from O.Fr. 'enjoir'

I'm enjoying many things right now. The task is to get them in the right order. Hamlet's amazing. Lucretius is amazing. During reading, I enjoy this website a lot. After reading, the music on my computer is amazing (when I get to it). This weekend, I get to go enjoy London (I leave for that at 1:30 today). Maybe I'm just in a good mood this morning, or maybe this trip was a great idea. Who's was it, anyway?

Five O'Clock Fireworks?

I'm in my room reading, and for the last several minutes there has been a volley of pops from somewhere in the distance. In this country you can pretty quickly rule out 'gun battle' as a possibility, but it may be fireworks. I can't see them, but I guess that's what it could be, since it's been night-dark here since five o'clock or so.
It's finally cold too. I bought a jacket at Oxfam today for 7 lbs.
This weekend is London weekend, when we get Mexican food, go on a boat cruise down the Thames, and I maybe get to see the Globe Theatre (WHO'S EXCITED?).

Man At Work

I've been in the garage.
I've been in my office.
I've been at the drawing-board.
If I disappear for a few days, it's probably because I am working on a paper or doing lots of reading in preparation for a paper. Such was the case the last few days. A few of you were worried, most of you weren't. But just to prove it, I've posted the paper below. Like I said, don't be stealing my ideas and working ahead of me. Don't do it.
I'm always kind of torn between an excitement to share my thoughts on a thing, and the academic fear that someone else will think I'm right and claim my ideas before I can. So, don't do it, but here it is. Also, I think, by posting this in a blog, it's copyrighted to me, or by me, tacitly. So don't do it.
But read it, it's good.

The Dog Days of Fall

Our weekend in Gloucester started out nice enough. Upon arrival in the Tesco parking lot, we piled out of the bus into the hands of a group of old ladies. It turned out the information we had been given about who we were to stay with was all wrong. My roommate Will and I had the same host, and she had a third from our program as well, one Asad. Our host was Pam, mother of several married children and adopted mother (after the others left, presumably) of one, and professional student host. In fact, there was another student in the house, a German guy, who is staying there for ten months and studying in Gloucester. The upstairs rooms in which we stayed had proscriptions posted specifically for students, and had four beds in two very small rooms. Pam had us write our names and contact info in a binder about three-quarters full of other people’s names and contact info. She said it was her second such binder.

The ground floor of the house (remember, it’s England, so we slept on the ‘first’ floor) was a different story. It was just like a single family house...full of images of German Shepherds. Pam and her husband have two real (big) dogs of this variety, and shelf upon shelf of ceramic, bronze, china, and wood statues of them. And also decorative ceramic plates featuring German Shepherds. And also photographs of their current and past pet German Shepherds. I don’t think our hosts are crazy sick lunatics, I’m just saying there was a theme. A strong theme.

The real dogs were great though. And they live like kings. Maybe you could have guessed that.

Before I came to England, a bunch of people warned me about British food: I’d gain so much weight, they said, It’s heavy stuff, they said. Well, at Hall in college, it’s a pretty international menu, so I sort of brushed off those warnings. But this weekend was truly a chance to see an English house, beginning with a discovery of the veracity of those warnings. Our first meal (dinner, since we arrived around 7:45) was a fried egg, chips (fries), and a breakfast link. That was rumbling around in me for the next few hours, while we watched American crime drama on TV.

One observation about TV: The series of shows we watched that night was sponsored by Kia. I know this because there were ten-second commercial spots before and after show segments, presumably advertising a Kia SUV, in which a real version of this car was placed in a sparely animated world and made a participant in crimes committed by outlines of people. Some had brief gun battles using the car as their barrier, one was holding on to the top of the car as it careened down the street, one was lying flat on the ground in front of it as others got out to check on him—I hesitate to remember that one tried to steal it, but that would make about as much sense as the rest. These very short spots did not make Kias seem very safe, in other words.

It was early-to-rise the next morning, in order that we might meet the rest of the hosted students back in the Tesco car park to begin a long day of ped-powered sight-seeing. We started with the Gloucester Cathedral, a very old and truly impressive piece of Norman, then Gothic architecture. [They said come back later; we hit this other, forgettable ‘folk’ museum quickly; we went back to the cathedral.] We toured it for a good hour with a guide who showed us the architectural pointers we wouldn’t have otherwise seen (it’s one of those buildings that was built once, then another part was built, then part of it fell down so another part was built, so it represents four successive stages of building technology, all impressive, all in one place), told us how part of Harry Potter was filmed there (but they used mostly constructed stages within it), told us about dead kings (one’s maybe buried there, one was crowned there), and showed us the crypt. That was all pretty cool, I took some pictures.

Then we went to...I’m not sure what it was called. It was kind of like a Renaissance fair for pirate-lovers, located at the historic Gloucester (don’t forget: “Gloster”) docks. I had been promised some Pirates of the Caribbean stuff, like Johnny Depp look-a-likes and a copy of a ship used in the movie. There for sure wasn’t any of that stuff, only a pretty weak ‘pirate ship’ that you could stand on if you waited in a long line in the wind. I didn’t wait.

At this point, our sixteen year-old tour guide deserted us. So we had four hours to spend in Gloucester before we were picked up again in the Tesco car park. A few of us went a-walking, first through a nearby mall where we bought some candy, then (after a hungrily-terse debate about where) to eat real food, then around the waters of Gloucester (mostly the canal), then back to the cathedral. We walked around the great big building then, and it’s amazing from every angle, but especially the back. Some people (maybe cathedral employees?) were drinking a forty near where we sat.

Then it was back to the doghouse for another heavy meal* (but I forget what—not another fried egg) and a night of studying. Sunday, a crumpet for breakfast (!), more studying, and another heavy meal, and then back here to report. I’ve got pictures, but they’re a hassle to upload from my computer. This also explains the backlog of other pictures I have. This week I’ll put ‘em all up, I promise.

*A heavy meal with tea is heavy metal.

Family Weekend

This weekend is the "family stay," when many of the kids from my program, including myself, are scattered among families in Gloucester ("Gloster"). I don't know what to predict, but I have to go buy some host-gift. I've only been given a few words about my host: A woman with five married children who's interested in reading, television, gardening, and vacation. Huh.
We leave for that at six this evening.

Secondary Tutorial

I burned the midnight oil last night assembling my thoughts on Hamlet. It was great fun for me, although I know S'peare isn't everyone's cuppa. (I know some of you might be wondering what translation I used.) I came up with a strong theme to read by, and my tutor enjoyed talking about it great deal. This session was quite different than my primary.
Best of all, I get the chance to continue reading Hamlet. This time, I'll read it together with The Tempest and Macbeth (see if you can guess how those all connect).
That all said, I won't post the "embryonic" essay I wrote last night. I'll make it much better and post the new one in two weeks. Can you wait that long?

Three Followers!

No way!

First paper

Posted below this entry is my first paper for my primary tutorial, on Lucretius. For the first session, I was not assigned any reading from De Rerum Natura, but instead secondary literature about it and Lucretius's life. I tried to make this paper more than a survey of the surveys that I read, by wrestling, as best I could, with those authors and their points. My tutor seemed surprised by what I had written--past that, I couldn't really read her reaction. She spoke for 85% of the session about topics only 20% relevant to my paper--thus, it seemed like what she had planned to talk about was not what I had addressed. Hopefully she will engage me more next time.

British Baseball

I am beat.

This weekend was the Nottingham baseball tournament, a five-school, school-organized series of games played in Nottingham. Our team, the Oxford Kings, took three out of four games, each by pretty large margins. I caught three of the games, and pitched the fourth (except for the final outs). So now I’m beat.

British baseball is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. The translation, I suppose, would be a very small group of American boys avoiding football, baseball, and every other national sport, in favor of cricket. Weird, right? I doubt there is such a thing. I would have doubted British baseball as well, had I not seen it. These guys all follow the MLB, even though games are only broadcast two days a week at two in the morning. One Nottingham boy (that’s how the Brits refer to team members) told me he “pretty much eats, drinks, and breathes baseball”--remember, in England! That same dedication—or maybe addiction—was evident in most of our opponents, and in the two Brits on our team. However, it seems like they learned the sport by watching it two days a week at two in the morning. There is little general understanding of mechanics, least of all in their pitchers. In this league (and how many more can there be?) there are, as far as I could tell, no coaches. And no umpires. And no diamonds. Where these guys found proper bats and mitts is beyond me.

But gosh is there spirit.

As I mentioned, our team had only two Brits. There were additionally four Canadians (an odd lot, despite being four) and at first four, then three, Americans (one went home on Saturday). As the least English team, we were heavily the favorites to win the tournament. Saturday especially, when all four Americans were present and not sore, the games felt a little unfair. In our second game, our American pitcher no-hit the Brits. Their pitching, by comparison, was batting practice. In fact, similar to the White Sox’s trouble with knuckleballers, we weren’t way-too-overly successful against the slowest pitcher because he threw too slow. We also didn’t see too many strikes.

I can’t remember the scores now. The first game was something like 14-[something low], and the second was 11-1 (I think we might have scored more). The third game, Sunday’s first, was a terrible game on all sides, but more so on ours. The umpire was bad (he was a member of another team, with little consistency, thus little credibility, thus little confidence), the other team’s attitude was bad, and our fielding hemorrhaged runs during the second inning. We came back to within two, losing 14-12 (I know, I know). The fourth game was...I lost count of our runs. Maybe 14-4? Something like that. I gave up three runs in the first, as I found the strike zone and my release point. One more scored on a very confusing play in the final inning, and he was my runner. (Sorting out that play was a bit of a mess, but us Americans did the bulk of it--in fact, a Brit standing near me, after I explained the play to him, said, "Well, don't ask me, I don't know the rules." I think he was a new recruit.)

We suffered badly from the elements, one that I don’t think I’ve ever faced before this: Wind. The two diamonds were chalked out on a four-square of football pitches, next to a tilled corn field. That is to say: There were no natural or artificial barriers anywhere near us. No dugouts. No walls. No corn. So there was, for all four games, a constant—CONSTANT—biting wind out of the west. It put me on edge and off balance. It carried fly balls god-knows-where. It stiffened arms and legs, deafened ears, and generally readjusted gravity on the fields. Bloody awful.

Anyway, I’ll have a few pictures of this event soon. One of the Canadians brought a camera. I took a few pictures of Nottingham city center Sunday morning, including a mandatory shot of Man Ho Restaurant, which sold Chinese food before it closed.

I love me, I love me Nottingham

So, I wasn't sure if this baseball thing was gonna happen, but indeed it is. If I wake up in time tomorrow (and I plan to), I'll be off to Nottingham for a brief baseball tournament with the Oxford Kings. We play a few games Saturday, a few games Sunday. I might catch (fingers crossed!). We had batting practice tonight. You won't read an update here for two days.
Live your own life for awhile!

A Merry Romp

A quick note about my most recent adventure: Today I went to a lecture about Lucretius, on recommendation of my primary tutor. It was a smaller room than the Logic lecture, and a smaller crowd. But who was there really didn't matter. The lecturer, a woman, began talking (it appeared she was reading a paper she had written) very quickly, mixing Latin, Greek, and British together in an overwhelming rush of words, while the rest of us in the room tried to follow a hand-out she had given us. She said twice, during the course of the hour, that she would now take us on a "merry romp" through some dense, classical subject, and that's pretty much how the whole hour felt--a merry romp through the first 150 lines of De Rerum Natura (which she calls "the DRN") and some assorted criticism of those lines.

For my primary tutorial, I have been assigned four readings that do much the same thing (ie, gloss the criticism). So I'm not reading the DRN, but I'm reading about it. It's having much the same effect as keeping a dog on a leash within sight and noseshot of his dinner. But I'm practicing patience, and I think my first paper will be about (and maybe even titled) preparing to read Lucretius.

But now I'm off to Shakespeare's Denmark.

All the Little Stuff

Here's the thing I forgot earlier: I was in a very long line at Sainsbury's, getting biscuits (cookies) and bananas. The line backed up along the dairy and juice coolers along the wall, so I had ample time to inspect their selection in this area. The orange juice caught my attention. You can buy two kinds of orange juice: One "with juicy bits," and one with "no bits." Seriously (not pulp fiction).
These little terminological differences always get me. Another one that I noticed at a restaurant in London: We were drinking (probably expensive) mineral water that was "delightfully still."

Not Patrick Stewart

So much for exciting stuff not happening everyday—Week 1 (since last week was 0) started off famously. That is to say, I met Kevin Spacey. Okay, let me back up.

As I may have forgotten to write about before, I finally made it to Hall (dinner). It’s a three-course affair on long tables with ambiance. The Master and some assorted other faculty sit at the head table, and upon their entrance, all students stand and await the benediction (the Master bangs the gavel and says, “Benedictus benedictum,” I think). Waiters, who are mostly student workers, bring the courses and whisk away the empty plates.

They post the week’s menu outside the Hall, so you can skip the meals you don’t like or queue up early for your favorites. On Monday, I was checking the menu and thinking to myself, I don’t really want that, maybe I’ll duck out for kebabs. But I overheard some Brits saying that Kevin Spacey (who is a visiting lecturer at St. Catz this year—last year it was Patrick Stewart) would be joining us for dinner, and they would be serving wine to the students. Having that story, regardless of what ‘beef daube’ was, I figured would be worth it.

I was early, so I sat quite at the front of one of the tables with some other Americans I knew. All the places filled up, and everyone soon knew who our guest of honor would be. We waited and waited, heads constantly turning toward the door, checking the activity of the wait staff, watching the suits move around. Waited, waited, waited.

Finally, about ten minutes late, the whole room stood up suddenly, in unison, and there was silence as people peered over each other to glimpse the Master and Mr. Spacey walking to the head table. The actor said a few words before the benediction, and we all sat down and waited to be served. But as the macaroni was going around the table, here I am dumping some on my plate, some on the table, picking it from the table to my plate, here’s activity behind me and a hand on my back. It’s Kevin Spacey, come to work the crowd. The English girls sitting next to me were too something to speak, but I and the other American boys got some banter going. He seemed relieved to hear our accent. We talked, he walked away. The English girls looked a little spacey after that.

Anyway, that’s the story of how I met Kevin Spacey. Really, Patrick Stewart would have been WAY cooler. Other interesting stuff happened too.

For instance, I went to my first Oxford lecture on Monday too, Introduction to Logic. I haven’t taken Logic yet at regular school, so I need to take it next semester, so I thought this would be a nice headstart. It probably will be. I realized when I arrived in the lecture hall that, gosh, there are other students of Oxford than just those at St. Catz. Some bad smelling ones too. The hall was big, with a big projector screen and a German guy with a mic, and about thirty people who each had a cough.

I also went to my first crew practice on the River Isis. It was a novice training session, but I think as many times as I say, I’ve done this before, they’ll still put me in the novice boat. That’s fine. They seemed at least a little glad to have one steadier oar in the bow. And the cox-box (microphone used by coxswain to give instructions) wasn’t working, a la my high school crew days.

At the Fresher’s Fair, I gave my name to the Oxford Kings Baseball Club, who are playing a tournament this weekend. Of all the sport clubs at Oxford, this is probably the scrappiest. We have our first (of only two) practices tomorrow, and today I got an email requesting former players to pool their mitts and uniforms so there are enough to go around. (Whereas the St. Catz rowing club definitely has its own boathouse with about eight boats. That’s eight more than we had at my high school, and infinitely more boathouse.) After baseball practice, I’m going to try to make the sign-up session with the Walking (read: easy hiking) Club.

Where’s all the work I promised? It’s there. Yesterday I met my primary tutor, who suppressed her disappointment that I don’t speak Latin, and tonight she emailed me my first reading list, which are a few books about Lucretius’ life and times. I’m still reading Hamlet (I’m aiming to read it twice before I start writing a paper and turning to secondary information about Tragedy). And I think I have time for all of this.

There was something else I meant to write about too—when I remember, there it’ll be.

Comparison

If you want some idea of just how much traffic the JCR bar gets: The bathroom just outside the bar has a trough-type urinal, the like of which I've only seen in one other place--Wrigley Field.

More Stuff That Happened and Stuff

I guess it works better to let a few days worth of events happen, and then write about the best stuff, rather than expect noteworthy (or blogworthy) things to happen every day.

I met one of my tutors, one Professor Clarke, who will work with me on my secondary tutorial, Tragedy. It was officially a choice between that and Shakespeare, so we decided to cut it both ways and start with Hamlet, basically the most famous tragedy ever written. This way, too, it’s not waiting for us. I’ve never properly studied Hamlet, so I’m REALLY excited. I started reading it today, and I think I’ll hit the play (or, I’ll play) when I’m through with this. The campus library is open till midnight. That’s a half-hour later than the campus bar.

The bar really is the center of things here. Last night was the first Entz (the Catz short form of ‘entertainment’), and we had to dress up as something that started with the first letter of our name. I really hate costume parties, and they’re particularly hard when one is in a new town in a foreign country with a bad exchange rate. All that may still not excuse my costume, which was a paper cut-out of a target. I was dressed as “aim.” Initially, this was an Aristotelian costume concept (I liked it a lot when I thought of it), but that certainly was not conveyed by my piece of paper and pin. Still, I was better served by that than going as “absent” (i.e. not going), because the party was nuts. The English went all-out with their costumes. One guy was dressed as a sandwich, with real pieces of bread, lettuce, and lunchmeat taped to him. Actually, that was gross.

The bar is also the stepping stone to Oxfordtown nightlife. They have clubs here in addition to pubs. I resisted going to clubs for a few days, since I have never found them to be my kind of scene. Boy was I right. I went a few days ago to Escape, and it was, as I said, not my scene. One major problem is that the beat of dance music (so far as I can tell, there is only one beat—thunk thunk thunk thunk) does not compel me to dance. I’ve been spoiled by mixmasters who are jazz and funk drummers by profession, like Madlib and The Apple Juice Kid.

It’s not all parties here, even though my reports may make it seem that way. I went to an introduction to crew yesterday as well. Oxford is traditionally as serious about this as about costumes. They have a room, the “tank,” in which a concrete imitation-boat is mounted in what would otherwise be a swimming pool. Real oars (with holes in their blades) in real oarlocks, mounted next to real sliding seats, allow novices to get the feel for live rowing without the danger of capsizing a real boat. From my experience with my high school crew, I know how to execute a full stroke, but it was good to learn their lingo, which is of course different from ours (I should have seen that coming). I don’t know what the next step is towards the water of the Isis (Oxford’s piece of the Thames), but I’ll probably find out this week.

I also signed up for the St. Catz pool (billiards) club at Friday’s Clubs and Societies gathering, but I have not heard from them. I joined mostly in order to find the real pool tables around here. There are two tables in the JCR bar, but they are the smallest size of table, and the balls and cues are smaller. I played one game there, and it felt like playing with toys. Completely different physics than full-size pool.

I might stumble upon a real table before they direct me, as I’ve done as much stumbling as I can this week. Tonight, I set out to find Noodlebar, listed in the Oxford handbook as a cheap Asian restaurant in a place I had not been before. I consulted a map prior to departure, but despite this, couldn’t find it for an hour. All the better, since I found places I wasn’t looking for. One convenience store, selling fresh fruit and vegetables outside, sold me a carrot for 7p (pence). I passed a number of restaurants that were more interesting (I discovered) than my destination, but I soldiered on through their crooked streets.

The neighborhoods here are actually—I never thought I’d catch myself saying this—charming. I have yet to see anything garish. The houses are all fairly small, with small cars parked all around, and many properties really have hedges. It’s an amazing tapestry of ancient and just-kinda-old, and it’s all very close-built. I’d like to find a real architectural tour of the place, I’m sure they offer that here.

I eventually found the square I was searching for, and Noodlebar. I guess it’s a chain in this country. But it was cheap Asian food, and excellent noodles.

All this wandering might be cut short if the beautiful weather ever breaks here. We’ve had five divine days, during which the nights haven’t even been as frigid as they were initially. I’m not betting on much more of it.

Tomorrow I meet my primary tutor. Then the work really starts.

Sure Shots

Here are some pictures, captions following. Next time I'll make them bigger, yeah? But for now, click to enlarge.

Here's me upon takeoff. Do I look nervous?

Here's a picture I took for Jackie. I tried so hard to get one of these damn buses in it.

I went to the British Museum, this is only the outside, and that's the least important or interesting part.

This is a Greek rendering of Sunrise (old dude in his chariot, pulling the sun) over the all-night banquet (Dionysus of the wine), an amazing thing, and certainly never constructed in Britain.

The man himself.

Another ancient monolith on display.

In England, even the dogs play football (soccer).

I was obviously amazed by this, and aren't you?

Continue to be amazed.

Continue.

A generic picture of St. Catz, of our "moat."

One side of the "staircase" dorms.

The quad, left.

The quad, right.

An English lightswitch (all of them, as far as I can tell, are like this).

Echoes

I've heard a few bizarre echoes from America in unexpected places. In the pub I was taken to by my college parents, Rapper's Delight (1979) was playing. In the JCR, twice I have heard The Message (1982). These rap classics are thrown in with everything else here.

Keep An Eye

I'll keep my cash and watch this number closely as America sends ripples through international economies. If you didn't know, the UK is facing similar bank problems.

Candy

I went to Sainsbury's today to stock up on some snacks. Most of the things I got are uninspiring, but their candy selection is worth its own blog. I bought something called Planets, by Mars Co., which is a mixed bag of "milk chocolate with assorted centres," being two kinds of malt filling, I think, and a caramel-filled one. Delicious. They also have dark chocolate Kit-Kat bars (my mom would love these), and a long list of other things I haven't tried yet.
If you're nice to me, maybe I'll send or bring some candy back to the States. Also, on a related note, feel free to email my regular address (lostdog) with comments, questions, or stories of your own, instead of feeling held back by the requirement to register on blogger in order to leave comments. I don't check the address listed for this blog (I made a gmail account in order to have this).
I also bought a St. Catz hat today, to keep my head toasty on these frigid nights and mornings. So don't anybody send me hats.

Let's Catch Up Some More

As soon as I get this out of the way, we can finally go live.

Monday: This was our only real day of orientation. A brief survey of British culture, presented by two Brits who run this end of the study abroad program, was my first firsthand encounter with this odd, shorter parent of America. Turns out they’re terribly sensible here. If any conservatives read this, forgive me (or is that not something you do?--forgive me for this as well): The Brits are altogether far more liberal than Americans, and, in such a context, voice is given to lots of views, but political discussion is never hung up on the moral and religious contraries that get so much airtime from the conservative media elite that drag on our national debate like a 28K modem. Gay people have equal rights, with no great hullaballoo over tradition. Abortion is legal, and you can get it or not. Hell, there aren’t even really guns here. In this context, as I said, this doesn’t seem extreme, just sensible (says someone agreeable). (More on all this in the weeks and blogs to come.)

Of course, just because there aren’t guns doesn’t mean there isn’t crime. But the classic American facedown, with its mantra of “gimme the loot,” isn’t how they get the loot. They are, as these Brits told us, a light-fingered nation. There is more what we would call ‘petty theft’ in the UK than in any other European country, even those with shifty-eyed Gypsies and Italians. In fact, it might be a slight against the nation to call it ‘petty theft’. It might rather be ‘good old theft’. Anyway, I’ll be watching my stuff closely, and especially using my fingerproof passport pouch. (Who looks dumb now?) An ex-cop who spoke to us suggested we carry ‘dummy wallets’. Good idea, I think.

They spoke about the program too of course, and I got gradually more excited.

After all these lectures, and two meals, I decided to go for a walk. I took Tottenham Court Road one way for awhile, but it got boring, so I turned around and followed it the other way for awhile. In this direction, I discovered Trafalgar Square, the center of London. The architecture in this part of the world is particularly amazing, old, and quirky in its measurements. The streets follow every pattern other than a grid. People on the busy sidewalks walk on the left, which is of course confusing, although I’d walk the streets of London to practice driving them. The whole place is mad, yet it holds tightly together at a breakneck pace. Even an American in a bright orange hat can’t disturb the...I don’t want to say order.

I was back in time to meet the group to see Harold Pinter’s No Man’s Land at the Duke of York Theater, which was only a few steps from the area I had just explored. It was neat, but is I guess what they call ‘post-modernist’, which departs from the rich structure that I prefer (or maybe that makes it post-structuralist—I don’t want to dismiss it, but...eh). The man who played Dumbledore (not the dead one) and the man who played Filch in the Harry Potter movies were two of the four-member cast. So I guess that’s cool. Then it was back to the room, back to bed. I was still sick.

Tuesday: Another nice hotel breakfast, then a bus ride to Oxford. Our driver gave us a running commentary, pointing out what he said was the oldest road in England, predating the Romans. He pointed it out after we drove under its bridge.

We arrived, and it was raining. I should point out that at this point, we had not yet seen the English sun—or maybe a dull glow is the English sun.

I’ll figure out a way to put up pictures of St. Catz, but meantime understand that it is anything but Gothic architecture. I knew this beforehand, but if you’re still thinking, “He’s at the Oxford of olde!” you’re sadly mistaken. I’m not sad though. This campus is fresh and yet def...I’ll put up pictures. It isn’t the ‘farthest thing’ from ye olde Gothic architecture—it’s just down the street at our neighbor, Magdalen (“maudlin”) College. I learned an important little mnemonic for them recently: Magdelen are wankers. St. Catz is too young a college to have any real rivalries with the other colleges, so they just punch the nearest.

I’m in a double, with another member of the Butler program, Will. The dorm is nicer than my old dorm. It has two rooms, one for beds and one for desks and shelves, and also a bathroom. It faces east, so we get a beautiful sunrise over the sports field that backs up against our dorm. There are no screens in the windows, but they do open. It is quite spacious, and no cinderblock.

At any rate, I put my things in the room, but barely had time to see all of it before I was due at the first event on our very full schedule for the week: Tea with the other visiting students. This didn’t do much for me, since, after walking around in the rain, I wasn’t feeling so hot, and certainly not social. I stood there and drank tea. We moved to a different room and heard from some brass about the tutorials, and received sheets listing our tutors and subjects. My primary is Lucretius, my secondary, either Shakespeare or tragedy. I think I’ll choose tragedy, but have yet to hear from my tutor. Another student in the program is doing Lucretius as well, and with the same tutor, so I suppose I’ll confer with her throughout the term.

Then we went to see the JCR, or Junior Common Room. This is the hub of campus, naturally, because here is located the St. Catz bar. No kidding, they have a subsidized bar steps away from the dining Hall, and it’s open late. It has the WEAKEST pool table I’ve ever played on, no kidding there either. The equipment are toys. Magdalen are wankers. We stood in the JCR and waited for our ‘college parents’, upperclassmen assigned to one or two (or in some cases, six) freshers. Matt and Ryan, my two dads, found me and their other adoptee, Danny, from Liverpool. We exchanged hellos and names, and then Ryan said eagerly, “Pub?” And off I went into English pub culture.

A note about this: The English say their system is more sensible because it avoids a binge culture, which America harbors, but these fellows can drink. We passed pleasantries over pints, and then went to catch the end of the line for Hall, but no dice. They were full up. So Dad and Dad rallied us and a few other kept-outs and we went to make a meal in Staircase 1 (the division of living quarters is by Staircases—I’m 5). We scrounged some furniture from an outdoor cafe set-up that must see about two days of use in England’s climate, and put together a very nice affair with pasta and, yes, more booze. Ryan brought wine, Danny brought Budweiser (an import here!), and a pack of Grolsch had been set aside for the official Staircase party (to follow Hall), that our impromptu dinner guests made quick work of. I was warned not to keep pace with the British, and I took this advice to heart. So I guess it isn’t a binge culture, they just drink as often as possible.

Conversation, etc, followed, and I went to bed. I woke up around 3am to find my new roommate in a sad state in the bathroom, so I coached him out of there in two hours’ time. After this, I couldn’t fall back asleep for the life of me, so I caught breakfast with a small crowd of others at 8.15. Did I mention a wonderful fact about English breakfasts? They have decided it is acceptable to eat baked beans for breakfast. A whole new world of beans, in other words! It turns out that morning is when I most want the life-giving legumes. I’ve been asking Brits about it, and one said, “Yes, they’re a staple of bad breakfast food.” I respectfully disagreed with him, and whatever—more for me.

This brings us almost to the present, although Thursday arrived here forty-two minutes ago.

Wednesday: I scoped out a little of Oxford after breakfast, joining forces with another American visitor, Cas or Kas or Kass, I’m not sure. Oddly enough, she is Malaysian. Seems where I find a new school, I find Malaysians. I can’t tell you where we were, because we just followed streets. I’ll take some pictures some time. Narrow lanes full of bicycles mostly, but even Oxford has a local bus system (you see how sensible?).

The big event of the day was the Freshers’ Fair, where us new kids could sign up for University-wide clubs and such. I signed up for a few, more on that in the coming days.

I made another attempt at Hall, and failed again, this time because of plain tardiness. A group of like-failures and I foraged a meal from the downtown fare. It turns out everything here closes really early, perhaps because it gets so cold when the sun sets. I’m developing an intuitive grasp of direction and streets here, even though I don’t know any street names. The English, for the benefit of their horse-drawn coachmen (or so said our bus driver upon arrival), put their street signs on the sides of buildings infrequently, rather than on poles at every intersection (so much for sense).

Anyway, here I am. I’ve caught myself finally. Tomorrow, more exploration, perhaps a run to Sainsbury’s grocery, Blackwell’s books, or another store whose name I forget.

Cheers! (No, I don’t really say that.)

Let's Catch Up

(I wrote this Sunday night. As you may calculate, I did not find an internet cafe the next day.)

Right now, I’m in a room at the St. Giles Hotel in London, where the internet is not free nor cheap, so I’ll have to post this tomorrow, perhaps from an internet cafe rumored to be nearby. Obviously I am safe and sound, although I’m putting that status in jeopardy by staying up to write this. It’s only 8:06 (20:06), but I haven’t slept since Friday night.

I departed my dear parents and Chicago Saturday morning, and had a forgettable flight to Newark. Lots of crying children and slow-moving elderly. Most notably, the combination of pressure changes and sinus clogging made landing painful, and from then until the lift-off of my next flight, my right ear’s hearing was inhibited, as though I had an ear-plug in it.

Newark was neat, not for itself but for its proximity to New York City, where I have never been. I think I saw the Statue of Liberty from the interterminal AirTrain. But who cared, it was all England! England! England!

I spent awhile wandering around Newark Int’l half deaf, looking for the Virgin Atlantic check-in. I found it and a woman with an IFSA name tag; my passport was checked; I stood in line; my passport was checked; I took my boarding pass to security; my passport was checked. Initially, I felt a little silly with my new passport pouch, but it was really useful.

Other students gathered, and we all kind of danced around each other. Someone named Joe asked me if I played basketball (I don’t). He and I talked here and there between check-in and the gate. He studies history.

Security searched my bag on suspicion, I overheard, of “tubes.” Instead, they discovered my bag of carrots.

My ear was still bad, so I really wasn’t social, I admit. Talking felt weird, even the little that I did with Joe. It felt like half of me was talking, and my other half just heard the echo. So, for most of the four-hour layover in Newark, I sat by myself diddling with my computer. There also they tried to charge me for internet use. Oh, they.

But, gee, let’s get to Europe already. So, there was a plane ride on Virgin Airways, six hours about. They gave us all little gift packs with a toothbrush, a single serving of toothpaste, some other small things. They served dinner. My seatmate (only one) was an Italian, not part of the IFSA program, and he ordered white wine with the chick’n’n’rice, so I did the same (after all, he is Italian, he ought to know his wine). During take-off, he took up most of the window with his head, turning to me only to say, “What a great view!”

I watched The Wackness, which is a pretty new movie that I wanted to see in theaters. It’s good—I hesitate to say “very good” because I may have given it more credit for its soundtrack. It is set in New York in 1994 (i.e., B.I.G.). I couldn’t sleep because I wasn’t tired or comfortable. As the movie was ending, the Italian got up to go to the bathroom, so I paused it and looked out the window. We were over the Atlantic at this point, at night. I have never seen stars so bright, not even at Holden. No wonder they used to use them to find direction. I don’t think our plane was using celestial navigation, however.

As soon as we took off, my ears popped right again, but upon landing, they both—both!—found earplugs. Because of the weather, which was very rainy, the plane had to land at some intermediate place, from where we had to take buses to the terminal. That bus ride felt about 20 minutes long. But it was my first inside perspective on British roads. I kept waiting for our bus and the oncoming cars to suddenly switch places, but they never did.

We got our stuff, checked customs no sweat, waited for everyone else to do the same, changed some money, got on a bus to the hotel. That was my first real view of London. Houses here, rather than being designed from the front of the property to the back, are designed to go side-to-side. I wonder what’s behind them. Red lights turn red and yellow before they change to green. London’s big. Their traffic signs, indicating what will happen at the fast-approaching roundabout, are incomprehensible to me.

Evidently no one in the program is studying engineering, because once in the hotel, all of us with all of our luggage filled a very small space and tried to move, which didn’t work for a long time. By now exhausted, I showered and lay down for a few minutes without sleeping, and then went to lunch with three other students. We found pub food.

I walked Oxford street—Europe’s most businessed store strip—with my hotel roommate, who is also named Alex (someone’s joke). Then I skipped over to the British Museum for an hour, only long enough to find it and find some stuff in it and take some pictures. I am pretty sure the things I was passing hurriedly in search of bigger things are all important, famous, old, etc. I’ll go back.

Then the group went out for dinner, which was pretty good, and here I am, writing this thing for an hour and listening to more B.I.G. Now I’m going to bed.

Big Day

Big day. Traveling. Leaving in an hour for O'hare after a quick Jewel run. Will be in England tomorrow morning. Although the day is here, I feel like I'll still never get there. Hope I'm wrong.

Oh My Blog!

This is a travel blog written for the benefit of friends and family as I travel to England. Welcome.