Photos of my life

I decided to post some more photos, since I know people enjoy them.

This is an example of our at-home dinners. We have taken all of the rooms for bedrooms, and so we have no common area other than the kitchen and bathroom. Since it's generally considered bad practice to dine near a toilet, and since our kitchen is full of a mammoth clothes-drying rack, we usually eat in Robyn's room! This meal was cooked by Sabrina, and it was quite yummy. Sabrina's the one with the fork in her mouth, Robyn's holding a duck, Erin has a purple shirt, and Bill is the boy. Bill does not live with us.

This picture is an example of how we like to play games. This game is called "The Face Game." Here's how you play: one person has a camera. They say something, like, "Your television has exploded" or "You just found out you're an alien," and you have to react. The camera person takes a picture of your reactions, and afterward, you look at the pictures and laugh. This picture was a reaction to the statement, "Oxford's on fire!" I would particularly like to point out Robyn's reaction, which seems to be something along the lines of, "Eh, it's good, I can handle it." This also reminds me of "The Song Game." This game can (and should) be played anywhere. If, in normal conversation, a word or phrase makes you think of a song, then you sing that song. I bet sometime in the post, you will play this game.

This is Robyn and me in The Eagle and Child. The Eagle and Child is the pub where C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien met quite often and eventually came up with the ideas for The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lord of the Rings. Robyn and I did not come up with any ideas for novels, but since it's a small world after all, maybe we will sometime (yes, I realize that made no sense. But hey, now you're playing The Song Game!).

These are all the Oxbridgers who live in Oxford: Robyn, Erin, me, Lydia, Sabrina, and Bill. This is outside The Eagle and Child.

And this is just a funny story. These are my inadvertantly-created wine-glass sculptures. I broke all three of them within 48 hours. I knocked one over with my robe, I dropped one from above my head, and I broke another drying it. The ironic thing is, I don't drink. The funny thing is that I'm no longer allowed to touch the wineglasses.

Coming soon: pictures of where I take tutorials and the song that never ends and pictures from other places around Oxford.

Oh, see, now you're playing The Song Game again...

Contact information again

Reid said I should post my address so that people could send me stuff. Since, hey, I am definitely up for people sending me stuff:

Joy Mason
Flat 1
110c Banbury Road
Oxford, UK OX2 6JU

OR

Joy Mason
Regent's Park College
Pusey Street
Oxford, UK OX1 2LB

You can also e-mail me at masonj@william.jewell.edu, Skype me at joymarie6, or Facebook me at "Joy Mason."

If you do want to send me something, I would really appreciate pictures! (Well, there are actually a lot of things I would appreciate, but I doubt anyone's going to send me a clothes dryer, a bike, or Madison McGraw.) I don't have a photo printer here, and my walls are bare, so I would love to be able to put up pictures of YOU! You can turn a picture into a postcard really easily if you put a stamp on the back, by the way.

Break time

I’d like to take this opportunity to answer some of the questions that have been posed to me and to reply to some of the comments and to tell the stories I’ve promised.

Okay, let’s be honest. I’d really like to take this opportunity to not do homework.

Important things first: I mailed in my absentee ballot today, and Trent Skaggs, I voted for you.

Several people have asked me about the weather here, and have expressed wishes that I won’t get too depressed by all the rain. Well, lucky me, there hasn’t been much rain! So far, the weather here has been beautiful. It’s in the 50s or 60s or sometimes even 70s during the day. The nights are pretty dang chilly, but I just turn up my radiator and pile on socks. It is raining today, though. So far, the rain here hasn’t been like the big, cleansing thunderstorming Missouri rains. Here, it rains just heavily enough to wrap you in condensation until beads of water drip off your nose and chin and umbrella.

I’ve also been warned about the food, and, again, I can report glad tidings of peace and good food for all Oxfordians. The ketchup does taste a little weird, but not really like vinegar. However, there are very few times we have ketchup. Regent’s apparently just hired a new caterer named Mark, and he is quite excellent. We have potatoes a lot, which make me happy and carbohydrated, and Mark firmly believes in delicious desserts, often accompanied by custard. If I didn’t walk a billion miles a day, I would be ballooning like Violet Beauregard in Willy Wonka (although I would not be turning blue).

Let’s return to different words that British people say. Specifically, let’s talk about about “bloody.” Oddly enough, I haven’t heard one person say “bloody.” I am surprised, because they say “bloody” all the time in Harry Potter movies! Clearly, the Harry Potter movies are not to be trusted as indicative of modern British life (this is also because the Harry Potter movies are about magic. I have yet to see an elf or a flying broom, and no matter how many times I say “Reducto!” while pointing my pencil-wand at my stack of books, the amount of work I have to do stays the same). Anyway, rather than saying “bloody,” the British use all sorts of other four-letter words that may sound familiar to you. Not that I’m going to repeat them here.

My former roommate and future Oxford-mate Madison asked me if she should pack hangers. This made me laugh, because it took me five days—five days!—to find hangers in Oxford. Since we didn’t know what any of the stores were (is WDSmith a clothing shop? A hardware store?), we continually passed the one shop in the city that carries hangers. It got to the point where we thought the Oxfordians were fashioning their own primitive hangers out of tree branches and twist-ties. Dear Madison: don’t pack hangers, but do pack Newsies please. I miss Christian Bale. Which is ironic, since he’s British.

I have now been to three churches: a non-denominational one; a Methodist one; and an Anglican one. Someone spoke in tongues at the non-denominational one, the body of Christ tasted like Styrofoam at the Anglican one, and I liked the Methodist one best because they gave me a free lunch.

It’s been great to hear stories from people who have been to Oxford or England or Europe. I like knowing that others I know have been here before me—it makes a sort of connection from home to here. E-mails and comments and even postcards are also great connections from home to here…

Where I live, part 2

Part of the cool thing about Where I Live is the people. They are, generally, British (surprise!). I have learned that "British" could mean English, Scottish, Irish, or Welsh. In addition to the British, there are actually a lot of Americans here. It's pretty easy to tell the difference between the British and the Americans, though. Here's why.

Speaking. Obviously, we have different accents, which I have noted at least twice. But we also use different words. They say "pudding," we say "dessert." This discovery was a relief to me, because I was envisioning nine months of eating different flavors of Snack Packs. They say "one week Saturday" instead of "one week from Saturday." Clearly, this is more efficient. Also, they call restrooms "toilets." I asked a porter at Magdalen College (which, by the way, is pronounced "Maudlin" for reasons unknown by anyone in the world) where to find the restrooms, and he said, "We say toilets here, love, you don't do any resting in them." They also call this # a hash mark rather than a pound mark. However, another American, a British girl, and I took a vote to decide what to call #, and pound won. Go democracy!

Appearance. While not all the British look the same (and vice versa with the Americans), there might be a few clues. For instance, the British girls seem to favor a hair dye that leaves their hair purply-red. This is something I do not understand. Also, if a person is wearing sunglasses, then they are generally American. I think the British don't wear sunglasses because they think, "Why bother? It's going to rain in ten minutes anyway."

Awareness. Whenever the British talk about the state of their country, they nearly always say, "here and in the U.S." They are ardently following our Presidential election (most support Obama), and they know who Jay Leno, David Letterman, and Tina Fey are. In contrast, most Americans can't remember the new Prime Minister (Gordon Brown), we don't know how the Queen fits into politics (she doesn't), and we can't name one British comedian other than Eddie Izzard (and most of us can't even name Eddie Izzard). Americans are very American-centric, while most Brits are world-aware. Or at least America-aware.

Names. Most of the guys my age are named Matthew, Mark, John (nearly all the gospels!), James (never Jim), or Ed. There are no Steves, Tylers, or Brians. The girls have more variety of names, but none of them are named Erin, Robyn, Sabrina, or Joy. Whenever they hear Sabrina's name, they think "Oh! Sabrina the Teenage Witch!" (this is no joke. Three British people have told me this). Whenever they hear my name, they think they heard wrong. After I repeat my name, then they think it's pretty cool. Although the chaplain thinks my name is Jo. Since she's kind of nutty, I let her think that.

Americans and Brits are also the same sometimes. We all like cookies and good food, and we like doing things that aren't homework. We think Monty Python is funny, and we're not sure if Heath Ledger should get an Oscar. We argue over whether or not Andrew Lloyd Webber is overrated. We wonder what we're going to do for the rest of our lives. And we all speak English. Kind of.

Where I live

I thought I would only post pictures of the place where I live (hence the title), but I've decided to post several other pictures as well (and keep the title).

This is the pile of clothes I brought. It doesn't look like much until you try to fit it into two suitcases. Then it's a lot. And then when you unpack, it doesn't look like much again. Go figure.

This is what my living room looked like while I was packing.

This is part of my room. It's the second incarnation of my room, as I rearranged today in order to get my computer closer to the six-inch-thick wireless stream that runs down the middle of the house.

This is another part of my room.

And this is how I dry my clothes. The English do not believe in convenience (among other things, like the French President, France, and normal-sized drinking glasses)(although they do believe in potatoes at every meal, which I support). We have no dryers, I have seen exactly...zero! water fountains in all of Oxford, and there are brand new water faucets in our house that separate the hot and cold water. I think this is why the English do not smile. (Actually, side story: a Brit told me that when you smile at people on the street, it is a sign of aggression. As in gorilla and chimpanzee culture. As in, "Grr, I'm going to attack you." No wonder they looked scared when I walked down the street.) (Side story number 2: Even though I make fun of them, I really do like the English and Scottish and Irish and Welsh and the random Canadians and Americans here. With this disclaimer, I release myself from all the negative effects of political incorrectness.)

This is our house. We live on the ground floor, which is nice, because we have zero flights of stairs to climb after walking all the way from college. It is true, we are lazy.

I live with these lovely people. The tall one is Erin, the blond one is Sabrina, and the one who is left who is not me is Robyn, and I am the one looks like me. This was taken after Formal Hall (formal dinner), which happens every Friday night.

I hope this short look into Where I Live has been instructive and interesting. More to come, including the stories I promised a few posts ago (shopping, church, pubs, the Song Game, and more!).

The Wizard of Oz

This post's theme is "The Wizard of Oz," and everything I write about will somehow connect to that wonderful book/movie. (Imagine it as a sort of compare-contrast essay and it will all make sense.)

The Wizard of Oz was first, as you all know, a book by L. Frank Baum. This particular book is often found in libraries, including libraries here in the United Kingdom. (This topic sentence is my weakest connection to my thesis, which is why it comes first. My high-school English teachers should be proud.) I thought that many of you, especially my friends at the NKCPL, would be interested in hearing about the libraries in Oxford.

There is a public library here, which I have already enjoyed, although you must rent rather than borrow DVDs, a practice that should never, ever be adopted in the U.S. There are also libraries connected with Oxford University. Prepare to be awed. The Oxford University Library System employs over 660 staff members in over 100 locations which contain over 160 miles of shelving that house over 9 million items. The Bodleian, the crown jewel of Oxford's libraries, has been collecting materials since the 16th century. Since 1911, it has been entitled to one of every book that is published in the United Kingdom and Ireland. That's roughly 5000 books a week. My reaction to this news was, to quote the Cowardly Lion, "Shucks, folks, I'm speechless!"

I saw someone this afternoon who reminded me of Mrs. Gulch. She had a basket on her bike, and she rode while sitting straight up, rather than bending over her handlebars. Many people in Oxford ride bikes or walk, which is one of my favorite things about Oxford so far. Unlike in Kansas City, in Oxford nearly everything you need is within walking or biking distance. As a result, the air here is much cleaner, the streets are much prettier, and the people are much thinner. Walking has also been a great way for me to learn my way around the city.

The Wizard of Oz is significant for me as a Mid-Westerner in England. Why, you ask? Well, when people ask where I'm from, I say "Missouri," and I get polite but uninterested nods. But if I say "Kansas City," they go, "Oh! Kansas! The Wizard of Oz!!" Then they proceed to tell me how it makes no sense that Kansas City is in Missouri instead of Kansas, an argument with which I fully agree.

You know how in the movie version of The Wizard of Oz, there are parallels between the people in the Kansas scenes and the people in the Oz scenes? For instance, the actors who play Hunk, Hickory, and Zeke also play the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion. Basically, Dorothy is seeing familiar faces in her adventures. Well, that seems to be happening to me, as well. I keep “recognizing” people. As the best example, have you ever seen the Pixar short with the old man who plays chess against himself? If not, then: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUH8ITk0yaw. Anyway, the senior tutor at Regent's Park looks exactly like Geri.

If your last name is Mason (or Barczewski), then you may remember a particular infamous game of charades. For those of you who are not Masons, we were given the clues “wrist,” “hard,” “of,” and “ah.” As in “Wrist-hard of ah,” which was supposed to be “Wizard of Oz.” This is sort of what listening to British accents is like. You hear some sounds and have to put them together into real English words. It leads to some embarrassing moments, some awkward moments, and some funny moments. We were talking about TV the other night, and a Brit named Ed (which, by the way, is pronounced “Idt”) was talking about the American show Tune Have ‘Em. At least, that’s what it sounded like. I figured I just hadn’t heard of it, until he mentioned Charlie Sheen. Tune Have ‘Em=Two and a Half Men. To quote Henry Hudgins in My Fair Lady, “Why can’t the English learn to speak?”

I am now at the end of my England-Wizard of Oz post, and, Toto, I've got a feeling we're not in Kansas any more! (Unfortunately, while I am able to connect everything to The Wizard of Oz, I clearly could not sufficiently transition between thoughts. If this were an essay, I would get full marks for "topics of paragraphs connect to thesis" but fail on "transitional sentences." From the bottom of my English-major heart, I apologize.)

In England

I made it! Unfortunately, my access to Internet is currently very limited, so I'll be unable to post often until Regent's Park College (that's where I'm going to school, by the way) figures something out for us. On the bright side, longer posts I get to write! On the downside...longer posts for you to read!

We left Kansas City on Wednesday, stopped in Chicago, and then flew a very long way into Heathrow, London. I couldn't sleep on the plane, so I watched a few movies and allowed my thoughts to drift to such important considerations as, "Greenland is really big, and it has a lot of ice," "I like alliteration!" and "On Ugly Betty, how do they do America Ferrera's braces?" It was a very long flight. Of course, I had the lovely Robyn (from Jewell) to keep me company (although she slept, jammy her (jammy is a Britishism I learned. It means "lucky," but only in the sense that "I wanted that but she got it.")).

Upon our arrival in Heathrow, we collected our 111ish pounds worth of luggage, and tried to walk with it. Then, an airport worker came up and was like, “You should put those on a trolley.” Except his accent was so thick, Robyn and I heard “You mpadgshpasdngipontolley.” Or something like that. He had to say it three times before we understood him. Once we figured it out, we got trolleys for our luggage. Have you ever pushed an airport trolley? It's kind of like trying to drive a Greyhound bus using only your nose. Or like playing MarioKart. Robyn and I nearly ran down at least eight people, and I definitely ran over my foot. Then this Scottish man showed us that the trolleys had brakes!

And then, yada yada yada, we ended up at Regent's in Oxford (by yada yada yada, I mean long queues, bus drive, taxi ride, crazy attack pigeons...). There, we joined Erin (also from Jewell), and we met David Harper, the bursar at Regent's. He is very nice and smiles a lot, especially for a British person.

More yada yada yada of food and driving and talking, and there we were at our house! We are on the first floor. Our second floor housemates are Hannah and Andy (married, Andy's a M.Th/pastoral student at Regent's), and we got to have tea with them on Thursday night. Turns out I like tea, who knew? Our third floor housemates are Martin and Bobbie (married with two girls, Martin's in the same program as Andy), and they have invited us for lunch tomorrow. They all seem quite nice.

In two days, I have learned that the British say literally a lot. Except it's "litrelly" and they never mean it. As in, "Joy and Robyn and Erin litrelly got here just this minute," when, in fact, we arrived six hours ago. Americans do this, too (Biden, anyone?), just not as often as the British. The British also don't smile much, with the exception of David Harper and some other Regent's people. Since I am a nice Mid-Westerner, I smile at everyone I meet on the street. The few Bristish people that accidentally smile back at me immediately get this look on their face that says, "Disregard that!! I didn't mean to be friendly!!" Which makes me want to smile at them even more.

So far culture shock hasn't set in, except for the fact that there are no clothing hangers to be found in the UK. Also, I've walked more in two days than I have in the past two years. I thought Jewell was good exercise, but that's nothing compared to here.

I get to talk to my family in ten minutes (yay!), so I'll end this post here. Tune in next time to hear stories of shopping, church, pubs, the Song Game, libraries, and more!

I am in a backwards country...

...that apparently does not believe in the Internet.