Land Line

The other day I was talking with A and she was reading an article about how cell phones are destroying our brains, and in her fretfit, declared "maybe I should get a land line!" This got me to thinking about how much I need my cell phone, and how even if it IS searing through synapses I would not give it up no way no how. The way I see it, it would make me more crazy in the short term to not be able to talk to friends and more lonely in the long term, because if I don't talk to people now I will end up in a cottage in Wales alone and in an outfit I knitted for myself. Do not want.

One chilly evening this fall I was chatting with Phil outside the Pastry shop about the constant need to reiterate connections to others via texts, twitters, twats, etc. He argued these were not real connections because they didn't come with any self-reflection (which leads to self-knowledge), and in being solely the person you communicate to others, you become insubstantial. (Correct me if I have this completely wrong, ok Phil?) Either way, it makes me wonder if we're channeling our energies in productive ways. If we weren't allowed to tell anyone what we did today, would we do more origami? churn essays out faster? or know a little bit more about ourselves if forced to sit and make nice with our own thoughts? I realize it's ridiculous to contemplate this on a blog, and my philosophizing is making me a bit nauseated.

ON TO FUN THINGS: Oxford! That's where I went this weekend! To visit my friend Claire who is studying there for the year! First observation(s): it's really, really, really, really, really old. Claire's dorm is connected to a castle that was built in 1071, five years after the Battle of Hastings (under "tips & facts:" http://www.dangerousbookforboys.com/). The common room shares a wall with this castle (which was a working prison until 1995 --and no, there wasn't a dorm right next to a prison, that was my first thought, too), and at one point I was looking at a wall made nine hundred and thirty nine years ago (had to use widgets for that one..) AND listening to someone playing a racing videogame on the tv behind me. Whaaaa.
Claire walked me through tiny streets and into courtyards you would only know were there if you were flying overhead. For most of the colleges there, the only demarcation is a crest that stands atop a gate or a huge wooden door.
Here are pictures from the Old Camera, a college courtyard, and in front of a wonderful blue door:












Claire is in one of the smaller colleges, Saint Peter's, studying history. When I arrived there Thursday night we skiddled straight away to a formal dinner that was being held in the Saint Peter's dining hall. Students who attend these three-course meals must wear these vest/robe/thingys that are black and have two long pieces that come off the shoulders, which Claire points out are "useless but look great when you're riding a bike!" I borrowed a black sweater and hoped nobody would notice my lack of flowing fabric strips. When we arrived, students were sitting at a long table in an old, wooden room with many a portrait lining the walls (there was one of a man whose hand was oddly held in front of his chin and Claire informed me that his wife had demanded that the portraitist erase the glass of scotch that would originally have been included). The scene reminded me of one of my favorite Avengers episodes, called "A Touch of Brimstone" (around 3:00--http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9AheRREHDS8&feature=related). Okay, maybe not so debaucherous. After we had seated ourselves at the end of the table, there was a noise that sounded like an encyclopedia dropping on a castle floor (which I guess could have been completely accurate) and we all rose as the professors processed into the hall and stood around the head table. Then, you will not believe it, someone read a passage in Latin. I had to suppress explosive laughs. It reminded me too much of middle school at Cathedral, all those smells and bells and ceremonies. Claire kicked me, the Latin finished, the encyclopedia or whatever dropped again, and we sat down to our meal. For the main course, I got some sort of meat pie (they really like putting meat in pastries here), and it was delicious, and cube-shaped! After finishing our third course, there was more Latin and the tutors walked out with all the pomp they walked in with.
Another event of note was the "bop" that happened Saturday night. All colleges have bops and they are themed. This bop's theme was "things you wouldn't want your mother to see," and although my own costume was a little lack-luster, other people took it really seriously: there were Nazis, an abortion (red facepaint, coat-hanger and all..), several pregnant teenagers and nuns, and a stripper. (Roz, if you're reading this, you would not have liked it one bit.)
So between the pregnant teens and the Latin, I feel like I got the whole Oxford experience.

When heading back, I kept thinking I was going to THE city, ny city. I expected to be able to run to Absolute or hole up in Avery or cuddle with Moe, and when I realized each time that I was going back London, I got a tad homesick. It's going to take a bit of getting used to, this London-as-home-base shenanigan. On the double-decker bus back, I sat up top at the very front (where, if you push your nose against the glass, it feel like flying) and watched the English countryside go by, full of sheep and farms. When I got back to London, I took the tube home and listened to mixes from the loved ones back home and told myself I was just pouting because I was hungry (a classic case of Burrito Syndrome, as Embo would point out). I feel better now having eaten (it's Wednesday, so I have definitely eaten) and seen friends and sweet suitemates who buy me butter because they "knicked" some over the weekend.

And now for some long overdue pictures of my sliver of studio space: