A happy belated National Tartan Day to you ...

Via Shakespeare's Sister, we find, much to my surprise, that yesterday was National Tartan Day, "The national holiday for all Scottish Americans."

Just like St. Paddy's Day for the Irish, but much, much cheaper.

Shakespeare's Sis threw in this swipe-worthy excerpt from an article in Salon:

Scotland was recently selected by a group of so-called European experts as "the worst small country to live in." It's top of the charts for manic depression, alcoholism, lung cancer, stomach cancer, colon cancer, heart disease and yellow, plaque-infected teeth. The end of the Scottish race seems guaranteed. We are the national equivalent of the dodo.
And who is to blame for this? Who is to blame for a country with a negative population growth, for a country that ranks 96th in the world of international soccer, for a country that harvests men at 4-foot-5 with sperm counts as low as the nation's year-round cloud cover? Someone has to pay for the corpse of a nation!
Roger Moore must die! The English bastard stole the greatest cinematic role from the only modern Scotsman who ever reached over 6-foot-2. Everyone knows that Scot Sean Connery was the greatest James Bond, always on target with a Beretta and between hot female thighs. He was a man who surely fathered thousands of children by wearing a short bathrobe in the international cock ring of spies. Then he was pulled off the secret agent beat by an effete English private school ninny, a cad who could not act his way out of a paper bag. Scotland's negative population growth would have been eliminated if Big Sean had been allowed to keep up his end of the bargain with the ladies.
White guys: always blaming someone.

Anyway, that tartan pictured above is that of Clan MacTavish. Despite being descended from a motley bunch of Eastern European types, MacTavish is my middle name, and my father's before me, so I feel I have a bit of a Scottish connection.

When my grandfather finished at Penn State and applied to medical schools, there were quotas limiting the number of Jewish entrants, and he was rejected just about everywhere. So he applied to the University of Edinburgh and decided he'd stick MacTavish into his name for good luck. It worked -- the admissions officer said he had friends in the Clan MacTavish -- and my branch of the Holland line has had the middle name MacTavish ever since.

Now it seems the Clan MacTavish is in a wee bit of a row with the Dunardry Heritage Association, and our Chief, Steven MacTavish, has split off from the group. If I ever get my hands on those dirty DHA bastards ...

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