Oh, so you go to MAUDlin?

No longer satisfied within the cozy confines of Pembroke College, Claire and I set out to explore two of the bigger and better known colleges at Oxford: Christ Church and Magdalen (pronounced MAUDlin- if you say Mag-da-len, no one will forgive you and you may be banned from conversation altogether).We sauntered onto the grounds as if we were students of college and even received a friendly wave from one of the porters at Christ Church. Once you pass through the gate you are greeted with the above view. While gorgeous, it's a much more stark environment than the climbing rose gardens of Pembroke. In the short time I've been here, I've already managed to amass quite a bit of Pink and Blue pride.
We managed to find THE famed Harry Potter dining hall, and now I'm pretty excited to sign up to go eat there on some Saturday. Since Pembroke doesn't have hall on Saturday nights, we are allowed to dine in Christ Church every week if we so choose. Tomorrow Claire and I may test out our own culinary skills (We found an oven! In the very very very very posh staircase 8. The rest of us poor folk make do with microwaves), so we will have to save that adventure for another week. WINKWINK and NUDGE: I can bring guests to dine here!
I also finally managed to make it to my first Oxford Union debate last night on This House Believes that Western Liberal Countries Have a Moral Obligation to Spread Democracy to Other Countries, by Force if Necessary. It was SO intellectually exhausting. The debaters dress up in WHITE TIE (think tuxes and gowns people) and have a highly ritualized way of speaking and manner of addressing the house. I was sitting in the gallery literally on a windowsill to try and get high enough to see the floor, and the whole building is so old and creaky you'd think the chairs were rheumatic. My absolute favorite part is that when you leave, you vote on who won the debate by exiting either through the "Ayes" door, or the "Noes." I've never seen so many well-spoken people in my life. I feel so verbally-challenged.

a little note on bellringing

They ring bells here all the time. And rarely in moderation. And when they aren't ringing for some specific reason, they ring them just for the heck of it. Last night while walking to dinner I noticed that the bells had been ringing for ages, which I then commented about to the general public.

Me: These bells ring an awful lot.

Other Person: Well, the bellringers have to practice.

Me: You mean, the bells are rung by REAL PEOPLE? They aren't just recordings???

Other Person: .....

Needless to say, I once again stunned the general British population with my endless well of worldly knowledge. I may or may not have brought up Quasimodo at this point (not an impressive move).

Interesting fact about Oxford as well: Old Tom, the tower at Christ Church rings a 101 times at 9:05 pm. Apparently this has some traditional origin relating to 101 scholars who used to dine at that time. Also, Oxford time is five minutes behind the rest of the world. Everything starts at five past. This ensures that when we leave our little Oxford bubble we will always arrive fashionably late.

I'm delighted to announce "dishy" as the Britishism of choice in this week's poll. Well done, gentle readers!

pretty much as you like it (or not)

As any self-respecting English major must do in the course of a year long study in Ehnglande, I made my "pilgrimage" in a milieu of Tufts students to Shakespeare's birthplace: Stratford-Upon-Avon. Pretty straightforward, right? Well, actually, no. Very little is actually known about Shakespeare the playwright, and there are many different schools of thought concerning the bard. Shakespeare the commoner, the man that we know lived in Stratford may not have written the plays at all. Don't mention this to Stratfordians, though. It's a pretty hot point of contention.

Anyway, I'm going to pull an Oscar Wilde and shamelessly plagiarize myself when I say that Stratford was almost nauseatingly bucolic. And that thatched roofs make me happy inside. Our first stop was at Anne Hathaway's cottage (see above) the wife of Shakespeare (maybe, or maybe not). This is where history gets really dodgy. However, I did learn from the token awesomely British tour guide inside the cottage the origin of a phrase concerning something near and dear to my heart: bread.

The story of the upper crust: So, back when people baked bread over an open hearth (note to self: must try this), the bottom of bread would get all ashy and blackened. Gross, right? Well, using their good sense people used to cut bread horizontally instead of vertically, giving the burnt part to lessers, i.e. children and servants, while reserving the nice poofy top part for the head of household. Thus the upper crust. It must have been a great class equalizer when they finally started cutting bread the other way.

Our next visit was to Shakespeare's Birthplace. I still have not recovered from how incredibly absurd that was. Think Disney World meets Romeo and Juliet with a little bit of Leonardo DiCaprio and a lot of dramatic music and voiceovers. I'm still laughing inside. Don't take me wrong-- I loved it. It was not unlike the Tomb experience in Boston, except less self-conscious of its commercialization. Seriously, though. STILL LAUGHING INSIDE.

The unfortunate consequence of so much diverting and amusing sightseeing was a bunch of famished college students in middle of the afternoon. After much strolling and debating, we found an easy lunch place where I stuffed myself on my first English pasty accompanied by the traditional chips (hot french fries from the oven) and beans. They love beans here. I'm still figuring out the beans and french fries combo. At the time, however, my famish state rendered the combo one of the most satisfying things ever to enter my tummy.

We drove home through the lovely Cotswolds (see above) arriving home (I just called Pembroke home! Touching moment.) just in time to go out to dinner at staircase mate Lydia's house in Oxford. She was amazing enough to have all of Staircase 15 over for Saturday dinner (they don't feed us in hall on Sat-we're left totally to our own devices) and to kick-off Margot's twentieth birthday this weekend. It was absolutely wonderful: we ate the best food I've had all week, met her charming parents, and were just made very much at home. I feel that I'm justified in saying that I ended up in the best Staircase possible at Pembroke (even more touching moment).

Being Posh

My newest development here in the Oxfordian world is becoming a member of the elite Oxford Union (and thus, becoming rather elite myself). Belonging to the Union is not unlike going to a country club- inside there's a special member's bar, library, club, etc. Yesterday, Claire and I decided to start making good on our investment (which was bloody expensive) and went there for lunch. I ate soup. It was good soup. In fact, I've been eating a lot of soup lately. There's something about England that makes one want to eat soup. I think something like 25 Prime Ministers were and still are (full term undergraduates buy member ship for life) members of the union. That's pretty posh. I wonder if they ate soup while they were there.

On Wednesday all the visiting students were invited for drinks and canapés in the master's lodgings. I thought that Bacow's house was the most beautiful on campus home ever, but Bacow doesn't have anything compared to Giles Henderson. We had to duck under a Hobbit-esque gate to enter a wonderful rose vine filled garden with a charming white table and chair set set to the side. Lovely, right? Believe me, I know it. And inside I was able to drink pineapple juice to my heart's content while playing with the master's two yellow retrievers, Gracie and Ellie, in a dark wooden beamed living room with a large hearth and grand piano that we were invited to play. We really get the special treatment here. Lovin' the posh.

Shut Happens

Yesterday, Claire and I went on a whim for a much needed lunch break to Café Puccino's off of Cornmarket Street. Omgshbesttomaotobasilsoupeverrrrr (as you can clearly see to the left there- and the ciabatta was even all warm and toasty!). Didn't I promise food pics? Victory, huzzah! Perhaps my favorite thing about the cafe though (as if the amazing cappuccino wasn't enough) were the messages painted throughout the café. For instance, my cup saucer informed me that "In the dishwasher nobody hears you scream," and my brown sugar packet kindly reminded me that "brown sugar is for snobs." All very good things to know, in my opinion. Apparently, the café is designed by Jim Smith. He must be a pretty funny bloke.

Also of note was my first crew date yesterday. Crew dates are huge social enterprises here- in fact, a lot of people row just so that they can participate in crew dates. Last night the Pembroke ladies met up at Jamal's for curry with the M1 boys from Queen's College. We ate family style alternating boy-girl-boy-girl and there are all sorts of traditions and "rules" that were completely foreign for me. For instance, "pennying" in which you want to make sure that nobody gets a penny into your glass when you aren't looking (otherwise the "Queen," whose face is depicted on the coin, will drown). All good fun and a pretty non conventional way to meet people from other colleges. In addition to all this, I received a very long and detailed presentation and analysis on the difference between northern England, southern England, and Welsh accents. I was also informed that my American accent "sounds funny." I still like to fancy that it makes me sound exotic.

The format of this post is extremely haphazard because I'm lamentably not very tech-savvy. Oh, English majors.

This JCR resolves to form a toast society

In order to ensure an increased sense of democracy here at Oxford, each college's Junior Common Room (JCR) holds biweekly meetings to encourage all undergraduate students to participate in governmental affairs. Rumor has it that in order to entice students to venture from their rooms on Sunday evenings the JCR spends about 300 quid on food and drink for attendees!! That's a lot of pizza, beer, and ice cream. Topics of debate are fairly interesting as well; for instance, the initiation of the Pembroke Toast Society and the motion to buy wool capes for the Welfare representatives.

In order to do the administration justice, here are some extracts from the meeting minutes for your perusal:

7. Pembroke College Official Toast Society (CARRIED)

This JCR notes that there exists no College-sanctioned society for the appreciation and advancement of toast eating.
This JCR believes that toast, particularly when taken with Marmite, is the most effective restorative for flagging student spirits. Therefore, the academic results and the general well-being of the student population would be improved by the creation of an official support structure for those who wish to eat toast.
This JCR resolves to form a Toast Society, to nurture the toast-eating ambitions of the students of this fine College.
Proposed by Arthur Leigh-Pemberton
Seconded by Paris Penman Davies

Henceforth Arthur Leigh-Pemberton inherits all responsibility over the managing, organisation and discipline of the Pembroke Toast Society

9. Welfare rep capes (CARRIED: WITH AMENDMENT)

This JCR notes that welfare reps are integral members of our JCR, on 24 hour duty

This JCR believes that the hard work of the welfare reps should not go unnoticed

This JCR resolves to buy capes for the JCR welfare reps, and make them wear them around college so they do not go unnoticed

Proposed by: Ed Sorby
Seconded by: Jigar Patel

Amendment: The capes must be made from Wool

Obviously, it's nothing but work work work here. The pains of making sure that justice is upheld.

Also, popular opinion holds that Charles Dickens is most likely to ask me out on a date. The results of this poll make me seriously question this blog's readership.

ma-ma-matriculaaaaation

Thats right, there we are the poshest/best looking Tufts in Oxford group to ever walk the cobblestones of Pembroke! We wear our subfusc well, if I do say so myself. MOST EXCITING DAY EVER. It's so cool seeing all the freshers dressed up running all over the city. Below are some of the other rockin' visiting students from a variety of schools. Pretty sweet.

Also, I'm disappointed that no one has noticed my poll over there on the right. Somebody please remedy the situation pronto.

I've also noticed that I haven't been informing everyone of my culinary adventures, and this is TRAGIC. Today I had a grilled ciabatta with brie, avocado, basil, and roasted tomatoes with a cappuchino from the covered market. I'm going to take more pics in the future. Promise.

The Bird and the Baby

As you may or may not already be aware (if you weren't, pretend you were and impress me), Oxford was once home to both C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkein. They used to meet as part of a group called the Inklings in the Eagle and Child pub which is literally a stone's throw from Pembroke. I managed to make my way there last night, and this place just extends FOREVER (think Diesel Cafe, but majorly oldtown). The front is filled with cute velvet green booths and creaky floorboards that make you feel as if you are on a ship embarking on a wonderful journey. The Inklings used to meet in front of the fireplace in the Rabbit Room- really a lovely place. I'm sure that in such a cozy corner even I could have dreamed up Narnia. Well. Maybe. Also, the best thing about this particular pub is it's plethora of nicknames. The Bird and the Baby. The Buzzard and the Bastard. The Falcon and the Fetus. That last one is a bit of a stretch in my opinion. The first is what the locals mostly use. And now even more importantly, me.

I also went to my first tutorial today- !!!!!! I couldn't even keep up with what my tutor was saying she was speaking soooo fast, yet everything she said was so well thought out and well put. I'm in Dickens all by myself, so it's basically a one on one with a renowned expert. They ask you really hard questions in these things, and I honestly couldn't answer half of them. We do get to design our own course though. At the end she just asked me which book I would like to do next, so it's pretty much just like independent research.

I just picked up a painting of Pembroke Square for my room. The art society lends out paintings up to 500 quid in value and all you have to do is go and pick one out. They are even coming to hang it up for me (I felt kinda bad putting my name down for that, but they offered, so hey)! My room is soooo well decorated now. Some of those paintings were pretty atrocious though, I have to say. Cannot believe that they were valued at nearly $1000.

Don't Get Rusticated

Rusticated, ppl. a.

1. Relegated to the country; temporarily dismissed from a university.

2. a. Rendered rustic in manners; countrified.

b. Settled in the country; leading a country life.

If you do something very very bad here at Oxford they don't "suspend" you or "kick you out" or any other such dirty word; no, they "rusticate" you. Essentially, the privileged should perceive this dismissal less as a punishment than as simply "leading a country life" for the next term or two. It's much quainter and lovelier that way and keeps everyone feeling much less disgruntled when the Deans decide that they've been naughty. Actually, right now as I'm writing these papers in frenzied bursts of genius and despair, the thought of being rusticated sounds rather appealing.

Some pleasing and diverting photos from my mid afternoon walk through the Oxford Botanic Gardens:

Other adventures to relate include tank training for crew. Tank training is when they bring a bunch of novices (ooo, me! me!) to a swimming pool surrounded by mirrors with a giant built in boat in the middle of it. This allows people who have never rowed before the chance to master (well, attempt to) their technique without the added difficulty of trying to stay afloat. It was really very cool. And the most exciting thing is that Claire, Margot, Lydia, and I are all staircase mates and are going to be placed together in the same novice boat! Yessssss.

WHAT the Dickens

Omgshhhhhhhhhh.

The work load has ARRIVED. Luckily I get to spend my afternoons/entire days studying in the Bod. I can't actually study anywhere else because you aren't allowed to check out books, in fact in order to even borrow a book inside the library you must write down your name and seat number (my favorite seat is 415) so that they can find you at any time where you must then SURRENDER THE BOOK (it actually says this on the slip they give you- it kind of makes me feel like I'm Paris and the book's Helen). Yesterday it took me an hour to find the book I needed. I'm not sure if this speaks more to my ineptness/complete blanking out during the library inductions, or to the HUGENESS of the library system. Probs both.

While freaking out over very poorly written paper breaked for delicious pie. Excellent life decision.

I haven't just been doing work- Yesterday Claire and I ran with the boat club in our attempts to join the crew team. Our "gentle jog" was horribly misleading as we did a rather decent pace for a good three miles followed by a killer core workout (just to give you an idea, the exercises were called the "crucifix" and the "maggot"- HARD CORE) and a dash to dinner. I think I'm actually going to see this crew thing through. Apparently Pembroke is the best crew team at Oxford (no worries, I'm just a novice) so some of the rowers have represented Great Britain in world competitions. I'm not intimidated.

Tea and biscuits is my new favorite hobby.

The Art of Not Drowning

Behold the Thames!:
When one comes to Oxford, one must row. It's a simple fact of life that I've come to accept since I arrived here exactly one week ago today. It rather holds hands along with drinking copious amounts of tea and breathing (okay, that last one may be a SLIGHT exaggeration- but only slight). Now, I'm not one to shirk away from what's been thrown at me, so off I went yesterday to the Crew Boating Day for Freshers (not exactly a try out- it was to get you in a boat and rowing with some semblance of technique). They threw me on an erg which I fought with for a good ten minutes (no comment on who arose the victor) and then put me on a team of novices to grab our own boat, put it in the water, and take off. Those last three tasks seem simple. They are not really. Those boats are very very heavy. It's like trying to do a ballet in sync with seven other people (that's obviously never been rehearsed) while carrying a very expensive piano on our heads. Somehow we got it into the water. And took off.

At this point in time, all I could think of was Billy Collins as the boat seemed very likely to capsize at any moment and my feet were strapped in. I've heard that it is almost impossible to capsize an eight- I believe we could have done it. From the strain I could hear in our cox's voice, I think that he was of a similar sentiment. However, I like to think that I was starting to catch on towards the end, although it's really rather hard to tell. Hmmmm, we shall see how this develops. JORDY I NEED YOUR HELP. I confess that I rather thought all the commands sounded the same.

Note on vegetarianism: It's very easy to do in England! As my British neighbors have said in response to this comment, "Well, it is an entire country. We don't ALL eat sausages for breakfast." We even went out to eat last night (no hall on Saturdays) and the pub we went to (the Royal Blenheim) had a half veggie friendly menu that was pretty darn good (I ate a melted goat cheese sandwich). It's also a very Pembroke friendly place with pink rugby shirts and stuff up as a lot of the patrons are students.

This is Brianna, rower and pubber extraordinaire, signing off!

Schmoozing

Last night was the boat club kick off event of the year! Apparently, anyone who's anyone MUST go to all the boat club thingies because the rowing club throws all the best shindigs. Everything took place "in hall" where we have dinner (oh, yes AND IT WAS GORGEOSSSSSSS). Here is my sketchy paparazzi photo of the very posh British in our very posh dining hall:

Yes, I know, my photography skills were lacking there. Carrying on now.

We did have to watch a video of the men's team beating somebody which I suppose was awfully impressive but really just made me seriously regret my decision to go to boat try outs this afternoon (HOW DID THEY MANAGE TO CONVINCE ME??). I think my fleeting desire to be one with the water and all that has already passed me by- with luck they'll place me in the last boat. Also, did I happen to mention BEST CHEESE NIGHT EVER??? There were soooooo many different kinds, and my mingling skills were without compare (at least in my very unbiased opinion).

Below: the dashingly beautiful ladies of Staircase 15! Please stop and admire how well we are making use of our staircase.

Fresher

You know how in Harry Potter they are always sitting at those long oak tables by candlelight wearing their black gowns while all the masters and professors sit at one huge table at the front leading everybody in prayer or subjecting them to speeches? I DID THAT LAST NIGHT. Only first I was required to dress "smart," i.e. cocktail attire, and meet my tutors over drinks. I had some pretty chummy convos with my tutors over a three course meal (Omgsh, and it was SO GOOD. I'm really restraining myself from writing out the whole menu right now). Everyone looks like a wizard in their commoner's gown- I'm pretty sure I should be studying Potions instead of Dickens and Charms in place of Wilde.

This is just a very short post. Apologies. I lost steam halfway.

Oh, I also got a free Blackwell's mug! And I'm thinking of investing in a bike. They've all got bikes here. It's sort of a thing. And our tutor meetings are actually very far away from where we live on campus.

Professor Mugglestone and the Silent Disco

So, apparently the cool thing to do over here in the UK is the silent disco. The first thing I imagined when I heard that they would be organizing such an event for us was a bunch of badly dancing freshers moving about soundlessly (somehow this reminds me of Chelle's expressionless dancing) all dressed in matching bright pink (in true Pembroke Pride form). Not quite. Everyone was given headphones with two stations to listen to, so ostensibly about half of the crowd is most likely dancing to the same song as you and the other half to something else. What's really fun is to switch back and forth really fast (30 seconds of THRILLER and then 30 seconds of COTTON EYED JOE-- now THAT'S the way to dance!) or go around trying to convince as many as possible to switch to the same song as you (TWO!, no ONE!, no TWO!, and so on). Even better, take off your headphones and watch everyone else jumping about like idiots.

Also, there are these terrifying rumors that we as students must do loads of work here at Oxford. My first experience with this was meeting with my tutors Dr. Small and Prof. Mugglestone this morning. PAPERS DUE ALREADY NEXT WEEK (not only the paper, but for one class alone I'm expected to read David Copperfield and the relevant criticism before writing said 2000+ word paper). Terrifying, but true to form.

Staircase 15

I live in Staircase 15. Yes, that's right. I live in a staircase, called so because it is quite literally little more than that; six rooms adjoining a creaky, narrow, steep, old staircase kept in from the cold outside by a classy white exterior. I also have the most lovely view EVER (see above picture).

Also of note is my gown shopping experience with Claire. We headed down to Shepherd and Woodward early this morning to get outfitted before all the other freshers arrived and were helped by the most adorable old British man ever. Best moment occurred when we had finished trying on our gowns and went to check out:

Old British Man: You are all set.

Claire (enthusiastically): Fabulous!

Old British Man (drily, while walking away): I know I am.

Poached Eggs

Right. So, have been in England for DAYS now, but lack of internet access plus general intimidation towards starting something new and epic has delayed my blog update progress. Now, just to make things clear at the beginning here I'd like to state that THIS IS FOR YOU 80 BRISTOL. And don't you guys forget it. I can't say no to such cuteness. So heregoes.

As you should probably already know, I've been in England for a few days already having flown out of Boston on September 30th. I went via Dublin, which meant that during that hellish two hours I spent in the Dublin airport at some unearthly hour I was able to comfort myself with BUTLERS HOT CHOCOLATE. Yes, Chelle. BUTLERS HOT CHOCOLATE. I'd write it again but I don't want to rub it in too much. BUTLERSHOTCHOCOLATEBUTLERHOTCHOCOLATEBUTLERSHOTCHOCOLATE. Okay, seriously I'm done now. London was fab. Can't say enough. I'd write everything I did and everything I ate but that would take waaaaaay too much effort and time. So I've decided to include some extracts of interest from my journal (highly edited, fictionalized, and improved) instead:

October 1st: The remaining afternoon was too gorgeous to pass up so we (Mumsie and I) just walked around, found lots of school children dressed up in uniforms, and sipped cappuchinos in the residential side of Kensington. We got horribly lost eventually and had to use the GPS to return to the hotel. Lesson learned: my sense of direction is far superior to Mums'. Synopsis: London is magic. Hustle and bustle and movement and life! No wonder Virginia Woolf couldn't stand to leave. Mum said that her only fear is that I'll never wan to come home again. She has a point.

October 2nd: The British Museum. Oliver! What else can I say?

October 3rd: We went back to Cafe Phillies this morning before leaving and it made us feel like London had already become our city when we walked in and the waiter said- recognizing us- "one cappuchino and white coffee coming up!" It's always been a dream of mine to walk into a restaurant and say "the usual." This time I didn't even have to order. Currently in Oxford and all the students have begun arriving already with their families. Every inn, B&B, guest house, and hotel is completely booked. Basically all of them are so-cute-I-want-to-vom-cute as well. Like, seriously. I want to start skipping and singing Disney songs in this medieval throwback of a town.

October 4th: No journal entry yet existing because THAT IS TODAY. Exciting photos shall arrive shortly.

BUTLERSHOTCHOCOLATE.