Back in the UK

I’m slowly but surely going to catch up.

I left the blue skies of Monument on the 6^th of January.  By the time we hit Castle Rock, the fog was thick and the flurries were coming.  Cleared up a little by the time we got to Denver, but I did get the surprise of not seeing my flight to Edmonton, Alberta anywhere on the screens.  Talked to the people at the desk to discover it’d been delayed by three hours, meaning I’d miss my connection to Heathrow.  After a long wait and a really nice man’s help, I had to dash to catch my flight to Houston.  Houston was completely non-event.  The plane to Heathrow, though, was AMAZING.  I ended up getting switched to a Continental flight, and they have got the hook-up.  Each seat has a touch screen TV with 300 FREE films to choose from, plus who knows how many TV shows.  I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Good Will Hunting, and The Bourne Ultimatum, plus three episodes of Arrested Development.  PLUS I had a nice chat with the girl next to me, who’s technically American but goes to a British boarding school.  She was cool, and we’re now Facebook friends.  Weird to think that I made a friend my sister’s age… I’ll try not to read too much into that.  The man on the other side of me was British and friendly.  I think he thought we were pretty silly, but whatevs.  Needless to say, I only slept for about thirty minutes.

            At one point I went to the back to stretch my legs and use the bathroom, and there was a guy nursing a drink and… lurking.  He was about 5’6”, potbellied, curly dark hair, stubble, approximate age: 39.  He was listening to his iPod and bobbling his head about.  When I walked up he gave me the ol’ once-over, and then took his free hand and tipped it to his mouth, miming taking a drink.  He accompanied this gesture with a little waggle of the eyebrows and a head-nod in my direction.

            “Huh?” I asked.

            “Drink?” he said.

            “Oh, uh, no. I’m fine, thanks.”

            “Why not?” he asked. Eyebrow waggle.

            “I’m underage.”

            He looked briefly terrified. “Oh really? How old?”

            “Twenty.”

            “Well, you know, it’s, uh, law of the sea.”

            “This is an American plane.  It’s American law.  I’m underage.”

            “No! No! It’s law of the sea. We’re going to England, and it’s legal there.”

            “Whatever.”

            He took a lingering look at my chest region, which was displaying the Regent’s Park crest, and asked, “So, uh, where do you go to school?”

            “Oxford.”  When, oh WHEN, would the bathroom be open? What was taking the occupant so long?  How was I going to escape?

            “Oxford, huh? They got a good debate team?”

            “I don’t know. Probably.”

            “Probably?”

            “Uh, it’s Oxford.”  I tried to let the elitism just drip off my vocal cords.

            “Yeah. Well, law of the sea. Look it up.”

            “Whatever.” I jiggled the door to the bathroom and it sprang open.  Cool.  I’d been chatted up for no reason other than blog fodder.

Part Three: Venice

Venice had the most potential to go horribly wrong, but it was the smoothest part of our trip.  There’s not much to do other than wander, and we had seen just about all of the art our little eyeballs could handle.

We got off the train and were relieved to see Maura waiting for us on the platform.  We caught the shuttle train to the island, and then we had to master the art of vaporettos.  Basically, Venice is a fish-shaped island that has a Grand Canal going down the middle of it.  There are no cars on the island, so to get anywhere you either have to walk or catch a vaporetto—the public transportation boats.  Thankfully, this segment of the journey went perfectly.  We got off at the right stop, and our hostel was right on the water.

We checked in, had minor drama with some woman sleeping in my bed and her stuff sleeping in Annie’s, but luckily they had some beds to spare.  After getting our things all settled, Annie and I went to the bar next door—the only place to get any food nearby.  I had the best grilled ham and cheese of my entire life.

Moods drastically improved, we just lounged around the common area of the hostel, keeping Maura company while she tried to figure out her travel details for her Amsterdam trip.  We sent our parents e-mails, assuring them of our continued existence, and then went to bed.

When Annie and I woke up around 8, Maura was already long gone for the airport.  The two of us had breakfast and then snuck a vaporetto ride to the main part of the island… don’t tell anyone.  St. Mark’s Square was practically deserted, save for a woman or two who insisted on using their bodies as pigeon feeders.  Disgusting.

               More under the jump.

Part Two: Florence

Wednesday morning we got up early to catch a train to Florence.  The ride ended up being about four hours long, since we bought the cheapest tickets possible, and there wasn’t much we could do besides sleep and watch the beautiful Tuscan scenery go by.

            Once in Florence, we meandered our way through the city to our hostel, aided only by our keen sense of direction and a rough map Rick provided.  While our hostel in Rome wasn’t disgusting by any means, this hostel seemed like a palace.  We’ve since learned it’s a more typical hostel—real front desk, real kitchen, Internet access, clean towels, etc.  When we check in they informed us that they upgraded us to a four-person room—meaning a private room just for us.  Once again we were spoiled and free to leave our stuff all over the room—no need to lock it up.

            We went on an excursion to find a restaurant for lunch, and thanks to Rick, we found a place that was so delicious and so cheap.  It felt like a big family dining room—red checkered table cloths, benches, little English spoken.  I had some minestrone soup that was unlike any I’d had before, and the bread was fresh and perfect.

            When we emerged with happy tummies, we were delighted by the beautiful weather.  Absolutely clear skies, and a bright, bright sun making us squint and sweat.  In the weeks of overcast Oxford I had forgotten how shocking the sun can be.  We wandered our way over to the Uffizi Gallery and walked right in.  Apparently lines to enter in the summer can be over two hours long.  Like the Vatican, the Uffizi is a beautified cattle chute—once you’re in, you can’t leave.  But unlike the Vatican, we all stayed together and the crowds weren’t bad at all.

            The days of AP Euro came soaring back to my memory as I gazed upon Botticelli’s Birth of Venus, and an Oxford lecture from only a few weeks before made me sound like an expert on his Primavera.  We stayed in the Botticelli room for a long, long time, resting our aching feet and gazing on the works hanging all around the room.  He’s by far one of my favorite painters, and his style and subjects are so diverse.  These two in particular seemed even more significant in real life, and they were enormous.  Nothing like the 2x3 image in a textbook.
            More under the jump!

Part One: Rome

I've been feeling guilty for a month now, due to my absolute inability to put words to screen in regards to my Christmas break.  I have words on paper; I kept a detailed journal, but I just struggled to find time to get it on here.  So I'm going to give you what I have, and promise you the rest is on its way.  I wrote the following section on Christmas break while I was still actually at home, which just goes to show that this has been a work in progress.  Read about Rome after the jump.

I've been home the night of the 14^th, and I’m going back on the 6^th.  It’s been a glorious break of little brain activity and a lot of sunshine.  I’ve baked a ton of cookies, watched movies and caught up on TV, played games, scrambled the rocks in Garden of the Gods, eaten as much Mexican food as possible, reunited with friends, enjoyed a visit from my grandparents, and generally forgotten that I should be reading Paradise Lost or some Oscar Wilde to prepare for next term.  Oh well.

I did read one book for fun: Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell.  I heartily recommend it to everyone.  Gladwell takes classic examples of success (i.e. the Beatles, Bill Gates, Asians who are good at math, etc.) and picks apart our preconceived notions of what makes someone successful.  I’ll give you a hint—it has little to do with the individual.  It’s a short read, about 285 pages, and Gladwell is a fantastic writer.  I’ve forgotten how good it feels to stay up late reading because I want to—not because I have an assignment due in a matter of hours.

Anyways, I leave the Denver airport around 11am on the 6^th, spend a few hours in Canada (eh), and then land in Heathrow around 9am on the 7^th.  On the afternoon of the 8^th, Teresa, one of my best friends from high school who is spending the year studying in Italy, is coming into Oxford.  And the early on the morning of the 9^th, we’re going to Edinburgh, Scotland!  We’re going to see some castle-seeing, and we’re hoping to meet up with a girl who’s friends with my friend Jessi.  It should be a lot more relaxed trip than Italy was—definitely more vacation-y, and I’m really looking forward to it!

In any event, I’ll be back at the grindstone too soon, so I’ll give you the lowdown on Italy while it’s still freshish in my mind.  Luckily I kept a journal, so hopefully I won’t miss anything too important.  It’s under the jump!

Coming attractions

I am currently sitting in my living room in Monument, Colorado.  It's so great to be home.  When I regain my strength and normal brain function capacity, I'll tell you all about the end of the term and my week-long trek across Italy.

Until then, enjoy these albums:

Here for the Christmas bop
And here for Italy

From the archives...

Today I really miss Jewell.  It's Hanging of the Green in Chapel, which means Christmastime at Jewell has officially begun.

I used to be a part of a collaborative blog that has since fizzled, but click here to read the post I wrote after my first Christmas experience at Jewell two years ago.
______________________

Tonight, in honor of Hanging of the Green, I tried to go to a carol service in the Sheldonian Theater.  I had to go straight from tutorial, and entered the building by myself.  I scanned the sea of faces for anyone familiar, but to no avail.  I made my way to a seat, awkwardly perched in between two large groups of friends, and willed myself to be invisible.  The band started playing, the smiles grew brighter, and the excitement tangibly filled the room.

But I grabbed my backpack and left.  The thought of singing joyful carols amidst strangers, without the ones I love, didn't seem right.  Didn't seem a promising way of beginning the Christmas holidays.

When I entered the library, I saw that someone had brought four packages of goodies and had left them on the middle shelf, with an encouraging note that was signed, "Christmas love, xx."  No name, no need for attention, just a simple gift intended to make the Oxford work load a little more festive, a little more hopeful.  And that, I think, is the perfect way to begin.

The Magic Formula

I had trouble concentrating all day.  I sat in the English Faculty Library for most of it, taking notes on esoteric postcolonial theory and willing my eyes to stay open just a few minutes more.

I took an hour-long nap this afternoon, which is short for me.  With dinner, I drank a Diet Coke, and I bought one an hour or so later in the JCR bar.

The combination has been something fierce.

It is ten 'til five in the morning.  I have yet to go to bed.  I am alert, high-functioning, and feeling more productive than I have in several weeks.  Why waste the energy?

Ballin'

Where has the term gone?  I’m inexplicably heading into 8^th week… and then I’m off to Italy for a week, and then I’m home for Christmas!  Didn’t I just get here?  I’m definitely looking forward to a break, but I’m so glad I get to come back to this place afterwards.

This past week was an absolute whirlwind, mostly revolving around the RAG ball on Thursday night.  I spent my days reading Hamlet and King Lear furiously, trying to get my work done ahead of time so it wouldn’t be hanging over my head during the ball.  I also spent too much time looking for a new dress, and decided in the end to wear the one I brought with me.  So in the end, I only paid £11.50 to get my dress cleaned and to buy new tights, a headband, and a bracelet.  Much better decision.

Thursday itself was a great day, even through all the stress of essay-writing.  Since our rowing outing got canceled, we had a little team breakfast in the JCR, comprised only of CRUMPETS.  Crumpets are a British phenomenon, whose closest American comparison would be an English muffin.  Rosie and Fran were kind enough to buy them and toast them and teach us how to drench them in butter and smear them with jam… glorious.  Perfect start to the day.

Thursday night the Americans gathered for Thanksgiving dinner at the Spencer House, where the Columbus State kids live.  FOOD. EVERYWHERE.  I haven’t eaten that much since… well, probably last Thanksgiving.  Everything was so delicious—even the corn casserole Megan and I concocted.  We had a Paula Deen recipe, but creamed corn and cornbread mix don’t exist in the UK, so we had to improvise.  We used all regular corn and something called Rock Cake mix and some interesting kind of cheese and an oven that has its temperatures listed in Celsius.  In spite of all this, Liz, the corn casserole aficionado, gave us an A+.

After stuffing myself, I had to get myself into my dress, put on some makeup, and Julia and I went down to the Town Hall for the RAG ball.  RAG stands for Raise and Give—they’re an Oxford organization that raises and distributes money to different charities, and the ball was one of their big fundraisers.  There were a TON of Regent’s kids there, and everybody looked gorgeous—girls in pretty dresses, boys in tuxedos.

As we walked up the giant staircase, a female a capella group called In the Pink serenaded us, and as we entered the Hall, we were greeted with a free glass of champagne.  There were jugglers, musicians, ballroom dancers, and free food as far as the eye could see—Krispy Kremes, cookies, G&D’s ice cream, waiters circulating trays of sausages and quiche.  Sadly, I was SO FULL that I couldn’t eat ANY of it!  I was so disappointed, but I really felt like curling in the fetal position in the corner as it was.

A University jazz group played, and they were fantastic—definitely the highlight of the night.  Two other bands played later in the night—the first was okay, the second I only stayed for a couple of songs, but they were good.

Here's the album for the night.

Friday morning came way too early, and I still had an essay to finish for my tutorial at noon.  I have yet to write a paper I’m satisfied with, and this week was no exception.  My tutor is absolutely fantastic, though, and we spent our hour working through a close reading of Hamlet, so I could get more of an idea of the approach I should be taking in my papers.  Hopefully this week will be better.

Friday afternoon we had a tank session with our delightful rowing coach, and get this—it was almost enjoyable.  It was surprisingly helpful, and we even got a compliment!  After rowing for a bit, he said, “Easy there.  Hm.  That was actually pretty good.”  Then the world ended.  I finally feel like I’m getting the hang of it, and the season is over.  Figures.

Last night the Regent’s Park gospel choir, of which I am a member, sang at Formal Hall and it was SO MUCH FUN.  We sang two African spirituals from the balcony, and then after the starter we sang “Down to the River to Pray” and “Salve Regina” from Sister Act.

Once I got my food, I had to scarf it down, because we had Cuppers!  It’s a theater festival featuring thirty-minute performances from all the colleges.  It’s been going on since Tuesday, and ours was the last to perform.  It went so well, and we had a packed house of Regent’s supporters.  It was fantastic.

Saturday was so low-key.  Slept til noon and felt like a new woman, then went to the Ashmolean Museum with Megan and Annie, and after two hours we hadn’t even seen half of it.  I’m excited to go back eventually.  Italy planning followed the museum, and we have almost all of the details nailed down!  I can’t believe this is my life.  I’ll be in ROME in a WEEK!

Today I cleaned, and as I left my house for our football game, I got a text saying it was canceled due to a waterlogged pitch.  We rescheduled for a kickabout in the parks, and we ended up playing four-on-four in the mud and rain.  It was awesome.  My trainers are absolutely disgusting, and I spent my fair share of time sliding to the ground.  Oh, vocabulary lesson time!  Forget sweatpants—they’re called tracky-bums.  The spelling is questionable.  But work that into your next conversation.

After we played, we went to the Turf Tavern for lunch, since they agreed to sponsor us!  They’re donating a bunch of money to help fund warm-up suits and the like.  And they hinted that if we hold enough socials there, they’ll start giving us details.

By the time I got home, I was in the throes of hypothermia.  I was soaking wet and freezing cold, and only a hot shower saved my life.  I went to college for tea time, intending to do work, and instead watched Love Actually, which was fabulous, and ate pizza and sat around.

I’ve done ZERO work this weekend… and I have two essays still ahead.  Oh dear.

Think you don't know Shakespeare?

Thanks to Wikipedia, I just learned that The Lion King is basically Hamlet with some hyenas, meerkats, and wart hogs thrown in.

But if I remember correctly, Nala doesn't die... Simba doesn't die... Timon and Pumba don't die...

The continued adventures...

Rather than attempt to give you a chronological breakdown of the past two weeks, I’m just going to give it to you by categories.  Per usual, it's long-winded, so the fun begins after the jump.

Rowing

Last Monday was just the crème de la crème of my rowing experiences.  It rained on us all the way down to the boat house, and the river was pretty angry-looking.  It was also the first time the group of us novices were to brave the river on our own—no experienced rower to tell us what to do.  As we stood at the door to the boathouse, in the pitch black morning, watching other crews struggle to get their boats in the water, we felt paralyzed.  Someone else’s coach approached us and asked if we had a spare light.  We said we didn’t, and then asked if the flag had been changed.  If there had been a blue flag over the river, we wouldn’t be allowed to go out with a novice cox.  This coach, though, told us they don’t usually change the flag until 8am.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “It doesn’t look like novice conditions to me.  Be careful.”

We got the boat out and got it into the water.  It was still pouring.  The amount of money I paid for my Marmot shell was completely and utterly worth it—even if that morning had been the only time I would ever wear it.

We climbed in the boat and grabbed onto the raft; Beth, our cox, strapped on her mic and got in her seat.  At this point, the heavens unleash the downpour becomes torrential.  We are instinctively huddled over in our seats, fighting to keep our hands from slipping off the raft.  “Okay,” Beth says.  “If anyone’s uncomfortable with this, speak now.”  No one said anything.  “Right then,” she said.  “Push off.”  As soon as we let go, the boat started shooting away, faster than we’d ever felt it before.  “Hold it!” Beth yelled.  “I can’t do this.  I do not feel comfortable coxing in this weather.  Let’s bring it in.”  We pulled on the raft to bring ourselves forward, and that’s when our darling coach decided to chime in from the opposite bank.

“What are you doing?” he yelled.

“Bringing it in!” Beth yelled back.  “I don’t feel comfortable going out in this weather!”

“I don’t see any other crews having trouble!” he said, as the river raged around us.  “This is nothing!”  He really is a charming fellow.

Beth took a deep breath. “Fine,” she said.  “Let’s push off.”

We did, and fought with all of our might to stay in some semblance of rhythm until we could get to the turnaround point.  After we spun, we pulled next to the bank so our enchanting coach could inspire us with his supremely motivational oration.

“What the hell was the hold-up this morning?” he asked.

One girl raised her hand and apologized for being late.  And Beth said, “We didn’t know if the flags had changed.  We didn’t know if we were allowed out.”

“You all are a bunch of pansies,” coach replied.  “This is lovely weather.  I don’t know what you were thinking.”

“Well, this is our first outing as all novices,” Beth said.

“So?” he replied.  I’ll spare you the rest of his rant, but a lot of it was about us not wasting time in the morning.  Note the irony of his long-winded speech in this context.

As we kept rowing, the rain eventually stopped, and we eventually started sweating.

We had to come into the dock before ours, and we ran sock-footed in the sloshy grass to fetch our shoes.  When we rocked the boat up out of the water and over our heads, all the rain that had been accumulating inside flowed right down the back of my neck.

By now, the sky was beginning to clear.  And we were absolutely giddy.  While it was the worst morning we had ever experienced, we experienced it together.  It was exhilarating.  We laughed all the way down the path, and as we crossed the bridge we were rewarded with this:

Even the uplifting words of our coach (“You’re going to get laughed at at the Regatta when everybody sees you can’t row.”) couldn’t destroy the warm joy that had mysteriously planted itself underneath our drenched clothing.  A few of us stopped at Starbucks on the way back up, and somehow it turned out to be a perfect start to the day.

Since then, we’ve had two outings get canceled due to weather and a race.  And whether or not we’re competing in the Christ Church regatta this week is still questionable.  Stay tuned.

Tutorials

Shakespeare is still kicking my butt.  I really enjoy reading the plays, but I can never quite get a grasp on anything intelligent to write.  This past week I had Richard III, which I really liked, and Richard II, which was the most boring thing I’ve ever read in my life.  I would have preferred sandpaper to my eyeballs.

Postcolonial was fantastic this week.  I read Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, and I would recommend it to everyone—specifically if you like African literature.  Adichie is a Nigerian woman, and Purple Hibiscus is an incredible first novel.  I felt like some secret had been unlocked, like I somehow held a critic’s key that allowed me to open up the text and take out everything I found.  I was up late writing my essay, but only because I had so much to say.  I cut myself off at 2700 words so I could go to bed.  But during our discussion, I got to bring up other things I had intended on writing, and she seemed to offer encouragement.  Specifically, she said, “I like that imagery,” but that’s the most affirmation I’ve received from her.  This book, though, makes me want to work on a paper for Colloquium Day senior year or do a senior research project.  I don’t know what it is about postcolonial literature that I love so much, but I’m going to be considering a Master’s in it.

The Weather

It rains. So much.  I expected it, that being the England stereotype and all, but it’s ridiculous.  Thankfully, though, I’m not having the adverse emotional reaction I had been anticipating.  Days of sunshine are few and far between, and I actually feel unsettled when they happen—like I should be out lying in the sun instead of staring at it through the window.  I’ve also given up on trying to battle the weather.  I can never be prepared.  For starters, I somehow made it to the UK without an umbrella.  My Marmot has a hood, which is helpful, but I don’t always wear it.  Usually I’m wearing my Eddie Bauer fleece, which is water repellant, and my head and feet just get soaking wet.  That’s just the way it’s going to be.

Football

You may remember from my last post that I joined the football (ahem, soccer) team.  I was looking for a team sport that was about having fun, with a little competition thrown in.  We had a game today, in the rain, and even though we lost 7-0 we played so well and had so much fun.  I miss my cleats; it’s always muddy and I feel like I’m running in slo-mo just because I can’t keep my footing in trainers.  And I played midfield today, which is a lifetime first in any sport, so I had lots of muddy running and sliding.  The girls on the team are so encouraging for each other, and it’s fun to witness the types of things Brits yell from the sidelines.  I yelled “Good D!” today and got some funny looks.  Anyways, it’s brilliant fun.

The Internet

Please recall that I arrived on September 29^th.  Also please recall that Internet was supposed to get installed this past summer, while no one was living in the flat.  After weeks of being the squeaky wheels, we finally got some grease—the men were scheduled to come install the line this past Tuesday.  They told IT Bob they’d be by between 8 and 1.  I woke up at 7:30, sat in my living room until 12:45, and they did not show.

That evening, Megan stopped me and said she had spoken with the other woman now in charge of our situation, and apparently the men did show at 2:30.  They called IT Bob, he arrived, and they informed him that they wouldn’t be able to install the line that day after all.  They didn’t realize how big of a job it was supposed to be—apparently, they were going to have to blast up pavement, which would require permits from the city council, which would require a land survey… basically, we’re not getting Internet until next term.

I was livid.

Thankfully, I have awesome parents who have been itching to get involved, and I finally opened the gate for my dad to send a strongly worded letter.  That seemed to have some kind of an effect, for our neighbor is graciously allowing us his password for the wireless as a temporary solution.  It’s not fair that they still have a bill to pay and we’re having to piggyback on them.

But, I am on the Internet while sitting on my own couch… a phenomenon I never thought possible.

And I am able to look back and say that being forced to go to college for Internet made me more present, which meant I made friends quickly instead of sitting in my bed on Skype all the time.

Other Fun Stuff

-I did a psychiatric study that paid ten pounds an hour, plus travel expenses—meaning I finally rode an Oxford bus!  The researcher was a woman named Louisa, and she was really sweet.  I had three sessions—the first was just a basic mental health screening.  The second was a three-hour MEG scan.  I put on pajamas, sat in a comfy chair in a dark room, and had my head up a huge white scanner.  I had a clicker button in my right hand, and I had to do different exercises on the screen in front of me.  It was hard, and I was exhausted, and I had so much trouble staying awake.  During the break time, Louisa made me a cup of tea and I vented to her about rowing.  So after the final section of the scan, she sat down on the floor and gave me pointers!  So helpful, and it didn’t involve the stupid squatting our dumb coach does all the time.  Anyways, the third session of the study was an MRI, and I had trouble staying awake during that as well.  All in all, fun experience, and I’m getting money soon!

-This was the week of birthday extravaganzas.  Tuesday was Stacy’s birthday; Wednesday was Oli’s, David’s, and Charles’s; Thursday was Megan’s; Friday was Corey’s; Saturday was Fran’s and Perry’s.  NUTS.  Wednesday night Oli had a group go to the Gourmet Burger Kitchen for dinner, and then we went to the King’s Arms afterwards.  GBK was unbelievable.  One of the best burgers I’ve ever had in my life.  The King’s Arms was cool too; we just sat around and talked.  On Saturday, we went to a place called Brown’s for brunch for Fran’s and Perry’s birthday.  I missed my chance to experience a traditional English breakfast… I have no idea what I was thinking.  My bacon sandwich was delicious, though.

-I’m doing a one-act play for the Cuppers competition this Friday.  Only first-years and visiting students can be in it, and our one-act is written and directed by one of our own, Marchella!  She’s a sweet girl, and the show is awesome.  Well-written, funny, apt, etc.

-Last Friday we had a toga party in the JCR after Formal Hall, and the Cambridge kids were here for the weekend!  Claire and Ally came to the party, which was fantastic, and then they spent the night.  So great.  Saturday night the Stanley Road kids hosted a bonfire, which turned out to be a gigantic fire on the grill, but it was a blast.  We educated everyone in s'mores, but we had to compromise with pink marshmallows and chocolate Digestives.  Graham crackers don't exist here.  Still, they were delicious.

-I’ve been volunteering at St Aldates Church on Wednesday mornings to play with babies while their mums are in Bible study.  They are adorable.  One little boy told me he was going to play with blocks, and I asked him if he was going to build a house.  “No!” he said.  “I’m going to build a cottage!”

Last week, I played with a little girl named Magdalene all morning.  She was so precious, and really bright for her age.  During snack time, I noticed that someone smelled a little interesting, but I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from.  Just then, Magdalene shot out of her chair and went running across the room.  I chased her, and picked her up and hugged her, carrying her back to her chair.  When I set her down, the special smell was even stronger.  That’s when I saw the brown streak on my shirt.  Instinctively, I smelled the spot, and tried not to retch on the spot.  I knelt down and felt Magdalene’s bum.  Sure enough, her poo had squished through her nappy, through her tights, through her skirt… onto my favorite yellow and white striped shirt. I didn’t have time to go home, so I tried to wash my shirt in the sink with apple and pomegranate hand soap. What a brilliant way to start the day.

-Tonight was another fantastic cultural experience.  At Regent’s Park, there are three third-years named Sam Evans, Dan Evans, and Sarah Evans.  They’re not related, but they’re best friends and they live together.  Tonight they invited Adrienne and me to come to dinner, and we watched the third and fourth episodes of the BBC 1988 miniseries version of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.  It was hilarious.  Let’s just say that the new versions definitely spoil us.  After that we ate spaghetti and a chocolate tart and had great conversation.  Lovely evening all around.

-Last week Megan, Corey, and I ventured to the top of St. Mary the Virgin’s tower, which provides a breathtaking 360-degree view of Oxford.  Who knew the city was surrounded by hills?  We paid our three pounds, hiked the million stairs to the top… and my camera died.  I got one shot, and that was that.  Story of my life.

-I bought new shoes.  My favorite yellow Nikes were falling apart and I was turning into a cripple.  I got purple/lime green/pink Onitsuka Tigers.  Sweeeet.

-I’m (hopefully) going to a ball on Thursday night!  It’s the RAG ball, and the ticket sales all go to charity.  I just have to find a dress that fits and that I can afford.  Which leads me to the Debenham’s story.  It’s a department store, and they had a massive sale on yesterday.  I tried on nine dresses… and NONE fit!  The sizes are different here, and I’m pretty sure British girls must not have butts.  I tried on a 16 and it was huge, so I tried on a 14 and it was sooo tight across my bum.  Every single dress was that way, and I’m pretty sure I’m not really that out of proportion.  Not sure what I’m going to do… I don’t even know where to look!

I’m sure I forgot loads… my brain is just jam-packed these days.  I also take requests.

As always, here's the photo album link.

Mania

The next two weeks are going to be incredibly busy, but I'm going to write more as soon as I can.

Things you can look forward to:

1) Rowing update
2) A psychiatric study
3) Baby poop

Overheard

As I roamed the second quad of Balliol College last night, looking for footie girls and pizza, I caught a snippet of conversation that made me weak in the knees.  Two handsome young blokes were walking toward me, one looking pensive and the other quizzical.

"Yeah," the first one said. "But do you even like her?"
"Enormously," the other replied.  "Enormously."

Breakthrough

The week got off to a sleepy start, and it was an arduous fight to keep my head above water the whole week long.

Monday morning my alarm went off at 5:30, only four hours after I’d crawled into bed after Skyping in college.  I got up and put my sweats on over my long underwear, and Megan and I were out the door by 5:45.  We walked the forty-five minutes to the boathouse, getting there just as the sun was starting to peep over the horizon and illuminate the scattered clouds.

A Tale of Three Gingers

Most of the Englanders I’ve met have been friendly, welcoming, and willing to repeat themselves until I understand the message they’re trying to get across.

But Englanders have a very serious prejudice.  The target is a group of people who, in America, make up only 2% of the population, but tend to be regarded as particularly beautiful.

Gingers.  Red-heads.

Part I 

A couple weeks ago, Annie and I met for a chat and basic trip-planning in Starbucks on Cornmarket.  Her friend Emma, a Scot who attends Univ, joined us later on, and we began the run-of-the-mill girl conversation about boys.

“Really,” I said, “the only reason I’m in England is to find Ron Weasley and convince him to marry me.”

“Ron Weasley?” she said.  “Are you joking?”

“No!” I said.  “Why would I be joking?”

“He’s… a ginger!” she replied, with a disdainful curl of her lip.

Annie and I burst out laughing.  “So what?” we asked.

“He’s a ginger!  Everybody knows gingers are just less attractive people,” she said, a note of genuine dismay in her voice.

“What!” we shrieked.  “No they’re not!”

Emma stared at us.

Annie caught her breath and shared, “Penelope told me there’s an old wives’ tale that if you put milk in after you pour your tea, you’ll have ginger children.”

“Why would that even matter?” I asked, still laughing.

Emma recovered and said, “Well, NO ONE wants ginger children!”

Annie and I stated that we would both adore little red-headed babies, and Emma went even deeper into her state of shock.

“You’re being completely serious, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Yes!” we said in unison.

“You honestly believe gingers are just as attractive as everybody else,” she clarified.

“Yes.  Definitely.”

“I can’t believe that,” she said, shaking her head.  “I guess I’ve never thought about it before.  Maybe it is weird that we don’t like them.”

We nodded.

Part II

My roommate, Megan, has red hair.  I think this fact escapes most of our American cohorts, most likely because we don’t have a stigma against gingers.

But last week we were discussing the Ginger Prejudice Phenomenon amongst ourselves, and one guy brought up a South Park episode that mocks gingers.  “Everybody knows gingers have no souls!” he proclaimed.  Megan sat quietly, taking it like a champ in the corner, while the rest of the group went scarily near the Ginger Prejudice path.

Part III

There is a lovely boy at Regent’s Park named Chris Little.  Ironically enough, he’s about 6’4”.  He also has red hair.  As we walked home from church on Sunday night, I wedged myself between him and Julia and said, “Chris, I’ve been having all of these terrible conversations about gingers.  Have you just spent the majority of your life just getting bullied?”

“Well,” he began, “It’s pretty bad as a kid, you know, like on the playground.  A lot of people just really take the mick out of you.”

“But why?” I asked.  “Why does everybody hate gingers?!”

Julia chimed in, “I don’t really know.  I would assume it’s because a lot of Irish people have red hair, and there’s a pretty big prejudice against the Irish.  And the Celts.  Everybody hates the Celts.”

“One time,” Chris said, “one time I was out walking with my friend, and we were by a roundabout, and this guy was driving around and around the circle, and he just kept pointing and laughing.  I just assumed it was because I’m a ginger.”

There you have it, folks.  Next time you encounter a ginger, regardless of his or her nationality, be sure to be extra polite and encouraging.  They’ve had it rough.

Loss.

We lost a member of our community last night.  I don't know any of the details, but please be praying for Antonia's family and friends, as well as the rest of the Regent's Park family.