Oxford Year

afterword, part I

2008-06-29T06:49:00.005+01:00

I left Oxford, lovely in the light of another one of its timeless mornings, two weeks ago. Those weeks may not even register on the University's epic chronological scale, but they make quite a difference in where I am and what I'm doing. Tomorrow (today, really) I'm headed out again, this time not quite so far afield-- Boston, for the rest of the summer.

The year is, bizarrely, over.

last post from Oxford...

2008-06-16T00:11:00.003+01:00

In just about six hours I will be leaving Oxford, and in less than twelve I'll be in the air, North America-bound. I'm done. The last essay was finished barely six hours ago. Since then I've gone to dinner and spent a final evening at the lovely little corner pub. Now I'm sitting on my floor, surrounded by the stubborn detritus of a very long year and just slightly tipsy, trying to motivate myself to finish the last of the packing.

I'm going to miss this. I'm going to miss Oxford. For everything that has been hard (and this term in particular was) there have been so many things that were so much better than I thought they could be. I have no words left to convey how it has overflowed.

I've missed people while I've been here. I'll miss others when I'm gone. Wherever I am, someone will be missing. It's hard when life is so spread out. But at the same time, it almost helps. The thought of the several clusters up and down the coast who are maybe looking forward to my return makes this bearable somehow, just a little easier. (But I still don't really understand.)

A couple more posts/photos/etc. to come, but they'll all be from the other side of the pond.

how strange

2008-06-13T15:32:00.002+01:00

On Monday I'll be going home. I have one more essay left to finish that's more a formality than anything, and have, in my procrastination, already begun to pack.

Several wrap-up posts in the coming days, and then I'll be finished here too...

primaries

2008-06-04T16:27:00.005+01:00

Edited to add: This got longer than I intended and has nothing to do with Oxford. But it does have to do with some of the stuff I've been up to this year, so if you're at all interested in what I did on the campaign in January, read on!

At this point, I should just be relieved that its over. It's been a long and messy fight. Everyone has known for a while how it was going to end. Even I, feeling worse than traitorous, had caved and signed up for Obama's email updates (and gritted my teeth when they landed in my inbox, calling me "friend"). Really, everyone should be relieved that we can move forward now, turn our attention to the real issues, begin to think about securing victory in November.

But I'm not relieved. I'm disappointed.

I believed in Hillary Rodham Clinton. I believed that she would lead us, surely and steadily, in repairing the damage done by the past seven years. I believed that she would be the first female president of the United States.

It's still difficult for me to achieve any kind of rational distance or perspective. Emotion kicks in and I'm surprised by the strong feelings I can still muster. Personal investment will do that, and I guess I was pretty invested in this campaign-- I didn't write too much about it here, but I don't think I had ever been as completely present or consistently engaged with anything as I was while I was in New Hampshire.

I can't overemphasize how very lucky I was there. I could have knocked on doors all day in sub-freezing temperatures, I could have spent all of my time on the phone with people who just didn't want to hear it anymore (I did my share of that, but it wasn't nearly all). That too would have been okay, it would have been worthwhile. But somehow I hit the intern jackpot and got placed with the Advance team, and ended up with an oddly intimate perspective.

I not only learned a ton about the practicalities of creating good political theater-- what you see on TV, what you see in the newspapers, is obviously very carefully choreographed, but there are so many elements that you'd never think about, that I'd never thought about until I was doing it-- but I was also really there in a way that a lot of people weren't, immersed in the spectacle and in the mechanics of the thing.

I helped set up events, herded press and crowds, ran around behind cordons wearing a Secret Service pin, saw up close all of the policy advisers and talking heads. I worked twelve to sixteen hours a day, seven days a week, and I loved every fucking second of it, even when I was doing things like diving through snow drifts with boxes of food for the campaign bus or hassling the bleacher rental company or plastering windows with rally signs or endlessly redoing our giant post-it note-ed Advance schedule or sorting out muddle of banners and ropes and tape and staple guns that filled our closet or taking my boss's blackberry so he wouldn't kill us by trying to type while roaring down a New Hampshire highway at eighty-five miles per hour.

I heard her talk a bunch of times. She wasn't the most immediately captivating speaker, but I believed what she said, and she projected an air of capable and empathetic intelligence. I was impressed when I watched her answering questions from voters. I even saw her joke around with my bosses.

I can't say I've admired everything that has come out of the campaign this year-- some things were pretty badly and embarrassingly mishandled-- but I can say that I genuinely admire the candidate, that I am glad to have had the opportunity to work for her and to catch the kind of glimpse of campaigning that I caught.

Today, I want to stop thinking about politics entirely. I know that won't last. I'll get over it and I'll work for him in the fall because I care just a little too much not to do my part. In fact, I've started working for him already, right at home-- my dad, a life-long Democrat (and a huge fan of the Clintons), has been muttering that he'll vote for McCain or stay home in November if Obama is the nominee. Even through my disappointment, I recognize that kind of attitude as plainly absurd. It's going to be tough, but we have a lot of work to do.

going on

2008-06-03T18:27:00.008+01:00

The Guardian ran gallery of reader's photos of New York today. Clicking through them, I was hit with something that didn't quite make sense, wanting and not-wanting. New York has always been a lot of things to me, from backdrop to origin to promised land. In thirteen days-- can't even count in weeks anymore-- I'll be back within sight of the City.

Life here has gone on, and goes on, but it won't for that much longer.

oh and punting

2008-05-24T18:15:00.003+01:00

may be my new favorite thing. Once one gets over the fear of falling into the river, everything is a-okay.

For next time, I must procure a straw hat, a parasol, and some Pimms.

broken social scene

2008-05-24T11:26:00.005+01:00

is pretty awesome live.

Sometimes when I go to concerts, I come away feeling like they were doing their best to approximate something that sounded much better in the hermetic conditions of a recording studio. Not this band though. On Thursday night, I came away feeling like I'd been to a show, like I'd heard something quite amazing.

I often forget why I go to shows. Why should I go stand in some room for a couple of hours, packed shoulder to shoulder, to get blasted with sound inferior to what I could hear through headphones in the comfort of my own room? Why would anyone need to see any band live when they have their entire catalog, and the entire catalogs of many hundred of other bands, constantly available on ipods and computers? And a lot of bands aren't capable of convincing anyone otherwise. So the forgetting is easy.

But when it all clicks, you remember. When the band is good and the crowd is into it and you are overwhelmed by a sound that rattles in your throat and chest, when you feel something, whatever it may be-- you remember. And on Thursday night, I remembered. Something rather inexplicable made this gig in particular a joy.

The crowd sang along when the lead singer taught us the words to "Major Label Debut," screamed on cue, shouted out answers to the band's questions about weird Oxford traditions (sub fusc! They do indeed wear tuxedos to sit their exams, and no, you're not the only ones who find that funny), danced.

Sometimes dancing at shows is unwarranted. Music exists that one should not attempt to dance to. Period, ever. (Though some dude will always, always try.) You might think that the music of Broken Social Scene would not merit dancing, but you would be dead wrong.

Even the opening act was serious fun. Usually I find hearing music for the first time live less than optimal, but the Brunettes made some superb boy-girl pop that even included coronets and clarinets and handclaps.

So Thursday night reminded me of why I go to shows, even if I can't entirely explain it. When it was all over, I left Carling and went to bed happy and quite deaf.

trip photos

2008-05-19T16:57:00.002+01:00

A small selection of the photos from my spring break odyssey can be found here. (I've been procrastinating pretty seriously this afternoon.)

yeah, um

2008-05-08T20:31:00.006+01:00

I saw David Cameron speak at the Union today. It was packed, as though everyone suddenly remembered they were Union members. Well, this was a good one to turn up for. David Cameron, the leader of the Conservative party, will probably be Prime Minister in two years if things continue to go this way-- last week Labour had its worst showing in living memory in local council elections, which are said to be a portent of the larger elections to come.

He was interesting. Of course I don't agree with him, but I still think that he's an interesting figure, and that British Conservatives should sit ours at home down and give them a good talking to. The culture war doesn't really exist here. Both parties agree that issues like the environment and poverty must be addressed. Hell, the Conservatives have even managed to integrate gay rights into their conception of "family values." They're rather questionable in other ways, but not nearly as bad as the Republicans.

Which reminds me: I'm in a fight with my good buddy American politics right now. The whole thing is damned frustrating and I am unusually viscerally invested in this one. I'll support the Democratic nominee (...and at this point we pretty much know who that'll be) simply to dislodge the current horrifying bastards from the White House, but right now, whenever I see pictures, I get an awful urge to smack the pretty little smirk off someone's face. (What can I say? I'm an electoral anomaly.)

Besides that, I like milkshakes! And I do not like essays! And that is all, really. (No, I have not gotten an early start on traditional twenty-first birthday celebration. I wish.)

sunset

2008-04-27T22:43:00.008+01:00

These photos can't do it justice.

It's hard to take a picture of a rainbow.

irrelevance

2008-04-23T20:33:00.007+01:00

I finally put up my poster from Sweden today. It's from the Design History museum in Gothenburg (or Göteborg, which is so much better) and it's pretty sweet.

I miss traveling. There are still no particular stories I feel the need to tell, nowhere really to begin. In terms of generalization, all I can say is that those few weeks were different, more immediate somehow. There was always something else to see or hear or taste or figure out. There was nowhere to retreat. It was at times exhausting, but I do miss the constant barrage of sensations, of facts, the overwhelming novelty of it all, the perpetual state of focused attention and the sharper perception of reality that came with being repeatedly (more like constantly) disoriented.

At the other end of the spectrum, I miss home. Nebulously though, the feeling of it, the people who make me feel that way, rather than any particular place.

The trees are bursting out in leaves. The past few days have been gorgeous and clear and have gone on forever. I have essays to write.

the odyssey

2008-04-16T17:04:00.004+01:00

It's hard to believe that the time passed so quickly, that it's over. I did and saw so much that I don't even know where I might begin.

This was the final itinerary:

March 13 - 17: Barcelona
March 18 - 23: Paris
March 24 - 26: Amsterdam
March 27 - 30: Prague
March 31 - April 1: Vienna (stop in Salzburg)
April 2 - 4: Munich (day trips to Castle Neuschwanstein and the Dachau Camp Memorial)
April 5: Lucerne
April 6: Interlaken
April 7: Grindelwald/Bern
April 8 - April 9: Berlin
April 10 - 11: Copenhagen
April 12: Gothenburg
April 13 - 14: Oslo + fjords
Arrive in Oxford early April 15

Being back is strange.

Photos will be forthcoming; I'm attempting to sort and organize all 2000-something down to a more manageable number (not even I want to look through that many of my travel pictures).

adventures, continued

2008-04-11T21:26:00.004+01:00

I am seriously considering learning German so I can move to Berlin. It was not a charming little European city. There was nothing cute about it. In fact, it was pretty damn ugly. But it was ugly in a really forthright way, if that makes any sense, and it was cheap, and there was something indefinably, inexplicably cool about it. I should give Berlin its own post, even if I only end up effusively describing the bars and club I went to. My feeling about Berlin in a nutshell: I would never get up before noon there. And I might even be able to be cool.

Then we went to Copenhagen, but I was out of it and Tivoli wasn´t opened for the season yet, so meh. But I´m in Gothenburg now, and I like Sweden already! There was free dinner at the hotel/hostel-place. I feel like that´s an awesome extension of the welfare state (or something). Among other things, there were meatballs at free dinner. And we´re in Sweden. Get it? We did, and giggled like children for a while. There is also free internet-- I asked to double check and the lady at the desk gave me a look like ´whoever heard of paying for internet?´ I have, and this makes my day.

The Swedish language is also pretty amazing. Everything seems appreciably better with a Swedish name. Reading signs has become fun.

I don´t really know what there is to see here in Gothenburg, but I´m sure it will be cool. And then we´ll be off to see fjords! Though I´m not pining for them yet, as that will mean the trip coming to an end, and I´m not ready to think about that yet. (Day 30-something and still going strong. Can you believe it?)

halfway point

2008-03-30T02:07:00.006+01:00

Really, I should be asleep now, here on the banks of the Vlatava (the Riverbank Hostel isnt kidding. We are on the water, one bridge and a bit down from the famous Charles). Daylight savings time just kicked in, but in spite of losing an hour, I am seemingly unable to resist the pull of free!internet! right now.

Today is day seventeen, the halfway point, the beginning of the second, more ridiculous leg of the journey. So far its been awesome. Tiring and expensive and sometimes kind of uncomfortable, but awesome nonetheless. And Im really on vacation and totally unplugged-- I dont have a phone, get online only every couple of days, cant remember when I last read an entire news article (not to mention blog item), dont even have my ipod (though thats a tough one. I lost it the first week of the trip, in Barcelona).

I have soaked in Mediterranean sun and gotten caught in a snowstorm at the Eiffel Tower. Ive seen unfathomable treasure. Ive stumbled into sing-alongs in two different cities. Ive eaten a great many interesting things (from tortilla espanola to stroopwaffles to klobasa and rye bread). Ive accumlated maps and gotten lost but not too lost and always found my way again. And on and on. I dont really know where to begin. And that was only the beginning!

One more day here in Prague, and Ill be leaving rather reluctantly for Vienna early Monday morning. (Onward!)

fastest post ever

2008-03-15T19:41:00.003Z

I´m wasting the three minutes of internet I have left. It really makes you think of the medium in different ways when you have to pay for it.

Anyway, I´m in love with Barcelona. Modernisme, mediterranean, etc.

Two minutes left now, just enough time to hit ´post´and log off. I think I´ll be hit and run posting when I can!

coming and going

2008-03-09T19:55:00.009Z

It's spring. It was never winter but it will be summer soon enough. In autumn I arrived newly shorn; time is marked in inches of my hair.

I remember that first afternoon's strange tears-- exhausted, elated, struck dumb by the beauty of the glowing stone. I don't know if there will be tears in June. Maybe. But maybe by then it will really be time to go home.

I do know that I'll be relieved to get out of this city and off of this island at the end of the week. I just have to make sense for a little while longer before I go.

what's next

2008-03-04T17:55:00.010Z

In a little more than a week, I'll be setting off on a month-long trip. Julia and I will be spending two weeks checking out Barcelona, Paris (with a brief sojourn in Brussels), Amsterdam, and Prague. I'm meeting up with everyone else in Prague, and from there we'll set off on a sprint through Northern Europe, through Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Denmark, and Sweden, with Oslo our eventual end point. I'm kind of freaking out a little, but I also think the next month is probably going to be the coolest ever.

I can't believe it's March. I can't believe it's eighth week. These two-month terms whip by. I have a load of essays still to get through and tons of flights to book, but rather than moaning, I'm going to make a list of what I'm looking forward to:

Upcoming Highlights
Mar 13 - Apr 14: travels on the Continent
Apr 15 - Apr 20: still break... (hopefully day trips in England)
Apr 21: start of Trinity term
May 9: turning 21
June 14: end of Trinity term
June 16: arrive home in the States

and then there’s a huge gap for the summer. I have no plans at all for the entire 10-week stretch right now. I'm trying to figure something out, but honestly, I'll be perfectly satisfied if I get to see the lot of you in the states and deal with the driving situation. (The only thing officially on my calendar now is the All Points West music festival in August, which should be pretty awesome.) And then:

September 2: start of senior year

Whoosh.

earthquake?

2008-02-27T03:27:00.012Z

Apparently there was an earthquake here tonight. I missed it. Or if it did register at all, I thought it was a truck going by. Or my imagination. (If the chair shakes a bit, my brain doesn't automatically latch on to geological phenomena as a possible explanation.)

Obviously it wasn't terribly impressive, but the BBC is running a fun info-graphic on their front-page and making a big deal of the whole thing. It just makes me love this country more-- even their natural disasters are sort of mannerly and very nearly quaint.

Edit: Here is the article in the Oxford Mail. Here is the BBC article and here is an interesting Q&A also from the BBC.

soup and stuff

2008-02-21T02:21:00.016Z

Because it's been as cold as it gets here the past few days, and because I was in the mood for some semi-productive procrastination, I made soup yesterday. I'd been wanting to try my hand at sausage, kale, and white bean soup, and for once had the ingredients on hand (though the greens aren't kale-- I actually have no idea what they are, other than 29p at Tesco. They were simply and mysteriously labeled 'greens' and I figured that, as they were being sold in the grocery store, they were likely edible). For an initial attempt, I would rate my effort as none too shabby, and I think soup may be perfectly suited to my rather slapdash kitchen philosophy. Unfortunately, it did little to improve the condition of my throat or sinuses-- the cold that laid me low all of first week has never quite gone, and every time I pull an all-nighter it'll bounce back with a vengeance.

Speaking of all-nighters, tonight's essay question: ''Equality of opportunity is a valid social goal. Equality of outcome is not.’ Discuss.' My discussion so far: 'Yes.' (I have had it with essays. Unfortunately, they have not yet had it with me.)

Bah (and other ineloquence).

the ball

2008-02-18T11:27:00.009Z

...was black tie, and the Union, already lovely, was transformed into a series of 'fantasylands' (their theme) for Saturday night. There were: chocolate fountains, open bars, a candy buffet, dancers and magicians, a Middle Eastern pavilion, tons of terrifically awful pop music.

I broke out a new black lace dress. We ate too many sweets, danced too hard, probably drank a bit too much. It was lovely.

This week is going to be stupidly busy. I should have started in on it already. Instead, I remain curled here in swiftly receding patch of sun-- my windows face East and this room gets only morning light.

she draws trees

2008-02-07T12:14:00.001Z

Yesterday I met the old woman who draws trees. It was an accident. I suppose that kind of thing usually is. The weather was perfect, which is so rare here. I left college after lunch and wandered toward the Bodleian. Once I was outside though, the library ceased to be my destination. Without thinking, I walked through Radcliffe Square, past the Camera, past St. Mary's, crossed High Street and ducked down Magpie Lane. I wasn't particularly sure where I was going but I ended up exactly where I wanted to be: Christ Church Meadows.

It was a gorgeous day for a walk, with a blue sky, warm breeze, green grass, snowdrops blooming. Even the ducks seemed glad.

The path looped around from the playing fields down between the Meadows and the Cherwell to the banks of what I think is the Thames, then back around to Christ Church. The last stretch is a long straight lane edged with big evenly spaced trees leading to Christ Church's back gate. That's where I found the old woman.

She was sitting on a bench in a tattered green coat with a green scarf tied around her head. Her lap was covered with a huge sheet of paper which itself was covered with curving lines. A young woman was just leaving her side, holding a few cards. It made sense then: I'd heard of a crazy lady who drew trees (a friend who was here last year had told me about her). That description made her sound certifiably insane. The woman I met was nothing like that.

I moved closer to get a better look at her drawing, and we started talking. I asked her about her work-- she draws trees, pays attention to every branch. It takes her months, sometimes. She has the pictures shrunk down and printed on note cards, or into small books of poetry she writes. I asked about how she came to Oxford-- she'd read PPE here some forty-odd years ago, done something with international economics, then retired to her art. She told me about some of her friends-- a head librarian in the Bod, a biochemist who married a Masai shepherd and now runs a research center in Africa, a grad student who makes the textured paper some of the cards are printed on and lives most of the year with her Dutch husband in a forest in Vermont. (These people could be a product of her undoubtedly vivid imagination, but I want to believe they are real.)

She told me about a children's story she'd written about the willow right behind us. She called the willow Samantha. Samantha tried to run away from where she was planted. There were too many people who passed by, making too much noise. There were too many other trees. She stopped, though, to sit with an old woman, who tried to convince her not to run away. Samantha was stubborn and suspicious, and asked many questions. But the woman was patient, and soon the tree saw that the world was quite a bit more beautiful than she had thought, that she herself was beautiful. To prove it, the old woman drew her. So Samantha stayed, and she was not alone.

We talked about trees and poetry and optimism. I only realized how long I had been sitting on her bench when my feet started to go numb (it was a silly day for those shoes). I thanked her profusely, unsure of the right thing to say. "It was really a pleasure to meet you," I finally managed.

She laughed. "Oh, you," she said "I know you a hundred years."

Maybe she has.

I bought two cards. I spent more than I should have, probably, but I don't think it matters. On one is a picture of a scotch pine that looks like it's dancing (I'll have to go and find it in the University Parks), and it says "nature's joy." On the other is that willow. Inside, the card says "not alone."

spring?

2008-01-27T01:18:00.001Z

For most of the year, it seems perpetually March here (more lion than lamb). But as long as the semi-constant deluge is interrupted by an occasional snowdrop, buttercup, or crocus in January, I guess I can't really complain.

an experiment in mixed media

2008-01-22T01:09:00.000Z

So it's been a while since I posted photos. But I know that straight-up text on a page gets dull, so here's a description in a different medium:

transformations/reflections OR last week's weather in Oxford
(link to zShare, 14tracks/59mins/87mb)

It's a pretty weird little mix. Which, when you unzip the .rar, you will most likely need to arrange (because I'm inept). It's meant to be heard in this order:

only shallow - my bloody valentine
(this is) the dream of evan and chan - dntel
apples in the trees - mirah
bullets - tunng
this is how we walk on the moon - arthur russell
etched headplate - burial
black wave - the shins
the wolves (act I and II) - bon iver
this is how we walk on the moon - the memory band
smells like content - the books
apples in the trees [pash remix] - mirah (pash)
(this is) the dream of evan and chan [lali puna remix] - dntel (lali puna)
blood rainbow - tim hecker

optional final track: here come the warm jets - brian eno

Yeah, it was an experiment. Not really representative of my taste, and meant to be taken as a unit rather than as individual tracks (for example: I have no idea how 'this is the dream of evan and chan' made it on there even once). But it works in context, and it maybe says something, so I'm going to leave it alone.

Enjoy? Let me know what you think...

champagne and chocolates...

2008-01-19T10:56:00.000Z

was just as awesome as it sounds like it should be. It's a college event, held twice a term after formal formal (black-tie-ish formal hall), and it's three quid for as much as you can consume before everything runs out. As I said: awesomeness. And awesomeness even accompanied by a small chocolate fountain!

So the plan was that a few of us would get dressed up early, head into town for an Italian dinner, then head to college for the event. Instead, it took us all too long to get ready, and though we all looked lovely-- I got to wear a new dress (it has pockets) and my sexy black boots-- we no longer had time for a sit-down dinner. So, all dressed up and totally sober, we had kebabs (pronounced "keh-babs" by the Brits, rather than more American "ka-bobs." I have to give this one to the then for pronouncing it as it's spelled, but it still sounds funny). This was an anomaly, as kebabs are the epitome of drunk food, but god, they're also delicious.

Champers and chocs (as at least one person has referred to it within my hearing) was held in the chapel (the biggest room Mansfield's got) and everyone ended up varying levels of intoxicated. The worst were the guys in tuxes who had very obviously been at formal formal and had been drinking all through dinner-- one cheerfully and slurrily introduced himself to me and asked what my first and middle names were (hah). Some of my friends are amazing light-weights (so funny) and a few others are amazingly heavy drinkers (including the kid who had boxed wine along with him to enhance the experience of the champagne-- golf claps for that particular brand of hilarity). I have a very high alcohol tolerance somehow (and I don't drink much, so it's not built-up resistance either), but I got a bit silly-- on the way back, I broke in the new boots with some skipping!

It was only 11:30, much too early to go to bed, so a big group of us headed to Kazbar, a Spanish/North African bar and restaurant, tiled and full of palms and punched tin lamps that cast jagged shadows. I've heard their tapas are good, but I've only ever had their sangria (which I can vouch for). We hung there until they kicked us out (closing time around 1am).

finding footing?

2008-01-16T15:32:00.000Z

It finally stopped raining. The sky was visible, only streaked with clouds, when I opened the curtains this morning. Angel and Greyhound Meadow is mostly underwater and the Cherwell is seething brown up beyond its usual banks. Still, today is clear and not too cold and the puddles are drying.

Emerging from flat monochrome into blue and gold was like coming up for air. I saw the spires in the sun and remembered what I like about this place.