My Favorite Things; or, Another Themed Post

Before you read this post, it may be necessary for you to watch this (from the best movie of all time):

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=vwLrUgJlung

In this post, I will talk about My Favorite Things, basing my comments off the lyrics of "My Favorite Things." Be excited.

Raindrops on roses: It rains a lot here, as you might imagine. Sometimes the rain is very annoying. My jeans get wet, my hair tangles, and my glasses need windshield wipers. However, I do love using my umbrella, and sometimes the rain means it's nice to stay inside by my warm radiator. Here is what it looks like right before it's going to rain:

This is at St. John's College in Cambridge.

And whiskers on kittens: When I am bored, I go to http://www.icanhascheezburger.com/. It's a website of pictures of cats with funny captions.

Bright copper kettles: Tea, of course! Everyone drinks tea like water here. I have learned that English teas are good, and Chinese teas are not. I have also grown to very much appreciate "Brew time" at Regent's. This is because "Brew time" has "biscuits," which means cookies. And man, do I love cookies:


And warm woolen mittens: Because seriously, who doesn't love 1) being warm, 2) wool, and 3) mittens? In addition to warm woolen mittens, I also love warm woolen hats, and warm woolen scarves, such as the one I'm wearing in this picture:

Please note that my warm woolen scarf is a Harry Potter Gryffindor scarf, which some of you may recognize... The people I'm with are Erin, Sabrina, and Marisol (who is on the far right. She goes to Cambridge, and came to visit this weekend!).

Brown paper packages tied up with strings: I got a package from my parents today! It had a Calvin and Hobbes book, and a Get Fuzzy book, and the comics! The British don't have funny pages (maybe because the British aren't funny...?), and even their political cartoons aren't that hilarious. So I was psyched to get funny things.

Cream colored ponies: Okay, this one is a stretch: people ride cream-colored ponies, right? Well, I don't ride any ponies, but I do ride a bike! It has been amazing. Instead of walking 25 minutes to college, I get there in 7 (I timed it). I now have more time for reading, writing, and (most importantly) napping. Here is my bike:

It is named "The Pink Ugly."

And crisp apple strudel: This leads me back to dessert. Oh, man, do I love dessert. I've mentioned Digestives before, and several of you wondered if I was eating laxative cookies. I am not. Digestives are regular cookies. There are four kinds: regular (which are delicious with peanut butter); milk chocolate (my favorite); dark chocolate; and Cadbury chocolate. They are delicious. I don't know why they have such an unappealing name as "Digestives." They should be called "Deliciouses" or something.

Door bells and sleigh bells: This one is super weak, I'm sorry. Bells make music. So do organs (told you it was weak). On Sunday, I travelled to London with my church group, and we went into a big Methodist hall. Here is the organ:

The people are in the picture to show you how big it is. The largest pipes are 32 feet tall, and there are 4,371 pipes. It was very impressive (side note: I saw this organ on November 23, and I wished Mimi could have been there to play it).

And schnitzel with noodles: Food! I also love food. My eating schedule goes something like this: breakfast, snack, lunch, snack, dinner, snack, snack. And I get two Thanksgiving dinners, which I'll tell you about in the next post. I've been to several good restaurants here. In Cambridge, Jacque and I went to a really good pub called The Flying Pig:

Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings: The geese here are different! This may sound obvious, but they don't have Canadian geese. They have Mother Goose geese! See:

I was so excited when I saw these. It was like all my childhood stories had been personified into a bird.

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes: We get to dress up for Formal Hall every week, which is a lot of fun:

Sabrina, Joy, Robyn, Marisol, Erin.

Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes: I find it hilarious that here, when it frosts, they get excited about the snow. They hardly even know what snow is! Silly Brits.

Silver white winters that melt into springs: Yeah, I've got nothing. I haven't been here for a winter or spring yet. I'll let you know what I think, though, no worries!

These are a few of my favorite things: Here are some more things that I like:

The Bodleian Library.

Insides of chapels, churches, and cathedrals. This is St. John's chapel (Daddy, I knew you'd like seeing the inside of a church!).

Hanging out in our flat in my pajamas. Erin likes doing that, too.

I also like comments on my blog posts. I hear from my parents that a how-to on posting comments may be useful. At the bottom of this post, there is a link that says "0 comments" or "1 comment" or something like that. Click on the link. Under the box that says "Leave Your Comment," type whatever you want. Below that, choose either "Name/URL," or "Anonymous." If you choose "Name/URL," then type your name in the box that comes up when you click it. Then click "Publish Your Comment," and the world will know that you are here (who can name the movie that quote comes from?).

So, when the dog bites (I miss my dog and cat), when the bee stings (...I miss bee-ing home?), when I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favorites things (including you!), and then I don't feel so bad.

More about England

Just so you know, I tried to think of a catchy title and witty beginning for this post. I read quotes on imdb.com (mostly from Muppet Treasure Island, my movie-of-the-week), I scoured my iTunes for good song titles (I seriously considered "Mmmbop" and "You Can't Stop the Beat", mostly to get you playing the Song Game again), and I even Googled "quotes about England" (I discovered that no one ever said anything interesting about England). So, there is my title, and here is my beginning:

Let's talk about differences again. I have now been to three cities in England, so I feel like an expert...sort of.

By the way, the British are very particular about what kind of municipality can be called a city. Unlike the US, where any group of people can call themselves a city if they want (this is why New York is a city and so is Branson), the British only call a place a city if it has a cathedral. London is a city not because it has something like seven million people; it is a city because it has a cathedral. A place with seven people could be a city if it had a cathedral. (This may not be entirely true, but it's what British people tell me.)

And speaking of cities, here is another difference: English cities have buildings that look like this:


(The Bridge of Sighs in Oxford); and this:

(St. John's College chapel in Cambridge, which I visited this week! Jacque was there. I was happy).

Now, I love America, but we just don't have a lot of stuff like this that compares. The reason? America is new. In England, people talk about buildings and laws and roads and traditions that are "just" 200 years old. In America, 200 years is most of the country's existence. Because England is so old, the British think they invented everything. This is not true. The world must thank America for: the cotton gin; toilet paper (bet you didn't know that one); vacuum cleaners (which the British call Hoovers, presumably because Herbert Hoover cleaned up a lot (this is a joke)); the airplane; crayons; the chocolate chip cookie (they do acknowledge this one, as they call chocolate chip cookies "American cookies"); e-mail; the space shuttle; and peanut butter. What have the British contributed? Apple pie (I know! "American as apple pie" is not a legitimate saying! My world was rocked too!); table-tennis; and Stephen Hawking.

The age of the country means that everything here is taller, because, you know, older things just keep growing up. Like trees and people and buildings, apparently. Doorknobs, key entries, locks: all are at the level of my shoulders. I'm short, but I'm not that short (jokes from little brothers need not be told here).

So, age is one difference between England and America. Another, of which I have written before but to which I'm going to return, is language (that's really how some of them talk). They don't call the back of a car a "trunk"; it's a "boot". They go to the "cinema" instead of the "movie theater." They don't say "sketch" when something is weird. They say "trousers" for anything with legs, and "pants" for underwear. This particular difference is a very important one to note. Often, I have stopped myself from commenting on how the rain has made my pants wet, because that makes me sound like I walk around outside unclothed. Which I don't do.

One of my favorite differences in language is how the Brits greet you. In America, we say "How are you?" and respond with something like "Fine, thanks!" Here, they say "You alright?" and respond with "Yeah." This presents several cultural divide differences. For the first three weeks I was here, I thought I looked upset all the time because people kept asking me if I was alright. Also, sometimes when you ask a British person, "How are you?", they say, "Yeah." This does not make sense unless you know that they think you asked them a yes-no question.

Also, here in England, and especially in Oxford, the British have one hobby: being safe. Their favorite things to do are to pet (declawed) kittens, look both ways before crossing the street, and eat all their vegetables. They love to be safe! (This paragraph brought to you for the benefit of any parents who may be sending their children to England in the near future.)

Another difference between England and America is that America is home and England is not. I'll be honest, I've been homesick. But, I've gotten postcards from friends and a pretty awesome collage from the Ohio Masons, AND my parents sent me flowers!

Aren't they beautiful?

So I do miss home, and I miss you, but I love being here. I'm doing so much more than finding out differences: I'm learning to navigate a city on a bike; I'm figuring out how to do a lot of homework in not very much time; I'm making new friends; I'm learning how to boil water to make pasta; I'm memorizing songs by Chicago and Frank Sinatra; I'm even doing my own laundry! And those are all good reasons to be here, I think.

Very important!

My address is actually:

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

I forgot the 110c part of my address in my past post, which is potentially problematic. If you sent something to me and the address didn't have the 110c part on it (because you didn't know about it), I hope it gets sent back to you! If so, let my parents know, and they will be happy to pay for the postage for you to send it back to me. Sorry about that!

Barack Obama and Buddy Holly

Trivia question: What do Barack Obama and Buddy Holly have in common?

Trivia answer: I'm going to talk about both of them in this post.

Last Tuesday was Election Day, which was exciting for everyone in America, Kenya, and England (and probably some other places, too). Since England is five hours ahead of the East Coast and eight hours ahead of the West Coast, results didn't start rolling in to this country until about 1 in the morning on Wednesday. Because this was a historic election, and because I am in another country, and because I did not want to do work, I stayed up all night watching the BBC's (not-so-stellar) coverage of the results.

Our flat was very excited about the election. Our patriotism was so much that we sang American songs on the half-hour walk from our flat to Regent's (where we watched (and ridiculed) the BBC). We sang "America the Beautiful," "Yankee Doodle," and many other songs; we did not sing "The Star-Spangled Banner," because that's hard enough when you're not walking, and we can't sing that high.



When we got to Regent's, we found a party! Regent's has about 200 students; 40-50 of them crowded into our tiny TV room for the beginning of the coverage. That's a large percentage of people who care:




There were about 10 American students there, and the rest were British. Many of you have asked me about how the British view the election, what it was like to be here, etc. 95% of British people fall into one of two categories: either we-love-Obama; or we-hate-anyone-who-doesn't-love-Obama. It's sort of along the same lines as British politics. You know how America has the left and the right? Well, Britain has the left and the farther left.

It's amazing how much the British people care about who became our President. At the party, every time Obama won a state, they would cheer. Every time McCain won a state, their faces would become longer than John Kerry's. Though they had no say in the election, and though the results didn't technically directly affect them, they were so invested in the outcome. Their viewpoint is that America is the most powerful country on earth (true), that whatever America does, England will follow (also probably true), and that a Republican president would cause the downfall of Western civilization (debatable). When you look at it like that, it's no wonder they cared so much.

In light of all that, you would think the BBC would have put a lot of effort into making the election coverage good. While it's possible that they BBC did put a lot of effort into their coverage, their efforts did not work. We spent the night watching David Dimbleby say, "And now we take you to Florida...I think...where Ann Smith is waiting. Ann? Ann? ...Ann? ....can you hear us? ....Ann?" And Ann Smith (who is probably not in Florida, but instead in Colorado or Kenya) is fifteen feet away from the camera, nearly out of the frame, chewing her gum. The alternatives were a crazy American who was formerly the ambassador to the UK who didn't understand that "live television" means you shouldn't make a fool of yourself, or interviews with slightly or not-so-slightly drunken and jubilant Obama supporters.

And then Obama won, I watched the very excellent speeches (seriously, both candidate's speechwriters deserve a raise or at least some complimentary chocolates), and went to bed at 6 a.m., celebrating the fact that we can no longer speculate who will win and that British people will have to figure out other conversations to have with Americans.

Later that week, I went to London! I was quite thrilled to get out of Oxford and see some more of England. My housemate Erin came with me:



We would have been literally and figuratively lost without the maps I got from a pretty cool travel agent in Kansas City (thanks, Aunt Debbie!). And we met some of my friends who are attending Cambridge, including my very good friend Jacque who I missed a lot:



We ate lunch at a tavern that gave us American-size portions (read: a piece of chicken bigger than my head and enough fries to put Steak-and-Shake out of business). It was delicious.

Then, Erin and I went to see a show. Now, we did not think things through very carefully, and we tried to buy tickets for a 3 p.m. show at 2 p.m. The tickets agents thought we were insane, which is possible. Our only options were "Buddy" for 23 pounds or "Hairspray" for 62 pounds. Since we are poorish, we decided to take a gamble on "Buddy." We had no idea what to expect: either it would be awesome, and we would feel good about spending our money; or it would be awful, and we would have a good story to tell.

It was awesome. While the plot line of Buddy's Holly's career was thinner than Cindy McCain's eyebrows, the music was amazing and the musicians were incredible. The double-bass player played his bass while holding it above his head; while lying on top of it; one-handed; upside-down; and backwards. The actor playing Buddy Holly played an amazing guitar solo while holding the guitar behind his head, and he sang a 30-second long part of "Johnny B. Goode" in one breath (that may not sound like much, but you try singing "His mother told him 'Someday you will be a man, and you will be the leader of a big old band. Many people coming from miles around to hear you play your music when the sun go down. Maybe someday your name will be in lights saying Johnny B. Goode tonight'" in one breath). It was totally worth the 23 pounds we paid, especially because we were the youngest people there by a good 15 years, and a bunch of middle-aged British women and one very uncomfortable British man got up and danced in the aisles at the end.

So what do Buddy Holly and Barak Obama have in common? Buddy Holly rocked the music world, and Obama ba-rocked the vote.

A British boy asked me to marry him, but I told him no.

Okay, that's not true. But I got your attention! I figured that heading would be a lot more eye-catching than "My daily schedule" or something. Because now, I'm pulling a bait-and-switch: instead of talking about a fictional proposal, I'm going to talk about my daily life.

Here's how my life goes:
--wake up either to the sun (silent and nice) or to my alarm clock (annoying and tiny). Nearly crush clock in attempt to turn it off without falling out of bed
--turn computer on, check Facebook
--eat breakfast/check e-mail/check news/check Facebook/listen to Celtic Thunder (Dyanne: Celtic Thunder came out with a second CD!)
--take shower, wish that British shower-tubs made sense
--get dressed, wish I brought more clothes, and miss wearing flip-flops
--check Facebook
--most mornings, leave house to go to a lecture in one of the ugliest buildings in Oxford (the good citizens of Oxford went through this phase in the 60s and 70s when they thought, "Hey! This beautiful old architecture is cool and all, but why don't we build all our new buildings out of concrete Kleenex boxes, broken glass, and discarded airport control towers! That'll be so aesthetically pleasing and matching and stuff!").
--after lecture, walk to Regent's (rocking out to Celtic Thunder on the iPod I borrowed from Abbie). And, behold! Regent's!

Okay, this actually isn't Regent's yet. The building on the left is St. Cross College. The building on the right is the Oxfam bookstore (where they sell Geobars, the best granola bar anywhere, ever), a newsstand, and The Eagle and Child. Regent's is behind Oxfam...

...right here! The wall on the right is the outside wall of Regent's. And here...

...is the inside courtyard of Regent's! I wish I had taken this picture before the leaves fell off the tree. Oh, well. Anyway, Regent's is a very tiny college. The courtyard is maybe as big as a football field, if not smaller. There are many more impressive colleges in Oxford (as you will see later), but I think Regent's is very pretty. And now, to return you to our regularly-scheduled walk through my day:

--lunch at 1:00. Eat too much (again) and wish the Brits knew how to properly spice food. Wonder at how the food can be so good and so bland at the same time.
--on Tuesdays at 3: go to Victorian Literature tutorial at Regent's. Listen to professor act out all the parts from the novels I just read, get hungry, wonder where the padding in my armchair disappeared to.
--on Fridays at 4: go to Oscar Wilde tutorial at Magdalen (reminder: pronounced Maudlin) College. Marvel at Magdalen College, because it looks like this:

And this:

Also, Magdalen College has a deer park. ALSO, C.S. Lewis taught there, and Oscar Wilde and a king of England (Edward VIII) went there.

--eat dinner at Regent's at 7:00. Revel in dessert.

--go home, eat Digestives, wish that six-hour time difference between here and Kansas City did not exist, listen to Celtic Thunder.

--go to sleep at midnightish.

In between all this, I've joined several activities and groups here in Oxford, which I will be sure to tell you about soon. And in between all the activities and groups and tutorials and lectures and eating, I do homework.

In my Victorian Literature tutorial, I am studying five authors and three poets in eight weeks. I am assigned novels or poems on Tuesdays, which I read from Tuesday to Saturday. This means that from Tuesday to Saturday, I read, on average, 250 pages a day. This is a lot of work for me (although, as I type this, I'm thinking of Laura in medical school laughing at me, saying, "You think that's work? I'll show you work!"). Sundays and Mondays, I write my paper over the novels/poems. I've gotten my essay-writing down to an art. It's just the kind of art where you throw some paint on the canvas, lay in the paint, wriggle around a bit, and call it good.

My Oscar Wilde tutorial only happens every other week. I read about 40 pages a day for that one, because I have two weeks in which to do my work.

Finally, in between my homework and meals and later-to-be-explained activities, I do have fun. For instance, last week there was a costume party for Halloween. Erin wasn't able to make it, but Sabrina, Robyn and I dressed as three Greek goddesses:

I was Hera, Sabrina was Aphrodite, and Robyn was Athena. We even had a "Golden Apple" (i.e. an orange with a stem drawn on it).

Here are some of our friends. Most of these people are American, except the cowboy (ironically), the ghost, and the two cat-girls on the left.

So, in my life, I eat a lot of Digestives (you're right, Aunt Debbie, they are some of the best cookies ever made), I read a lot of books, and I make a lot of friends. None of them have proposed to me, though.