About five of us were at a private club one night for a scotch-tasting seminar. They had a man there, I think from Scotland, named Martin. He put on this presentation where he showed us a film of Scotland and the different regions where the different whiskeys are produced. He was dressed head to toe in native attire: the kilt, the high stockings, the shoes, the little purse thing that hangs down in front, the little tam with the puffball on front, and he had the brogue. After the seminar was over my friends and I were walking south on Michigan Avenue when Martin caught up with us, still dressed in his attire, and told us he was heading over here. He asked if we wanted to join him. We got some strange looks going down the street, but everybody here seemed to take it in stride. There was no log tossing or rolling--just lots of scotch downing and great jazz. Martin made a point not to cross his legs--and when the waitress asked to look under the kilt, he sheepishly declined.
--Arthur Carvajal, legal editor