics.

Sean Connery – who invented the derogatory cinematic comparison. After he played James Bond, no other actor has ever been able to measure up.

John Baird – who invented television and is currently burning in Hell.

Arthur Conan Doyle – who invented the smug know-it-all detective.

Mary Queen of Scots – who invented the stupid political leader by continually getting out-manoeuvred by Scotland’s aristocracy and Elizabeth I.

Bonnie Prince Charlie – who continued the incompetent tradition of his great-great, great grandmother by sending his Highland followers charging into Lord Cumberland’s cannons with nothing to protect them but their tartans.

Rob Roy MacGregor – who invented the heroic outlaw and did it way better than that flighty Englishman, Robin Hood. Here’s proof. Kevin Costner, who portrayed Robin Hood in the movies, was also a baseball player, a corn farmer, a postal worker and a fish: Liam Neeson, who played Rob Roy was Zeus, Aslan and Michael Collins, all gods in their respective kingdoms. He trained Batman, Obi Wan Kenobi and Darth Vader. He also single-handedly wiped out an international gang of kidnappers and kicked the crap out of a pack of wolves. (You do the math.)

Joseph Lister – who didn’t invent Listerine but was so psychotically clean the guy who did named it after him.

David Livingstone – who invented converting the heathen — whether they liked it or not — but is most famous for getting lost.

Alan Pinkerton – who invented the private detective which accounts for over half of America’s cultural legacy.

Robbie Burns – who invented the New Year ’s Eve party, but otherwise wrote nothing but gibberish.

James Barrie – who invented Peter Pan the prototypical “non-threatening” boy, whom fathers have wished their daughters would lust after ever since.

William McGonagall – who invented bad poetry and is still considered the worst poet ever to touch pen to paper. Don’t believe me? Read “The Tay Bridge Disaster.”

And finally

Billy Connolly – who invent Scottish humour and gave every Scotsman (and woman) the inherent ability to laugh at themselves.

The Tale of the Bulgarians’ Levis

no end1 — Bulgarians not exactly as shown

Many years ago, when there was still an Iron Curtain and most thinking people were very much aware of Brezhnev’s missiles, I met a Bulgarian (several of them, actually.) He was on a cultural exchange program to America with some other bureaucrats and a phalanx of stoic minders who loomed large getting off the plane. Several people and I were supposed to show our Communist visitors the wonders of the West — without pissing off the minders, who looked like they weren’t about to be trifled with.Before we go any further, you must understand I was never a diplomat. The only reason I was even there is the guy from the Chamber of Commerce, who was one of the hosts, blew out his appendix the night before. I was a serious third-string, emergency replacement, so my Bulgarian was young and nobody special, and his minders were definitely not members of the A Team.

We were given a list of “approved” places to take our new friends, but after the first morning of dull and boring, I thought “What the hell! I’ve got a week off, a pocket full of government money and I’m driving.” So we broke away from the group and went to Eddie Basha’s grocery store for Pepsi and Doritos. It’s amazing how quickly solid walls of sugar and sodium can thaw a Cold War. It was as if I’d given mis nuevos amigos the keys to snack food heaven, and they were going to stock up before it was all gone. I had to explain to them — more than once — that we could come back tomorrow and get more. They didn’t believe me. Even at the end of the week, after we’d been shopping many times, I’m sure they still thought it was all a capitalist scam that they’d been clever enough to take advantage of. Anyway, on the first day, we ended up with Camel cigarettes, Miller beer, a bag of assorted candy bars, pantyhose, and band aids, and three boxes of Froot Loops™. From then on, the four of us got along famously. Every morning, we’d follow the group to the designated snooze fest, and every afternoon we’d mysteriously get lost. As long as they were back at the hotel in time for the nightly “We’re all friends here” reception, nobody seem to care. I don’t think the folks running the show realized that the two minders were in on the plot. My Bulgarians found the America that never makes it into the Anti-American Instruction Manual, including a video arcade, Go Kart Racing, Whataburger and a trip to the barrio for authentic chicken, chitlins and greens, courtesy of my friend Sam who had filial connections to the street gang that ran things down there. All things considered, I think my guys quite liked the Land of Milk and Money. They certainly got comfortable enough to laugh at the Wild West’s attempts at culture and make fun of the beer. They maintained that someone drank it first — before Miller put it in the bottle. I, for my part, genuinely liked those guys, had a great time, and even in the full flush of arrogant youth learned a little bit about how wrong I was about life on the Black Sea of communism. The only discordant note was when it got to be good-bye time and everyone was getting on the plane. Suddenly, the more senior minders stopped everything and made a big show of taking away the blue jeans I’d helped my buddies buy. My Bulgarians dutifully gave up their prize possessions. Interestingly, in all the huffing and puffing, nobody but me wanted to notice that the mucky-muck babysitters weren’t making them leave those Levis in the decadent West; they were confiscating them. It was a sad reminder that no matter how much sugar coating you sometimes get, real life eventually intervenes.

Of course, the moral of the story should be that even the most antagonistic strangers are just one box of Froot Loops™ away from being friends, but it isn’t. It’s a lot deeper than that hackneyed homily. The real moral is that the world is full of self-righteous bastards who, given an opportunity, will use their power to steal our metaphorical Levis or anything else they can get their mitts on. They are the most dangerous among us because they have convinced us that they do this in the name of some esoteric common good. I learned a valuable lesson that day at the airport. Capitalism may very well be a brutal system that allows man’s exploitation of his fellow man, but under communism, the opposite is true. At least we get to keep our Levis.