We don't need no thought control (Part II)

So, we're back to jumbled anecdotes, because, as I'm sure you've noticed, I haven't updated in a while. I hope that I can remember that trip to Oxford. Really, that's why I'm forcing myself to update right now.

That and the fact that I promised Erin McGann that I would...last night.

Anyway, I went to the Tate Britain and the Tate Modern today on another troublingly pleasant solo adventure, and got a bit lost as I walked back in the rain (which I found very pleasant) so tonight, I'm staying in the dorm and watching The Office wedding and dreading the early meet-up time (7:00???) for tomorrow's day-trip with an official student tour group into Bath and to Stonehenge. Please request your favorite Jane Austen/Roman/Bathroom/Spinal Tap-related puns or witticisms now.

Oxford! It was a lovely little college town, a bit intimidating, what with all the tourist-worthy smart people that could be the next Blairs. Or Thatchers. Or Audens. Or Palins (Michael, not Sarah- dear God in heaven, I do not mean Sarah). Or Grants (Hugh). And while Harry Potter did not actually attend Oxford, the movie would have you believe that he had his meals there.

Yes, a good portion of the Oxford-Tourism circuit is dedicated to the filming locations of the Harry Potter films. I was not the only dork about this, either. Mike and Mike's girlfriend didn't seem too enthused, but Taryn took a lot of pictures of the hall at Christchurch where Maggie Smith-as-McGonagall addressed the wee firsties before they were sorted into their houses. You know? In the movies, it's where Draco Malfoy is first introduced, and Harry's all "I think I can figure out the right sort for myself, thanks." Anyway, as we passed that hall again, it was flooded with British schoolchildren and their teacher who was wearing some sort of religious garb that could have passed for wizard's clothing. We were not shy about taking pictures of the kids as if they were young wizards. One had glasses, and his hood up to cover what I can only assume was his unruly black hair and his lightning scar.

But beyond that, and the Great Hall where Dumbledore speaks to the troops, and the Quiddich pitch, there wasn't much else that I could recognize. However, there remained a number of fun and historically interesting attractions, specifically the Cathedral at Christchurch and the view from the St. Mary's Tower. The Cathedral was nice, as cathedrals go, and there was a man in there praying at the top of his lungs. My fellow Americans (I like that...and it's easier than repeatedly typing out names, so I'm going use MFAs henceforward) were all annoyed at his in-your-face religiousness, but I thought it provided a nice soundtrack. Tourist Cathedrals are always just a bit too quiet. There should be someone in them talking (or singing) about God. Heh. That reminds me of Slings and Arrows Season 1 Episode 2, and the Priest at Oliver's funeral Richard hired to mention God. Good times. Mom, Gus, Joe, and Erin know what I'm talking about!

The Tower at St. Mary's was an awesome way to take in the whole city, as you could, in fact, see the whole city from the top. There was a tight spiral staircase that took you up very, very high, and I am, in general, not a terrific fan of those things (see Barcelona's La Sagrada Familia) but I did alright. I had the three of them go first, to break my fall, just in case. Also, I didn't want to hold them up, what with the weeping. Once we got up there, up very high, we walked around and took pictures from all sides of the old buildings, the new buildings, the surrounding countryside, and the money people had thrown into the mouths of gargoyles and grotesques. Quite spectacular, really. I recommend it.

Next, we did the Tower of Oxford. Actually, it was called the Oxford Castle or something, but it was basically just like the Tower of London, but in Oxford and therefore less significant. It was an Anglo-Saxon fortification, and then a Norman Castle, and then Matilda escaped from Stephen's cronies disguised as some snow (if you don't know that story, I really recommend it- but can't relate right now...what with the whole 7:00 departure time, new Nick Hornby, and it's currently 0:09 business) and then it was a jail. After the Cromwell-era inmate who led the tour let us to our own devises, we actually got to see some Victorian torture devises. Mainly, they were tortuous in that they were boring. But, overall it was a pretty interesting place. Oh! And there was an underground lair that was apparently haunted!

At a late lunch with 2-for-1 cocktails, we decided that there wasn't much left for us to enjoy in Oxford. Well, really, Mike decided this, and we were all inclined to sort of agree. There wasn't much else in the way of concrete activity, but it might have been enjoyable to roam for a bit. Regardless, we left and on the way, I finished the post below. It was a pretty great trip, and I think that I wouldn't mind seeing the probably-similar Cambridge. It's got better celebrity alumni (more royalty, more Pythons, more Stephen Fry, more Nick Hornby) and a more in-depth wikipedia article.

So, that was Oxford. After that, I went out dancing (ugh) with MFAs and actually enjoyed myself for more than an hour and a half. Unfortunately, we were out for much longer. Still, it was a big step for me. I danced with a German guy, and Sarah and I were hit on by the same gay man (Andy, very muscular), and the minicab home at 3:30 cost 38 quid. Awesome. The German Guy, whose name I have forgotten, told me I was a good dancer, which proves that it was a tough night for all involved. Then I had a week of classes again. They continue swimmingly. I think my Modernism & Drama professor quite likes me. Makes sense, since he's German.

Today, I finally made it to the Tate Galleries. I have been planning to go for ages (you know, since I've been here) but never got around to it, what with all of the Oxford-visiting, and the dancing, and the sleeping in, and classes, and this infernal blogging business. They were both really great, in their very different ways. The Tate Britain had a lot of nice portraits, which I really like, as you know, and some great Pre-Raphaelite and Victorian stuff. I enjoyed it much more than I thought I would, and actually regretted leaving in time to catch the very cool ferry to the Tate Modern.

The Tate Modern was pretty cool, almost comparable to the indomitable MoMA, especially since it is in London, and MoMA is not. Though, counting against it: very dark and inconvenient bathrooms, and a gallery devoted to the Actionists who liked to paint with blood (one very disturbing painting's title? Menstruation picture. NO ONE NEEDS TO SEE THAT, says me, a girl very open-minded when it comes to modern art innovations) I did like that it was separated by ideas, rather than years or era-specific movements, and the architecture was really cool. I wanted to spend more time there, too (more predictably) but I figure I'll be going again when the Fam invades at Thanksgiving. I bet Gus will really want to see it now, huh? Also, I did not see Marcel Duchamp's "Ready Made" piece, which was, in fact, just a urinal turned on its side. It's still in the gallery, apparently, since it represented an important question as to "what art is," but surely he was being Duchamp-y, right?

Anyway, the blood business of the Actionists, and that one on the 5th floor that was just a canvas with a razor-cut in the middle asks the same question, I think.

I shall return after Bath and Stonehenge!

Cockney slang I don't understand: Innit?

We don't need no education...etc. (Part I)

Fortunately, this entry is not just a random assortment of anecdotes and musings about what I said I was going to say in the entry before. I have a plan! I have something specific to talk about, and it relates to both the setting in which I wrote it, and what I'll be talking about next! Maybe. A bit. Well, there are definitely similarities.

The following, about my educational classes, was written on my way to the educational Oxford University (see how that works?) Enjoy!

So, I'm on a train- headed to the first of my UK day-trip destinations, Oxford, Oxfordshire. Very exciting indeed. My hand shakes with anticipation, though that might just be the train. Anyway, you can definitely tell from my handwriting that something's shaky. Trust me.

Also, I must say that I became a little nostalgic upon opening this notebook and flipping to a new page. There were a lot of old AT&T phone inventory notes and taco bell orders (3 tacos and a meximelt, Abe?) from last year's California adventure.

So anyway, moving on, I also must note that the train has just passed the lovely little township of Slough. For those readers who don't know the glorious mess that is David Brent, this is is where the original Office took place. I took a picture of the sign like the dork that I am, and informed my American compatriots of its significance. One fool professed that he hated the British Office, and then referred to the American version as the "real" Office. Needless to say, I've traded his conversation for the Pixies.

Moving on again (past Reading now) I wanted to use this time to go over my classes, now that I've had my first week. All have been entertaining and promise to be neither too time-consuming nor too mindless. So, let's begin with Monday!

At 11:00 a.m. I have Old English with a teacher I unfortunately only remember as "Carole," though now that I think of it, I don't even know the first names of any other teachers. Awesome. Regardless, Carole brought us brownies for the break and seems to really adore the weird spelling found in Bede's Ecclesiastical History of the English People and other Anglo-Saxon texts. So far, the class is an interesting combination of history, language, and spelling words incorrectly. For example, a challenge: decode this- "Wille ge beon beswungen on leornunge?" Any ideas? How about "Ic eom bysgod on sange"? Before you get intimidated, remember, kids, it's English! Also, sound it out, and say it fast.

At 3:00 p.m. (15:00, must get used to that...) and not 3:32 p.m. (15:32) which is when I arrived in the elusive-alternate-universe-only room 328 of the Richard Hoggart building, I have Modernism & Drama. Modernism & Drama is not! my professor insists, Modernist drama, but rather an examination of the impact of the modernist movement on drama, particularly in regards to the naturalism movement and...then I lost track of what he was saying, because of all the isms and his fantastic German accent, which is best demonstrated with the mention of Bertolt Brecht. Our discussion of Ibsen's Ghosts was most exciting, what with all the shocking cultural taboos that no one wanted to talk about. Poor Osvald. What's a mother to do?

I just recently switched into my Tuesday 15:00 class, and I am quite delighted with it. How could I be otherwise? It doesn't give me much help Northeastern credit-wise, but the title? "The Detective Story to Crime Fiction." Awesome right? I mean, with a lack of TV and a 72-minute cap on megavideo viewing, I can't watch hours and hours of Law and Order reruns everyday while I pretend to study, so this is an excellent, and far more enriching substitute. The class is taught by the head of the department who rocks a classic English professor's bald-ponytail. He references CSI and apparently knows, and hates, P.D. James ("horrid in person and on page.") So, I predict good sleuthing times ahead. Based on that evidence. Hardee har har. Also, I should buy a deerstalker and a tweed suit. And a pipe.

Finally, at 11:00 on Wednesdays I have Language & the Media. I am the only American in the class, which is lovely, since a great deal of attention is paid to me and my unique experience with the vastly different American media. It reminds me a bit of Rhetoric, in a way that I imagine will be helpful, and the teacher likes that I am a journalism major. In other words, I am knowledgeable and the center of attention. That's the dream!

As of the last sentence of "Modernism & Drama," I am back on the train after a lovely day in lovely Oxford. You know, Rowan Atkinson went there, and he was in Blackadder. There were also narrow spiral staircases leading to spectacular and terrifying heights. But I'll get to that tomorrow, because I'm tired and have the Laws of King Alfred (It actually looks more like Aepelbert, but pasting the original Old English letters make the website freak out a bit) to read before 11:00 on Monday. Ah, leornunge!

Also, I want to be alert for when we pass Slough again, so that I can hum the real Office theme song. "So what becomes of you my loooove?..."

Cockney slang I don't understand: Well, how about "Ic neom swa micel swegere"?