Outlandish

I make a terrible party guest.

I'd like nothing more than to go to a dinner party or birthday party or a social gathering of any sort and speak about politics. As you might have guessed I'm somewhat zealous about our current state of affairs. And see us teetering at the precipice. Consequently I feel it needs to be discussed. I also like to think I'm fairly informed on the matters of the day, although that's arguable.

Others, mostly everybody, don't want to discuss politics. It's a violation of a long-held triumvirate of topics that are considered verboten: politics, money & religion. They'd prefer to talk about "the shows."

I don't watch a great deal of television. And rarely commit myself to a series. Particularly if they're on Netflix, Hulu, Prime, Geechie, Flubbly, or TTV. OK, some of those platforms are made up, but the truth is I can't keep track of it all. 

Nor am I a fan of searching for the show and mastering the channel changing thing on these platforms. The streaming often leads to screaming. And scanning the 10,794 viewing choices fry my brain faster than a snippet of Marjorie Taylor Green or Lauren Boebert in front of a microphone.

Nevertheless, with some coaxing, I started watching Outlander. 

The series -- and it's now up to 75 episodes -- has a distinct Twilight Zone feel to it, in that it involves time travel. More importantly, it takes place, at least the initial episodes, in 18th century Scotland. Given that I'm first generation American from me mum from Paisley, this has some very personal appeal. 

Also, it should be noted that what passed for an amenity in 18th century Scotland (fire, food, a good pint and more fire) are still luxuries in the 21st century. 

It's feckin' cold there.

Mike Myers played a legendary character on Saturday Night Live who often said, "if it's not Scottish, it's crap."

The unspoken corollary to that is, "If it is Scottish, you won't understand a word they're saying."

I've been around Scottish people all my life and still wish they spoke a dialect of English that didn't feel like calculus to my feeble American brain. And this got me thinking.

How and why did the original colonists, who sprung from Great Britain and brought the Queen's tongue with them, lose their accents? 

Was it lost in some strange dialectical Bermuda-like triangle in the North Atlantic? Did it have something to do with the more temperate climate of Virginia, Maryland and even New Jersey? Or was it a conscious effort to distance themselves from the mother country?

I'm truly at a loss about this.

Another strange part of the equation is that my mother never had a brogue or an accent. She came over at 17 years of age, a factoid that still amazes me, and can only assume that before she gave birth to me at 26, spoke the fluent indecipherable language of her rain-soaked, haggis-eating hearty ancestors. 

Even more amazing, on the occasions when my father would spring for long distance telephone calls, she would spend time chatting with her sisters in the motherland and with the consumption of each additional beer, her accent would return.

"Who is this woman in my kitchen?"

Suffice it to say, I am enjoying the series. And in addition to my new fascination with accents and/or lack of accents, I'm also pondering the hat wear of the day.

I'm normally not a hat guy, but do like the way this tam looks on Dougal MacKenzie, a mustachioed bald, burly warrior, and am considering the purchase of one. In that same manly shade of grey. 

 Ahhh, maybe not.