(in Alphabetical Order)
1. Accents & languages from all over Europe
2. Bartender Michael
3. Bath Street
4. Bicycles
5. Birds of various types
6. Blogging about Oxford
7. Blue skies
8. Brian (tour guide)
9. Buses, buses, buses!!
10. Carveries & Sunday Lunches
11. Chillin’ Out
12. City Centre
13. Clouds
14. Cobble-stone roads
15. Coffee shops
16. College “golfers”
17. Community
18. Corinne (AIFS)
19. The Corridor
20. Costa Café
21. Cotty (Corridor customer)
22. Covered Market
23. Cowley Road
24. David, the quiet visitor
25. Dionne (Corridor)
26. Doc Martins
27. Doodling for hours
28. Dogs in the U.K. are cuter!
29. Doug-gy (Corridor Boss)
30. Ducks
31. Easy access to many things
32. English curse words & vulgar signs
33. Eyre (Aero)
34. Fitted clothing on men
35. Flowers (especially daffodils)
36. “Football”
37. Freedom
38. Geese
39. Gloucester Green
40. Greenness everywhere
41. Healthcare system
42. Historical surroundings
43. Honest Stationary
44. Ian (Corridor customer)
45. Indian food (pervasive!)
46. Individuality
47. Intelligent conversations
48. Internet cafés
49. Jacket potatoes
50. Jennifer & Steve (my homestay family)
51. Jennifer’s cooking
52. Julie (Scottish Ian’s girlfriend)
53. Kat (Corridor customer)
54. Kebab Kid’s garlic sauce
55. Lager & stronger beer
56. Laura (AIFS)
57. Lewis (detective series)
58. Liberal use of the “f-word”
59. Living next to a river & park
60. Mad Mick
61. Mark’s & Spencer’s
62. Murdock (Canadian detective series)
63. Not driving!!!
64. Not having to tip all the time
65. Oxfam & thrift stores
66. English Pastries
67. People walking everywhere
68. Politeness even in the face of rudeness
69. Primark
70. Pubs, pubs, pubs,
71. Pullen Road
72. Rachel & her bowling hat
73. Rain, rain, rain!
74. Random conversations
75. Romance
76. Rymans
77. Samosas
78. Scottish Ian
79. Seasons that are markedly different
80. Seeing my breath in the morning
81. Sib sweet Sib
82. Slippery Nipples (Baileys & Zambuca)
83. Small cars
84. Smart people
85. Star Pub (my first “regular” pub)
86. States of inebriation
87. Swans
88. Taggart (Scottish detective series)
89. Take-away food costing less than eating in restaurants
90. Taxis (they’re everywhere)
91. Tesco’s
92. Tiger Lilly
93. Tim (Tiger Lilly)
94. Timmy (Corridor)
95. Top Gear (especially when watching it with Steve)
96. Trains
97. Traveling
98. Trees, trees, trees!
99. Twilight at 10:00 p.m.
100. Walking everywhere
101. Walking home inebriated
102. Washing machines in the kitchen
103. Watching crossword puzzle solvers
104. Watching punters & punting
105. Weather that changes all the time
106. Well-dressed people
107. Wind & breezes
Thursday, 28 May 2009
Wednesday, 27 May 2009
Chaperoned American Abroad
There are nights that the Corridor is quite busy, filled with people coming and going – a constant ingress and egress. But, there are other days where Cowley Road is a ghost town, as if all of its residents closed their shutters and cleared away from the road. Normally, however, there is always a steady stream of regulars coming in at their respective times. The bar staff during the daytime knows certain people’s lives in a different way that the bar staff observes people at night. Using the analogy of a Venn diagram, it is common to not have any intersections between the two circles.
It is a privilege for me to been accepted into this wonderful place of regulars and the meandering college-aged groups who are on missions to drink to get drunk. We can take tours of various notable places any time. However, being absorbed by the community and vise versa is special, and I find myself looking forward to seeing the familiar faces and people who have always ever shown kindness to me. Since being here, I have observed the following: golfers dressed in neon colors, Snow White and his twenty-odd dwarves, local Brave Hearts of various colors and patterns, a bar brawl, a person who was so drunk he got hosed down with soda water for his nakedness, groups of clowns, Goths, punkers, disco, and so much more. I can’t even begin to say – this is just at the Corridor. There have been other sightings of such similar folly reported to me by my classmates when there were here.
Yesterday, I went into the Corridor to draw a picture and to check my emails. Before I knew it, it was almost sundown at 9:45 p.m.! I don’t know how time escapes me, but it is wonderful to be swept up in it. It’s the simple pleasures of life that makes it interesting – not the fancy places and activities that usher you from here to there on a ridiculous schedule. Here, I can simply “be” and, though not necessarily “alone,” it’s absolutely splendid. The introvert in me is starting to thaw out and melt into the daily on-goings of a single place from which life springs eternal – for the night at least. There was one surprise last night though: two classmates were still in Oxford and came into the Corridor last night. I had to do a double-take because I thought that everyone, save Joe, had had enough of the Oxford scene. It was good to see them; they’d been at it fast and furious by the time they arrived here, whereas, I had been sipping on my Scotch over ice and with water. Being drunk is highly overrated.
I never go to a place for the sole purpose of getting plastered. It is a bad policy in general. But on more than one occasion, I’ve started off innocuously sipping on my drinks (with plenty of water) only to find myself being poured shots of this or that… I’ve been accused of not appearing inebriated when I am indeed thusly. I have to say, “Trust me, I am quite sufficiently drunk.” Though I’ve touted the wonders of stumbling home by foot in a state of inebriation, I must say that at 2:00 a.m., the roads are much longer and more ominous for this Colonist who is unaccustomed to the very late or early hours without a car to lock, and to being vulnerable. My father, no doubt, would say, “You have to be careful – you’re a foreigner and people take advantage of tourists…” (not that I consider myself a tourist per se).
I’ve tried to explain that we, in America – namely Los Angeles – live in fear of many things: bad neighborhoods, bad guys, gangs, rapists, carjackers, and dope fiends. It’s difficult to let down those familiar guards. So, I’ve erred to the side of caution and have called for a cab a few times. Yesterday, I was “sufficiently inebriated” and was going to call for a cab but Doug intervened and told me to save the £4; both he and Dionne walked my pathetic self home; I have to say in my own defense that I am sufficiently alive and well today due in large or small part to being escorted home. It is really quite safe here in Oxfordshire and on Cowley Road. There are some strange people who look down and out at times, and the occasional hoodlum hanging around, but relative to my experiences of the States, this would be your “really good neighborhood.”
It is a privilege for me to been accepted into this wonderful place of regulars and the meandering college-aged groups who are on missions to drink to get drunk. We can take tours of various notable places any time. However, being absorbed by the community and vise versa is special, and I find myself looking forward to seeing the familiar faces and people who have always ever shown kindness to me. Since being here, I have observed the following: golfers dressed in neon colors, Snow White and his twenty-odd dwarves, local Brave Hearts of various colors and patterns, a bar brawl, a person who was so drunk he got hosed down with soda water for his nakedness, groups of clowns, Goths, punkers, disco, and so much more. I can’t even begin to say – this is just at the Corridor. There have been other sightings of such similar folly reported to me by my classmates when there were here.
Yesterday, I went into the Corridor to draw a picture and to check my emails. Before I knew it, it was almost sundown at 9:45 p.m.! I don’t know how time escapes me, but it is wonderful to be swept up in it. It’s the simple pleasures of life that makes it interesting – not the fancy places and activities that usher you from here to there on a ridiculous schedule. Here, I can simply “be” and, though not necessarily “alone,” it’s absolutely splendid. The introvert in me is starting to thaw out and melt into the daily on-goings of a single place from which life springs eternal – for the night at least. There was one surprise last night though: two classmates were still in Oxford and came into the Corridor last night. I had to do a double-take because I thought that everyone, save Joe, had had enough of the Oxford scene. It was good to see them; they’d been at it fast and furious by the time they arrived here, whereas, I had been sipping on my Scotch over ice and with water. Being drunk is highly overrated.
I never go to a place for the sole purpose of getting plastered. It is a bad policy in general. But on more than one occasion, I’ve started off innocuously sipping on my drinks (with plenty of water) only to find myself being poured shots of this or that… I’ve been accused of not appearing inebriated when I am indeed thusly. I have to say, “Trust me, I am quite sufficiently drunk.” Though I’ve touted the wonders of stumbling home by foot in a state of inebriation, I must say that at 2:00 a.m., the roads are much longer and more ominous for this Colonist who is unaccustomed to the very late or early hours without a car to lock, and to being vulnerable. My father, no doubt, would say, “You have to be careful – you’re a foreigner and people take advantage of tourists…” (not that I consider myself a tourist per se).
I’ve tried to explain that we, in America – namely Los Angeles – live in fear of many things: bad neighborhoods, bad guys, gangs, rapists, carjackers, and dope fiends. It’s difficult to let down those familiar guards. So, I’ve erred to the side of caution and have called for a cab a few times. Yesterday, I was “sufficiently inebriated” and was going to call for a cab but Doug intervened and told me to save the £4; both he and Dionne walked my pathetic self home; I have to say in my own defense that I am sufficiently alive and well today due in large or small part to being escorted home. It is really quite safe here in Oxfordshire and on Cowley Road. There are some strange people who look down and out at times, and the occasional hoodlum hanging around, but relative to my experiences of the States, this would be your “really good neighborhood.”
Time out of Place
The journey draws nigh
My time is nearly up...
Soon I will be
Subatomic particles
From yesterday
Settling further out
Out and away
Bygone
A faint memory
Forgot…
I was
Just anyone
Who once wandered
Upon the wayward path
But I will tow the line
Of all I’ve gained
Forwardly…
T’is difficult
To forget
All that is
Moving past-wardly…
~J. L. Tornquist, 27 May 2009
My time is nearly up...
Soon I will be
Subatomic particles
From yesterday
Settling further out
Out and away
Bygone
A faint memory
Forgot…
I was
Just anyone
Who once wandered
Upon the wayward path
But I will tow the line
Of all I’ve gained
Forwardly…
T’is difficult
To forget
All that is
Moving past-wardly…
~J. L. Tornquist, 27 May 2009
Tuesday, 26 May 2009
Modest Pontification
The best moments are either the ones without words, or are the interactions between those who are held in personal esteem, with whom I enjoy the multitude of conversations. The worst moments are those filled with words that go in circles but never properly go down the drain and thereby jam up the flow of things. The most awkward moments are those wherein something needs to be said but there is too much on the line to act accordingly.
It has been a hell of a joyride here in Oxford and the greater U.K. in every sense of the word. I am suffering a slight pre-melancholy given the prospects of my departure. It can no longer be denied that I am almost, and will soon become history: a light breeze that whisked through Oxford for three months and then blew away to the other side of the globe. Is that what all life is – people coming and going, arriving and departing – all moving on to somewhere?
I have learned that there are many variables in life – all the variables are in play, sometimes in concert with one another, while at other times, colliding or racing away from each other. There are also constants, which can be affected by the variables in a host of different ways. There is an odd math in all human interactions and in many ways; it all boils down to something simple and elegant and many variables can be cancelled out, while you’re stuck with other ones. We all rush off to infinity, like an asymptote that hugs the zero but never – not even in infinity – touches its respective axis. Sometimes the rubic’s cube is a good analogy for the way we interact – change one thing, and four changes are automatically incurred based on that one choice.
Maybe physics points to our nature: Newton, roughly: “For every action, there is an opposite and equal action; objects in motion tend to stay in motion; objects at rest tend to stay at rest.” My mind struggles to understand whether we are linear beings, or whether we keep returning to the same point in space from various directions because that’s the nature of human beings. Words are great at trying to explain the pervasiveness of life, but insufficient in examining how much we are like one thing or another, without being a literal simile or metaphor. And, if history explains anything, it is simply that we do not learn from it.
It has been a hell of a joyride here in Oxford and the greater U.K. in every sense of the word. I am suffering a slight pre-melancholy given the prospects of my departure. It can no longer be denied that I am almost, and will soon become history: a light breeze that whisked through Oxford for three months and then blew away to the other side of the globe. Is that what all life is – people coming and going, arriving and departing – all moving on to somewhere?
I have learned that there are many variables in life – all the variables are in play, sometimes in concert with one another, while at other times, colliding or racing away from each other. There are also constants, which can be affected by the variables in a host of different ways. There is an odd math in all human interactions and in many ways; it all boils down to something simple and elegant and many variables can be cancelled out, while you’re stuck with other ones. We all rush off to infinity, like an asymptote that hugs the zero but never – not even in infinity – touches its respective axis. Sometimes the rubic’s cube is a good analogy for the way we interact – change one thing, and four changes are automatically incurred based on that one choice.
Maybe physics points to our nature: Newton, roughly: “For every action, there is an opposite and equal action; objects in motion tend to stay in motion; objects at rest tend to stay at rest.” My mind struggles to understand whether we are linear beings, or whether we keep returning to the same point in space from various directions because that’s the nature of human beings. Words are great at trying to explain the pervasiveness of life, but insufficient in examining how much we are like one thing or another, without being a literal simile or metaphor. And, if history explains anything, it is simply that we do not learn from it.
Thursday, 21 May 2009
Parliamentary News
On 19 May 2009, I went to visit Parliament. The tour around Parliament itself was quite spectacular – by far the most ornate of all of the places I have had the pleasure of visiting. When you go in, you have to go through a mild security check. Security takes a digital photograph of you and then prints the picture on your “Visitor’s Pass” ticket, with a barcode and all. This, you wear around your neck on a simple black rope necklace.
What really raised my interest was when, at 11:31 a.m., a gentleman who works at Parliament (I don’t know his status, other than he is an Irish-Scot) approached my group. This man saw us and motioned to us that he wanted to tell us something. He brought us into a huddle and, in a whisper, said, “You need to know that today is going to be an historic day. You are all here on a very special day, indeed. Word has it that the Speaker (of the House of Commons) is going to resign this afternoon.” I felt incredibly privileged and had a gut feeling that such news was true and soon-to-be-fact. Historically, no such resignation in the modern body politic has occurred, so this was a first in many respects, said the man at Parliament.
I wanted to stay and sign up to be a part of the 2:30 Parliamentary session and would have stayed had we not had a play to see at the Globe Theater. My friends were skeptical of the news – they thought the man was pulling their leg, but I knew it was an auspicious day to be exactly where I was. I told my professor the news, who seemed nonplussed. Then I passed my note about the pending political stir to our AIFS staff member. I asked her if she had heard about it. She hadn’t. She must have thought I was on something because it was far-out news.
Sure enough, later in the day, when I got back on the Coach Bus, our driver, Keith, informed us that the Speaker of the House of Commons had indeed resigned. Random dates started getting bantered about – was the last time this happened, 1600’s or not since 600 years? The person at Parliament was adamant about telling us that this was indeed a first. I wish we had a little more time between events so that I could have written about this in a more timely manner since all news, once uttered, is no longer news, but rather, history. Still, I have my small moment of “knowing.” Priceless.
What really raised my interest was when, at 11:31 a.m., a gentleman who works at Parliament (I don’t know his status, other than he is an Irish-Scot) approached my group. This man saw us and motioned to us that he wanted to tell us something. He brought us into a huddle and, in a whisper, said, “You need to know that today is going to be an historic day. You are all here on a very special day, indeed. Word has it that the Speaker (of the House of Commons) is going to resign this afternoon.” I felt incredibly privileged and had a gut feeling that such news was true and soon-to-be-fact. Historically, no such resignation in the modern body politic has occurred, so this was a first in many respects, said the man at Parliament.
I wanted to stay and sign up to be a part of the 2:30 Parliamentary session and would have stayed had we not had a play to see at the Globe Theater. My friends were skeptical of the news – they thought the man was pulling their leg, but I knew it was an auspicious day to be exactly where I was. I told my professor the news, who seemed nonplussed. Then I passed my note about the pending political stir to our AIFS staff member. I asked her if she had heard about it. She hadn’t. She must have thought I was on something because it was far-out news.
Sure enough, later in the day, when I got back on the Coach Bus, our driver, Keith, informed us that the Speaker of the House of Commons had indeed resigned. Random dates started getting bantered about – was the last time this happened, 1600’s or not since 600 years? The person at Parliament was adamant about telling us that this was indeed a first. I wish we had a little more time between events so that I could have written about this in a more timely manner since all news, once uttered, is no longer news, but rather, history. Still, I have my small moment of “knowing.” Priceless.
Sometimes O.M.G.
The netherworld of buzz kills
Where nothing survives
The usurping
Usurping life’s oxygen
Of silence, stillness
Sucking my air away
With the constancy of words
Rush! Mad Rush!
How so very alone are we!
Lost cavernous souls
Wandering hitherto
Watching shadows
At nearby distances
Ushering me away
With great urgency
A lost era drowning
Casting its net upon me
Bought and beggared
Bettered and battered
Those wandering eyes
Be swift be lost be gone be well
Good riddance, good-bye
God bless such immodest soul
One of far too many words
Little then left to imagination
Imperfect within perfection
Perfect in the realm of imperfection.
J. L. Tornquist 21 May 2009
Where nothing survives
The usurping
Usurping life’s oxygen
Of silence, stillness
Sucking my air away
With the constancy of words
Rush! Mad Rush!
How so very alone are we!
Lost cavernous souls
Wandering hitherto
Watching shadows
At nearby distances
Ushering me away
With great urgency
A lost era drowning
Casting its net upon me
Bought and beggared
Bettered and battered
Those wandering eyes
Be swift be lost be gone be well
Good riddance, good-bye
God bless such immodest soul
One of far too many words
Little then left to imagination
Imperfect within perfection
Perfect in the realm of imperfection.
J. L. Tornquist 21 May 2009
Monday, 18 May 2009
More Tales of the Haunt...
A man sprawled out upon the outer chairs, asleep, a’drunk…
Who later entered the fore a’drunk and quite nakedly so
So drunk that I watched the barkeep roll him out quite skunk’t
While I stayed to the bitter end, finding myself with no place to go.
Many went home far past midnight forthwith
Ne’er returning for their plentiful fifths.
JL Tornquist
Who later entered the fore a’drunk and quite nakedly so
So drunk that I watched the barkeep roll him out quite skunk’t
While I stayed to the bitter end, finding myself with no place to go.
Many went home far past midnight forthwith
Ne’er returning for their plentiful fifths.
JL Tornquist
Homestaying...
Before we arrived in Oxford, there were several meetings that took place towards getting us ready. One of strongest points AIFS and my university shared with us was that it would be the home-stay experience that would shape us the most. They (the university and AIFS) instilled the fear of God into us about all the things we should and shouldn’t do, as well as how much we would grow because of the shared experience of living with a family abroad. As far as home-stay families go, I think I received the trifecta and got the best family in Oxford to stay with.
Jennifer and Steve have welcomed me with open arms and their home has been a very relaxed one, not built on formalities, but on being real, relaxing, and enjoying the down-time that is either all-too-typical of stateside family evenings, or has been lost on the vast majority of my people: watching television, talking, sharing, joking, and eating dinner mostly together when I’m around – never at a dinner table, but always in the living room around the evening shows.
Jennifer works so hard and does so much for everyone. She doesn’t say much about it, but I know she has much to juggle and is brilliant at doing so. She cares about the work she does, and does her work with a full heart. She is one of the kindest people I have met in my life, and I have learned to receive what she and Steve offer in allowing me to stay here. I introduced her to my friend recently, and my friend took an instant liking to her. And not to deviate from Jennifer’s wonderful nature, she cooks terrific food! And is generous! I will miss her dinners and our moments together over a casual dinner. When I am here, and when all three of us are together, I’ve taken to the minimal task of taking the dishes and dish-holders back to the kitchen when we are finished eating.
Steve is the most laid-back person I’ve met who is, in a way, the mirror opposite of Jennifer. He works all around town, protecting establishments from the inebriated, and keeping order where chaos is certain to emerge. I’ve seen him out and about when he is working, and my friends adore him. When at home, Steve and I watch a lot of DAVE TV’s Top Gear, which drives Jennifer to bemusement. She detests the show, whereas, Steve and I watch back-to-back episodes of it throughout the day – when I am at home, which is less and less as my study-abroad program winds down to its conclusion. The three of us enjoy watching a wonderful show on DAVE TV about the Australian immigration and airport security. We’re always amazed at the things people do to bring back elicit, forbidden, or otherwise illegal items, hoping to get past customs and immigration. One night, Jennifer and I watched at least four consecutive hours of it.
Now, none of this means anything without relativity. I’ve only been to two other homes and met only two other homestay persons (not all the same ones than from the homes I visited) – both of which are different. The first house I went to was set up so that a few students at a time could stay upstairs and have their own spaces/room and a shared bathroom. It was a very nice house, and they had a beautiful and timid Siberian Husky as well as an adorable young boy. It felt a bit like old dorm days, but it was nice. The second home I visited with another friend was quite different, and very cold in its reception. My friend asked her “foster care mom” (addressing her properly: Mrs. So-and-So) if her friend (me) and she could study for a test in her room. Mrs. So-and-So looked once at me, then looked back to my friend, paused, and then replied, “Yah okay,” and then abruptly walked away. I was about to hold out my hand and introduce myself, but she did an about-face. Finally, one of Jennifer’s good friends is another homestay mother. She is so much fun to talk to, and from what I can observe, a good friend to Jennifer. I was a little afraid of her in the beginning, but then we (Jennifer, she and I) sat in the living room one evening and talked for hours while she was setting up an email account for Jennifer.
It’s hard to put a finger on what makes for a good home-stay family because it’s never any one thing. The ingredients are a confluence of personality types, preconceived notions, levels of openness and awareness, sensitivity to the differences, the spirit in which we are received (or not), the enthusiasm, the routines that settle in, the small talk as well as the deeper, more meaningful conversations, the food, and the company. This then gets bundled in the either warm and fuzzy, or cold and bleak Oxford-ness here in the brave new world that we’ve immersed ourselves in. I can’t put it into words because it is everything good, and much of it occurs without words. It’s just a feeling…
Jennifer and Steve have welcomed me with open arms and their home has been a very relaxed one, not built on formalities, but on being real, relaxing, and enjoying the down-time that is either all-too-typical of stateside family evenings, or has been lost on the vast majority of my people: watching television, talking, sharing, joking, and eating dinner mostly together when I’m around – never at a dinner table, but always in the living room around the evening shows.
Jennifer works so hard and does so much for everyone. She doesn’t say much about it, but I know she has much to juggle and is brilliant at doing so. She cares about the work she does, and does her work with a full heart. She is one of the kindest people I have met in my life, and I have learned to receive what she and Steve offer in allowing me to stay here. I introduced her to my friend recently, and my friend took an instant liking to her. And not to deviate from Jennifer’s wonderful nature, she cooks terrific food! And is generous! I will miss her dinners and our moments together over a casual dinner. When I am here, and when all three of us are together, I’ve taken to the minimal task of taking the dishes and dish-holders back to the kitchen when we are finished eating.
Steve is the most laid-back person I’ve met who is, in a way, the mirror opposite of Jennifer. He works all around town, protecting establishments from the inebriated, and keeping order where chaos is certain to emerge. I’ve seen him out and about when he is working, and my friends adore him. When at home, Steve and I watch a lot of DAVE TV’s Top Gear, which drives Jennifer to bemusement. She detests the show, whereas, Steve and I watch back-to-back episodes of it throughout the day – when I am at home, which is less and less as my study-abroad program winds down to its conclusion. The three of us enjoy watching a wonderful show on DAVE TV about the Australian immigration and airport security. We’re always amazed at the things people do to bring back elicit, forbidden, or otherwise illegal items, hoping to get past customs and immigration. One night, Jennifer and I watched at least four consecutive hours of it.
Now, none of this means anything without relativity. I’ve only been to two other homes and met only two other homestay persons (not all the same ones than from the homes I visited) – both of which are different. The first house I went to was set up so that a few students at a time could stay upstairs and have their own spaces/room and a shared bathroom. It was a very nice house, and they had a beautiful and timid Siberian Husky as well as an adorable young boy. It felt a bit like old dorm days, but it was nice. The second home I visited with another friend was quite different, and very cold in its reception. My friend asked her “foster care mom” (addressing her properly: Mrs. So-and-So) if her friend (me) and she could study for a test in her room. Mrs. So-and-So looked once at me, then looked back to my friend, paused, and then replied, “Yah okay,” and then abruptly walked away. I was about to hold out my hand and introduce myself, but she did an about-face. Finally, one of Jennifer’s good friends is another homestay mother. She is so much fun to talk to, and from what I can observe, a good friend to Jennifer. I was a little afraid of her in the beginning, but then we (Jennifer, she and I) sat in the living room one evening and talked for hours while she was setting up an email account for Jennifer.
It’s hard to put a finger on what makes for a good home-stay family because it’s never any one thing. The ingredients are a confluence of personality types, preconceived notions, levels of openness and awareness, sensitivity to the differences, the spirit in which we are received (or not), the enthusiasm, the routines that settle in, the small talk as well as the deeper, more meaningful conversations, the food, and the company. This then gets bundled in the either warm and fuzzy, or cold and bleak Oxford-ness here in the brave new world that we’ve immersed ourselves in. I can’t put it into words because it is everything good, and much of it occurs without words. It’s just a feeling…
Thursday, 14 May 2009
Time Flies…
There is no greater experience than to be lost in time, completely enjoying life, and simply “being” at peace with everything, despite the moments of frustration that occasionally occur. I don’t recall a time where I’ve ever felt completely connected to my surroundings and wake up thanking the Universe or God for each day I get to be at a place. Oxford has made me a convert of the local life, wherein one can simply step out be or do what fits for that day. Once classes are over (next week), I plan to fully take in the scene and go on the one-day trips that have been so elusive throughout the past few months.
It is difficult to “get away” when assignments and homework nip at my heels, so I’ve stayed close to home just to keep myself in check. Mostly that has been to my advantage, although I have to confess to not completing Death and the King’s Horsemen and didn’t do so well on a quiz. In part – my sole minor defence – and not a good one, is that I was recovering from a very bad cold. But, all things being equal, that is not a good enough excuse. So I’ve stepped up and now I’m back in the flow of everything.
Sadly, “the final flow of everything” is the culmination of my two English classes wherein the dreaded group project is falling upon us like a blunt axe. Three people of the seven will be in another country, two will be “here and there” on a couple of the days, and I’m not sure what else could possible collide with us to scatter us any further than we are. We are the embodiment of both fission and fusion. Seven women in one group – each with their own strong wills and good intellect and ideas, packed into the small of a pub/coffee shop, and sooner or later, the end-result is a massive explosion. Too much energy in one area… And then, there's a dull thud. It is a very unsatisfactory thump that we feel as things move quickly towards nowhere in particular.
BUT, school itself is actually over, barring this “play” or “production” and then the real fun can happen. I’ve realized that I actually don’t have to go to Amsterdam to achieve what was originally sought out to be achieved and am quite satisfied with my stay and adventures here. Everything is cogent. So in the weeks to follow, I will be sufficiently busy with my own business and with the friends I have made at The Corridor, save one. But life is not perfect. Doug, you rock!
Finally, I will be writing significantly more once I am finished with the “play.” I will be writing about my mis-adventures and have some wonderful tales to spin. Things only a traveller can tell about… To be continued...
It is difficult to “get away” when assignments and homework nip at my heels, so I’ve stayed close to home just to keep myself in check. Mostly that has been to my advantage, although I have to confess to not completing Death and the King’s Horsemen and didn’t do so well on a quiz. In part – my sole minor defence – and not a good one, is that I was recovering from a very bad cold. But, all things being equal, that is not a good enough excuse. So I’ve stepped up and now I’m back in the flow of everything.
Sadly, “the final flow of everything” is the culmination of my two English classes wherein the dreaded group project is falling upon us like a blunt axe. Three people of the seven will be in another country, two will be “here and there” on a couple of the days, and I’m not sure what else could possible collide with us to scatter us any further than we are. We are the embodiment of both fission and fusion. Seven women in one group – each with their own strong wills and good intellect and ideas, packed into the small of a pub/coffee shop, and sooner or later, the end-result is a massive explosion. Too much energy in one area… And then, there's a dull thud. It is a very unsatisfactory thump that we feel as things move quickly towards nowhere in particular.
BUT, school itself is actually over, barring this “play” or “production” and then the real fun can happen. I’ve realized that I actually don’t have to go to Amsterdam to achieve what was originally sought out to be achieved and am quite satisfied with my stay and adventures here. Everything is cogent. So in the weeks to follow, I will be sufficiently busy with my own business and with the friends I have made at The Corridor, save one. But life is not perfect. Doug, you rock!
Finally, I will be writing significantly more once I am finished with the “play.” I will be writing about my mis-adventures and have some wonderful tales to spin. Things only a traveller can tell about… To be continued...
Sunday, 3 May 2009
Other Morsels of Future Memories
What I also appreciate so much is that if I want to get away from the mayhem or monotony of wherever I am, I can simply walk to or take the bus somewhere with no hassle. Perhaps I’ve overstated the whole “walking freedom,” but there is a soul in being able to do the activities and go to the places where people are the central players and not cars. Here, cars heed to the will and purpose of pedestrians, unlike my experience of the states wherein your life is at the mercy of speeding vehicles that are detached to what humanity is about.
I knew this in Japan, but rarely, if ever, have I seen this in the states, save San Francisco and Manhattan, as well as certain parts of Denver. The latter (Denver) required cars for all its vastness. Cars rule the society in which we live, which alienate the population who simply want a sense of community. Cars can provide a sense of independence or freedom in that one is not beholden to anyone else’s agenda or schedule. However, in my experience as a Los Angelian, cars are a form of imprisonment for us State-siders who can’t get where they need to go without one. Especially in Los Angeles, where the mass-transit system is a joke and carries a stigma, we suffer without our cars.
Cars, as the sole mode of transportation are, in my estimation, a bad idea because they serve to isolate people and create a sense of disconnection. When people have to pass one another’s space through walking or biking, somehow a certain respect is generated for the various personal spaces, whereas, cars give people a sense of allowance to act with blatant disregard for one another – yes, guilty as charged.
I knew this in Japan, but rarely, if ever, have I seen this in the states, save San Francisco and Manhattan, as well as certain parts of Denver. The latter (Denver) required cars for all its vastness. Cars rule the society in which we live, which alienate the population who simply want a sense of community. Cars can provide a sense of independence or freedom in that one is not beholden to anyone else’s agenda or schedule. However, in my experience as a Los Angelian, cars are a form of imprisonment for us State-siders who can’t get where they need to go without one. Especially in Los Angeles, where the mass-transit system is a joke and carries a stigma, we suffer without our cars.
Cars, as the sole mode of transportation are, in my estimation, a bad idea because they serve to isolate people and create a sense of disconnection. When people have to pass one another’s space through walking or biking, somehow a certain respect is generated for the various personal spaces, whereas, cars give people a sense of allowance to act with blatant disregard for one another – yes, guilty as charged.
The Wonderful Nature of Pubs
I know I’ve written about this in a few of my blogs, but I am constantly fascinated with the laid-back pub scene that the U.K. has. It is not socially frowned upon to go to pubs here in the U.K. – all the way around: Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Woodstock, Stratford Upon Avon, and finally, my favorite place by default: Oxford. I can’t get over how kind people are here; perhaps I’m simply naïve in my anonymity of being a foreigner, but I just get the sense that I am accepted, regardless of my sex, nationality, bright false red hair, and peculiarities.
I have established myself at regular places where I find my moments to “download” when I need to get away from the people altogether. Sometimes I get to the point where I’ve had enough of what I know and of people’s routines and have to just get away. I think I shall miss this experience the most – moments of “my” pubs where people know who I am, talk to me as any other person, and where I can simply be the many faces of me”: scholar, academician, lone traveler, introspective, introverted, friendly, reserved, and whatever other spirit that moves me.
One place I’ve found refuge in of late is the Corridor Pub http://www.thecorridoroxford.co.uk/ on Cowley Road. Oftentimes, during the first part of any given day, after I get out of school, or during the weekend, I come here and do my schoolwork over coffee. I usually go through two coffees before I’m ready to switch over to something of a reward: a more relaxing scotch on the rocks (or two or thereabouts) before I pack it in. No one gives me any nasty looks or grief for doing so. Students also get certain discounts (which I haven’t redeemed thus far because of my choice of drink). I feel like Colin Dexter’s “Inspector Morse” as I nurse my drinks and contemplate simple and complex matters of little relevance.
The other day was May Day. On May Day in the U.K., students (namely) and otherwise sober people celebrate the coming of summer. People start celebrating before or at sun-up at the bars and pubs and usually get quite inebriated. Some places actually serve up breakfast with drinks. Here at Corridors, this practice of feeding students wasn’t successful because alcohol was the primary objective and a lot of food went to waste.
Many of my classmates pulled all-nighters for May Day but I was (and still am to a degree) sick with a bad cold. I knew I wouldn’t be a direct eye-witness to the mayhem of May Day. I don’t think I would have participated anyway. I’ve been there and done all that and being severely drunk is highly overrated. Being violently sick from alcohol poisoning (which is what “really drunk” is) is the farthest thing from fun that I know from personal experience.
Saturday was an experimental day. It was quite an expensive experiment at two pounds per shot, but I did get free pastries to tide me over. I wanted to see how long and slowly I could drink without becoming inebriated. I’ve lost count of how many scotches on the rocks I’ve taken in because I’ve been here for hours, and because I drink slowly to savor the drink and enjoy the relaxing time, ambiance, and people I meet along the way that accompanies the drink. Long gone are the days of shots and forced drunkenness where the price was too high. If in the States, I’d have been ushered out or given not-so-subtle hints that I had overstayed my visit. Further, I would have had to drive home, and if any police officer might have pulled me over after such a long day, I would have been hauled away for driving under the influence. They (the States) really could do a better job with “bars” (or my favorite establishment, “pubs”), but drinking places are still fairly reserved for the male-biased, as I previously alluded to in my other blog.
As a woman – as a single woman – I can say with certainty that I really dislike being hit on by men who have the wrong idea about my presence at drinking establishments. I truly enjoy conversations but many such conversations go south as soon as the guy gets the wrong idea and “makes a move.” I can’t count the times I have encountered the cliché, “So what’s a nice, attractive lady like yourself doing here all alone at a place like this?” Buzz kill. At that point of the evening (usually it doesn’t take long), I fold in my cards and call it a night, even if I don’t want to. Oh well, it’s all cool on some strange level, I suppose…
I have established myself at regular places where I find my moments to “download” when I need to get away from the people altogether. Sometimes I get to the point where I’ve had enough of what I know and of people’s routines and have to just get away. I think I shall miss this experience the most – moments of “my” pubs where people know who I am, talk to me as any other person, and where I can simply be the many faces of me”: scholar, academician, lone traveler, introspective, introverted, friendly, reserved, and whatever other spirit that moves me.
One place I’ve found refuge in of late is the Corridor Pub http://www.thecorridoroxford.co.uk/ on Cowley Road. Oftentimes, during the first part of any given day, after I get out of school, or during the weekend, I come here and do my schoolwork over coffee. I usually go through two coffees before I’m ready to switch over to something of a reward: a more relaxing scotch on the rocks (or two or thereabouts) before I pack it in. No one gives me any nasty looks or grief for doing so. Students also get certain discounts (which I haven’t redeemed thus far because of my choice of drink). I feel like Colin Dexter’s “Inspector Morse” as I nurse my drinks and contemplate simple and complex matters of little relevance.
The other day was May Day. On May Day in the U.K., students (namely) and otherwise sober people celebrate the coming of summer. People start celebrating before or at sun-up at the bars and pubs and usually get quite inebriated. Some places actually serve up breakfast with drinks. Here at Corridors, this practice of feeding students wasn’t successful because alcohol was the primary objective and a lot of food went to waste.
Many of my classmates pulled all-nighters for May Day but I was (and still am to a degree) sick with a bad cold. I knew I wouldn’t be a direct eye-witness to the mayhem of May Day. I don’t think I would have participated anyway. I’ve been there and done all that and being severely drunk is highly overrated. Being violently sick from alcohol poisoning (which is what “really drunk” is) is the farthest thing from fun that I know from personal experience.
Saturday was an experimental day. It was quite an expensive experiment at two pounds per shot, but I did get free pastries to tide me over. I wanted to see how long and slowly I could drink without becoming inebriated. I’ve lost count of how many scotches on the rocks I’ve taken in because I’ve been here for hours, and because I drink slowly to savor the drink and enjoy the relaxing time, ambiance, and people I meet along the way that accompanies the drink. Long gone are the days of shots and forced drunkenness where the price was too high. If in the States, I’d have been ushered out or given not-so-subtle hints that I had overstayed my visit. Further, I would have had to drive home, and if any police officer might have pulled me over after such a long day, I would have been hauled away for driving under the influence. They (the States) really could do a better job with “bars” (or my favorite establishment, “pubs”), but drinking places are still fairly reserved for the male-biased, as I previously alluded to in my other blog.
As a woman – as a single woman – I can say with certainty that I really dislike being hit on by men who have the wrong idea about my presence at drinking establishments. I truly enjoy conversations but many such conversations go south as soon as the guy gets the wrong idea and “makes a move.” I can’t count the times I have encountered the cliché, “So what’s a nice, attractive lady like yourself doing here all alone at a place like this?” Buzz kill. At that point of the evening (usually it doesn’t take long), I fold in my cards and call it a night, even if I don’t want to. Oh well, it’s all cool on some strange level, I suppose…
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