sincerest apologies: rambling meditation in place of photos

So, I've left my handy photo-uploader-doohickey (strangely, Chrome's spell-check recognises "doohickey" but not "uploader") in the luggage that I checked at the hostel, so unfortunately I seem to be unable to upload photos for a few days, unless I go down and get it. Which is a major hassle.

A pity, because I have a good photo of the group of us at the Eagle and Child. Ah well. Will upload in a few days! I promise! At any rate, the E&C was fun, and it was nice to talk to people from all over the world.

This next bit seems obvious, and I suppose this is the case at every university, but I've never felt it so strongly as here: it's just simply fascinating to hear people talk about what they love. No matter how boring I think economics is or how much I dislike philosophy (if you're reading this Mark, Brian or Sungwoo, sorry but it's true), I could listen to people who really and truly love those things talk about them all night long, because the honest and sincere love of something transforms it in every case.

Like I said, I've noticed this at Mercer. I could listen to Cameron talk about engineering or Corey about mathematics or Leeanne about photography or Abby about music no matter how little I know (or, in some cases, care) about such things. I think that most of y'all would be at least moderately interested in feminism and poetry when it comes from me, since it's clearly a realm of sincere interest. But that impulse, that magnetic attraction to any academic subject when a fellow conversationalist is head-over-heels in love with it, has never felt so strong as here, where people are just really good at what they study.

Oh bother. I'm getting all pretentious and snooty already, and I haven't been here a week. As Olga would say (there now, I've mentioned all four of you by name!), it's time for a good dose of pop-culture whoredom. Good thing there's a new Glee tomorrow, eh?

approaching albion, alone

Corbin left this morning at bloody 5:45, rendering me all alone. I watched out the window 'till he got on his bus and then did my best to get back to bed. When I woke up and checked out of the hotel, I became quite aimless: wandering about the city, not totally certain where to go because I felt sure that I could not check into my hostel yet.

Eventually, my bag began to weigh on my shoulders something impressive, so I made my way to the hostel anyway. My suspicions confirmed--it was only ten-thirty and I couldn't check in until one--I was nevertheless able to relieve myself of my heavy backpack. Then I went to Regent's for awhile and spoke with Marian, the front-desk lady, who gave me a nice tour.

I then resumed aimlessness and walked a fair distance (some three miles, maybe) for a cup of tea that I could have gotten practically next door if I'd wanted. There I read the first hundred pages of Howard's End, which is excellent by the way. Eventually it occurred to me that it was nearing two, and the international student folks were having a drop-in session at the Examination Schools, which happily ended up being quite near. So I went, only intending to stay for a few minutes, as I could go back to my hostel at any time and check in.

However, I met friends! Well, so far, acquaintances anyway. We hung about the Exam Schools till they kicked us out at four, and then sojourned to a nearby coffeehouse. Now I'm at the hostel, which is very nice and seems quite secure, having gotten my Oxford wireless account set up against all improbable odds. We're meeting up at eight (oh laws, that's in fifteen minutes) for dinner and drinks at the Eagle and Child.

So yay! I didn't have to talk to myself all day to stay sane.

a few golden english days

Corbin and I are certainly doing our best to get our four days' worth. We have walked all over this city multiple times, eating at fun places and visiting pretty things. Every day in this adorable B&B starts with our home-cooked full English breakfast, consisting of toast, bacon, fried sausage, an egg, beans/mushrooms, and of course a nice hot cup of tea.

Today we had the advantage of a particularly beautiful day--yesterday was quite cloudy--and we walked for awhile along the Thames before heading into town. The absolutely beautiful Christchurch (you know--the Harry Potter Great Hall?) has particularly fantastic gardens, so we took our Sainsbury's purchased Kinder Surprise eggs and our cameras there to relax.

To the right are the products of our Kinder Surprise fun: I got the Donkey from Shrek, which I put together, and Corbin got a rather complicated little sailboat. Naturally, Donkey had to take a trip around the meadows! We plan on playing with the sailboat in the bathroom sink in a bit.

Come tea time, we headed to Cafe Loco for a traditional cream tea, which consists of--along with tea, obviously--some delicious scones with real clotted cream and strawberry jam. We gobbled them up and then sipped tea for awhile before heading back to the bed-and-breakfast, which is where we are now--resting our poor tired feet, browsing the Internet, and in some of our cases, updating a blog and researching the best pay-as-you-go phone plans. I'm currently leaning towards T-mobile, if you were concerned.

Anyway, it's probably nearing dinnertime, and we should start thinking about where we want to eat/drink/be merry. We have one more day together before Corbin has to leave, and by George, we're going to do some awesome stuff!

not quite according to plan

So, I'm in England! Hip, hip, hurrah! Yesterday was pretty, today was cloudy, but we've walked allllll over the city in search of places we wanted and needed to go. Goodness! I don't think I've ever walked this much in a single day in my life. Except possibly the last time I was in England.

But I'm getting ahead of myself: I have some sad news. Upon arrival at the airport, we were of course immediately ushered into the mindless shuffling border control lines, where we were asked by peppy audio recordings to please have out our passports and all relevant information. Apparently some of us have better relevant information than others: I was given a quick clearance, while Corbin was left behind. I went downstairs, got my bag, changed some money (errgh), tried to find a wireless connection, played six games of Spider Solitaire, and then realized that it'd been an hour and I hadn't seen Corbin. So, with surprising difficulty, I found my way back up to immigration, where he, bored-looking, was sitting in the same chair they'd left him in earlier.

Thus commenced a several-hour-long period of waiting in which various members of the Border Control Agency helped us and/or shot us dirty looks. One very nice gentleman in particular kept me posted, while I read almost all of Portrait of a Lady. At the end of it: Corbin is, long-term, denied clearance. They were nice enough to give him four days, but he has to leave Monday morning.

So we're making the most of the time we've got: eating at pubs, walking until our feet turn into little nubs. My blog will receive more attention once those four days are up, as I will be lonely, friendless, and perpetually cold. Tonight, however, we're about to head to dinner at the Red Lion (a fact which, if Alan Franks or Jacob S. O'Neal number among my readers--which they most assuredly do not, but they might, if they wished--will appreciate) and walk around the city at night.

Photos forthcoming. Love y'all.

all of my life, packed away in a bag

In one day exactly, the time will be 2:30PM. I will quite possibly be lost, because I will have been in Oxford for perhaps two hours. I'd have a photo to accompany this post--perhaps of my larger-than-should-be-legal suitcase sitting on the scale in the foyer--but my camera is in one bag and my photo-uploader is in another, so you'll have to survive sans picture for a little while longer. 


This past week has been busy, busy, busy. Packing and cleaning, cleaning and packing--and then on Saturday I got to head to Macon for a ridiculously awesome going-away party, the likes of which only Matt Roche could provide. There was a piñata. And did you know that they make alcohol-infused dark chocolate whipped cream? It was pretty much the best party ever.


Then Corbs and I drove separately to Savannah--yuck!--so that we could leave his car there. After just a day in Savannah, we drove all the way back to Peachtree on Monday, and we've been here since Monday evening, packing our carry-ons and weighing our gigantic suitcases. Last night we went out to Thai Spice with my family, and I got to see both Russell and Savi for brief stints. Oh, and we watched the Glee season premier, which wasn't as unrelentingly brilliant as I'd hoped but was still good. 


Today is go time. Our flight's at 5:45, and I have a few things to do between now and then. And by that I mean that, every time I was on the verge of falling asleep last night, I thought of some other small thing that hadn't yet made its way to my suitcase, so I had to turn on the light and write it down. So now I get to follow my list! And then, before I know it, we'll be on our way to Hartsfield, paralyzed with that particular fear of having forgotten something absolutely crucial. Here's to hoping I didn't.

cupcakes & packing

You see before you a celebration, in sucrose form, of my having successfully obtained a visa. That's right: it's a visa cupcake. My mommy brought home three of these little guys yesterday and we had a mini visa-related party; if you've read my previous post, you may have some inkling as to why this even deserves such celebration.

Six days from right now, I will be on a plane that is somewhere over the Atlantic ocean. I still can't quite fathom leaving so soon. All summer, people have asked me when I was leaving and I've said, "Oh, not until September 22nd" in a flippant sort of and-isn't-that-ages-away? sort of tone.

Earlier this month, I had to emend the way I said it. Because suddenly I realized, hey, that's only three weeks away! Well looky there. And now I'm here to tell you: there's nothing that makes you realize how soon you're leaving the country than having to pack a gigantic suitcase full of everything you plan on owning for the next year. I have a running anal-retentive-type list on MS Word for exactly what's in my suitcase, what it's packed with (as I have a bunch of 2.5 gallon Ziploc bags with the air pushed out of them), and what it will match. I know, it's crazy, but I only have fifty pounds for it all, and that includes several anthology textbooks.

At any rate, we can safely say that freakout mode is engaged. But at the moment, I'm getting through it by slowly working through my packing regimen, leaving the house at strategic points so I don't go stir crazy, and liberally adding TotalFark Discussion into the mix. And cupcakes. Can't forget the cupcakes.

how to get a UK visa: a somewhat biased public service announcement

1. Go to http://www.ukvisas.gov.uk/en/ and spend an hour attempting to navigate the page. You will not be successful; this step is just to familiarize yourself with the insanity that is the UK Border Agency.
2. Fill out a massive application. Have at the ready information like your social security number, your driver's license number, all bank statement information, the name of your first pet, a brief essay on the relative merits of your personal favo(u)rite pop singer, the hexadecimal code for the color colour of your eyes, your preference re: boxers or briefs.
3. Pay the $330 application fee. This money has no discernible purpose or reasoning other than "because we can." Just do it.
4. Spend three days getting all of your paperwork together. It is not good enough; spend another day. The morning of your big biometric data appointment, race around the house in your pajamas for at least three hours. Call your dad six times to pester him at work over small but highly significant portions of your application. Print out any e-mail sent or received with the words "Oxford," "visa," or "UK" in them, just to be safe. 
5. Go for your biometric data appointment. Don't be fooled by any and all information contained on official Web sites, in e-mails and on your printed application: they lie. You should know this by now. The purpose of this meeting is to stand in a line queue in which you are the only English-speaker and then get your fingers unceremoniously mashed against a fancy-pants machine. The amount of time you spend in line will equal approximately 1000% of the time you spend with said machine.
6. Despite all assertions to the contrary and the fact that you paid a ludicrous amount for postage, these people will not mail anything for you. Carry your paperwork back home.
7. Since you've got the time again, go through your paperwork a final time. Send it off. Know that something will be wrong, but hope that it will be okay. 
8. Wait.
9. Wait more.
10. Stress out about the fact that you still haven't heard back, and that these people have your original birth certificate as well as your passport. They may be laughing at you from behind their deceptively pleasant accents, or hijacking your identity, or deliberately thwarting you because they have deemed you unqualified to study Victorian poetry. Despair slightly.
11. Wait a little bit more.
12. Receive back a curt, uninformative, and stressful e-mail from the unnamed and unreachable bureaucrats in Chicago. They will inform you that one of your documents--as you suspected--is the wrong document, and that you need to replace it. Oh, and you have three business days. 
13. Call your loan people. Get shunted from department to department. If you really want to follow my process, talk to Melanie at Federal Student Aid, Janet at State Licensing, Josh at Federal Student Aid, Lisa at Direct Loans, Roslyn at Application Services, Danielle at Direct Loans, then Chris at Application Services. None of these people will actually have a solution for you, even Chris, though he was very nice. Be prepared: Melanie and Roslyn were both rude and stupid. Yes, I wrote down all of their names.
14. Wake up the following morning at 3AM so that you can reach the UK at the beginning of the business day. You may think you will get back to sleep, but you will not. Prepare mentally for this eventuality. Station yourself far enough away from a comfortable surface (preferably standing) so that you will not just give up on your visa, England, and the whole university system and go back to bed. Trust me, it's tempting.
15. Spend a fortune on international phone calls. Get shunted once more from department to department, all the while glancing nervously at your watch and wondering just how much AT&T is going to charge you for all of this. 
16. Find the person with the least possible power who still knows something about your problem: that's the best advice I can possibly offer for dealing with bureaucratic nonsense. Get that person to overnight something to you. 
17. Wait three long days, as it is Labor Day weekend and there's no mail post on Sundays. 
18. Come Tuesday, wait anxiously for your letter to arrive. When it does, resist the urge to pee your pants in excitement; that reaction is childish and will result in a ten-minute delay in you getting to the UPS place.
19. Go to the UPS store. Overnight this document to Chicago. 
20. Think to yourself all the next day, "my document should be there by now. Shouldn't it?" Do not allow yourself to hope that this is actually the document they are looking for, as it may not be.
21. The next day, receive the most exciting one-sentence-long e-mail you have possibly ever gotten: "Your application has been approved and the visa has been issued."
22. Do a happy dance.

See? In 22 easy steps, you too can be the proud owner of a shiny, slanted yellow sticker in your passport. For the record, it's the most breathtakingly beautiful shiny, slanted yellow sticker I've ever seen.