I mean, Blogosphere,
I mean, Mom,
I'm sorry to have worried you. I know that since I haven't posted in almost a month, you assumed that essays had finally gotten the best of me and I'd pulled a Virginia Woolf on you. But, no, I haven't thrown myself into the Thames (and don't plan to because, let's face it, it would be flipping freezing). Life in Oxford has been crazy, but not that kind of crazy.
I don't like to play favorites, but I think the past week has been one of the best I've had since I (sort of) moved here. So, in order to provide a decent picture of what I'm doing, I present to you, the basic outline of a week in Oxford (and maybe some pictures if I don't get too lazy).
Wednesday: Oddly, my week starts on Wednesday because after I turn in my paper that is due at noon, it feels like Sunday. You're confused already, aren't you? That's okay. Usually by noon on Wednesday I think that it's Thursday.
After noon on Wednesday I have a whole afternoon and night to begin my paper for my Evolution of the Dramatic Monologue tutorial, which usually just means reading a few poems over and over until either my eyes bleed or I count enough allusions to ancient Greece to write a positively brilliant 2000-4000 word essay. Usually my tutor will assign me an author and I am responsible for finding his or her poems and about five to seven secondary sources. Last week, I was given a poet that I had never heard of: Amy Levy, a Victorian Jewish author who managed to write a whole lot of amazing things before she killed herself at the age of 28.
But that's school stuff.
Wednesday night, Nicole (my vunderbrar neighbor) and I went into town to see the Oxford student production of Spring Awakening. The show was amazing, all the accents were real, and they let us eat ice cream in the theatre. 'Twas heaven! After getting trapped in the college where the show was held, it was off to a local dance club, Lava Ignite. What? You think it sounds too cheesey? That's because it was most definitely too cheesey! The club has five different rooms with different themed music, so we could dance to oldies downstairs and Top 40 upstairs. I considered it my Zumba and went to bed exhausted.
Thursday: I literally have no set structure to my schedule except for the two hours a week when my tutorials are held. So, Thursday mornings, I get up around 8:00 a.m. (okay, well, my alarm goes off around 8:00 a.m. I can't say I am as reliable) in order to make the 45 minute walk to a college clear across town by 10:00 a.m. This is probably my favorite part of my week. There are no tourists out yet, and, I swear the whole city is quiet. The beer delivery men roll kegs into pubs, preparing for the weekend, and the homeless man and his dog greet me on the corner of Broad St. and Turl St., telling me to have a good day and offering me a magazine with a laughing celebrity on the cover.
At Mansfield College, I go to the Porter's Lodge and ask to be let into the conference room across the hall where my Adulteresses in the Novel tutorial is held. My tutor's job is to basically tear apart my work so that I can rebuild it to be better each week. My goal is to get as few comments on my paper as possible. On my first paper, my tutor made so many comments on Word that they got transferred to a back page. That back page has been mocking me this entire term.
Last Thursday, a miracle happened. My paper on Mrs. Dalloway had almost no comments on it! The few comments that my tutor had written were questions that she wanted to just chat about with me. CHAT! ABOUT! WITH ME!
Our talk about Virgina Woolf turned into a talk about reading and writing and why I hate Jane Austen and why we both love Harry Potter and how my tutor and her husband read books out loud to each other and how good the Indian food is here and wow what about grad school and oh by the way have you read this and this because I am positive you would think it's hilarious ...
Heaven:
Exactly what I wanted to do at Oxford - gush about books and reading and how typing in single space sometimes gives me a headache and why writing a paper in your pajamas never goes as well as writing a paper wearing red lipstick.
Most tutors only spend one hour with each of their students, but I am lucky enough to usually get two hours with my Adulteresses in the Novel tutor. She is hands down the most helpful person I have met during my stay, and everytime I leave, I have to resist giving her a big hug. I don't know if that's allowed here.
By the time I leave, it's noon - lunchtime at Hertford College. I meet Maggie and we eat in hall (but that's a story for another time), and then I go back to working on the essay for my Dramatic Monologue essay. Exciting stuff.
Every Thursday night, the Student Union holds debates, and last week I finally made it to my first one. The traditions are bizarre, but I caught on quickly enough. If you want to interrupt a speaker, shout, "Point of information!" That speaker can then either nod and let you say your piece, or wave their hand and refuse you. Each side has four speakers and after the first three on each side speak, the floor opens to audience members to say whatever they want. Everyone is timed and whoever is overseeing the debate (and there must always be someone overseeing the debate) sits on a sort of throne with a timer. Oh, there is so much more to it, and it was a great experience. The debate was about whether or not it's okay to abolish restrictions on abortions. Heavy stuff, man.
Friday: Write paper, finish paper, edit paper, send paper, go out.
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| My view of the Radcliffe Camera from the Upper Reading Room in the Main Bodleian Library. My only complaint: kind of smells like B.O. 90% of the time. Which is odd, because the library closes at 10:00 p.m. There should be time to shower, people! |
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| Someone was playing pranks in the Bod. With the crossed out words, this sign now reads: "hold in two hands and never let fold back on itself," "make paper of the table," and "thank you for your operation." Nice. |
Saturday: My program hosts a number of excursions while I am here, and last week, we took a two and a half bus ride through the gorgeous English countryside to see Bath! Imagine my shock when I realized that Bath wasn't some big porcelain wash bin, but a site of Roman ruins! I felt kind of dumb for not bathing for two weeks in preparation, but once people got used to the smell, it was a lovely day. Shall I give you a tour?
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| The Bath Abbey and my gorgeous amigo Joshua. |
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| These statues line the second level of the baths, looking down on all the bathers. Are you still confused about why it's called Bath? Just think of it like a giant jacuzzi bubbling up from the center of the Earth. |
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| Upper Level. You can see the (ew) green water in the bottom corner. |
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| Jump right in! |
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| What the whole set up used to look like - or an ancient architecture project. |
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| Remainder of the original temple of the Sun God, who was apparently responsible for aforementioned giant jacuzzi. |
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| The Goddess of the Sun who would look over the courtyard, having a staring contest with the God of the Moon. |
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| They keep some of the ruins inside where people can't touch them. |
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| Can't you just smell the Roman power? No, but seriously, it reeked of gross water in here. |
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| More homage to le gods. |
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| Original courtyard steps! Mold and all! |
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| Gift shop conveniently located next to a holy spring. |
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| A holy spring that looks like it produces molten lava. The water is so warm that you could feel the steam from a few yards away. |
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| Super sweet irrigation. They used to make the servants hang out down there. Worst day ever. |
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| Even though the sign explicitly forbids touching the water, pretty much every ridiculous tourist not only touched it, but then proceeded to pick their nose, bite their nails, or rub their eyes. It was absolutely disgusting. But also kind of fun to watch. |
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| Romans thought that these baths had healing powers! I agree - a little R&R goes a long way! |
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| The springs are still a-runnin'! |
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| Such inappropriate Bath Chocolate in the gift shop. |
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| Bath soap from Bath and Bath Monopoly. Rub a dub dub! |
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| The Pump Room, aka Jane Austen's playground. |
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| The city on a most beauteous day! |
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| "The Crescent," which is inhabited by a bunch of rich people who have their own museum. I don't hate it! |
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| Maggie and Emmit exploring! |
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| This is right next to a hair salon. What crazy history! |
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| Dear Sun Goddess, thank you for an amazing day. Love, Christina |
As if travelling for over four hours wasn't enough, Opus then proceeded to throw an amazing party at one of the houses on my street. I love that everyone is constantly encouraging each other to make the best of every moment. Time has been flying, but it's so great to feel like every day has been (in it's own way) an adventure.
Sunday: Case in point. My flatmates and I were exhausted and out of food. Katie and I took our time walking into town and stopped at a few of the vendor's carts to look at jewelry and scarves and puppets (they sell those all over the streets here?). We struck up conversation with a woman who moved here from China, and had a laugh about a movie she just recently saw about a child murderer. We discussed the differences between Oxford, D.C., New York, and China, as if they were neighboring towns. She didn't make us feel bad for not buying anything and told us she would see us soon. I honestly feel that if I saw her again she would remember my name - how rare is that?
See, even just going to the grocery store is an experience.
Sunday is also novel day, where I read the novel for my Adulteresses in the Novel class. Yes, the whole thing (if I can). Whew!
Monday: After working in the library in the morning (or taking my time at home), I have my Dramatic Monologue tutorial. This class has turned into an examination of the role of the woman poet in the Victorian Era, pretty much, because it seems that everything I do turns into something of that sort. My tutor has gotten better about not acting surprised when I get enraged about the whole "not being able to vote" thing, and has made me more realistic about being, acting, and writing as a feminist (or, like me, a watered-down feminist). I am constantly amazed and, to be honest, intimidated by how much my tutors know. They get flustered when they can't recall the exact date that a medieval poem was published in Europe. Meanwhile, I still can't spell judgment - there really should be another e in there. But I am absorbing as much as I can, and it's nice to be able to laugh with my teachers and ask them what they like and what they think I would like to study in the future.
After my tutorial last Monday, I had the unique opportunity to work as a hair model for Mahogany Hair Salon (on Turl Street if you want to check it out). The salon requires their employees to complete a rigorous hair education before starting on the floor, and so a student took two and a half hours to just give me a trim! Next to me, a girl was giving a dummy some highlights and its head kept falling off. Yikes! But he did a great job, and we had a nice long chat about Oxford life and London and what pubs to avoid and how to make hair bright pink (maybe next time!).
Monday nights are chorus rehearsal, which take place in a gorgeous chapel in St. Peter's College. It is entirely student run and we are learning Brahm's Requiem to perform NEXT WEDNESDAY!!!! Apparently, it is a big deal to actually sing through all of the notes before meeting with the orchestra (dying) and our director, an adorable British british boy, was getting very giggly over it. Rehearsal usually goes late, and then I have a cold walk home - usually spent singing in German to myself.
Tuesday: This is my Adulteresses in the Novel panic day. Or at least it should be. I have to read a bunch of secondary sources and come up with a "brilliantly clever" thesis so that my tutor doesn't poke fun at me for being a dunce.
Last Tuesday, I spent the day reading, but then attended one of the first events of Oxford Fashion Week! 'Twas a concept show to remember. My flatmates and I got dolled up (two words: fake lashes), and treked over to the other side of town. The venue was incredible, very "posh," and we got seats in the third row where we could see everything (sometimes a little too much, thong-wearers!). The theme of the show was "After the Blast" or something about atomic bombs, so it began with a light show and followed up with intense music and fog effects. I was worried the show would make me want to go shopping, but the clothes were ridiculous. The first girl who walked out was naked except for some gloves and crazy shoes and a creepy mask. After the show, I came to the conclusion that the fashion world thinks that the future will bring many wedgies.
I think I'll stick to shopping at Target.
Tuesday night? Crunch time. This week I wrote 3,500 words in roughly four hours, which is a big deal for me. When I first got here it would take me an entire day to write 2,000 words and they weren't even good ones.
SO .. that's a look into the glamorous life I'm leading here. I hope that when I go home I keep the same excitement for every day life, because it keeps me so energized and happy here.
I promise I will try to be better about this so the next entry isn't longer than a dictionary.
Love,
Christina
