An American Girl In Oxford

Scotland Photo Extravaganza

2009-04-06T21:05:00.006+01:00

Please do enjoy this slideshow of my Scotland pictures to date (It shows only the most recent 100, there are more). If you'd rather not look at them in a slideshow and/or wish to see the whole banana, here's the link to the whole album.

Yes, Rudyard, They Are (Photos)

2009-03-28T16:15:00.002Z

Ah, God! One sniff of England --
To greet our flesh and blood --
To hear the traffic slurring
Once more through London mud!
Our towns of wasted honour --
Our streets of lost delight!
How stands the old Lord Warden?
Are Dover's cliffs still white?

-- From The Broken Men by Rudyard Kipling

In case anyone was uncertain, I can provide an answer in the affirmative. They are. And Darcy and I just spent all of yesterday tromping all over them (at least six miles, we estimated). We climbed across them, looked (but did not fall) down them, and took a bunch of good pictures of them. At least, I did. The fruits of our adventure follow. I really hate doing this photo uploading bit, it takes forever and is generally a source of great aggravation, but I suppose I should get into the practice for, you know. SCOTLAND. (In case anybody forgot).

Anyway.

Our first sight of Dover Castle on the skyline as we came down from the train station.

The streets of downtown Dover.

Castle ruins right the crap in the middle of downtown. This is why English towns are so cool. Ignore the random fat lady in the foreground, she took fricking forever to get out of the way and we were in a hurry, so I had to take the picture and go.

More castle ruins built in a hillside.

Our first glimpse of the white cliffs.

The street, East Cliff Terrace, that led up to the footpath.

Looking up at the cliffs overhead. As you can see if you look, there were several windows -- houses, lookouts, or something. Nice view.

More castle ruins in the cliffs.

I am really quite fond of this picture.

Darcy at the start of the footpath up to the cliffs.

The footpath.

Stairs. Haven't we had enough of these?

Oh bugger.

A look back at Dover Harbour as we climbed.

Another one of Bill's houses. Although I think Henry II had more to do with this one, at least in present form.

Darcy at the sign for the White Cliffs.

Me.
Dover Harbour again and part of the sea wall.

A ferry headed for Calais.

Looking back along the coastline.

Looking down at the sea.

And with a little sunlight.

Also a little sunlight on Dover Harbour.

Zoom functions are useful.

Getting closer...

And closer...

AAAAND....

/CYMBAL CRASH

Looking back at the weather station on the headland.

Yeah. You're jealous.

Getting friendly with the sea.

Getting VERY friendly with the sea. Don't worry, no bloggers were harmed in the making of this photograph.

See?

And neither were any sidekicks.

But hey, I gotta get my shot.

For which you thank me most kindly.

Down. Down. Drums in the deep. Down. Down. Downnnnnnnnn.

I iz an extreem bloggah.

Continuing my ongoing quest to write parts of the book in cool places, here I do so atop the cliffs. I am not your average writer who sits inside with a laptop (although I do do that a lot). Nah, I've been taking the notebook on my travels. It makes for good stories. Also, I lost a fountain pen somewhere in the cliffs, which is both slightly romantic and a little annoying, since that'll be the fourth one I've lost and/or broken. Maybe I use my writing implements a little too hard. Hmm.

Dats a noice vue.

The South Foreland lighthouse in the distance.

Closer.

And inside.

And inside the column. This is where the weights are cranked up to start the light, or at least that's what it used to do before they decommissioned it in 1980. We had a very interesting tour, and now if I ever write a book set in a lighthouse, I have plenty of useful tidbits.

The light itself.

St. Margaret's Bay from the lighthouse. The wind, which had been blowing like crap the entire time, was blowing like CRAPPPP up here. My eyes were watering.

The harbour from the lighthouse.

The harbour on the way back.

Dover Castle again. Most unfortunately, we missed out by two days when they begin summer hours, and missed being able to go in.

The castle on the hill. Kewl.

I swear, you expect to see Sir Lancelot and Sir-Not-Appearing-in-this-Photo to come busting out of there with Herbert. And maybe a couple coconuts.

Well, this sure is perty. Down the castle wall with the harbour in the background, and even an aesthetically placed seagull.

LOOK OUT BILL. WE'RE COMING TO STORM YOUR CASTLE.

Tra-la-la.

A narrow side alley on the way back from the castle.

A church tower in downtown Dover on the way to the railway station.

The door into the church, with some spring flowers.

Okay, that covers it. Getting TO Dover was an ordeal, for various transportation-related reasons, but it was pretty awesome. We left Dover on the 4:48 train, since we couldn't get into Dover Castle, and it was 9:15 before we were tromping our tired asses back into my apartment. We are both very sore today. But what the hey.

London, Part Troix (Photos)

2009-03-26T18:35:00.002Z

So this is the third time I've been to London, but Darcy's first. And anyway, we got plenty of good pictures. After a few misadventures starting out (the tube was slow, we got dumped with rain on our way to St Paul's Cathedral, we weren't allowed IN St. Paul's when we got there at mid-morning due to some event or another, I got accosted into buying an ugly flower, they had exactly one cashier working a long line of London Eye ticket-seekers) we finally got INTO the London Eye, which is a mongo big Ferris wheel (the biggest in the world, I think) designed for sightseeing.

So we took them up on it.

The Westminster footbridge from the sky.

Big Ben and Westminster.

The Union Jack atop the Houses of Parliament. It was really, really windy.

I like this one. Big Ben and Westminster again. Very cool.

Darcy in the Eye.

Another shot of the courts from the air.

St. Paul's (see the dome?) We got there later.

Looking up...

Down...

Rain. The weather was incredibly damn schizophrenic. One moment raining, one moment cloudy, the next sunny, blowing like hell the entire time.

Another of the pictures I really like. Westminster footbridge and that random clock.

And as you can see, it was then sunny by the time we got to St. Paul's for the second time, around 2 in the afternoon, when they had visiting hours.

The side of St. Paul's, leading around to the West Front.

Looking up at the West Front.

Darcy and I on the steps of St. Paul's.

Detail of the inside of the portico. Technically, you are not supposed to take pictures inside the Cathedral.

I cheated.

Yeah, well, the cathedral didn't spontaneously combust, and neither did I.

However, I think I have discovered the cathedral's revenge. Seeing as it just took me 30 gawd damn minutes to put up that picture, killing my internet (which does not need the help) five times in the process. If I was any more patient, I would have a halo.

I am shocked. That took only five minutes instead. Argh.

We are NOT making progress here.

But I am more stubborn than the computer.

So if you don't think these pictures are cool, I will eat your children.

Looking down into the gallery from the dome.

Looking out from the outdoor observation gallery that rings the dome.

Darcy at the top.

Me. The wind was still blowing approximately 70 miles an hour.

One of the clock towers with the Thames in the background.

The London Eye. I.e. we were up the Eye and saw St. Paul's, now we're up St. Pauls and saw the Eye.

Both the clock towers of St. Paul's.

We headed back DOWN all the stairs and out onto the Millennium Footbridge. It was still as windy as crap.

We swung by the Globe Theatre.

Darcy outside the Globe.

Me.

We then went on the Thames River Walk and passed under this mildly famous bridge.

We also saw this mildly famous bridge.

And this mildly famous landmark.

And this mildly famous... yeah yeah yeah.

Nice job, Bill.

Why, how fetching.

Blue sky. And a bridge. And a river. Hey, you're not paying me to describe the pictures, that's what your eyeballs are for.

O look up thar.

The bridge on the way out.

And farewell to London. After this we headed back to Paddington and it took forever to get back to Oxford.

You know what else took forever? That's right, this post.

Dover on Friday and then Darcy's out of here. Then guess what? SCOTLAND.

Photo Diary: Winchester

2009-03-24T19:40:00.001Z

After my younger sister Gillian was here over Christmas, my older sister Darcy is here for spring break. I have been going to various exciting places with her just as I did with Gillian, and also like Gillian, she nags me to update the blog with the photos from said exciting places. Yes, I am as lazy as crap about doing it otherwise, but it actually takes a long time to put one of these suckers together and I want to be spending it doing other things.

/bitch whine whine moan

/Anyway, here are the photos from our marvellous Monday escapade to lovely Winchester, England.

Downtown Winchester.
A shot up the side of St. Laurence's Church in downtown Winchester. This is cool because...

... of that. I am writing a historical novel about the Norman Conquest (this book has taken over my life, by the way) and therefore, I particularly enjoy things like these; it's as close as an author can get to actually meeting her characters. As a matter of fact, I chose to go to Winchester because of its historical associations, and because two of my characters (two of William the Conqueror's sons) are buried in the cathedral. Speaking of which....

The walk up to Winchester Cathedral. I've seen Bath Abbey and Salisbury Cathedral, in addition to Westminster Abbey, and you'd think eventually you'd sort of start getting used to them. Nope.

The front facade of Winchester Cathedral.

Inside, looking down the side aisle.

The stained glass windows over the front door.

More stained glass.

Sunlight coming in the high windows. This in the older, Norman part of the cathedral, as you can tell by the arches. Yes, I am a geek for this sort of thing.

A lovely pic looking up near the front of the cathedral, where the mortuary chests containing the bones of the Old English kings and queens are kept.

AKA these guys. I was looking for William Rufus, but couldn't find him (he was in one of the chests, but my Latin is extremely rudimentary and they were above my head. What the hell).

We did find his brother Richard, however. The inscription says, "Hitus est corpus Richardi Willhelmi Conquestoris fili et Beorine ducis," which I was able to translate. ("Here is the body of Richard, son of William the Conqueror and Duke of Bernay.")

One of the mortuary chests.

Looking into the chancel (at least I think that's what it is).

The altar.

A really stunning look back down the length of the nave. The tomb in the foreground is that of Henry, Bishop of Winchester, cousin of King Stephen and grandson of William the Conqueror. Rufus was supposedly buried there first, but got moved.

See, it says so.

Another look up at the windows.

The grave of some lady writer or other.

Another good shot down the aisle.

The Norman crypt, the oldest part of the cathedral. I have nothing to say to this but: COOL.

Detail of painting on the ceiling on one of the side chapels.

Darcy outside the cathedral.

Me.

The flying buttresses of the Cathedral.

The houses out the back entrance.

Another look at the house.

The back gate.

A street down by the river.

The greenery overlooking a culvert.

The back side of Winchester College, which I think is actually a high school.

Part of the old Winchester city wall down by the river.

More Winchester city wall.

Cool-looking bit of the wall.

Part of the path, with trees and a stream.

Darcy.

Moi.

The river.

The river again.

The streets of Winchester, on the way up the hill to the lookout point.

The streets again.

The lookout point is at the top of this hill. Which necessitated climbing an ASSLOAD of incredibly steep stairs.

These bad boys.

But there were some pretty good views from the top.

Winchester from the lookout.

The hill from which we descended (we found a way with fewer steps). Looks sort of faerie like.

Descending from the viewpoint, we found this narrow side alley down through the houses.

A pic of the city wall and the flowering trees, on our way back into town.

A shot of the Winchester streets on our way back to the train station.

All right, that covers it. We're going to London tomorrow; this will be my third time, but of course Darcy hasn't gone. But we'll go to the London Eye, St Paul's Cathedral, and other interesting places that I haven't been, before going to Dover on Friday. All good fun. I will remember to do the pictures. Really. Then Scotland... YAY. Can't wait.

Scotland is Locked and Loaded

2009-01-12T00:08:00.001Z

and other exciting news...

Well, today I finally did what I have been planning for about three years -- which is to say, I booked the trip to Scotland which will take place over my next six-week break. (I am almost done with this one, and while I've enjoyed the sleep, I'm definitely ready to get going again. Feels like forever). I am hitting up, in order: Edinburgh, Inverness, Stornaway, Skye, Mull, and Glasgow, which will take 2 weeks and fortunately not a king's ransom, as I really lucked out on finding the First Scot Rail pass, which will transport my not-entirely-broke ass all around Scotland (including rail, bus, and ferry) for the comparatively measly sum of £148. More details to come and tons of pictures, but not until April. Cannot wait...

In the meantime, I have my history tutor arranged (I'm switching to English history from psych this term for a number of reasons, mainly because a) I'm writing a historical novel, and b) what better place to do it) and am getting a little financial help. Now all I need to do is get a job, and I will be set. And stop going to bed at 4AM, which I swear I don't mean to do, yet keeps happening nonetheless.

Oxford from the Aire: Last Set of Photos

2008-12-31T15:34:00.017Z

While I'm at it...

Sunday was Gillian's last day here, so we decided to hit up some of the last sights. We went to the Museum of Oxford and then climbed the spire of the church of St. Mary the Virgin: lots of very steep, very twisting steps, but some great views at the top.

Looking down the first flight of steps.

Looking out over the roofs.

More rooftops.

The stairs looked like this. That's my foot, since I was standing in a window-well -- they were too narrow for someone to go up and come down at the same time, which was probably why they built the windows where they did.

But at the top, it was great.

To the right: All Souls College with the Hawksmoor Towers.

To the center: the Radcliffe Camera.

To the left: Exeter (you can see its spire) and Brasenose.

Straight up...

... and straight down.

High Street from above.

Oxford rooftops with the spire of the Lincoln College Library in the background.

More rooftops.

Gillian with All Souls in the background.

Me.

Gillian in one of the arches of the walkway. Because of this, I wondered if fat people aren't allowed to go up. I honestly don't think they'd fit.

The tower once we'd returned to terra firma.

All right, that concludes the photos for now! Not sure when there will be more (hopefully before I go to Scotland in March) but there will be eventually, and in the meantime, I'll try to remember to update every so often.

Stonehenge! (Photos)

2008-12-31T15:28:00.000Z

Certain impatient people have been sending certain thinly veiled hints that they think I am not being prompt enough with these pictures. Certain people should be aware that a certain blogger's internet has been certainly horrible for the past few days, to the point it will not work if I am sitting at my desk, but might to consent to do so if I am sitting on the bed. I am now sitting in the living room, so let us see how this goes.

So in short, certain impatient person, shaddup. Ta-dah.

We went from Salisbury Cathedral...

...which looks like this...

(and also this)

(and this as well, aka Gillian did not put in a lot of good pictures)...

... to Stonehenge!

Which looks like this.

And like this. Aka it looks closer than we actually were (thank God for zoom functions). I imagine this is to stop people from doing stupid things like carving their initials and chipping off bits to sell on eBay. Morons.

My charming sister and me with some random big pile of rocks in the background.

Cue the drums.

There were too many damn people there. I cut out all the photos in which it showed.

But it was really kind of awesome anyway.

We got a picture of me writing at the Tower of London, so here's the picture of me writing at Stonehenge. Yes, those parts are in the book. And you'll never guess. Nyeeehehehehehe.The reason I look like an Eskimo is simple: it was mutha flipping COLD.

Yes, I know. You want to make this your new wallpaper immediately.

The rays of sunlight fall upon the stones of yore. And nobody knows why, aside from the fact that that's kind of what sun does.

More stones. Dunno who got them there, really, they're mucking up the lovely Wiltshire countryside.

After this, we went back on a bus driven at hair-raising speeds on winding country roads, and repaired immediately to a coffee shop before frozen bits started breaking off. Stay tuned for the next edition, Oxford from the Aire. It's cool. Trust me.

We nearly freeze and get lost, but have a great time anyway.

2008-12-28T21:40:00.008Z

Another Editorial Note From Hilary: Yup, still insane.

So. We woke up at 7:45 AM and managed to stay awake and get out the door shortly thereafter in order to catch a 9:15 train (it takes awhile to traverse Oxford to the train station, and when we went to London we had to walk a bit faster than I really wanted to, so we made sure to leave early this time). We then had about a two and a half hour train ride (though we did transfer through Southampton Central). It didn't seem that long, though, and then we arrived in Salisbury.

The street. (It was pretty)

A clock tower (I love those).

Oh yeah, and there's this. The Salisbury cathedral. It's that impressive in real life, yes. Actually more so. It's GORGEOUS. And old. Hilary went overboard with the pictures because we couldn't photograph Westminster, so I'll try to get a sense of it, but I can't post it all.

The front of the cathedral. I had a few gawk moments here.

Hilary at the front. I love this picture.

Cathedral.

More cathedral.

How do they build this stuff?

Yeah, it's all really old. And pretty.

Case in point.

I cannot begin to describe how amazing the wood carvings were. Really. I can't.

Someone important was buried here. EVERYTHING looks like this in Westminster. By the way.

The cathedral as you see it when you come in.

This dude was alive when the first stones were laid. (Seriously). That was in 1220.

The cloisters. And my shoulder, apparently.

A grave. Can you see the date? 1367. Really freaking old.

The cathedral spire. It's damn impressive. Really. (I lack my sister's wit when it comes to this)

After this, of course, we headed to Stonehenge, and I'm not going to be able to put the pictures up tonight, because I actually do need to sleep, so I will bother Hilary to put them up tomorrow, along with the pictures from St. Mary the Virgin's tower, where we were today.

This is me, attempting to be the Hunchback of Notre Dame (or the Hunchback of Salisbury Cathedral in this case). We were bored, and trying to waste time before our train left for Oxford. Oh yeah, and not freeze. This was very important.

Anyway, more pictures tomorrow (hopefully)!

Boxing Day Wanderings (AKA Gillian takes over the blog)

2008-12-28T21:18:00.006Z

Editorial Note From Hilary: My sister is insane. I left her ramblings untouched for comedic effect. Er, I mean, I love you, dear.

Hi there. I am the famous sister you see in all the picatures. Since Hilary didn't want to put up all the pictures, I decided to hijack the blog and do it anyway. So. Here follows as many posts as I can get in before we skype the family. Also I have to get up before 5AM tomorrow morning in order to fly to Orlando, Florida. But that is a different story.

ANYWAY.

Christmas Day was really fun - we got up fairly late and opened the two or three presents we had. Books and chocolate, mainly, which is JUST FINE with us. After which we hung out for a bit, and then I got to work making Christmas dinner. Naturally, Hilary's flat is not very well stocked with pots and pans, so I had to improsive, but I managed to roast a turkey breast, mash some potatoes, and make a very retarded version of green bean casserole. We also had some onion bread, a bottle of wine, and chocolate cake, so that was very nice.

Boxing day I came down with a very bad cold, but I didn't want to just sit inside and do nothing. It was also sunny for the first time since I got here, and since I am rather addicted to sunlight, I wanted to get out while we had the chance. So we headed out. I wanted to go up the tower of St. Mary the Virgin. It was closed. I also wanted to look around the Sheldonian Theatre. Also closed.

So I decided to check out the phone booth.

We walked down Merton Street in the sun.

And then, for lack of better things to do, we decided to check out the botanical gardens. That is the archway going into it.

The archway from the other side.

A fountain.

Yeah, basically we just took pictures of pretty stuff.

Fish in a pond.

Very lovely view, where I sat down to rest.

A really cute little crazy bird we made friends with.

After this, we headed to this little restaurant that had signs for a traditional cream tea on the window and a menu full of grilled stuff. Confused, we asked for the tea, and were given it - a pot of tea, two scones, and clotted cream for each. It was lovely! (I LOVE tea).

Then I was really tired and sick, so we headed back and hung out.

Hang tight for Salisbury and Stonehenge pics on the way.

Christmas Eve Countryside Exploring (Photos)

2008-12-24T16:50:00.002Z

In which my sister had the interesting idea that we go out to do some wandering on Christmas Eve, before doing some shopping and having a fight with our washing machine.

So, off we went to find some countryside.

On the way, we had to take a picture of my performing sister with the proper street sign.

After walking up Longwall Street and crossing South Parks Road into the University parks and heading up the cycle track, this was some of what we discovered.

The bridge to Terabithia, or alternately the other side of the path.

A pair of swans, the only ones among all the ducks.

A country lane, this point as we'd wandered well off the cycle track.

Another lane.

Me in the ivy.

Gillian in the ivy.

Looking out the lane through an ivy-wound archway.

Our shoes after we crossed a shallow ravine with a lot of mud in it. Shortly after this, Gillian took a flying leap across a ditch and did a facer, which she thought was great.

A bit of rolling countryside.

A cool-looking tree.

Gillian up a tree on another one of the narrow muddy lanes we discovered.

Me up the same tree.

Another lovely little lane.

A bridge. Obviously.

One of the gates evidently meant to keep cows out. For the record, we did not see any cows.

After this, we returned to civilization and walked down Longwall, back down High Street, and off onto Cowley Road to my Sunday haunt coffee shop, where we had a bit of a reprieve and something to munch on.

Where we had the coffee sabbatical.

This is fairly self-explanatory.

Well, that concludes the mini-edition for today. We're going to midnight mass at the University Church of St. Mary the Virgin tonight and then Christmas tomorrow! Have a good one!

LONDON! (Lots and LOTS of Photos)

2008-12-23T21:05:00.000Z

Well, there are an assload of pictures here, and a lot of them are very, very cool. We spent the day in London on Monday and were very touristy. Will have to let the results speak for themselves.

Anyway, we took the 10:01 train from Oxford to London Paddington. Once we were on the Underground to Tower Hill, Gillian had a good idea: it was right on the way and our cards are good for all day, so let's stop off at King's Cross.

You know, that King's Cross.

I swear, I had the idea too, she just mentioned it first.

Yes, the trolley is supposed to look like that. Really makes you wish you could walk right through.

Anyway, we got back on the subway and went to the Tower of London, where we stood in a long line for tickets. AKA we should have remembered to do this online.

A catapult in what used to be the Tower moat.

Gillian in St. Thomas's Tower (yes, another saint) which used to be the living quarters for several kings of England.

Me. Um. Yeah. Not fascinating.

Costumed re-enactors in the Tower.

The throne in St. Thomas's Tower.

Plaque commemorating the spot of Henry VI's death.

Gillian on the wallwalks with Tower Bridge in the background.

Gillian with her good buddy the metal executioner.

Gillian trying out for the Tower Guard. Well, I'm definitely frightened.

One of the guards outside the Jewel House. This was another of the really awesome places where photography was not allowed, so there is a lot of things which we do not have pictures of. Examples: The Hall of Thrones (where there is a seat for each English monarch since William the Conqueror) and the crown jewels themselves, set with gems ridiculously large enough that they don't even look real. The sceptre, the crowns, the orbs, the rings, the whole nine yards - we saw it all.

Me in front of the plaque of the White Tower, the original tower founded by William in 1078 or so. I *wanted* to see the plaque in the picture, but Gillian screwed it up. Oh well. And no, I don't know why I always look retarded either.

The plaque marking the spot where the bodies of the Princes in the Tower (Edward V and Richard Duke of York, sons of Edward IV and the uncles of Henry VIII) were found, after likely being killed by their uncle Richard III.

Part of the armory in the White Tower. There are, shall we say, a lot of weapons in there. Hope the gunpowder is a fake? Heh.

The Norman chapel in the White Tower. I took like 4 photos of this and all of them were blurry. Argh.

The walls in the second floor of the White Tower.

The actual block and axe used in the last beheading on Tower Green, that of a certain...

... Simon Fraser, Lord Lovat.

After this, we decided to head over to the Bloody Tower and Traitors' Gate. Stopping on the way to photograph one of the famed Tower ravens.

Voila.

The top of the portcullis in the Bloody Tower.

Gillian going up more winding stairs in the Bloody Tower.

Gillian in front of Traitors' Gate.

Me.

Me writing something for my book (the historical one). So whenever it gets published, scavenger hunt time -- which two paragraphs did I write at the Tower of London?

Me writing again. This was at lunch, with the Thames just behind.

The memorial just beyond the Tower, commemorating the British navy who died in WWI.

After this, we took the Underground to Westminster. This is what you see when you step out of the Westminster station:

Yep, that's Big Ben. RIGHT overhead. Gillian was a little awestruck here, and informed me, "You walk, I'll gawk."

A picture through the fence into the courtyard of the Houses of Parliament.

Westminster exterior. The only kind of shots of Westminster I was able to get. Argh.

Another Westminster exterior. I tell you, this is probably the most amazing place I have ever been. It is just indescribable. I walked around the entire time with my mouth hanging open and mumbling, "Oh... my... god..." under my breath.

Here I have to steal some pictures from Google images to see if I can attempt to give an impression of what it is like.

(picture from www.tourblaze.com) Westminster interior.

(picture from www.davidmacd.com) Another Westminster interior.

(picture from Wikipedia) Yeah.

(from Wikipedia) The tomb of Henry III.

The tomb of Queen Elizabeth I.

So basically imagine walking around in the tombs of the most famous kings, queens, poets, soldiers, explorers, scientists, etc. ever. It is fairly staggering. We had to stop and pay a little homage at the grave of T.S. Eliot, and the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior is fairly heartrending. The entire place is so beautiful it's just surreal.

A shot across the Westminster cloisters.

Big Ben and Westminster tower.

Westminster through the branches.

Looking back at Westminster at dusk.

From here we decided to go find Buckingham Palace...

The statue across from Buckingham Palace as lit at dusk.

Us in front of the Buckingham Palace gates.

The Christmas tree in front of Buckingham Palace.

The gates of Buckingham Palace.

Yeah. I think that's my favorite picture.

The courtyards of the Houses of Parliament at night. We decided to go find Harrods, or rather Gillian did, since I was kind of dragging ass by this point.

Voila. Harrods is completely insane. It's a paradise for the richie-rich, has everything imaginable, and is completely kitschy yet oddly fascinating. I was extremely tired so did not really care that much about looking around (besides, department stores freak me out) but it was definitely quite something. Which would be more fun if I was about 1,000 times richer.

The memorial plaque to Princess Diana on the 2nd floor of Harrods. At least I think it was the 2nd floor.

The pages of the book.

On the walk back to Sloane Square to catch the Underground.

The display in Sloane Square.

Gillian in Paddington as we were getting on the train back to Oxford. Which, for various reasons, took forever. And so did this post! Wheesh. Next big entry will probably be on Saturday after we go to Stonehenge.

Damn, it's almost Christmas. Where does time go....?

Winter Solstice At Oxford Castle (Photos)

2008-12-21T18:40:00.000Z

We have been very busy over the past few days, so I haven't had time to sort through all the photos we've also been very busy collecting. (Except the Hall of Jewels at the Tower of London and the interior of Westminster Abbey. Fun-killing yahoo camera Nazis. Grr). Anyway, here are the pictures from Oxford Castle, where we went to celebrate the winter solstice. And a lovely time was had by all, as usual.

This is what we call the faerie hill, also known as the mound where the original Norman motte-and-bailey castle was built in 1071 by Robert D'Oily, one of William the Conqueror's vassals. Since I have been big into this period of English history lately (my new project has a lot to do with it) this was especially cool for me.

Definitely a very atmospheric shot of a tree. Look out for the Little People...

The passage underneath the hill, found at the very top. Very sadly, it had a gate in the way, because we were extremely curious.

The gate. Complete with CCTV. Dammit.

The castle as seen from the hill.

The tower of Nuffield College also as seen from the hill.

The castle again as seen from the hill, and the tree as it looks like from the top. The tower in the background is St. George's Tower (remember this name, as it's where we actually went up BEFORE these pictures on the hill were taken, but I rearranged the order to make a more logical progression). St. George's Tower dates from pre-Conquest England and was likely already standing when Robert D'Oily set out to build the rest of the castle.

Gillian in front of the tree. As you can see from her hair, the wind was howling.

A closer shot of St. George's Tower through the branches of the trees. Where we head off to....

...climb a lot of very twisty, much-darker-than-this-but-my-camera-has-flash-control-problems stairs!

Very very twisty stairs. 101 in fact, all the way up to the top of St. George's Tower.

The roof of one of the rooms on the way up to the top.

A vaguely spooky view of a lantern on the stairwell. I think...

The arrow slits at the top of St. George's Tower.

Gillian in one such arrow slit.

Me in the arrow slit. I am pissed that this picture turned out blurry. Blame the wind.

The faerie hill and the Nuffield College spire as seen from the top of St. George's.

Another shot of Nuffield and the hill.

Gillian demonstrating how much the wind was roaring at the top.

The doorway back down the stairs...

... the very very twisty stairs...

... all the way to the haunted Norman crypt. This was me attempting to show how dark it was down there, but my camera retaliated for me turning off its precious flash by making it blurry as heck.

So I capitulated. Besides, it wasn't quite THAT dark. But apparently quite haunted. The electric candles break all the time and other weird things have been reported.

The passageway leading out of the crypt.

Gillian in the crypts. If she looks slightly leery, it was because the tour guide had just told us that one of the chief two ghosts is supposed to haunt the corner directly behind her -- a priest with piercing eyes, who is notably unhappy about anyone coming to the crypt who is not a fellow priest or the corpse of a convict to be dressed for burial. So Gillian gave the corner one or three suspicious looks over her shoulder before she turned her back on it. (The other ghost is apparently a monk named Bernard, and since he doesn't do anything but stand and stare, nobody is sure how they found out that his name is Bernard. That and sap people's energy and break candles. Sounds interesting).

The vaulting in the crypts.

Gillian in the old prisoners' quarters, giving her best unhappy face.

That does it for the December 21 pictures. Next post: London! (We took like 70 photos, and it would have been twice as many if they'd let us take pictures inside Westminster. I can't even describe that place, it's simply jaw-dropping, and may have to raid Google to see if I can give a sense of what it's like).

Oxford Day 2: More Photos

2008-12-20T17:53:00.000Z

Scenes from another day of knocking around lovely Oxford, England (although the pics from tonight's dinner at the Eagle and Child pub, aka the ones not yet taken, will have to come in a separate post):

The Dead Man's Walk and the Merton College library (the impressive gothicky bit on the left). The Dead Man's Walk is the medieval funeral walk winding around Christ Church Meadow behind Merton Street, and strangely enough, we did have a little incident with the map that made us wonder if a) both of us had severe temporary amnesia, b) we are a pair of ignoramuses, or c) there was a ghost having a bit of fun with us.

The gate into the Dead Man's Walk, with the paved road beyond being Rose Lane, and the dirt bit being the start of the walk. The gate looks like it's closed, but on the left there is a narrow winding way through the spires.

Gillian at one of the library gates along the Walk.

The Merton College library.

The Dead Man's Walk. While we were going down it, the wind was blowing and we heard all kinds of bells ringing in the distance. It was great. Now imagine that at night, lit only by candles, in a solemn procession. Spooky, huh?

A very atmospheric shot -- gnarled trees and the spire of Merton College Chapel in the background.

A shot into the Merton College gardens.

Looking back toward Merton from the far end of the Walk.

A view through a gate toward Christ Church.

Gillian in front of said gate.

Me in front of said gate.

You might think this would be a mighty impressive front quad to some college. Well, there you would be mistaken. This is not a front quad. It is instead the BACK entrance to Christ Church, which is probably the biggest (in terms of size) and one of the most beautiful colleges in Oxford. Coincidentally, also one of the snobbiest. But Gillian went up to investigate, saw that it was two pound ninety to get in, and wondered if we could look around anyway. I solved this problem by flashing my Bod (Oxford ID, short for Bodleian) card at the porters, who waved us through right away. This is what happened in Balliol, so lesson learned: Bod card=useful.

The back quad of Christ Church, from the other side.

Me at Christ Church. I swear I was smiling, but somehow the photo did not get taken while this was occurring. Maybe it was the ghost-induced amnesia again.

The Christ Church cloisters.

Yes, this is the BACK courtyard of Christ Church.

Gillian in the front quad of Christ Church, in front of the iconic tower. I have taken some pictures of Christ Church before, but this lot turned out a bit clearer.

Christ Church Cathedral. This place blows everywhere else, even Exeter, completely out of the water. It is amazing.

The altar at Christ Church, again a picture I took before, but this one turned out better.

The plaque for the First World War memorial, , which is a lovely illuminated, hand-calligraphed book. Pretty cool.

The pages of the World War I book.

The WWI plaque.

The heading for the Second World War memorial, which is also a book.

Here is the front page.

The walk outside Christ Church. Please ignore the dumpsters to the left.

The view out of the window of the little street cafe where we had lunch. That's Christ Church in the background.

Slightly further up Rose Place.

Brewer Street. I love the ivy wall and the Narnia-esque streetlamp.

Gillian among the ivy. Appropriate, seeing as she goes to an Ivy league school! Yar yar yar yar.

Me on Brewer Street. Hey look, I'm smiling.

Gillian checking out the gravestones at the St. Aldates Church. We were heading up to the Ashmolean and stopped to watch a street performer dancing at the corner of Cornmarket. He was beatboxing, and was quite good. Gillian gave him a little something for his efforts.

The entrance to the Ashmolean Museum.

The statue of Athena in the Ashmolean, dates from the 2nd century.

Model boats from Ancient Egypt.

Ancient Egyptian pottery.

A Stradivarius violin. One of the many single items in the Ashmolean that are worth more than my entire house.

17th-century porcelain.

A display of pocket watches.

One of the coolest items in the Ashmolean - the mantle of Powhatan, Pocahontas's father, taken from Jamestown in the early 1600s.

Possibly my favorite -- this is the Alfred Jewel, dating from the 9th-century rule of the Saxon king Alfred the Great, and found in 1693 as part of the excavation of a burial mound. The Old English inscription around the edges reads, "Alfred ordered me made."

The foyer of the Ashmolean at the top of the stairs.

All right, that covers today. A smaller edition will cover the pub, and then there will be plenty of pictures from London on Monday.

Long Time No Update/Oxford Kibbutzing (PHOTOS)

2008-12-19T18:25:00.001Z

Yes, well, various events of mild interest have commenced since my last blog post. But no matter. My sister Gillian, who is also my best friend, is in Oxford for Christmas, having arrived yesterday, and we are taking full advantage of it. We spent all of today knocking about Oxford, going to explore several of the colleges that I hadn't been in before, and we've also planned trips to London (Tower of London, Westminster, wherever else) and Stonehenge. That will be cool. To say the least. We're sitting here side by side on the couch on our laptops.

So... photos!

Gillian on Merton Street. Merton is this great little cobbled street that I'd been on only once before, and almost forgot how cool it is.

This is noteworthy because the street name is very Oxford, which I therefore find amusing. Gillian took this picture.

Gillian at the Merton College gate, by the cobbled walk.

Gillian at the front of Oriel College, with the front quad visible in the background.

The spire of Exeter College Chapel. I really liked Exeter, I hadn't been in there before, and now as before, I am realizing I forgot to take a picture of the walk overlooking Radcliffe Square. Argh.

The entrance to Exeter College Chapel.

The interior of Exeter chapel. This was really fricking amazing, I don't think the picture does it justice.

The Exeter fellows' garden, which was closed, but we got a picture through the gate anyway.

The Exeter grounds, with the Radcliffe Camera visible to the right through the trees.

The windows of the Exeter library. Gillian fiddled with this a bit since the original was blurry, so if it looks weird, that's why.

Me on the steps into the garden.

The front quad of Balliol, another one where Gillian got distracted and I had to make sure she didn't get into trouble. So to speak. But we told the porter that I had a Bod card and he was like, "Ah, just go on through, whatever." So that was easy.

A cool entranceway at Balliol.

The Balliol College chapel. Not quite as cool as Exeter's, but cool nonetheless.

Balliol Chapel from the outside.

Gillian under the tree, looking prim.

Gillian at the entrance to Balliol's Hall, purposefully standing in front of the sign which says it was closed to visitors.

Me on the stairs. The trees everywhere look cool.

The quad of St. John's College, complete with cloisters. Take a note of the doorway in the middle. St. John's itself wasn't as amazingly beautiful as some of the others, but its gardens were HUGE, with all kinds of pathways, rocks, mossy walls, deep trees, etc.

Gillian in the doorway, as seen from the other side.

Gillian under a willow in the St. John's gardens. We were in a back path and discovered that the willow was only 2 feet away -- but those 2 feet were occupied by the grass, which you DO NOT walk upon under pain of death. But we looked both ways, bounded across the grass, and ducked under the willow anyway. And nobody killed us, so there was that.

Me under the willow.

That does it for the pictures today. We had a lot of fun exploring, got a panini at the Cafe Roma on Walton Street, and then decided to head back. We're planning to go to the Ashmolean tomorrow, check out the Dead Man's Walk behind Merton, and then go to the Eagle and Child pub for dinner (better known as the Bird and the Baby, where Tolkien, Lewis, and the Inklings used to meet). We're going to London on Monday and Stonehenge on Saturday, with Christmas on Thursday, so it should be fun. More pictures to come soon.

Photo Diary: Wales

2008-11-10T18:30:00.001Z

A little late, as usual, in getting these up, but not TOO bad, as we went on Friday and it's now Monday night. I spent the weekend happily not doing work (no psychology essay this week, WHOO!) and of course had to make it up today with all the reading I got assigned to compensate, so I holed up in Blackwell's all day with a notebook and paid rent on a table with a sandwich and drink. But now that I find myself at leisure (and yes, rather rare) I figured I'd post the pictures from Wales. As always, peppered with my not-so-insightful commentary.

The suspension bridge crossing the River Severn into Wales, shot from out the bus window.
Suspension bridge in the distance (there are two of them) and you can see a bit of an island off to the left. The Severn is about the size of the Hudson, which was to say, they both took me aback since I'm not used to seeing that much water in Colorado.

The entrance to Tintern Abbey, of Wordsworth fame.

No, there is nothing remarkable about this sign whatsoever, except as an illustration that everything is printed in both English and Welsh, which you too will get hopelessly confused if you attempt to actually pronounce. The Welsh language: torturing consonants since the fifth century A.D.!

The entrance into Tintern from the Warming House.

A view through the ruined windows.

The main facade of the ruin.

The bulwark from the (former, obviously) cloisters.

A doorway out through the back.

The atmospheric shot. You can just hear the Dracula theme music striking up in the background.

VISITATIONS FROM THE AFTERLIFE! AAAAH!

And another atmospheric shot, with the Welsh countryside out the windows. Feel free to ignore the less aesthetic components of said scene, such as the metal scaffolding.

A dramatic shot, this time with sunlight.

Me, looking as retarded as ever. Unsure why I appear to have chipmunk cheeks.

Probably my favorite shot, but why are the bastards always ruining things with hoses and scaffolds? I know, I know, we don't want it to fall down on our heads. Shaddup.

Dramatic cross-sections.

DRAAACULA!!!

The door into the abbey.

No, the things in the foreground are not giant mutant cabbages or an army of invading trolls, at least I do not think. They are evidently bits of stone which they haven't got a place to put yet. Creative redecoration in action.

Annnnd this is a long while later, I realize I sort of forgot to photograph the transition (and besides my camera decided it was low on battery... after I'd changed them out earlier in the day. I swear, that thing eats them). This is at the Museum of St. Fagans, aka the Welsh patron saint, which is kind of like a living-history village with a bunch of authentic buildings you can wander around it. It is about a 30-minute drive from Tintern Abbey, just outside Cardiff.

Inside one of the period-furnished row houses, this one I believe from 1805. Thanks to my camera's habit of being smart and putting the flash on whenever it feels like, this picture is quite a bit lighter than it actually was inside.

Forgot which this one was. 1850s or something. Also a lot lighter than it was.

Inside the 16th-century farmhouse. It was almost completely black in here, so when I saw the picture, I said, "Huh, that's what the bed looks like."

The Celtic village. The first hut inside the gates is mildly unsettling, as you stick your head in and there is nothing but total darkness and some smoke. Also, very muddy. But cool.

The Welsh forest outside the village. Cue the faerieland music. Pretty, huh?

More faerieland. Complete with lamppost.

The entrance from across the bridge to St. Fagans Castle (actually just a Really Big Manor House We'll Call a Castle and See If Anybody Notices and Thinks We're Important Oh And Maybe Gives Us Money)

See! This Bit Appears Castle-Like!

See! We Also Have a Pond With Dopey Lute-Playing Statues! That Fellow On The Right There! And One On The Left but the Shrub Got In The Way!

We Also Have a Lovely Courtyard.

See! That Looks Really Castley!

(I hate to inform you, but that's a church. Across the road. And not part of St. Fagans Castle. But yes, it does look very gothic, what with the tower and archway and graveyard and all).

And here ends the photos. Which I am always dismayed to realize, since I never took as many pictures as I thought I did, and missed out on the gardens and some of the walkways around. But this should give you a nice representative sample as to how I faffed the day away in the merry olde land of Wales. More to come sometime.

Yes We Did

2008-11-05T05:27:00.000Z

Short post. I'm exhausted. It's 5:30 am and I have two tutorials in about 7 hours. Birds are singing. But I'm here. Stayed up for all of it.

Yes we did.

I love my country.

The Part Where I Hate Not Being In America

2008-11-04T17:07:00.002Z

(Or: I lack fingernails).

Tuesday, November 4, 2008. The day we've been waiting for. The day that's finally here. The day that's going to kill me with anxiety before it's over. The day where (KNOCK ON WOOD) America finally puts an end to the error, the criminality, the sheer stupidity and willful recklessness, of the last eight years that have left our country in tatters. The day where they listen to the better half of themselves and vote for hope, not fear. Vote for moving us into the 21st century, vote for finally realizing our promise as a better nation, instead of the laughingstock we've managed to make of ourselves. The part where we regain the trust of the world and our core American promise, where any citizen of any background can claim the highest office in the land. The part where I cry and laugh in joy, even though the first polls don't close until midnight my time. If I have to stay up until 5am to know for sure, I will. I leave nothing to chance. I am there the whole way. The nervousness is unbearable.

This American girl voted from Oxford two weeks ago, by Colorado absentee ballot. She re-registered in her home swing state (instead of where she goes to school, a very blue state indeed) to make the greatest difference. She checked the Secretary of State's website to make sure it arrived. She voted for hope, for promise, for her children's futures, for her own. She looks forward to being proud of her country’s choices and example again. She voted a straight Democratic party ticket and BARACK OBAMA AND JOE BIDEN for President and Vice President of a country that awaits their leadership and vision. And now she waits and prays.

YES WE CAN.

English Eventide

2008-10-30T18:30:00.003Z

Afternoon.

Afternoon is hail.

The sky goes dark, clouds sweep in
shivering bare trees that crane over stone
and gaze down on leaves who have lost their way
golden and crumbling, scuffing on bridges, blowing
in the bus exhaust and the bicycles that sweep on by
dodging signs and faces, moving forward in the rain.

I walk on beneath the townhouses leaning together
like old men resting a moment on the cobbled hills
and the towers that raise their faces to the rain.

On Cornmarket Street
there's the bagpiper
you can hear him for a long way
lively jig or searing lament, coins glittering
on the plaid spread before him
keeping time with his own toe
not caring who watches, watching them
go back and forth and pour in streams from
glass and steel and stone, veiling
in the rain.

Tourists take shelter beneath the eaves
of modern shops and glowing windows,
playgrounds for the wealthy, their shells
left empty on the grilles that open to
subterranean windows: fast-food wrappers
skittering in the wind, caught short in their flight
against the craning stalks of lampposts, holding aloft
golden blown-glass orbs to pin back the onrushing rain.

Above them there are windows, some dark, some barred
some glowing with a light, and below you see your reflection
locked deep in the sheened cement beneath your feet
and water runs from the curb and gathers in the broken cobbles
and around you the human tiderush, moving in quick
fractions from the negative of a film-freeze, seen through
the looking-glass, and heads down and umbrellas and scarves
jackets and shopping bags held up against to guard
the hissing susurrus and silent crystalline moments
of the clattering fall of hail, bringing down
the clouds and mist and rain.

Evening.

Evening is clearing.

The clouds break and a breath of flame
touches the low-lying streamers in the north
and the bell-towers rear head and shoulders
back above the scurrying maze of people
to stand there, to reach, ancient walls and
high crenellations standing side by side
with Starbucks and McDonalds, a brightness
a modern plasticity where you step for a moment
you could be anywhere, but then you come free
and down past the tangled wynds with names
like Penny Farthing Lane and Starwort Road
narrow cobbled side roads closing out the sky
and shadows dancing in the licking remnants
of the starburst falling rainstorm now gone.

There in a moment you're alone, and the noise
of civilization gone behind you, you step into the
grounds of a castle, there among the houses on the hill
and the buses and the shops, for a moment you disappear
into history. At the far end of the wall, a buttress tower
and a flag at the top, you stand there, gaze at it
in the light of the dimming sunset, and hear,
"Hurry, my lady.... and go with God."
Footsteps on cobbled stones, and the snows of midwinter
thousands of years ago, brought here in a moment
close enough to touch.

English eventide.
Placing your notebook on the ancient ring wall
bordering a green faerie hill
to button your jacket against
the oncoming chill.
Tucking your scarf in
and turning away
Emerging from darkness
The last of the day.
And in a moment,
civilization returns.

Absorbed in again beneath the gaze
of the towers, who have seen
more than this
more than you.

You walk then, and wish
"you" could see through "my" eyes
a moment that the lens cannot touch
glass dappled with rain.

Step forward, and you're free then
among the hordes waiting at the bus station
and then you're there, not caring
thinking things like, Jesus, Christ Church is beautiful
and watching the wall bend away
through the low trees, looking for its end
lost in the mist.

English eventide:
The streetlamps still catching
an edge of gold on the trees
and the spidered ironwork
clutching a gasp of pale sky
high on the stone cupola
in the ancient towers gilded
by the deepening darkness
and the soft-coming mist
and here on the eve of All Saints
you believe, although what
you couldn't say.
and somewhere, for a moment
barely heard but echoing
shivering the air, to touch
but not to bring back, there and gone:

bells.

The All-Purpose Oxford Update

2008-10-23T19:30:00.001+01:00

So I realized that even though I currently don't have any new photos, I do need to update my blog. Readers of my previous efforts will remember that I am not the world's most fastidious updater. Shut up. Although this might have been prompted by me having a dream last night that I would get $11 for every blog post and doing my best to bring my subconscious to life (yes, I am poor) it would also behoove me just to keep a semi-regular record so when I make references to things in the future, you will have some clue as to what I am talking about. But in general, I am not updating not because I am a lazy slob (debate me on that point later if you must) but because I am really, really busy. Take yesterday for example. Up bright and early, a half-hour walk to Wadham to return my library books and meet up with the school chaplain and four other student tutors, then take a bus out to the Oxford suburbs to tour the primary school where we'll be working.

(NB: I am now a member of said student tutoring program, which is a weekly commitment to take the bus out to Blackbird Leys and spend an hour or two both reading with the kids and providing a kind of big-sister support they may not get at home. It sounds like a lot of fun and a great opportunity, and I'm looking forward to it officially kicking off in two weeks). Once we got back from the school, it was lunchtime, so I had time to scarf down a Cornish pasty and a milkshake (found a great little shake store with a lot of character) and do some reading before packing up and heading off to my psych tutorial. (Tutorials, in case I haven't fully explained, are the core of the Oxford educational system and consist of your tutor assigning you a stack of books/research papers to read, and an essay or presentation to write, then you get to sit there for an hour and basically listen to them give you detailed point-by-point feedback on what they think you need to do better. It is an intellectually humiliating but ultimately worthwhile experience, and the SLC system is based in part on that -- we have regular classes and classwork, but we also meet every other week with our professor in order to pursue an independent topic that we then write a very long "conference paper" about at the end of term. So SLC has prepared me for this, and I imagine it would be a shock if I was coming from a big state university).

In any case, once the tutorial was over, I had gotten hit with another stack of homework for the next one -- books, papers, etc. etc. So I went to the Experimental Psychology library to pick them up, but since they were overnight-only loan (lame) I took them back to Wadham and parked in the Wadham library for the afternoon, read them and took notes on those bad boys, then went all the way back to the Experimental Psych library (getting dizzy yet?) to return them, before going (yes) all the way back to Wadham again for a meeting on the other half of the student tutoring program. (Do your feet get frequent walker miles? Maybe I'll get crap for free). Anyway, that means I'm going to London tomorrow (Friday) after my writing tutorial, to work with two other students to put on a workshop about the Normans. (So it's my task to get them to do creative pieces about William and Harold. Okay, I can handle that).

I've spent the afternoon doing some housecleaning and reading my way furiously through three of the four books I need to have finished by tomorrow, which has been enjoyable. It's actually raining here, which is not as expected as it might sound (the weather has, for the most part, been great). Quiet evening, maybe some dinner later, and then busy tomorrow before the weekend hits. That's not too much different, as I no longer have Saturdays (they are used to write my psychology essays, since that's the first off-day I have) but at least I have Sundays, in which I have continued my long-established routine of finding a coffee shop and chilling for a few hours before attending the Wadham College Evensong service, which is transformative and beautiful. I have quite enjoyed being able to reconstruct a spiritual side of myself, and Oxford has helped tremendously with that, among others. I have found myself thinking of it as home, even my little flat out here on Iffley Road with my three other flat-mates. I'm always out, doing things, keeping busy, seeing people, planning, and not to mention, all that homework. Yeesh. Still, I wouldn't have it any other way.

In summation: yes, alive, yes, happy, yes, busy. Whoof. I'll check in again whenever I feel like it's been a while or something interesting happens, whichever happens first.

Photo Diary: Downtown Oxford

2008-10-09T20:17:00.000+01:00

After a few days mainly characterized by vast amounts of walking and attempting to stop spending money, I now have another photo diary to post (and looking through my album, I see that I took a crapload of pictures, so this may have to go in two parts). This covers downtown Oxford (Broad, High, and Cornmarket Streets) along with some (read: one, more will come later) shots of the Bodleian, and Balliol, Merton and Christ Church colleges. After I was done meeting my psych tutors today, I just, uh, took the very long way home. And get to truck all the way out to North Oxford tomorrow to meet my writing tutor, so I'll take more pictures then, and I also need to get started on my first official Oxford assignment (YAY). It's for psych, about social cognition in infants. But that's the boring stuff. The pictures are more interesting.

The entrance into the Bodleian quad. As you can see on the left, a great deal of Oxford is being renovated right now.

The Sheldonian Theatre, where 'freshers' get to go for Matriculation. Which is, they put on silly gowns and do a lot of prancing about. Since I am not a fresher, nor enrolled at the University for the full duration of my undergraduate work, I sadly get to miss dressing up and prancing.

Looking from the Bodleian down Broad Street. Balliol is just a bit further and on the right.

A peek into Balliol, which depending on who you ask is the oldest or second-oldest college in Oxford. Amusingly, the board just to the bottom of the shot claims that it's the oldest with a founding date of 1263, but they might want to take that up with University College, which claims a 1249 founding date.

Almost at the corner of Broad and Cornmarket Streets. Just to the right there is a small church and a graveyard.

And this is the graveyard. Probably haunted, like most of Oxford is supposed to be.

My camera has a bewildering habit of deciding to flash or not to flash (it must be the electronic Hamlet) whenever it wants (or does not want) to, so this picture is a little dark. In any case, this is one of the oldest buildings on Cornmarket Street, at the corner of Cornmarket and Ship.

Looking back down Cornmarket.

A part of the Examination Schools, which are apparently hiding all the lectures in Oxford.

Cobbled Merton Street, which leads off High Street.

A corner of Merton College.

A better look at the tower.

And the front of the Merton tower. As you can see, it was actually a lovely day, which evidently is something of a rarity for England, but I'm getting a bit spoiled, since both today and yesterday were so nice. And as I was leaving, they actually rang the bells, which was both unexpected and quite nice.

One side of the front quad of Christ Church College, which is one of the largest, most beautiful, and most tourist-centric colleges in Oxford.

The other side of the front quad.

The distinctive bell tower of Christ Church. Again, my camera playing shenanigans with the lighting, also partly due to the shadows.

I just realized I forgot to get a picture of the staircase into Hall, which I could swear was the one where they filmed Harry and Co.'s arrival at Hogwarts in the first movie (it looked awfully familiar...) That is bothering me. In any case, since bits of Christ Church were used for Potter, it's probably shown up somewhere.

Christ Church Hall. I am now realizing that several of these photos are a little blurry for some reason, which is annoying. I didn't think I was waving the camera around.

Looking the other way in Christ Church Hall.

The interior of Christ Church Cathedral, but this picture is also rather blurry for some strange reason. Clearly, supernatural activity.

The altar in Christ Church Cathedral.

Looking back to the bell tower from the entrance to the cathedral.

This is I believe the entrance to Queen's College, with the spires of Magdalen (pronounced, bewilderingly, Maudlin) in the background.

Somewhere on High Street. No, I can't remember where.

In any case, there will be more pictures tomorrow, since I'll take a detour through the Bodleian on my way back from North Oxford. I ran a test route on Wednesday and am halfway certain I know where I am going, and I have proved to be remarkably adept at navigating, but even then, this could end in humiliating failure.

Photo Diary: London

2008-10-04T22:03:00.000+01:00

So here are the results of my trip to London, gleaned before my camera decided to die (fortunately, nothing TOO interesting was missed due to its determination to eat my batteries). The SLC group hit up the Tower of London together, but after lunch, we were left to do our own thing, and my friend Kimberley and I had a fine time knocking about London and seeing the sights, all the while attempting to locate the bus that would eventually take us back to Oxford. (What we learned: find a helpful Irishman). We got to Westminster and Buckingham Palace, then wandered somewhere past Hyde Park, getting rather tired, before we ran into said helpful Irishman, then dozed for most of the hour-long coach trip back to Oxford.

Once we got back, it was dark, and we were hungry, so we decided to go find some dinner. We ended up at the Bear, which is the oldest and supposedly most haunted pub in Oxford, and I would have gotten some pictures of it if my camera hadn't been farted out. Accessed down a narrow cobblestone street, it's tiny, with the narrowest stairs imaginable up to the ladies' room, and dark wood panels just a few inches above my head (and I'm a pretty tallish woman). It has hundreds and hundreds of college ties in picture frames on the wall, each signed by someone, and I'm sure there were a lot of luminaries included there, but didn't get a chance to look at all of them. It was quite noisy and boisterous, and Kim and I sat in the back with dinner -- I got a very English meal, fish and chips and a pint of beer. After that, I finally took the bus back home to my flat, which is where I am now, somewhat dismayed at the fact that I keep having to miss all the baseball playoff games. Other than that, and the small money issue, I've decided I never want to come back. Unfortunately, I might have to.

Onto the photos!The entrance to the Tower of London. In case you couldn't tell or something.

Tower Bridge.

This I believe is the White Tower, the central building of the Tower of London (according to our tour guide, a Yeoman Warder of the Tower who also happened to be extremely amusing, there are twenty towers in total, 6 in the outer ward, 13 in the inner ward, and one in the middle. Did you know that? Now you do). The White Tower dates back to 1078 and was built by William the Conqueror, and again there was some renovation going on on the right side that I decided to edit out.

This is Traitor's Gate, the entrance to the Tower from the Thames, through which they brought prisoners. The entrance is boarded up on the river side now, but the gate remains... I think this is one of the coolest pictures I got.

The Bloody Tower, where a lot of the Tower's trademark goriness took place. That portcullis you see is 700 years old, and allegedly it is a bad idea to pause beneath it (so said our tour guide) because the ropes holding it up are also 700 years old... Speaking of the many famous prisoners who were held there, they included two of the wives of Henry VIII (Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard) and Lady Jane Grey. We went into the Tower chapel, where they're buried and which is beautiful, but we were not allowed to take pictures, so that went sadly unrecorded. Take my word for it, it was cool. We also saw where Sir Isaac Newton used to live, but I didn't get a picture of that either. Also, we heard that the first man and last man executed on Tower Green were both named Simon, and the latter was Simon Fraser, Lord Lovat, a leader of the second Jacobite Rebellion. If you're a fan of the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon such as I am, you will know why that's cool. William Wallace was also executed here. (Think Braveheart, except more historically accurate).

A window slit in Beauchamp Tower, one of the inner ward towers, which is famous for having a number of scriptures and names carved into the walls by prisoners there. They've taken most of them out and preserved them now, but there are still a few.

Me in Beauchamp Tower. It was actually a lot darker than this, but then my camera decided to turn its flash back on.

The Tower ravens. Some king (can't remember, it might have been one of the Edwards or Jameses) stipulated that six ravens be kept on the grounds at all times, since legend goes that if they ever leave, the Tower and the monarchy will crumble, and various horrible things will befall England. So, this is 2008, do they still believe in that superstition? Do they still keep six ravens on the grounds? Nah! They keep nine, just in case.

The River Thames from the top deck of our boat, which had a very Cockney tour guide. He said both "nuffink" and "summat," which I thought was very amusing.

Kim with the Tower Bridge in the background, this while we were boating for the wait to leave.

Outside entrance to the Traitors' Gate, which as I said, is boarded up (no need to take prisoners in anymore. The last prisoner held at the Tower was Hitler deputy Rudolf Hess at the end of WWII). But it's still cool.

Not that notable a picture, eh? Well, until you take into account that that unremarkable-looking concrete span is London Bridge. And yes, I know I just stuck that song in your head.

The white building on the right is the working replica of the Globe Theatre, which of course is a famous place for Shakespeareites.

St. Paul's Cathedral, as seen from the Thames. Sir Christopher Wren, the famous 17th-century English architect who designed it, went to Wadham. So yay Wadham.

The Houses of Parliament and Big Ben on our approach to Westminster Pier.

Big Ben from directly underneath.

Part of Westminster Abbey. In sheer jaw-dropping grandeur, Westminster takes the cake -- this is definitely the place where we were acting most like tourists. It is just beautiful. Most unfortunately we didn't get to go inside since Saturday visiting hours end at 1.30 pm, but we're planning to return for an Advent service.

The front of St. Margaret's Church, part of Westminster.

Me at Westminster.

Detail of Westminster Abbey.

The front of Westminster. Like I said, beautiful. I wish we'd have gotten to go inside, but I guess that comes later.

The gates of Buckingham Palace. Most unfortunately here was where my camera decided to give up the ghost, so the photos have to end here. Note to self: keep more batteries on hand.

Tomorrow I have an offday, so I'm going to sleep in (it's been a busy week) and run some errands. Back to Broad Street, which is also a beautiful part of Oxford, and to the grocery store, which is slightly less exciting. Next week focuses on activities for Wadham "freshers," so we have more spare time. However, I do get to meet my college mum and siblings on Monday, which I am looking forward to. Funnily enough, after formal dinner in Hall last night, I went to the college bar with some of my friends, and ended up meeting my college father, brother, and grandfather. (My college mum's college husband, his college son, and his college father. I have a whole family now. Who knew).

Photo Diary: Day 1

2008-10-03T23:22:00.001+01:00

So here are the photos that I took during my first day rubbernecking in Oxford, which was yesterday. This really is an insanely gorgeous city, and since I've not started school yet, I can take photos without it being uncool. So... now that my internet is back (it went out for a full day, and then my housemate fixed it in two seconds... sigh... at least it's back) here we go. A pretty extensive photo diary, and my camera is coming with me tomorrow to London.

My gate at DIA when I first got there (A37, it already said London Heathrow over the door, which was exciting). Not many people. It's light. Now, there is a long time to wait.

My gate, minus the plane. Still in the daytime. This while I was kicking about and doing nothing in particular, trying to kill time. And no, that is not a ghost in the picture, that is the flash.

My gate. Now it is dark, a lot more time has gone by, and there are a lot more people. We are getting closer to departure, which means I am probably jumping out of my skin.

Shut up about my oh-so-witty commentary.

This is my plane at the gate, a Boeing 777 which means it had three sets of three seats and two aisles. Unfortunately, no pictures of the inside of the plane since a) it was night and I didn't want my irritating flash to bother people, and b) they might think I was a terrorist trying to scope out possible attack locations. So, no plane photos.

A LONG-ASS TIME LATER (no really, a LONG LONG ASS TIME later)

A photo while my bus was sitting at the departure gate in Heathrow. Notice the sunlight? It's actually been sunny for three whole days in a row. I'm getting my hopes up. This might be a bad idea.

A shot out the bus window of the typical winding Oxford street, lined with houses.

I am actually blanking on which of the colleges this is. So it's the front quad of one of them. Yes, I know, how terribly helpful.

A typical house on my walk in from my flat to Wadham.

The Fir Tree, your average corner pub. As in, there is one every block or so.

The front facade of University College.

The sign on Catte Street, the side brick-paved shortcut that leads past the Radcliffe Camera, Bodleian Library, and to Wadham.

Somewhere in the Bodleian section of buildings.

The front quad of Wadham College, my home college for the purposes of this year. I purposely cut out the right side of the picture because there is some renovation going on which is not quite as charming.

A closer look at the statues above the central doorway.

The back of the Wadham College Chapel, where services are sung by candlelight on Sunday evenings. I think I might go.

The college organ, which I've heard can make the floor shake. Oohhhh...

The interior of college chapel.

Wadham College Hall, where we had a fancy dinner. It looks great by candlelight.

A street bridge, this one taken from while we were crossing the Bodleian quad on our way to the bus stop home.

The view from the bus stop, where it had become a bit predictably gray and rainy. But hey, it was nice again today. I hardly know what to think.

Pictures to come from London tomorrow!

The Eagle Has Landed

2008-10-01T21:08:00.000+01:00

Yes, I am here. Very tired and with a killer headache, but present, in one piece, and functional (somewhat) in my flat. I took various pictures on the way to document the trip, but don't want to bother uploading them now, so I will have to do those later. In the meantime, after a very VERY long flight, in which nothing much happened except my butt got very tired of an airline seat, I finally landed in Heathrow with my internal clock completely out of whack, navigated my way through a rabbit's warren of passages, escalators, trains, and signs, and finally managed to locate the bus which would convey me to Oxford. This also went off without mishap. I found the taxi stand and, after a brief misunderstanding in which the driver thought I said Wolfson College instead of Wadham College, finally got to the right drop-off, where I got my keys and packet, then jumped straightaway back IN the same taxi and got ferried to Iffley Road, where my new flat is located. It is not a bad flat. Four small bedrooms and two small bathrooms, with a downstairs with a nice living area and kitchen. After I got most of my things unpacked, but did not bother to make the bed (I'll do that in a minute) I set straightaway back out again, as there was the mild problem of a) my electronics deciding not to work, and b) I needed food.

I had a small map of Oxford at my disposal, but since it was useless at first, I had to steer by relying on the rather daunting task of recognizing streets and buildings from the way in. I did manage to do this, since I have a good sense of direction, even though I often had no clue if I was on the right track or not. Then I recognized a few of the street names on the map, and promptly went the other way from where they ended. Then I got hit on twice in the space of ten blocks by random guys, which was mildly flattering if somewhat creepy. And then I sorted my way through all the roundabouts, bought a mobile phone (the deal is that you pay for it as you go, and then I forgot to find out what my number is and now can't top it up since I spent my first amount calling home to let my mom know I was alive. So, which means I am going to have to hope the reserve kicks in, or I'm gonna have to traipse all the way BACK there and ask them what the deal is). I also managed to fry my power strip and briefly wonder if the electricity was going to work, which it did eventually. Long story.

In any case, orientation starts tomorrow and I'm going to have to go into more detail then, because I am wiped. The clock says 9:07 pm and even though it's only 2pm back home (wweeeeeeird) I have NO trouble believing it. Shower, make the bed, read some stuff, we should be gooodggzuzh.

It's Hitting (T-Minus 1 Hour)

2008-09-30T21:55:00.000+01:00

I am all packed. I leave for the airport in about an hour and a bit. Basically just sitting here on a lovely Colorado afternoon (no early snow, THANK YOU JEEBUS) killing time and freaking out. Yeah, I think it might finally be REALLY actually sinking in, not just the thought of it, and yeah. Wow. Jeeminy... I don't know if I'll be able to find a wi-fi connection at the airport, and since I lost my phone somehow this summer, this will be my last post on this side of the pond. (Sometime in the not-so-distant future, I will be on a plane over said pond, and I wish I'd remembered to select my seat in an empty row so I'd have a chance to lie down. Bah).

In any case, checking out from my last six hours on American soil for the next year. Yeah, so that's why I'm weirding out.

See you in Oxford.

T-Minus 1 Day

2008-09-30T00:09:00.000+01:00

What I did today: Slept a little late, spent too much time reading about the friggin' bailout deal and worrying about the Presidential election (In case there was any confusion, I am a passionate Democrat, and McInsane and Failin' Palin can kiss my ass, especially with all their little gimmicky stunts trying to make me vote for them since a vagina is now present on the ticket. GO OBAMA! I was originally registered to vote in New York, where I go to school, but changed my registration back to Colorado, where I live, to help turn the Square State blue. That would be a source of great pride, and New York is going to go blue by double digits anyway). I also packaged up my printer, speakers, and sundry clothing, and took it to the post office, spent much too much money to send it on its merry way across the pond ($109.10. Ouch) went to Radio Shack for the third time in three days to re-exchange an adapter I had already exchanged, put the rest of my American money in the bank, then got home and started packing. And packing. At last count, I have somehow managed to fit everything I need for a year into two sizeable suitcases and a backpack, with my laptop case still to come. I am rather surprised that I managed to accomplish this, and judged from the informal first test I gave them, my suitcases are not even overweight. I shall have to weigh them formally to make sure.

Now what's left? Mainly a lot of sitting-on-hands time and (still) attempting to imagine what it's going to be like. Not much time left until I find out, and my next post will either be right before I pack up the computer to take off for the airport, or whenever I actually get all the way to my Oxford flat, which is going to be an undertaking. But I am up for it. And ready to go. In case you couldn't tell. There will also be one last football game tonight (Ravens vs. Steelers, Monday Night Football, I would prefer not to talk about what those silly Broncos did) before I officially become a rugby aficionado.

T-Minus 4 Days

2008-09-27T00:43:00.000+01:00

What I did today: Woke up in the middle of the night having a freakout moment that the next weekday is the day before I leave, I am GOING TO ENGLAND FOR A YEAR HOLY SHIT, picked up my starting supply of £250 from the bank, despaired again at how the exchange rate conspires to screw me out of my money, deposited my second-to-last paycheck, went shopping for toiletries (shampoo, conditioner, soap, toothpaste, batteries, etc. etc. yes I know how fascinating), said goodbye to my friends, bought a converter plug that will actually fit my power strip, thereby ensuring I will be able to use electricity in England (always a good thing) called my bank to let them know I will be using my credit card overseas for a year so they do not think I am stealing my own identity (and shockingly, got a native English speaker on tech support instead of some poor fuck in India) ordered printer toner and lucked out on the speed-shipping rate so hopefully it will arrive before Tuesday, and realized I somehow still have 96 hours to go and there is nothing I can do that will make it go faster, except perhaps sleep a lot.

In conclusion, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

I am now fine.

The Anvil-To-The-Head Moment

2008-09-20T07:25:00.001+01:00

Scene: It's 11:45 pm at night. I am up in the living room, talking to a few friends on Instant Messenger, listening to one of the new albums off iTunes I am somehow unable to stop buying (I blame that little button, it's much too easy to click it. You should have a whole sequence of "Are you sure?" windows, like a spam bomb). I am bitching about how I don't want to go back to work (two more days, both 5:30 am shifts. They sure do want to send me out with style, those coffee fascists. Long story). And then it hits me, as if it hasn't already, that I am leaving the country for a year in just 11 days. 11 stinking days. All I need to do is get some dollars exchanged for pounds, figure out for sure what to do about my printer and get some more toner, and also figure out how to get everything that will be required for a year in England into two large suitcases, one middling-sized backpack, and one heinously heavy laptop case. Well, to be honest, the heinously heavy part comes when I have to load all my electronics into it and then port it all the way around the damn airport, find places for it beneath airline seats, and then port it all the way out of the other damn airport. That gives you a wicked pissah shoulder cramp, let me tell you.

Anyway. This is what I prefer to call my anvil-to-the-head moment, in which it strikes the previously happily oblivious college student (myself) that this is, ya know, KINDA A BIG DEAL. I am in that uncomfortable space where the trip is imminent and I am thinking about it all the time (as if I wasn't already) but I still have a week and a half to go at home. So I am distracting myself by buying music, watching football (Broncos currently in process of raping league, helped out by Ed Hochuli, am hoping it will continue, am under no delusions that it will if D-line and special teams continue to perform splendid impersonations of cattle excrement) and complaining about work. In short, it's kind of hitting me now, and unfortunately has too much time to continue to sink in. I AM LEAVING THE COUNTRY, PEOPLE! FOR A YEAR! AND AM EXPECTED TO LIVE THERE! AND NOT RUN OUT OF MONEY!

Hoof. Hoof.

Okay, better now.

Cabin Fever

2008-08-24T04:15:00.002+01:00

This is very odd. My younger sister Gillian left just this morning for her freshman year at Columbia University, something that is still taking a little (a lot) getting used to. I will not see her again until December, in (coincidentally) Oxford. She will fly out to spend Christmas with me, as mentioned (ticket booked and all, she is on Aer Lingus, leaving JFK and transferring through Dublin, we get about eight days together) but since she's my best friend, the separation, after being together for the whole summer, is still feeling strange. I've been away in New York myself for the past two years, but it's a novel feeling to be left, instead of doing the leaving. She'll move in tomorrow and start classes on September 2, and I know she'll have a fabulous time. But now that this official end-of-summer benchmark has been reached, I am just a little disappointed that it is not my turn to depart as well. I am at that uncomfortable juncture where I am very tired of work and want to get out, jet off to England, and have myself a merry olde time, but still have another month to go -- almost exactly. Tomorrow is August 24th (better known as my 20th birthday) and I requested for my last day at work to be September 24 ahead of a September 30 departure.

If by some miracle my savings edge up over $3000, that would be very enjoyable, but will do nothing to ameliorate what is likely to be miserable poverty. Between that and the shortened summer I will have next year, I at least will have a head start on being a starving grad student. I am dubious that £1500 will cover food and travel expenses all year. I am sure that I've covered this before... It is probably a Bad Thing to be at least a little happy when the global economy, which like the U.S.'s is taking a marked downturn, starts aiming for the shitter. It has a long way to go, but hey, the exchange rate is holding steady about $1.90/£1. I have heard that the minimum wage in Britain is a monster £10 ($20/hour) which makes me a) wonder why the hell our ostensibly advanced first-world economy can only come up with $5.15, and b) reminds me that I need to see if I'm allowed to work under the terms of my visa. I'm already planning on volunteering for Oxfam, since it's something I want to do and something that will be a strong complement to my academic work, but that's not paying work, and altruism, while good for one's complexion and sense of moral superiority, is notably deficient at padding one's already scanty pocketbook. Does this mean I have to attempt to contact the British Consulate again? Groan.

My grandmother offered to buy me Wellies as my birthday present (better known as rubber boots, which will be needed for the various wet commutes I will have back and forth between the SLC flats and Oxford itself) so I picked out a pair in a snazzy quasi-Scottish plaid. When (if) I make it to Scotland, I shall take a picture of myself in the plaid boots (and the rest of my clothes, just in case you were getting any uncouth ideas) and post it here. Just for the hell of it. Until I actually get to Oxford, I don't particularly have anything new to write about, aside from my kvetching about work, impatience, the exchange rate, how unlikely it is that I will be able to eat the entire time, how much I can't wait to get there, the exchange rate, things I want to do, the exchange rate, British consulates, plane tickets, the exchange rate, etc. But nonetheless, I occasionally feel the need to elucidate exactly nobody about the progress I am making this summer, and the excitement I feel for the fall. And how much I have a bad case of cabin fever now that Gillian gets to faff off to New York and I am left behind in a markedly quieter house. (She does an excellent job of keeping the noise at previously established levels, so my parents would never notice that they had only one kid, instead of three, around. My older sister and I have both been away at school for the last few years, so now that Gillian's out, they are officially empty-nesters. It's going to be a change.

36 days until I leave.

The Preliminaries, Round Two

2008-08-06T04:10:00.005+01:00

So it's been just about a month since I last updated this blog (me not yet being in Oxford, updates are not necessarily required, but I know that it might behoove me to actually get into practice) and I'm still snowed under the mound of paperwork and tiny details that must be sorted. Fortunately, I think I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. My plane ticket is now booked, and I am flying a nonstop on British Airways instead of BMI, all for the low, low price of $1,114. This isn't so bad, since the ticket itself was $500 or so, but they soak you for international taxes and fuel costs, and since I will need to milk every drop of the luggage allowance, I am glad that BA doesn't (yet) charge for the second bag. (United, for example, is now charging for the first bag. Yes, folks, our airline industry is truly in the shitter). Knowing my luck, this will undoubtedly change in the one and a half-months I have before leaving, but what the hell. I depart from DIA at 8:15pm on September 30th, fly an ass-long time -- actually 8 hours and 55 minutes -- and then presumably, once across the pond, touch down at Heathrow at 12:10pm local time, jetlagged as crap and set with the task of finding the correct bus to Oxford, navigating British money, and not falling asleep and sleeping through my stop. Not to mention taking two taxis, finding the Wadham College office and then my flat, and somehow being expected to unpack the contents of two large suitcases, one small suitcase, and a laptop bag while staying awake until 9pm. But I digress.

My previous post touched on the difficulties of filling out a visa application that wants to know your life history. In any case, I outsmarted the computer, got all the boxes filled in with a minimum of invention, drove an hour down to Aurora to have my fingerprints taken, spent five minutes there, and drove an hour home while getting stuck in traffic since two guys had unwisely overloaded a pickup and a trailer and scattered debris all over westbound I-70. (True story, since it took me about an extra half-hour to get through that. Hire a U-haul next time, jackasses). After mailing the kit and caboodle off last week, I got an email from the British Consulate in Los Angeles today telling me that my visa has been approved and is in the mail (this after also getting two separate voice messages, one at 3:42 and one at 3:48, the first asking for more financial documentation proving my ability to pay, the second telling me that they'd found the sheet showing I did and apologizing for bothering me, all in a prim British accent. It was very amusing). Enclosed in said package are my passport and all my letters from SLC and Oxford proving that no, I am not a crook, and yes, I am actually enrolled for the year, so if UPS loses it or decides they can't deliver it for whatever reason, I am going to have to choke a bitch. The actual dates of my departure are September 30, 2008 -- June 22, 2009, which is definitely a very long time to be overseas where you (as yet) know no one and are immediately bankrupted out of half your money due to the (aforementioned) exchange rate. I need to have a meeting with my dad hammering out the financial particulars, but due to his various artistic projects and/or psychotic episodes (long story) I'm not sure how much is going to come out of the parental pocket (besides, they have three kids in college, and two of those are at private schools across the country. Have some pity on them).

Speaking of which, I also mentioned that my sister will be coming out to visit me at Christmas. Unfortunately, it won't be quite as long as the two weeks that I'd hoped for, since she is now affiliated with a talent search company and will have to fly to Orlando, Florida, on December 29 in preparation for a weeklong convention in which she will have various shots at endearing herself to various entertainment bigwigs, such as acting, modeling, dancing, etc. executives. I love my sister dearly, and she is my best friend, but it is also true that she is the consummate perfect child who sometimes would make me hate her if, well, I didn't love her. You know the type -- blonde hair, blue eyes, outgoing, popular, boys love her, valedictorian of her high school class, off to the Ivy League university of her choice, not to mention she did the audition for this talent company on a whim and ended up being their top pick for callbacks. Now they're specially grooming her for this opportunity, which means she'll probably get signed to some lucrative contract and become a star, while I am broke and holed up in a small flat in England, writing a paper on some obscure tenet of psychology for some megalomaniac Liverpudlian with an academic deathwish. (I wish to disclaim that this is all speculation, as I have not met my Oxford tutors yet -- we do that when we actually get there -- and I am sure that they are all perfectly nice people, aside from harboring an intense desire to tear my work down and tell me all the things of which I am sadly unaware. Have mercy on me, I'm only a junior anyway and already have plenty of what I call epistemological crises -- in which I am dead sure that four years of a liberal arts education, while interesting and thought-provoking, will end up teaching me absolutely doofer about anything useful whatsoever. I am an anomaly of an artist in that way, since I have always been what I call a terminally sensible sort of person. I am also the type of person who wants to know everything and at every turn, am reminded of how far I have to go).

I am still working at Starbucks, where I have somehow seemed to endear myself to the brass to which point I am now the assistant manager. I chalk this up to me actually doing my job, as I am terrible at half-assing things and if I have to be detained for the entire summer asking if you want the extra shot in that or whipped cream on top, it makes sense to have fun doing it. I like my coworkers and always do the little things that you'd think everyone would actually do, but sadly, I work with a bunch of teenagers who do not always think of such things. (There are a few exceptions, and I have one coworker that I love because she's hysterically funny and another coworker that I love since we talk about political and social issues). But despite that, we have a lot of fun and I do stupid stuff like offering to re-type the price sheet and do inventory, but am rewarded for it with the devotion of the bigwigs (always useful social capital to possess) and a fairly certain job offer for next summer. I will not, however, have that much time to work next summer, since after all I get home in late June and will have to leave in late August, which means I will be poor as dick for my senior year. Which means I will have a head start on being a grad student. Wait, I'm going to be a senior in a year?! Jesus Christ on a bicycle. I swear I don't know where the last two years have gone anyway.

In any case, it's Tuesday night and I've already worked two eight-hour shifts this week, with the same to follow until Friday. On Saturday, my sister and I are going to our last Rockies game together for quite some time (what with her leaving for Columbia in a few weeks) which may or may not be depressing since the Rockies are currently in the process of being shut out by the Washington Nationals. (After losing to them last night. At home. With Aaron Cook on the mound. If you are not as devoted and psychotic a Rockies fan as I am, I will sum that up for you more concisely: EPIC EPIC FAIL). I'll probably make it to one of their last home games in September, which will be strange since I'll be watching half the season next year from across the pond and eight hours ahead, which means night games in Colorado will start around 2 AM. In short, I hope they play a lot of afternoon games on the East Coast. And on Sunday, I am probably going to have coffee with my mom, as this is the first summer we've ever spent any time together on a consistent basis and are discovering that we have a lot to talk about (and disagree about, and debate about, etc). I really like Colorado, and the mountain valley where I live, and will be happy to come back here both in June next year and for the next five years to get my master's/Ph.D. (At CU Boulder in cognitive psych. Case you were wondering). But in the meantime, I am really really frinking ready to go to Oxford. Too bad I still have just under two months to go. I don't think staring at the clock will help, since I try that all the time at work and all it does is laugh at me.

Anyway, it's past 9PM. Think I'll go find my sister so we can talk before I go to bed. Not that I go out that much anyway, but when you have to get up every day at times ranging from 5AM (not joking, it is awful) to 9AM, your options for nocturnal entertainment are limited. Fortunately, I have never been one to go clubbing and do not see the appeal in getting so trashed every night that you can't remember what or who you were doing, and generally prefer to write, listen to music, and try to pretend that I am not aware of the Rockies failing. I'm looking at you, boys.

All right. I'm really leaving now.

P.S. Why the fuck does Blogger no longer automatically publish single-spaced and instead crams all the paragraphs together so I have to go separate them in Word? I ask you.

The Preliminaries

2008-07-12T01:15:00.000+01:00

As anyone might imagine, there is a shit-ton of stuff to do in preparation for getting me close to 5,000 miles away for the coming year, over most of the American continent, New York City, and the Atlantic Ocean. Most of it involves paperwork, most of which I have already submitted to SLC, who are technically supposed to take care of it. Or not. Today, I discovered that I have been remiss in submitting an academic paper (I think I knew I was supposed to send that, but forgot) and five passport-sized photographs of myself to the Office of International Programs. This to go along with the health insurance form, passport form, tutorial planning questionnaire, housing questionnaire, medical form, second medical form, medical questionnaire, parental permission form, financial guarantee form, and sundry other pieces of paper that I have already managed to turn in. Not to mention the UK visa form which I keep attempting to fill out, only to be rebuffed because I do not know, off the top of my head, things like my full educational history from age 11 or my family's monthly income after taxes. One thing I do know, however, is that I have not been convicted for genocide and I have not ever sponsored or been involved with terrorist organizations. I would also tell the helpful British consulate people what I had for lunch last Wednesday, but I can't remember. It might have been a turkey on rosemary parmesan sandwich at Quizno's, as there's one right across from the Starbucks where I work and I am kind of addicted to those things.

Speaking of which, the whole reason that I am working like a slave in the empire of coffee is because I really fricking need the money. Looking at exchange rates on Yahoo! Finance is just depressing. $1 USD is worth almost exactly $1 Canadian, .60 of a euro and .50 of a British pound, and since the British pound is the currency I will have to get used to using (at least I think they don't have shillings and farthings any more, which is good, because it is all bloody confusing) and spending, it is currently going head-to-head in a boxing match against the US dollar and knocking it the hell out. Now is not a good time to be traveling abroad with the abysmal state of the dollar, especially when you're trying to convert it into one of the strongest currencies in the world, and about a month of work serving the caffeinated masses of Evergreen, Colorado, has netted me a little shy of $1,000. Which works out to about £500. Which is kind of depressing for someone who hopes to eat on a regular basis. At least I have another three months to go, which is likely to earn me about £1500 in total -- if I'm lucky, finally get a raise, and also get the back pay that they promised. I was hired on at $8 an hour, did a shitload of extra work including being the manager for a week, and still had to jump through a lot of hoops to get up to $9/hour. (My Starbucks is a licensed store, meaning it's a kiosk in a grocery store instead of being a standalone store. Which means I am working for The Man, aka Corporate Bastards, which is a problem when it comes to getting them thinking about something besides the bottom line). Hoo god, that is really, really depressing. I hope to go up to Scotland for at least a few weeks during my March break, but clearly, essentials are going to have to come first. My parents may be able to lend me a little, but money is pretty tight around our house right now for various reasons and I don't want to be the stereotypical entitled rich-Evergreen-kid mooch who lives on mommy and daddy's pocketbook. My parents have promised that they won't let me starve, but that's about it. The rest of the excursions are coming out of my pocket.

Since it's also too early to book my airline ticket (I'm not returning until June 2009, and most airlines only offer ticket sales 330 days in advance, I'm left to wait it out as fuel costs soar and the airlines get ever deeper in shit) I am not yet sure, exactly, when I will be leaving. I know that I will depart on September 30th in order to make it to Oxford in between 10 am and 5 pm on October 1st, and that since the Trinity term ends on June 20th, I will be home roughly a few days later. BMI offers a direct flight from Denver to Heathrow, which might be nice so I don't have to screw around with connections, but the website is not cooperating every time I attempt to look up flights. It also tells me that it has been sold out. I take serious leave to doubt this, since I don't think there can be too many people who have already booked their flights from Denver to London on September the 30th and back on June 22nd next year. Maybe they're all leaving on September 30th and returning sooner, so they've already got them booked. Good lord, everything in this country is a mess right now. It'll be nice to spend a year overseas in England, even if I am more than likely to be desperately poor at the end of it. At least I'll be in a place where George W. Bush is not the president, and will arrange to vote absentee while I'm there. My sister Gillian will spend Christmas with me (hopefully) after the first semester of her freshman year at Columbia University, so that will be fun. I would like to get there already and if I have to stay here, at least make some more damn money.

Watch This Space

2008-05-02T10:25:00.000+01:00

There is absolutely nothing of interest here yet, but there will be. I am 20 years old (well, in August, close enough) a girl (hence the terribly clever title) and this fall, I am going abroad to spend a year at Oxford University in England. Homebase is Sarah Lawrence College in Bronxville, but I'm a Colorado native and that's where I'll be spending my summer, working full-time in hopes of making enough money to overcome the heinous exchange rate. At Oxford, I will be studying neuropsychology and writing, and this blog will be my place to update friends, family, and the occasional lost Internet soul on just what the hell exactly I'm doing overseas. Check back in, oh, October for actual interesting content. Or before then, if I get bored and inspiration strikes. If you have ever read my baseball and football blogs, you will know that I am not the world's most fastidious updater.