Porters

I was thinking today about the Bobs, who were the porters at Oxford.

Porters are the coolest thing ever, they are like the love children of a concierge at a top New York hotel and one of those under the bridge trolls that prevents you from passing without paying a toll. They regulate the flow at front door of the college to make sure that all visitors pay admission (the colleges are so pretty that people pay to come to tour them) but that no unsavory characters come in.

The porters also have stamps, keys to meeting rooms and squash courts, and information about everything from DHL pickup schedules to buses. I wish my house came with a porter.

Of all the porters at University College, Bob with the tattoo was widely recognized to be the best. He was really adorable and if you told him how wonderful he was he would blush and go all quiet. He was pretty much perfect.

Porter haiku:

Bob with a tattoo
Glad our time was not shorter
You're the best porter.

Let's Get High, English-Style

View from High Street in Oxford.

I am going to a high tea this afternoon. Thinking about the high tea and what differentiates it from a regular "cuppa tea," it occurs to me that the English like to formalize things for no apparent reason. One of their favorite ways of characterizing something formal is to add the word "high" to show that thing's superiority to other non-high (low?) versions of the same thing.*

I have written about our High Table dinners which require cocktail attire and a basic knowledge of how to use different forks. Being the oldest college at Oxford we are on the High Street, also known just as "The High."

While there is something to be learned from adding a sense of dignity to events as people often do here at Oxford, I think it's high time that I get back home for some beer and burgers.

High-ku:

Teas, streets, and tables.
Make it English by adding
"High" to everything.

*One notable exception to this policy is the Scottish Highlands - the English clearly find them inferior. Surprised? Didn't think so.

Oxford Lasts

Tonight we had our last High Table dinner, our last class with our Oxford tutor, and our last dinner with traditional end-of-program events including poems that honored/poked fun at our professors, our last night in the (ridiculously cheap) Univ. pub, the last night some of us would go out together, and our last social event as a program. All in all, I would say the night and the overall experience could be described in one word: epic.

A night of lasts makes
Me feel like we are finished.
But exams still loom.

Punting

I have many guy friends who I know and later meet their girlfriends and announce to the guy that he has "outpunted his coverage." This phrase is, of course, based on the kind of punting that involves Martín Gramática and yardage counts. But, Oh my, there is another kind of punting that is common here in England.

I'm talking about this kind of punting: to propel (a small boat) by thrusting against the bottom of a lake or stream, esp. with a pole. The boat is canoe-like with a squared off front, which seats up to 4 well balanced people.

Punting is a lot of fun, I did it for the first time this past weekend. I think we had perhaps one of the most eventful punting trips ever. Just to name a few of the happenings:

a) We punted party boat style; we pulled up three wide and had a little wine and cheese picnic. (As shown above.)

b) We invented the wine shot. When you are actually punting (we theoretically took turns) you are using both hands, so you put wine in glasses with one gulp, take the gulp whenever possible, then continue punting.

c) We discovered that going upstream is about six to ten times as hard as floating downstream.

d) We also discovered that you should NOT go within two hours of dusk/punting place closing. It gets expensive to keep your punt past the opening times for the rental shop.

e) If your pole gets stuck, let it go. It will pull you in, and as it turns out they float anyway so you're not going to lose it.

f) Sometimes poorly mannered British people will scoff at you for not knowing which college you approaching from the river (there are over 40 college in Oxford, jerk lady).

g) Other poorly mannered British people may throw rocks at you once the sun has set and you can't see them to stop them or later identify them. The only way to make them stop is to curse at them in their own language.

h) Punting is much harder at night when the light is waning. In fact it might be easier to just step off to the shore and pull the punt by the rope while someone else uses to pole to make sure it won't crash into the walled sides of the river, and yet another person takes pictures of this whole event. (And the fourth takes a few hard earned wine shots.)

However, the important takeaway here is that all of these things together could have been a real disaster, but we had a blast for one reason: everyone had a great attitude. You could say that we literally outpunted our coverage, but I made some new friends and forged some stronger bonds. And I would definitely go again.

Around noon, upstream first, with a map.

Punting Haiku:

Punting means much more
than kicking a pig skin now.
Wine and friends and laughs.

Mother Freakin' Bees!

[Editor's note: this is a long posting, but that can be explained by this: it is a rant, and I wasn't finished being annoyed until the fourth or fifth paragraph.]

Ok, I generally have no problem with bees. I have a long-tested policy of just chilling when they come along and letting them do their thing and then fly away. This policy is very logically based on two things a) the kid from Jerry Maguire who says that bees can smell fear, and b) the general knowledge that bees are the busiest animals on the planet so they don't waste time stinging people for no reason.

And my policy totally worked! There is a legal theory called a social contract and I like to think bees and I have a social contract: a kind of truce that forbids squashing or stinging and promotes general goodwill among the two species. Apparently that social contract is void in England.

First of all the bees here are much more aggressive. I was taking my picnic lunch to Christ Church meadows and a bee landed on me and would NOT go away. He was all over my shoulder and then he had the audacity to try and crawl up my shirt! It was like being at a frat party.

Second, I don't like to judge but since the gloves have come off, there are a lot more bees here than there are in the States. Not more flowers, mind you, just more bees. Any economist or businessman knows that same size job + more workers = more down time. This English bee work ethic negates reason B for my truce: too busy to sting.

These guys have all the leisure (here pronounced Leh-zhure) time in the world, as evidenced by the one who just spent 5 minutes making out with the juice bottle on my desk. He must like carrot and orange juice, because then he called in two friends. Really, I have to draw the line.

So I have this to say to the bees (in a three part haiku):

Truce is off unless
you mind your manners and don't
Come through my window.

Trespass will be seen
as an act of war, and I
will respond in kind.

I don't pick your plants
So stay off of my sweet stuff.
Let's restore the peace.

[Editor's note #2: I know that the bee population is dropping and there are ecological concerns about that, or that some may think it's unethical to wage a war against bees, but save your letters, PETA, I don't care.]

[Editor's note #3: Oh my Gosh how cool would it be if anyone from PETA ever read my blog?!? Not that PETA is so great but that would mean it was someone I didn't know so that would be pretty huge.]

Pimm's

There is a special drink that people here like to have. It's called a Pimm's, which is a kind of alcohol, but when you order a "Pimm's" from the bartender it is usually mixed with lemonade. Or lots of fruity things, as demonstrated in my favorite Pimm's commercial (link below).

Pimm's is fairly popular in England, but it is THE drink of Oxford according to most people around Oxford. However, I just have one problem. I absolutely detest it. Somehow it has a bad taste and a worse aftertaste. I said it tastes like curry, but my Indian friend thought I was making a dig at her. I wasn't, but I would like to point out that she loves Pimm's. Draw your own conclusions.

However, Pimm's does have a great commercial. Please check it out: PIMMS COMMERCIAL

Pimm's haiku:

Pimm's, I respect your
history, but not your taste.
Quinine and curry.

First watch the commercial via the conveniently provided link above. Then I'd love to hear your answer to this question: If you had to be one of the "ingredients" in a Pimm's, which one would you be? I say that Mint is obviously a huge badass - parachuting in from the sky - but I am still going with Ice. Who doesn't like a older black man in a nice suit? Also I'm pretty sure cucumber is kind of a d-bag.

Talk amongst yourselves...click on the word comment below and share your thoughts. If you don't participate I will force you to chug a Pimm's. Cheers!

City of Oxford

I am studying at Oxford University, which is made up of tons of little colleges (over 40). There is a very serious amount of competition among the colleges, but University College (known to the initiated as Univ.) is the best. You don't have to take my word for it, ask Bill Clinton.

Here is a list of famous alumni that includes him:

Wikipedia's University College Alumni list

It also includes a British Prime Minister, a president of Botswana, Michael York, who played Basil Exposition in the Austin Powers movies among other roles and...what BILL CLINTON isn't good enough for you?

Here is the haiku for today:

Oxford's cobbled streets.
Colleges at every turn.
Univ is the best.

Cheers!