Everyone was on the edge of their seats, ready to vomit from nervousness, when he started handing out the graded papers. And as he gave them back, he made comments out loud! As in, "Terrible intro but all right after that, [insert name here]" and "you could've done better" and "just all right." Then he got to me, and I was practically ready to faint, and he made a little smirk and said "Quite a good one here."
I got an A.
All he'd written on it were a bunch of check marks, "good" and "well put" in a couple of places, and at the very end, near the grade mark, "This is a lively and sophisticated paper - well argued and well expressed."
SUCCESS.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Pit bull rant
I'm sure this is boring stuff to read for those of you who don't care about dogs, but hey, it's my blog!
Seeing all these British pit bulls that look like what pit bulls are supposed to look like has raised my hackles on the entire issue. A minority of morons with more testeosterone than sense have mutilated the breed, especially in America. Since everyone seems to have forgotten, this is what a pit bull should look like:
This is what a select few dumbies have made it into. But make no mistake, this type of pit bull is not the ONLY type of pit bull.
The pit bull is a smallish breed with strong facial features and a lean but sturdy profile. It should NOT A) be wider than it is tall, or B) have a head the size of a canoe. If you want those features, then go get yourself an American Bully, the bastardized version of the pit bull that's currently being marketed as its own breed (finally!):
It makes me so mad. For every mean dimwit who fights his dog, there are 5 good owners with perfectly polite pit bulls, and they lose out every time the general public gets into a frenzied witch hunt against the breed and screams "BAN THEM!"
The problem is not with the breed. It's with people. Proof of this: 25 or 30 years ago, Dobermans were the "scary dog." They were the ones you couldn't trust, the ones who would supposedly rip your child's face off in the dead of night. Then it was German Shepherds. Then it was Rottweilers. We've since gotten our act together and realized that German Shepherds are excellent police dogs, Dobermans are fine as family dogs, and Rottweilers are big goofballs unless trained otherwise.
We've moved onto the pit bull, but we're neglecting one important fact: There were bad Dobes, and bad German Shepherds, and bad Rottweilers - the unfortunate few who got owned and "trained" by neglectful, ignorant people who did things like leave their animals out on a chain 24/7 or intentionally antagonize them into being mean so that they'd be "better guard dogs." Now we've got a whole new generation of idiots raising "tough dogs" just because they want to look cool, or because they want a dog to fight. They essentially have the same ideals as the old idiots: Don't bother to train the dog, push it around, make it mean. THEY'RE THE PROBLEM. Come down on them like a ton of bricks, and the problem of "dangerous dogs" will be fixed!
Pit bulls are not inherently dangerous. In fact, they are often great family dogs. They tolerate pain well, so they're good with children. They are affectionate and sweet. They are terriers and most terriers have some degree of animal aggression, however. You need to do more work with a pit to get it dog-friendly than you might with, say, a Papillon. But that doesn't mean that it's a killer at heart, it just means that it has instincts that you need to be aware of. Plenty of pits have learned to co-exist with cats and other dogs - they simply need thoughtful training.
Seeing all these British pit bulls that look like what pit bulls are supposed to look like has raised my hackles on the entire issue. A minority of morons with more testeosterone than sense have mutilated the breed, especially in America. Since everyone seems to have forgotten, this is what a pit bull should look like:
This is what a select few dumbies have made it into. But make no mistake, this type of pit bull is not the ONLY type of pit bull.
The pit bull is a smallish breed with strong facial features and a lean but sturdy profile. It should NOT A) be wider than it is tall, or B) have a head the size of a canoe. If you want those features, then go get yourself an American Bully, the bastardized version of the pit bull that's currently being marketed as its own breed (finally!):
It makes me so mad. For every mean dimwit who fights his dog, there are 5 good owners with perfectly polite pit bulls, and they lose out every time the general public gets into a frenzied witch hunt against the breed and screams "BAN THEM!"
The problem is not with the breed. It's with people. Proof of this: 25 or 30 years ago, Dobermans were the "scary dog." They were the ones you couldn't trust, the ones who would supposedly rip your child's face off in the dead of night. Then it was German Shepherds. Then it was Rottweilers. We've since gotten our act together and realized that German Shepherds are excellent police dogs, Dobermans are fine as family dogs, and Rottweilers are big goofballs unless trained otherwise.
We've moved onto the pit bull, but we're neglecting one important fact: There were bad Dobes, and bad German Shepherds, and bad Rottweilers - the unfortunate few who got owned and "trained" by neglectful, ignorant people who did things like leave their animals out on a chain 24/7 or intentionally antagonize them into being mean so that they'd be "better guard dogs." Now we've got a whole new generation of idiots raising "tough dogs" just because they want to look cool, or because they want a dog to fight. They essentially have the same ideals as the old idiots: Don't bother to train the dog, push it around, make it mean. THEY'RE THE PROBLEM. Come down on them like a ton of bricks, and the problem of "dangerous dogs" will be fixed!
Pit bulls are not inherently dangerous. In fact, they are often great family dogs. They tolerate pain well, so they're good with children. They are affectionate and sweet. They are terriers and most terriers have some degree of animal aggression, however. You need to do more work with a pit to get it dog-friendly than you might with, say, a Papillon. But that doesn't mean that it's a killer at heart, it just means that it has instincts that you need to be aware of. Plenty of pits have learned to co-exist with cats and other dogs - they simply need thoughtful training.
That's why it's so annoying that Britain has a breed ban against pit bulls. Hey, guess what Parliament? I saw 10 pitties walking around Oxford yesterday! One was so viscious he leapt up at me and whined for treats while wagging his whole butt! I nearly got licked to death, better call Scotland Yard....
European Dogs vs. American Dogs, Round 3: The Doberman
The American-style Doberman, cropped and docked.
A gorgeous red. They come in a few other colors, but they tend to get skin and coat problems unless they're the standard black or red.
Such a sleek, athletic animal. Just beautiful dogs.
...But then you have this! I can't get over how weird they look with long tails and floppy ears. Am I crazy in thinking that it doesn't even look like the same breed?
I mean, it's probably shallow, but when they're natural they look so...I suppose the word I'm looking for is "average." They look like every other mutt out there. The natural dog above doesn't have near the presence that the cropped and docked dogs do, for me at least. 
A gorgeous red. They come in a few other colors, but they tend to get skin and coat problems unless they're the standard black or red.
Such a sleek, athletic animal. Just beautiful dogs.
...But then you have this! I can't get over how weird they look with long tails and floppy ears. Am I crazy in thinking that it doesn't even look like the same breed?
I mean, it's probably shallow, but when they're natural they look so...I suppose the word I'm looking for is "average." They look like every other mutt out there. The natural dog above doesn't have near the presence that the cropped and docked dogs do, for me at least.
Besides, when they're cropped you get the adorable "bat ear" syndrome!
European Dogs vs. American Dogs, Round 2
An American-style Boxer, cropped and docked.
An uncropped Boxer.
European Boxer, uncropped and undocked.
Uncropped Great Dane.
An uncropped Boxer.
European Boxer, uncropped and undocked.
Uncropped Great Dane.
Cropped Great Dane. Check out how different this crop is from the pit crop in the last post! Dane crops are, as I said, "show crops" - they're done out of tradition, and to give the dog an authoritative, regal presence. Pit crops are severe to make the dogs look frightening and "tough."
Oktoberfest, and Dog Cropping
Ok, so next weekend is the last weekend of Oktoberfest, and some people are trying to organize a trip to Munich to experience it. The trouble is, we originally thought it was 50£ for the flight, but we were looking at the wrong dates and it's actually between 100 - 150£ just to get over there. Bit steep for one weekend. We'll see how it goes.
The other thing I wanted to write on: European dogs! Cropping and docking are both illegal in Europe. Docking is the amputation of the animal's tail, whether surgically or by constriction (essentially leaving a tight rubber band on until the tail falls off). Cropping is the surgical alteration of the animal's ears, where a small bit of skin is removed and the ears are physically "trained" to stand upright. Both procedures are widely practiced in America and numerous other countries. In the U.S., Dobermans are pretty much always cropped and docked, Boxers docked and occasionally cropped, and Great Danes sometimes cropped but never docked. Pit bulls, when they are done, are often given extremely short crops, while Great Danes are generally given long "show crops."
Every time I visit Europe, I always get a jolt from seeing all the Rotties and Boxers with long tails. Still, they look just fine au naturale, most dogs. There isn't a whole lot of compelling logic behind continuing the procedures; it mostly comes down to tradition. Dogs were originally cropped and docked so that when guarding the home or fighting, their ears and tails weren't vulnerable to getting ripped by the intrudor/other animal.
But there's a hitch for me in totally writing off cropping and docking as cruel and unnecessary: I think Dobermans look so much better with it done! Every other breed looks ok or even better to me with its ears and tail intact, but when the Doberman is left natural to me it just doesn't look...well...like a Doberman. It looks like a hound, which is just all wrong! It's a quandry, because I hope to own a Dobe one day, and then I'll be faced with the choice of whether or not to get my own pup done.
Ok, here are some pics. I'm sure I'll need to do another post, to showcase all the breeds I wanted to.
Cropped pit bull. Hate pittie crops, they're so severe.
Natural pit. I notice that there are a LOT of pit bulls in Oxford. It warms my heart, because they're all actually the correct size and their owners seem to generally be sweet older couples or families with kids, not "thugs." Thanks to the moronic gangster image of pits in the States, people there breed pitbulls that are WAY too wide and too heavy for the breed standard. They look like hippos compared to lovely dogs here.
American docked Rottweiler.
European undocked Rottweiler.
The other thing I wanted to write on: European dogs! Cropping and docking are both illegal in Europe. Docking is the amputation of the animal's tail, whether surgically or by constriction (essentially leaving a tight rubber band on until the tail falls off). Cropping is the surgical alteration of the animal's ears, where a small bit of skin is removed and the ears are physically "trained" to stand upright. Both procedures are widely practiced in America and numerous other countries. In the U.S., Dobermans are pretty much always cropped and docked, Boxers docked and occasionally cropped, and Great Danes sometimes cropped but never docked. Pit bulls, when they are done, are often given extremely short crops, while Great Danes are generally given long "show crops."
Every time I visit Europe, I always get a jolt from seeing all the Rotties and Boxers with long tails. Still, they look just fine au naturale, most dogs. There isn't a whole lot of compelling logic behind continuing the procedures; it mostly comes down to tradition. Dogs were originally cropped and docked so that when guarding the home or fighting, their ears and tails weren't vulnerable to getting ripped by the intrudor/other animal.
But there's a hitch for me in totally writing off cropping and docking as cruel and unnecessary: I think Dobermans look so much better with it done! Every other breed looks ok or even better to me with its ears and tail intact, but when the Doberman is left natural to me it just doesn't look...well...like a Doberman. It looks like a hound, which is just all wrong! It's a quandry, because I hope to own a Dobe one day, and then I'll be faced with the choice of whether or not to get my own pup done.
Ok, here are some pics. I'm sure I'll need to do another post, to showcase all the breeds I wanted to.
Cropped pit bull. Hate pittie crops, they're so severe.
Natural pit. I notice that there are a LOT of pit bulls in Oxford. It warms my heart, because they're all actually the correct size and their owners seem to generally be sweet older couples or families with kids, not "thugs." Thanks to the moronic gangster image of pits in the States, people there breed pitbulls that are WAY too wide and too heavy for the breed standard. They look like hippos compared to lovely dogs here.
American docked Rottweiler.
European undocked Rottweiler.
Friday, September 25, 2009
"STAY OFF THE TULIPS!"
Here's a culturally illuminating experience from this morning's class:
My professor was discussing with us the concept of justice in Spenser's Faerie Queene, and because of the nature of the text (an allegory for English involvement in Ireland, as it were), we came onto the topic of rebellion. The professor toward the end of class burst into chuckles and told us this story: "When I was being interviewed as an undergraduate, ages ago, the bloke who was interviewing me told me about Oxford rebellion in the 1960s. Of course France at that time was having massive riots, people throwing pavement slabs off of buildings, incredible violence. Oxford students want to rebel in their own right, so they tear down the gate to the Sheldonian Theater, but someone shouted 'STAY OFF THE TULIPS!' and they all said 'Sorry!' and leapt back. That's Oxford rebellion for you."
My professor was discussing with us the concept of justice in Spenser's Faerie Queene, and because of the nature of the text (an allegory for English involvement in Ireland, as it were), we came onto the topic of rebellion. The professor toward the end of class burst into chuckles and told us this story: "When I was being interviewed as an undergraduate, ages ago, the bloke who was interviewing me told me about Oxford rebellion in the 1960s. Of course France at that time was having massive riots, people throwing pavement slabs off of buildings, incredible violence. Oxford students want to rebel in their own right, so they tear down the gate to the Sheldonian Theater, but someone shouted 'STAY OFF THE TULIPS!' and they all said 'Sorry!' and leapt back. That's Oxford rebellion for you."
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Drinking
It's always seemed natural to me to argue that Europe is "doing it right" by having a lower drinking age than America. My logic went somewhat like this: 1) If a person can die for their country, drive a car, have a credit card, and even get married at 18, then why the hell can't they have beer with their pizza? and 2) If we remove the taboo and mystery of drinking to teens, perhaps they will do less "Look at me, I'm cool, doing something subversive"-drinking and more "What type of wine should I have with my dinner?"-drinking.
And yet, every day when I go into Oxford proper I have to walk around at least five puke puddles that've accumulated overnight on the sidewalks. I've witnessed people stumbling around shitfaced at 11 am, and I've been verbally harangued by men so drunk they wavered where they stood. I've always thought that the frat-party culture of American college life is stupid, but you know what? It's like that here, too! And the Oxford students haven't even arrived yet!
Apparently, it's not this bad in other parts of Europe. This holds true to my own experience: From what I've seen of the French, for instance, they'd generally rather slit their own throats than suffer the impropriety of wandering around glassy-eyed at 12 noon vomiting on the sidewalk. They're what BBC calls part of the ever-sophisticated "Wine Belt." To the east is the "Vodka Belt," a land where Russians drink for 3 days straight and engage in related shenanigans for a week at a time. (Of course, Germany does its own thing as part of the "Beer Belt.")
Interestingly, though, instead of the Wine Belt influencing the Vodka Belt and Britain - both known for intense binge drinking - to stop, it's going the other way around...France and Italy are slowly succumbing to more and more hazardous drinking, the careful wine-wipping so ubiquitous to France being usurped by teens who go out into the Parisian streets and get wasted to match their British and American counterparts.
Why? I have no idea, but it seems that simply having a lower drinking age does NOT solve the problem. Britain has entirely berid itself of the "taboo" of teens drinking, but instead of learning to have a healthy, moderate attitude toward it, British teens just throw on their party hats and head down to the local pub.
Britain, by the way, also has an appallingly high teenage pregnancy rate, the highest in Western Europe. Coincidence? Probably not. It's not like it's any mystery that people forget to put on condoms when they're so flaming drunk they can barely see two inches in front of their face!
It truly makes me wonder: What's the secret to fixing this? Even countries like Sweden and Denmark, which seem to always have their shit together and display a high level of relative happiness, are seeing swarms of binge drinking-related incidents. Are we that deeply unhappy with our lives, that we need to ease the pain with alcohol? Are we simply bored? Or is it something else altogether? Personally, I'm happier to take a nice walk than drink, but so many people my age would rather play beer pong that actually have a conversation with someone or go on a hike through the woods. What's driving us as an international generation to be so heavily invested in alcohol?
And yet, every day when I go into Oxford proper I have to walk around at least five puke puddles that've accumulated overnight on the sidewalks. I've witnessed people stumbling around shitfaced at 11 am, and I've been verbally harangued by men so drunk they wavered where they stood. I've always thought that the frat-party culture of American college life is stupid, but you know what? It's like that here, too! And the Oxford students haven't even arrived yet!
Apparently, it's not this bad in other parts of Europe. This holds true to my own experience: From what I've seen of the French, for instance, they'd generally rather slit their own throats than suffer the impropriety of wandering around glassy-eyed at 12 noon vomiting on the sidewalk. They're what BBC calls part of the ever-sophisticated "Wine Belt." To the east is the "Vodka Belt," a land where Russians drink for 3 days straight and engage in related shenanigans for a week at a time. (Of course, Germany does its own thing as part of the "Beer Belt.")
Interestingly, though, instead of the Wine Belt influencing the Vodka Belt and Britain - both known for intense binge drinking - to stop, it's going the other way around...France and Italy are slowly succumbing to more and more hazardous drinking, the careful wine-wipping so ubiquitous to France being usurped by teens who go out into the Parisian streets and get wasted to match their British and American counterparts.
Why? I have no idea, but it seems that simply having a lower drinking age does NOT solve the problem. Britain has entirely berid itself of the "taboo" of teens drinking, but instead of learning to have a healthy, moderate attitude toward it, British teens just throw on their party hats and head down to the local pub.
Britain, by the way, also has an appallingly high teenage pregnancy rate, the highest in Western Europe. Coincidence? Probably not. It's not like it's any mystery that people forget to put on condoms when they're so flaming drunk they can barely see two inches in front of their face!
It truly makes me wonder: What's the secret to fixing this? Even countries like Sweden and Denmark, which seem to always have their shit together and display a high level of relative happiness, are seeing swarms of binge drinking-related incidents. Are we that deeply unhappy with our lives, that we need to ease the pain with alcohol? Are we simply bored? Or is it something else altogether? Personally, I'm happier to take a nice walk than drink, but so many people my age would rather play beer pong that actually have a conversation with someone or go on a hike through the woods. What's driving us as an international generation to be so heavily invested in alcohol?
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Grief stricken...don't know what to do...
My rabbit died while I was away.
I knew something was wrong with her the day I left. When I picked her up she was too calm, almost listless, and her stomach was hard and kind of cold. That's why I told Mom to take her to the vet as soon as she got back from the airport, but by the time she got there Cadbury was gone.
I don't know how to deal with what I'm feeling. I've been crying all day. I don't feel as though people here at Oxford know me well enough yet to understand how attached I was to the little brat. She was always so grumpy, we called her "surly rabbit" because she would grunt angrily at Mom whenever she tried to pick her up. Was always a sweetheart for me, though. I even had her trained to go through the door to the washroom whenever I opened it and held it out for her. I didn't really have to teach her that, she picked it up on her own.
I guess I thought that, since rabbits can live for 10 years or more, I would get to take her with me when I fully moved out of my parents' place. I thought I'd get to buy her a bigger cage, get her a litterbox, and teach her how to use it. I thought that I'd have a few more years of my mom trying to win her little bunny approval and failing. I pictured Jordan and I with her in an apartment, him griping about her messiness but softening every time she let him pet her head. Now I won't get any of that with her.
I looked up her symptoms, and they seem to be the signs of bloat. Bloat can be caused by nearly anything in rabbits: Stress from weather changes, temperature fluctuations, not eating enough hay, mouldy food....All of which makes me insane with guilt. What if we'd kept her inside the house, where the temperature was more stable? What if we let her hay sit too long and it had mould? What if I'd simply let her out to run around more, would that have helped? Did my music stress her out even though there was a wall between her and the rest of the house?
I don't know if I want another rabbit, ever. My first rabbit was a sweetie, but we gave him away, and my second died very shortly after being bought. Cadbury's death has just shattered me, though - I don't remember being this heartbroken even after giving Cuddles away, when I was a young kid. Their stomachs are so fragile, one day of not eating can give them impaction and kill them...I don't know if I can go through any more of this, even though I love rabbits and always kind of thought of them as one of my "heart animals" (as stupid a phrase as that is), along with dogs and horses. I wish they were sturdier.
Rest in peace, little bunny. I hope you know Jordan was kidding when he called you a bitch, and I hope you know I love you, and I hope it didn't hurt too much and was all over quickly.
I knew something was wrong with her the day I left. When I picked her up she was too calm, almost listless, and her stomach was hard and kind of cold. That's why I told Mom to take her to the vet as soon as she got back from the airport, but by the time she got there Cadbury was gone.
I don't know how to deal with what I'm feeling. I've been crying all day. I don't feel as though people here at Oxford know me well enough yet to understand how attached I was to the little brat. She was always so grumpy, we called her "surly rabbit" because she would grunt angrily at Mom whenever she tried to pick her up. Was always a sweetheart for me, though. I even had her trained to go through the door to the washroom whenever I opened it and held it out for her. I didn't really have to teach her that, she picked it up on her own.
I guess I thought that, since rabbits can live for 10 years or more, I would get to take her with me when I fully moved out of my parents' place. I thought I'd get to buy her a bigger cage, get her a litterbox, and teach her how to use it. I thought that I'd have a few more years of my mom trying to win her little bunny approval and failing. I pictured Jordan and I with her in an apartment, him griping about her messiness but softening every time she let him pet her head. Now I won't get any of that with her.
I looked up her symptoms, and they seem to be the signs of bloat. Bloat can be caused by nearly anything in rabbits: Stress from weather changes, temperature fluctuations, not eating enough hay, mouldy food....All of which makes me insane with guilt. What if we'd kept her inside the house, where the temperature was more stable? What if we let her hay sit too long and it had mould? What if I'd simply let her out to run around more, would that have helped? Did my music stress her out even though there was a wall between her and the rest of the house?
I don't know if I want another rabbit, ever. My first rabbit was a sweetie, but we gave him away, and my second died very shortly after being bought. Cadbury's death has just shattered me, though - I don't remember being this heartbroken even after giving Cuddles away, when I was a young kid. Their stomachs are so fragile, one day of not eating can give them impaction and kill them...I don't know if I can go through any more of this, even though I love rabbits and always kind of thought of them as one of my "heart animals" (as stupid a phrase as that is), along with dogs and horses. I wish they were sturdier.
Rest in peace, little bunny. I hope you know Jordan was kidding when he called you a bitch, and I hope you know I love you, and I hope it didn't hurt too much and was all over quickly.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Friday Night Out
Last night, the entire group got together and ate a Mexican-themed feast at the house. Afterwards everyone was feeling peppy, so we decided to go out and conquer some more pubs. We went upstairs and starting getting ready - it was a big affair, everyone running up and down the stairs and asking what outfit worked best and borrowing each other's shoes. I wore a long neon yellow tank top, with a plaid blue button-down over it and a waistbelt, and just black tights underneath and brown boots. I have to say, it felt weird having just the tights - no jeans - under the tank top, but it was very European-looking and I completely fit in. Nobody here seems to believe in trousers for girls; it's just all tights, all the time. Some of them don't even wear shirts long enough to cover their butts when doing the tights thing, which I find odd. Frankly, most people's behinds aren't very good-looking when covered in nothing but tights!
Anyway, as we were getting ready we started to get hyped up at the thought of our impending night on the town. Silliness ensued. This led to Allie doing her "Mom Face." She's pretty damn
good at it, wouldn't you say so?
Jane and Holly, just the slightest bit tipsy.
Marcus and Mallory. Mallory is one of the sweetest girls I've ever met.
Gloria, Serena, Megan and I. Yeah, I've got a bit of the Drunkard's Glow....All I had was one rum and coke, but the bartender must've been very generous with the rum, because I was giggly the whole rest of the night! Luckily I've learned my limits and made sure to NOT drink anything else but water.
The big group getting ready to head off to another pub. You can see that the gender ratio is ridiculously skewed on this trip....
Anyway, as we were getting ready we started to get hyped up at the thought of our impending night on the town. Silliness ensued. This led to Allie doing her "Mom Face." She's pretty damngood at it, wouldn't you say so?
Jane and Holly, just the slightest bit tipsy.
Marcus and Mallory. Mallory is one of the sweetest girls I've ever met.
Gloria, Serena, Megan and I. Yeah, I've got a bit of the Drunkard's Glow....All I had was one rum and coke, but the bartender must've been very generous with the rum, because I was giggly the whole rest of the night! Luckily I've learned my limits and made sure to NOT drink anything else but water.
The big group getting ready to head off to another pub. You can see that the gender ratio is ridiculously skewed on this trip.... It was a fun night. I have to say, though, that at the end of the day, I'm still kind of an old lady by nature: When a few people went off at 1 in the morning to go dancing, I and a few others said "No thanks, it's bed time!" and toodled off home. I fell asleep the second I hit my mattress. Ultimately, I just can't help but find cuddling up with Jordan to a book or a movie more satisfying than going out drinking.
Random Post
Ok, first of all, this is where I spent all afternoon today with Jane. My head nearly exploded the first time I walked into Primark and saw the shoe department.
I realized today that I've never posted a picture of the actual UGA at Oxford house. So, here it is, my residence until December.
An awesome trapeze guy I saw while walking through the centre of town. (Sorry, "center" doesn't look correct to me anymore.)
The bookshop. Truly not just any book shop, it's THE bookshop.
One of the numerous streets I walked on to get to Primark, a.k.a. Shoe Heaven. I took this picture to illustrate how stately and gorgeous the shopping part of Oxford is. More to come! I had a fun night out last night, and took pictures galore.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
A Strange Realization
I woke up this morning, took a shower, got dressed, and thought "What's going on? Something is weird." I couldn't figure it out for a few minutes.
Then it hit me. I haven't blown my nose at all this morning. Same with yesterday morning. Same with the morning before that. And the past two mornings, I've forgotten to take any allergy medication. I still haven't had any symptoms: No runny nose, no congestion, no itchy eyes. It's gone, all of it.
I guess it's England. England doesn't have the plants that make me go crazy. I literally rolled around in a field here, petting a puppy, and still didn't ONCE have any sniffles. Unbelievable! I mean, I was face-against-the-grass, surrounded by trees, and I could breathe. That was definitely not the case in France and Italy - I don't think I stopped sneezing in Rome.
Halle-fricking-lujah!
Then it hit me. I haven't blown my nose at all this morning. Same with yesterday morning. Same with the morning before that. And the past two mornings, I've forgotten to take any allergy medication. I still haven't had any symptoms: No runny nose, no congestion, no itchy eyes. It's gone, all of it.
I guess it's England. England doesn't have the plants that make me go crazy. I literally rolled around in a field here, petting a puppy, and still didn't ONCE have any sniffles. Unbelievable! I mean, I was face-against-the-grass, surrounded by trees, and I could breathe. That was definitely not the case in France and Italy - I don't think I stopped sneezing in Rome.
Halle-fricking-lujah!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Seminar #2
I had my second seminar today, from 5 to 7 p.m. Don't really know how I felt about it. The teacher was, physically, just like Bilbo Baggins, so I think from now on I'll refer to him here as Mr. Baggins. He seems incredibly well-spoken and lively, so the class is certainly not dull. On the other hand, there were some tense moments.
For instance, at one point he asked us to give a Marxist definition of class, and when our answers weren't to his satisfaction, he was downright incredulous. All he could do was sputter "They don't teach you much, do they? This is basic stuff!" He has that cutting, brutal way of speaking that only an aged British professor can fully possess, too. What are we supposed to do about the fact that American high schools spend so much time on the SATs that they neglect to make us read the most fundamental texts sometimes?
At another point, he asked why the English population was changing the way it was in 1650, and someone answered "plague." He rolled his eyes and said "It's always the damn plague with Americans. So sensationalized. Don't they tell you about anything other than plague?" It was maddening, and I for one felt quite helpless; I WANTED to give him the right answer, but couldn't. I'm one of those people who's desperate to answer questions in class correctly, I'm afraid. I always empathize so much with Hermione when I read Harry Potter!
Later in the class, he took out the packet he'd assigned us to read for today, and began to quote a passage. He mentioned the author and the page number he was referring to, but when he noticed that several of us hadn't yet found the correct page, he barked "Come on now, you've got to be quicker! Go to the section by Wilson. You should all know where Wilson is. Where is Wilson?" His voice got so intense and frightening that those of us who were still searching started ripping through the packet frantically. I was beet red by the time I found the Wilson passage.
He was also a little scolding when people asked him certain questions. I grant you, it was justified. People were asking questions that would've been answered for them in the syllabus. But still, it made people tentative. It's hard not to be intimidated when your teacher slams you down for asking a question on the first day of class, even if the question was a bit silly.
I think that as much as we're frustrated with him, he's frustrated with us. I can understand a professor who's accustomed to Oxford-caliber pupils being confounded at the idea of students not knowing basic facts about Marxism. We're more relaxed, but in his world education is deadly serious. Something tells me this is the first taste of what Oxford professors are REALLY like, and the young man who taught my other seminar was just being inordinately gentle with us!
Grumpy Mr. Baggins is the sort of teacher I'll probably be glad to have had in the long run, though. No doubt he'll give blunt criticism on any papers I produce for him, and I really appreciate the fact that he demands eloquence from his students. He was whip-quick to snap at someone for using vague, common words instead of more precise, lesser-known language.
For instance, at one point he asked us to give a Marxist definition of class, and when our answers weren't to his satisfaction, he was downright incredulous. All he could do was sputter "They don't teach you much, do they? This is basic stuff!" He has that cutting, brutal way of speaking that only an aged British professor can fully possess, too. What are we supposed to do about the fact that American high schools spend so much time on the SATs that they neglect to make us read the most fundamental texts sometimes?
At another point, he asked why the English population was changing the way it was in 1650, and someone answered "plague." He rolled his eyes and said "It's always the damn plague with Americans. So sensationalized. Don't they tell you about anything other than plague?" It was maddening, and I for one felt quite helpless; I WANTED to give him the right answer, but couldn't. I'm one of those people who's desperate to answer questions in class correctly, I'm afraid. I always empathize so much with Hermione when I read Harry Potter!
Later in the class, he took out the packet he'd assigned us to read for today, and began to quote a passage. He mentioned the author and the page number he was referring to, but when he noticed that several of us hadn't yet found the correct page, he barked "Come on now, you've got to be quicker! Go to the section by Wilson. You should all know where Wilson is. Where is Wilson?" His voice got so intense and frightening that those of us who were still searching started ripping through the packet frantically. I was beet red by the time I found the Wilson passage.
He was also a little scolding when people asked him certain questions. I grant you, it was justified. People were asking questions that would've been answered for them in the syllabus. But still, it made people tentative. It's hard not to be intimidated when your teacher slams you down for asking a question on the first day of class, even if the question was a bit silly.
I think that as much as we're frustrated with him, he's frustrated with us. I can understand a professor who's accustomed to Oxford-caliber pupils being confounded at the idea of students not knowing basic facts about Marxism. We're more relaxed, but in his world education is deadly serious. Something tells me this is the first taste of what Oxford professors are REALLY like, and the young man who taught my other seminar was just being inordinately gentle with us!
Grumpy Mr. Baggins is the sort of teacher I'll probably be glad to have had in the long run, though. No doubt he'll give blunt criticism on any papers I produce for him, and I really appreciate the fact that he demands eloquence from his students. He was whip-quick to snap at someone for using vague, common words instead of more precise, lesser-known language.
First Meal at Keble, Part Deux (A.K.A. I officially eat at Hogwarts)
And ta-da, the Hall! I don't think it needs much explanation, you can see for yourself how gorgeous it is. All it needs is an enchanted ceiling to match the one from Harry Potter.
The lights at all the tables. The way it works is, you book meals online, then come to Hall and grab little tabs that say "Vegan" or "No Nuts" or whatever your dietary preference is, then you have a seat and put the tab down. Someone comes, takes the tab, and brings you your food. When you're done they whisk away your plate and bring you the next course. The vegetarian option that night was pretty good, if simple: Tofu grill with potatoes and cooked carrots. Dessert was stupendous, a choice of chocolate pudding cake or lemon cake.
All of us enjoying our meal. After dinner was finished, one of the staff came by and said "Have you been to the Keble Bar? And if not, why not?" So off we went to find the bar. It turned out to be in the coolest building, wish I had a picture of the outside.
Inside of the bar.
Bartender telling us what's best to order. Neither Desiree nor Jordan cared for the beer, but I thought it was all right (just had a sip of Jordan's). We ended up going to a pub that night, but in the end I needed to get back fairly early so that I could read. Academics come first, you know!
First Meal at Keble!
Getting to the Keble Dining Hall was kind of an adventure. Here's how it went down: First, we went down Banbury Road toward the center of town, turned left on Parks as we were supposed to, curved around to the right, and eventually came upon Keble Road. Have to be close to Keble Dining Hall if you're on Keble Road, right?
Wrong. We had no idea where to go next, so we just stood there going "Holy crap, that's the outside of our school!" and frantically taking pictures. An exasperated Brit eventually took pity on us and lead us inside the quad.
Once we were inside, we took even MORE pictures, and were in total awe that that's our school chapel right there. It's so pretty that it might drive even me to start going to church....
I figured out the self-timer button on my camera and showed Gloria how to work hers, so we got a couple shots of us in the Keble quad.
When we finally decided to go in and eat, we got directed to this door, which leads right to the sign-in sheet for dinner....Birthday Dinner Pics (plus my first seminar)
So, on Monday night people absolutely insisted on taking me out for my birthday. We went to Primark (cheap British department store) and found a tiara for 3 pounds, went to Ben's for cookies, and settled on a place called Bella Italia for dinner. I got a sauceless pizza...mmm, even though I can now tolerate tomato sauce, I still think pizza is so much better without it! I got some crazy dessert called "The Godfather." When it came out it had a sparkler in it and everyone burst into Happy Birthday. It was all-around awesome.
Then yesterday, I had my first seminar. The teacher was young and sweet, very relaxed. It wasn't nearly as intimidating as I thought it would be. He divided the class into two groups, and had each group go off and discuss a question that he gave about the reading. He told us that every class will be formatted the same way. For the first class we'd read Utopia, which I like quite a lot (short, easy to get through), but for Friday we have to read both Shakespeare's Richard II and Spenser's Edward II - yikes! Good thing I got going on those two plays before I even left the U.S.
Oh, and I went grocery shopping with Megan. On the walk over to the store we had an involved conversation about chocolate, which resulted in me not being able to resist buying a Kinder Egg when we reached our destination. Thanks, Megan...thanks a lot! Now the addiction to Kinder Egg chocolate that I've battled against ALL MY LIFE is back with a rage, and it's totally your fault!
There are also lots of Kit Kat bars here. This could get ugly.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Birthday Tomorrow!
My birthday is tomorrow, and people have been asking what I'd like. Well, the answer is, a cookie cake from Ben's! That place is amazing. If ever anyone who's reading this wants to go to Oxford some day, then I have to tell you that every single person on the trip with me recommends Ben's, a cookie shop in the Westgate Shopping Centre, because it serves the thickest, most delicious cookies in the world. We're all irredeemably addicted at this point.
What else would I like? To travel, of course. A few of us were musing at the kitchen table tonight, and I threw out Wales as a possible destination point. Elizabeth suggested Ireland and Manchester. Megan, one of my roomies, suggested Stonehenge. We decided that we need to go to a football (sorry, can't call it soccer) match. We're all really itching to go places, but at the same time we need to get on with our studies and make that our priority...sigh.
I will ride horses at some point, though! I don't care if it's polo or just a hack around the country, or even a damn foxhunt, I need to get on a horse. Seeing all these horses in the countryside makes me miss my mare. Elizabeth goes on foxhunts all the time, so if I do end up going on a hunt - it would have to a bloodless drag one, since the real kind is banned here, and since I don't really want to watch a fox get ripped to pieces - I'll tag along with her and she can show me the ropes. She says it's great fun, you pretty much just pray the horse knows what he's doing and don't get in his way over the scary immovable jumps (i.e. stone wall fencelines and ditches!). Am I a good enough rider to come along on a truly fast-paced hunt? Probably not, but I could maybe hang around the back of the group on an old plodder who'd take care of me or something. Or just tell them I'm the next Beezie Madden and pretend that I know what I'm doing....
What else would I like? To travel, of course. A few of us were musing at the kitchen table tonight, and I threw out Wales as a possible destination point. Elizabeth suggested Ireland and Manchester. Megan, one of my roomies, suggested Stonehenge. We decided that we need to go to a football (sorry, can't call it soccer) match. We're all really itching to go places, but at the same time we need to get on with our studies and make that our priority...sigh.
I will ride horses at some point, though! I don't care if it's polo or just a hack around the country, or even a damn foxhunt, I need to get on a horse. Seeing all these horses in the countryside makes me miss my mare. Elizabeth goes on foxhunts all the time, so if I do end up going on a hunt - it would have to a bloodless drag one, since the real kind is banned here, and since I don't really want to watch a fox get ripped to pieces - I'll tag along with her and she can show me the ropes. She says it's great fun, you pretty much just pray the horse knows what he's doing and don't get in his way over the scary immovable jumps (i.e. stone wall fencelines and ditches!). Am I a good enough rider to come along on a truly fast-paced hunt? Probably not, but I could maybe hang around the back of the group on an old plodder who'd take care of me or something. Or just tell them I'm the next Beezie Madden and pretend that I know what I'm doing....
Eyam Excursion Picture Post #5
Greta told us to take a picture of her looking heroically off into the distance. So after we did, Mallory and I thought, Hey...
...We want to do that too!
Some parts of the hike were treacherous. Like this part, where we had to go through nettles and I got pricked by one of the bastards.
More pastoral-view goodness.
Horsie! He's shifted his sheet all around, probably rolling in that delicious expanse of grass. Eyam Excursion Picture Post #4
More idyllic countryside.
This is Flora, the wiggly Bedlington Terrier puppy. Her owners were having lunch out on the hills, and they shouted "Do you mind if she comes and says hullo?" over at us, so of course we said NO, we do not mind! We all have little fluffballs at home waiting for us to come back, mind you, so we're heartsick over our dogs and were eager to pet one. Flora was unbelievably soft.
Mallory and Flora. What a perfect name for that dog! It sounded even cuter when said by her British mum and dad. "Come 'ere, Flor-a!"
Yeah, I took a picture of people taking pictures. There was a lot of it going on, I wanted to capture the spirit of the day!
The cute British couple that owned Flora.
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