We went to the Tucson Celtic Festival yesterday. Many, many men in kilts, swords, and other regalia. To them I say: "Are you nuts? It's 85 degrees outside and you're wearing wool and long sleeves?" I did not partake in the kilting activities, though I was not wearing pants. We did get to see our surname proudly displayed over a tent, and there were several varieties of our tartan and crest and stuff for sale. And swords. Mmm... swords. I did not buy one, but it wasn't easy to turn away from a whole bunch of swords empty-handed.
The guy pictured above was one of the competitors in the caber toss. They also had a stone throw and hammer throw exhibition. Oh, and meat pies, haggis, stuff like that. Mmm... meat pies. Definitely my kind of stuff. You got your meat, some oatmeal, and wrap it in pastry. That's it. None of those lousy vegetables and nonsense. It's brown, toasty, and tasty. That's all you need.
We also got to hear an awe-inspiring rendition of "Amazing Grace" by a team of bagpipe players. (I don't know what a group of pipers is called. A troupe? A McGaggle?) Further backing my theory that there is simply no other way that song should be heard. Not sung, not a band. No other instrument than the bagpipe can give that song its due.
One last thing not exactly Scot-related. If you're over 6 feet tall and you feel it necessary to run to the front row of an event (such as a parade or other public venue) and stand there with your hands on your hips taking up/blocking as much as your body will allow, remember this: the stabbing pain you feel will be from me slicing a hole in your midsection so I can see. So either sit the fuck down or move to the back, you jolly green ass.