I don’t like beer. Every time I give it a chance I just taste bubbly rotten bread, or worse, earwax. Pale, dark, smokey, craft, light–all I’m hearing is earwax, earwax, earwax. Just like wine, I don’t see what all the craze is about because, to me, they don’t taste nearly as good as they look or as much as people go on about them. At least I can tolerate wine and it gives a decent buzz. They are tastes I have not acquired yet, but meanwhile there are connoisseurs who research and fangirl over origins and tastes and tones they way I’ve recently become interested in makeup I suppose. That said, there’s no real reason I should be watching “Brew Dogs” on Esquire Network except for the lack of more interesting options this cold, Thursday afternoon and the stylish charm the channel has anyway. Two Scottish brewers travel around the States sampling the best brews and creating their own, all the while teaching me about the histories and processes behind different beers.
While my taste buds aren’t any closer to craving fermented hobs, something else unexpected happened: I found myself with an immense desire to have a Scottish accent. Honestly, I’d like to have just about any accent besides my own bland, slightly Southern American tone (I do like the Southern part a little, though), but I hadn’t really considered a Scottish one. It brought up images of angry golfers in kilts and Mel Gibson in Braveheart–hey, blame the media. These guys though, they made it sound fun and warm. If I had to describe it, a Scottish accent has the aristocratic air of Kent English and guttural passion of German, mixed with a cavalier American attitude. Maybe it’s this blended nature that makes it so difficult for me to imitate, but oh do I wish my mouth just naturally spewed Scottish.