Revelations and Puzzlers

1) Confession: I was wrong about skinny jeans/tights...kind of. While I am not sure that the fashion trend is motivated by practicality (we will have a better indication of this in the winter), there is certainly a practical application. Cycling with traditional trousers is tricky. I already snagged my black dress pants on my chain (when cycling in stilettos) and it is only a matter of time before I rip my jeans. AND, I was even riding "modified" when I ripped them--which means that I was attempting to bow my legs out to the side to get my ankles as far away from the peddles as possible. Believe it or not, it is actually easier (while perhaps less "lady-like") to bike in a dress or skirt. (However, the dismount is certainly trickier--especially on my boys bike which requires a higher leg-swing no matter how you slice it.)

2) I guess this one is kind of a revelation and a puzzler. I think that British people (and people in Oxford in general) don't like to be "thanked" for things. Well you are thanking someone for a good or a service (but especially a service) it doesn't seem to be well received. I have had reactions ranging from eye-rolls, to complete denial (as in, I pretended to not hear you just say that), to cowering fear. When I told one girl thank you for her help, it was like I had backed her into a corner and turned a spotlight on her; she quickly told me that "It was ok!", blushed, and got back to work. The reason why this bothers me is that I have taken on the role of self-appointed American ambassador to all other nations and cultures. I have heard that people think that American's are loud and rude, so I do all that I can to speak quietly and carry a small stick (metaphorically speaking of course). How do I represent a gracious, considerate American without lots of thank-you's? And why would anyone not like being thanked?! Well, that is where the true revelation comes in to play. You see, "service" like "efficiency" is not an ideal that is culturally esteemed. So, when you thank them for their help, service, or advice...

a) They don't believe that you are being sincere because they know that their service/help/advice is pretty terrible. They know that because it is intentionally so.

b) Your praise "outs" them as being non-complicit with the unspoken code to be unhelpful. Like the boy who doesn't want to be kissed by his mother, I think the English would prefer to not be thanked by Americans...at least not in public.

3) I have realized why the British don't exercise. And believe me, they don't exercise. It is because they entice people to take their food to go by charging more for eating in the restaurant. Now, stay with me here. If you can only eat what you can carry, it is automatic portion control. AND, if we (people who are too cheap to pay the extra pound to sit down) have to eat standing or walking, we are burning a higher proportion of that smaller portion, so we don't NEED to exercise (at least that is what I am telling myself). Brilliant. Take note America.

4) Now the better puzzler might be how these businesses can justify charging you to eat in the restaurant. I suppose there is a compelling argument, based on my previous comments, that it is some sort of incentive devised via collusion between the restaurants and the NHS, but I think that is unlikely. The second argument may be that they do it because they can. And I suppose that is true (thought I am living proof that they can't...I always take my meal for take-away), and it is also true that there is really no where to sit anyway, so you really don't have that much choice. But from a cost perspective, it seems to me that it might be more expensive to prepare food to go. Especially if we assume that there is more packaging used with take-away food. THUS, it could also be argued that it would be environmentally friendly to encourage people to eat in the restaurant, and that that should be the cheaper option! I hope the environmentally motivated vegetarians think about that next time they get their hummus and falafel baguette to go--since they are being complete hypocrites. I, on the other hand, will continue to enjoy my H&F baguette as my choices are entirely selfish--financial, flavor, and fitness.

Pomp and Circumstance: Matriculation

7:45--The time we were supposed to be gathered on the quad


7:50--The time the group of freshers from my building decided to head over (and in an effort to make friends by being a friend, I hung around and was late with the group. Don't worry, I draw the line somewhere before jumping off a bridge.)


7:52--We arrive and we are not late. This has been a great adjustment for me. I have been conditioned that if you are on time you're late, and if you're 15 minutes early, you are on time. Here the reality is that if you are on time you are early; if you are late, you are early; and if you are early, you might give someone a heart attack (and you will begin to wonder if you are in the wrong place). The only time this does not hold true is for formal hall, where if you are late, you have to apologize to the senior staff member.

7:53--We are told to cue alphabetically (and then it is explained that we will re-cue, on the other side of the quad, tallest to shortest)

7:55--Someone has a seizure. (We un-cue).

8:15--I have an individual photo taken. Now I have to cue by height...my favorite because everyone else is basically cued by gender. So, now it is the boys and me and one side and the girls on the other.

8:16--I am absolutely freezing.

8:20--The person standing next to me tells me that she is afraid of heights (and the bleachers were legitimately steep and legitimately scary--I am not afraid of heights and spent about a third of the time thinking about what I would do if the bleachers began to broke. I mean, do you protect yourself by falling on others, or take your lumps? I guess I was more afraid of the moral fiber that would be tested, and revealed in such a situation...). I explained that as long as no one behind us lost his or her balance, we should be safe.

8:22--The guy directly behind the girl who is afraid of heights FAINTED. I am not making this up. Why didn't we have the speech about not locking your knees?! (Although, I suspect that any economist worth his--or her--salt would discover that the "don't lock your knees" speech increases the incidence of fainting...Am I right, or am I right?)

8:30--We finally take the whole group photo. We still have an hour break until we meet to get the run-down and head to the ceremony. Good thing we got up early and started at 7:45.

9:30--We meet in the hall. Attendance must be taken because this is a compulsory ceremony. (if you don't go, you are not a member of Oxford. Here is the part where you extend all logic, because yes, I have been attending classes for a week, yes, I have already returned multiple contracts that are basically signed in blood, and yes, I have already been formally recognized by my college AND already paid my first bill--which was substantial. But, if I don't prance around in a white shirt and ribbon tie in the cold, I am not actually a student.) So, back to attendance, we decided the most efficient way to verify attendance is to pass around a sheet with everyone's name so that those in attendance can highlight their name. We don't do this in any methodical way. It takes half an hour. I have to actively and passionately supress any desire to offer useful tips on how this process could be more efficient. There are such things as cultural values; efficiency is not one that is shared in this particular culture.

10:05--The meeting (description of the rules) finally begins.

10:07--Some guy with a hood tells us to meet him in the first quad (100 steps away) at five after ten sharp. He also explains that we should use the clock in the first quad, not the clock in the second quad as they sometimes(?) don't show the same time. Notice the time at which he makes this request. This is my life.

10:15--Tourists take pictures of us as we walk towards the Sheldonian. I feel like I am in the zoo. (And I am a zebra, naturally).

10:30--After 15 minutes of standing in the cold, the ceremony begins. I am sitting in the back corner and my knees poke through the gap in the seatback in front of me. Yet another thing that is not made for tall people here.

10:32--The Vice-Rector or something, enters, kind of like what I have seen on TV with the pope. Someone comes in before him with a sceptor that looks like it should be burning incense. He takes off his hat and bows alot to the various senior officials from the representated colleges (not all of the colleges matriculate at once).

10:34--The head guy from Queens (I know this because a friend from Queen's told me that's who it was) talks to the "vice-guy" in latin. I feel smart because some of the words sound kind of like English. He says something about presenting these students for matriculation. I am assuming the "vice-guy" said something along the lines of, "Well, we already have their money right? Sounds good to me." Then he told us we could be seated (in English).

10:36--The vice-guy told us how this is a shortened version of an old ceremony. Apparently, the old ceremony was actually an exam that verified that you are, in fact, smart enough to be at Oxford. That test was all in latin. Now, they feel like they can determine your academic qualifications through other means. At this point, I am having what has become a common experience for me here, where I feel very sneaky and imposterish. (Go ahead and try to translate "imposterish" into latin.)

10:40--There is lots more bowing and hats being taken off, and then the incenseless sceptor holder leads the vice-guy out of the Sheldonian. We are rushed (unceremoniously) out so that the next ceremony can begin

10:42--We wonder if we can wear our hats now. (There are (very serious) rules about these things). The better question may be why my British peers wanted to wear their hats. We are talking about a dorky mortar board after all.

10:50--It is confirmed. We can now wear our hats (without receiving some sort of unknown but certainly severe consequence). Yipee matriculation.

These are a Few of My Favourite (British-style) Things...

This is a picture of one of the greatest perks of my college--a bike garage (the equivalent of covered parking in the middle of town in the states). And since I haven't devised a way to take a picture of myself on my bike, here is a picture of a stranger on a bike ahead of me....I look kind of like that minus the skinny jeans.

I think my comments tend to highlight what is unusual, frustrating, or just bizarre about my life here so far, and I don't at all want to portray (or cultivate) a cynical outlook on my experience. The reality is that it is certainly a blessing and a privilege to be placed here and amidst the confusing, disorienting, and hilarious moments, there are times every day that are beautiful, breath-taking, and quite amazing. Here are a few:

1. Beautiful October days. It has been incredible here so far, I think it has been sunny every day except one. I probably should be trying to bottle this up for the long dark winter ahead, but am thoroughly enjoying it while it lasts. However, the weather changes RAPIDLY. And since I have always had a habit of dressing for the previous day (time I was outside) this has gotten me into some serious problems. I am often bundled up and sweating or in a t-shirt and shivering.

2. Crisp mornings and evenings. I suppose this is related to the previous, but I love how brisk it is and the way the sun hits the buildings at dawn and dusk.

3. All British people are funny. Literally. Every single one. There is often an American delay in understanding the humour, but their jokes are dry as the desert and quite witty.

4. Formal Hall. The meal is truly an all night affair. I suppose it could swing from my favourite to least favourite thing depending on my company. I am getting a crash course in conversation skills!

5. Bikes. Exercise plus transportation. And, there is always an available parking spot if you are creative...which I was especially thankful for as I saw a guy trying to convince a police officer to not give him a ticket for parking his car illegally. I may miss the protection of a vehicle once the rain starts, but I won't miss parking tickets for blocking fire hydrants.

6. Hummous and Falafel everything. I have had a burger, baguette, and wrap (with cous cous). Ok, so maybe Oxford has affected me a little bit...(And I use a "diary" now. I could never make myself use any kind of planner before, but I would literally be unable to function without one here...Although, they are still open to user error. I showed up to a lecture that didn't exist today.)

7. Being on a budget. Seriously, this one isn't sarcastic. I love the discipline of staying tight financially. AND, I think in the long run the budget will be good for me in more ways than one. For example, my budget keeps my eyes from getting bigger than my stomach, or my stomach from getting bigger than it is now. The pastries here would be tempt-ing otherwise.

More favourites to come...

My Olympic Dreams

So, if you have already heard about my Olympic scheme, I am sorry that you have to read it again. But, if I haven't told you, I think it would be cool to say that you are an Olympian. I can't claim to be as Olympic crazy as some people I know, but it would still be a cool accomplishment. (Although I am not sure that I would attend the opening ceremonies; those things are boring! Ok, I would walk in in my dorky white beret with a video camera and then I would sneak gracefully out a side entrance.) The only problem is that I am really not athletic enough to be an Olympian. Except, what if I could get a specialized skill set in an obscure sport that is not played well in America? That's right. What if I could get a scholarship to study in another country so that I could learn to play handball in order to be an Olympian?

Well, my road to the Olympics began, and probably ended, tonight.

I went to my first team handball practice, and from the start it was different than anything we Americans would expect from sports. For starters, the gym was reserved for kick-boxing before practice and then some ancient form of Samurai karate afterwards (I am attending that next week.), and we didn't even meander onto the floor until 5 minutes past our start time (gasp). After meeting the coach, who was French and couldn't pronounce Lindsay, getting a brief rundown of the rules, and meeting the other players--who were all from different countries including the Czech Republic, Hungary, Poland, Germany, France, a high-schooler from Denmark, and the list goes on--we were (including Lucas, my American comrade) all thrown onto the floor and told some strange instructions in broken English. Given the varieties of levels of English proficiency, let's just say that things were pretty unclear and that chaos reigned for the next 2 hours. We soon broke up into girls and boys and did drills that were unexplained mostly involving cutting, flipping the ball to someone else, and running around aimlessly. I am not sure that I really understand exactly how to play the game, but I had this strange dissonance between mind and body. Essentially, I was pretty sure that I could do what I was being asked to do physically, if someone could just explain to me exactly what that was.

I learned some more lessons in British/European politeness. The general rule is, "We aren't going to tell you that you are doing something wrong, because that would be rude. But we will be frustrated with you for doing it wrong." I think handball could be a quite interesting sport, but I am not sure if Oxford is the setting for me to learn it.

The real lesson (in all of my sporting endeavors thus far) is that here, they are not really concerned with mastery. It is, at least in the sporting world, much more acceptable to be average (or really bad at something) and to invest a moderate amount of time and effort into staying at that level. I suppose that there is a lesson to be learned there--one I think I read at some point, about being a Renaissance man (or woman) and being willing to dabble in many things and master few. And while that proverb is probably quite wise, I struggle to appreciate mediocrity, let alone celebrate it.

On that note, congratulations to the Chiefs on distinguishing themselves and resisting a merely mediocre season. The good news is that they would be quite welcome in the UK. In fact, a Brit would probably just shout, "Bad luck!" everytime they make a mistake. Let's be realistic everyone, luck has nothing to do with it.

I thought you were a Rhodes scholar...

So, I don't know that I will ever tire of hearing that phrase, but I do find that it is always best to tell all of the stupid stories on yourself rather than letting someone else embarrass you later. So, here it goes.

*The pictures fit into this post because I took them while riding my bicycle (oops!). It was such a beautiful day today, and the street is really the only place to take photos because otherwise you are too close to the buildings. But this certainly fits under "stupid". You know the law about people under 21 not being allowed to text? There should probably be a similar law for me on my bike. The only exception is that I am probably worse on my bike than a 16 year-old in their car (plus I am driving on the other side of the road).

1. In DC, we got the opportunity to be on the senate floor--which is apparently a big deal--and in an effort to take some pictures to send home to mommy, I decided to start right then. I got a dirty look from one of women who was with us, and I thought it was because my camera made a loud PSSSSH sound (simulating a shutter--thank you to whoever thought that was important). Actually, it's because it is basically illegal to take picture of the senate floor. Yessum, I am from Missourah.

2. I had two pairs of matching mittens, but I lost one so I had three mittens (the kind that I call homeless gloves because you can take the mitten off and have just short fingerless gloves). So, in an effort to "pack lightly"--a task that I failed miserably at--I decided to just take the two best gloves. You guessed it. I took two lefts. But don't worry, I cut a thumb hole into the "right" one and I'm set.

3. I locked my keys in my room twice. In two days. The porter was really impressed. They say that you don't change Oxford, it changes you. So far, Oxford may not have changed, but I sure haven't either.

4. We had a fire drill at 7:40 in the morning. I was supposed to get up about 5 minutes later to meet someone to run, so I just decided to change into my running clothes so that I could leave. AND...I couldn't leave my room unlocked (see security problems below) and I didn't want to lock my keys in my room (see previous), so I had to find those. I was one of the last people out of the building (by a bit of time) and think I would have been close to the cutoff of people who wouldn't have made it out had it been a real fire.

The British "Neighborhood Watch"

Growing up, I always wondered where the "Neighborhood Watch" groups (You know, the ones that were advertised on the signs that told the criminals that this was not the right neighborhood for a poorly planned heist because they called the police--as if there were neighborhoods where people saw crime and just commented to their family about it.) met, who was a part of them, and what the members' responsibilities were. I don't know if it was wisdom or cynicism or some combination of the two that made me realize that the signs were a strategy--a bark with no real bite. And then I started to think that in many ways, those signs are kind of unjust (stay with me here), because if all the neighborhoods had them, they would cease to have even a minor deterrent effect--assuming that there is some small psychological effect--because robbers wouldn't just pack up and go home if those signs were posted everywhere. So, in order for them to work, only some of the neighborhoods could use them, in which case crime is not being stopped, it is just being redistributed to the neighborhoods that can't afford to hang the signs about calling the police. Let's summarize all of that to say that the system just seems stupid to me.

Well America, rest assured knowing that the Brits have an equally ridiculous crime prevention system.

Bike theft is a huge problem around here. There are these trucks that unload and sell used bikes in Oxford, and we are pretty suspicious that these bikes are stolen from students in Cambridge and that our bikes are jacked and then resold to them. Well, a system has been devised to curb this kind of crime; you must register your bike with the porter (security guard of your college) and with the police. What this registration entails is putting a hologram sticker on your bike (that is then your personal valuables identification number) so that if the police get really motivated when you report your stolen bike and stop the millions of bicyclists and check for your identification number, then they could correctly identify your green mens bike (just to throw out a random example) and return it to you. But I know that you, as a smart individual, have spotted the weakness in this plan. What if the theif removes the sticker from your bike, you ask? Have no fear, there is an answer for that. In addition to the sticker, you are also to write your security number in multiple secret (but clean) locations all over your bike as well as all of your valuables with a UV pen...you know the kind that only show up under a black light.

So, you take your invisible highlighter, write your name all over your valuables, and then all of your stuff gets stolen. Then what happens?

First, the police scours high and low looking for your stolen possesions--preferrable in Cambridge where they are likely being resold. They stop every student with a laptop, bike, and cell phone. (Which won't happen).

Second, they look for your sticker. (Which won't be there).

Then, they bring out their handy UV light, which is right next to their night stick and handcuffs, and scour every inch of your valuable to see if there is a number on it. (Which seems unrealistic to me).

So, this plan may be kind of like the neighborhood watch signs. After all, how are the criminals supposed to be dettered (as it is claimed) by an invisible marker?

BUT...if someone steals your bike, cell phone, lap top, and digital camera and takes them all to a rave, someone will TOTALLY catch them.

I sure feel safer.

It's Not Weird...It's Just "Different"

So, I was thinking about playing Rugby here. I have decided I might have to decline for moral reasons. I was walking by a sports shop on Turl street, when something caught my eye. At first, I wasn't sure if I wanted to see if I saw what my little eyes thought they had seen. Sure enough, the quaint little shop had pictures of the women's rugby team from each year. "How nice", you must be thinking. "That is kind of like how Colleges and Universities in the US advertise their sports programs--you must have felt right at home!" Well, I suppose the validity of that statement depends on how much leeway you provide in defining the phrase "kind of". You see, the entire team had only pants on, and by pants I mean that in the British sense (aka underwear) and the only other "personal shield" that they had was their hands. And THIS was displayed in a store front window. It made taking "serious-face pictures" for the Drake posters seem downright tame.

Also, I saw several children's books with comparable subject matter displayed in Blackwell's, which truly is the GREATEST book shop in the world. One was titled "Evolve or Die". Charming.