A Day in the Life

So it's the last week of the term, and I figured now is as good a time as any to show you what my day to day life is like here. enjoy!

In the morning I pick up my bike from the St. Anne's bike racks

the other side

On this particular morning I went to grab some coffee and read before lectures

Coffee and some reading

The building where my lecture is (I didn't take this picture)

The inside of my logic lecture at the exam schools...it's illegal to take pictures in this building...SHHH

Later that afternoon in class. 

The team after a game!

"Mum and Dad are one place to start (with networking), but your friends have mums and dads" -The Oxford Student

If you were ever a 13 year old girl trying to circumnavigate the mine-field that is middle school social life, or, in the least, if you have seen Mean Girls, you understand the importance of having a trustworthy BFF. This person is someone that you can confide in, someone that understands you, someone that you can trust to keep your secrets and honestly tell you when your ass looks proportional to the size of texas. In this scenario, your the 13 year old girl and this blog is my ass. Oh, wait, wrong. What I mean to say is that this blog is a secret, and you, my middle school BFF, are going to keep it that way.

Most of the visiting students that I am friends with have blogs, and all of those who are E.T blogging home lots of updates, are doing so publicly...by posting their blog URL on their facebook. I have chosen not to do so and have kept you a secret, mainly because of the life lessons I learned from being a 13 year old girl (and from Mean Girls): If your going to talk about someone behind their back, make sure that they can't hear you. For the purposes of this blog, I am going to talk about Oxford behind her back and our friendship will remain in tact as long as she doesn't find out about it. (My lovely and amazing mother however must have missed this part of Mean Girls because I'm fairly certain that at this very moment she is having business cards with this URL printed for every person that she has ever met. Quick welcome to all of those who have been directed to this blog by my mom. And yes, I know, we look alike). To make myself feel a bit better, and less like a b-i-t-c (you get the picture), I'm going to think of myself as an anthropologist. It would be very wrong for me to show the village people my notes about their silly head dresses and questionable sacficial ceremonies. Well, same goes for here.

Now that we have gotten that sorted, lets get to the gossip: (And I'm not talking about THE big engagement (Prince William), which, no one over here seems to be that excited about.) First, Oxford is kind of a weird place. (Disclaimer: Oxford is also an amazing, life-changing, academically enriching, occasional cinnamon raisin bagel selling place). There was an article in the Oxford newspaper that read "Oxford students too selfish to win jobs." Now, you should know that according to this article, 95% of Oxford graduates are employed or in some kind of graduate training within 6 months of graduation. I wouldn't exactly say that the Oxford selfishness is prohibitive of finding a job. However, despite the phenomenal education offered at one of the leading institutions in the world, the Oxford Student: Oxford's Newspaper since 1992, might have a point. This article cited the lack of team work and ability to work in groups as the main complaint from employers or perspective employers of Oxford graduates. The Oxford tutorial system is one of the most personalized higher education systems in the world, where we (the students) attend lectures given by leaders in their academic disciplines and then defend essays at tutorials with one or two other students to a super-duper brilliant tutor. To give you some perspective on the super-duper brilliance, I have had more than one conversation in the last six weeks about the proper way to cite, and analyze a quote written in a tutor's book or article. Some tutors (not mine) require students to read their essays aloud in class, at which point "Dr. Terry O'Shaughnessy argues blah blah blah in his article blah blah blah, but fails to mention blah blah blah" can get a bit awkward when Dr Terry O'Shaughnessy is your tutor and you are reading this lovely essay aloud to him in his office. Now this issue can only exist because of the fact that we have the opportunity to sit with our super-duper-brilliant tutors weekly and discuss the stuff that they are better at discussing than most other academics in the world. However, there's not alot of team work required in these type of experiences, and students are literally never required to work in a group. While I do moan and groan and complain about almost any and all group work required at IU, having seen first hand what an education system void of that training looks like, I am beginning to see that all those trust-falls and late nights on the fourth floor (group-work/talking floor) may be paying off.

In addition, Oxford is where the "well-rounded liberal arts education" comes to die. In the UK, at 16, high school students "drop" half of their subjects to focus on subjects relevant to their A-Levels (Advanced Levels). A-levels are two year courses, where students specialize in usually 3 (or 4) subjects which they are tested on at the end of these 2 years. These test scores are then submitted with college applications (SATish). Then students must declare a subject of study when they apply to Oxford (or Cambridge...but you can't apply to both), which they will focus on EXCLUSIVELY for the three years they spend here. Each term, students will take 2 courses in their subject, for the three years, and take a big fat exam at the end of the three years, and THAT'S IT. No English composition requirement, no science requirement, no math, no history, no NOTHING. Just Economics or Biochemistry or Classics until your face falls off. While I've learned about as much about economics in the past 6 weeks as I've learned in 3 semester courses at IU, I have also learned about anthropology, philosophy, calculus, spanish, health care in business, computer in business, psychology, modern history, and tailgating at IU. These are also life-long and important skills that I feel will prepare me for whatever graduate work or career I choose, and I do feel that although great in many respects, the Oxford curriculum can be a little...um...limiting.


(But DON'T tell Oxford I said that about her, promise?)

When the going gets tough, the tough get bagels

My favorite food is cinnamon raisin bagels. Lightly toasted, with cream cheese, from Dunkin Donuts. It goes best with a medium iced with skim, no matter what the season. I like cinnamon raisin bagels so much I had to put myself on a sort of probation because otherwise I would literally eat them for every meal, and they charge fat people for two seats on airplanes now, and I just can't afford that. So I don't have cinnamon raisin bagels very often, but every once and a while, usually about once a month, I will declare it Cinnamon Raisin Bagel Day. Usually this day is a particular stressful day, or tired day, or rainy day, or just all around crappy day that could use a little pick me up. I eat 3 cinnamon raisin bagels on this day, for Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner. Cinnamon Raisin Bagel Day is always a happy day.

The past few days have been pretty crappy. Last Wednesday in the middle of the night I woke up shivering and sweating like I was running back and forth between an igloo and the Sahara. Never a good sign. The next morning I laid in bed finishing my essay and didn't get out of bed till my tutorial at 5pm that night. By dinner time I knew I was in trouble, and have spent the last week in bed with a very high temperature and throat glands the size of cricket balls. The Nurse came to see me on  Friday and suggested it might be glandular fever (British for MONO) and the endless "who have you been kissing" jokes have begun. Note: I have been kissing no one. Also note: These jokes are funnier when your temperature is sub 103. So needless to say that sucked, especially on the tail end of my sprained ankle recovery, but I have survived, thanks primarily to the season of Grey's Anatomy that I rented and the Chocolate Fudge Brownie Ice cream that I could finally eat on Monday, and I'm feeling a bit better. I went to the Surgery (British for my General Practitioner's office, a bit dramatic of a nickname if you ask me), this morning and had a blood test for mono. When I asked if I was still contagious Dr. Leaver kindly replied, "Well, not unless you plan on kissing anyone." And then proceeded to inform me that 50% of 18 year olds and 85% of 21 year olds have been exposed to, and are now immune to mono. This will obviously be my new pick up line if I do intend to do any kissing in the near future.

But across from the surgery is the co-op grocery store, and I figured now that I sort of have an appetite again I should probably stock up on some food. And walking through the bread isle, something amazing happened. Right in front of me, amidst a random assortment of white and "brown" bread, English muffins, and rolls, sat the package of 5, "New York Bagel Co. Cinnamon & Raisin Bagels."!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Needless to say today is now Cinnamon Raisin Bagel Day. And what a glorious day it will be. I also picked up some Philadelphia "soft cheese" spread to go with it. I hope to continue to be on the mend through the weekend and really back on my feet by next week, and I really am in good spirits despite the setback (mostly because of my current bagel heaven.) I'm booking flights this weekend for a 2.5 week trip to Athens, Rome, Paris, and Barcelona during winter vacation (Dec 4-20th) before flying home to the 617 (Newton) for a couple weeks rest and lots of reading and preparation for the next term.

Anyway, that's all the updates I got for now, because well, I haven't moved in a week. But I promise to provide a more happy and eventful update next week. And the week after that, I'm going to a Ball!

Peace, Love and Bagels,

Sara

Heads, shoulders, knees and ankles (knees and ankles).

Okay, so, some stuff happened.

Firstly, and this will come as an ENORMOUS shock to you if you were friends with me during my peak basketball playing years of about age 2.6-age 17. I sprained my ankle during my basketball game on Wednesday. It was about the middle of the second quarter, against the London Mets, who are presumed better than us simply because they are from London. It was your typical I went one way, my right foot went the other kind of scenario. However, due to the tranquilizing amount of ibuprofen I regularly take before any athletic competition that requires me to be doing anything besides sitting on a bicycle or in a boat, I had successful masked (any) pain (or feeling) in my entire body and returned to play for the entire second half. We lost by 8. I iced my ankle not once but TWICE after the game (and before the girls basketball team met the boys basketball team at Vinnie's, the illustrious members only men only varsity club that made me want to burn my bra upon entry), and assumed I was in the clear. And it is important to be stated that ice is nearing delicacy status in this country it is so hard to come by. Well, I wasn't in the clear. By the time I got home I literally couldn't walk, and I thought my lovely normal ankle had been switched with Kate Gosselin's 9 months pregnant with 6 kids gross CANKLE. The next morning, after half crawling/half hopping to the bathroom, I decided go to the doctor.

Ah, the National Healthcare Service (NHS), how I have long awaited our first date. To be honest, it wasn't all that is was cracked up to be. Try this on for size, I had to go to the doctors office first to see my "GP" because apparently there's been some national announcement to do that. But it was 10am, I was on crutches that stop at your elbows and in pain, and the first available appointment was at 1pm. So, partially unwilling to wait and partially wanting to go to an Emergency Room visit that I (or my parents) will not have to pay for, decided to take a cab to the A&E (Accidents and Emergency) at the Hospital. I was dropped off at "minor injuries" where I gave my name (no identification needed) my address at the university, and my phone number. Then I sat for about a half an hour until a nurse called my name to give me some ibuprofen and ask what had happened. Then about an hour after that I was taken to get an XRay. Then about 45minutes after that I was seen by a nurse practitioner who told me my ankle wasn't broken (which I knew) I had a very bad sprain, and that I should "take it easy" for a couple days and stay on the couch or in my bed until the weekend. The experiences ended up being about 2.75 hours in total. The last time I was a Newton Wellesley hospital for a sports related injury I believe was a dislocated finger, I'm pretty sure we got out of there in about 2.85 hours. I'm not going to use this venue to make some bold healthcare and political statements, but .10 of an hour is 6 minutes, I won't even make you do the math.

Anyhow, I spent the rest of Thursday and all of Friday in bed, and was delivered food and movies by many friends here. I was visited by my scout (the person who comes and vacuums my room once a week and takes out my trash every day) who changed my sheets, the accommodations manager, who asked if I wanted to be moved to another floor, the nurse (twice) with ankle wraps and more pain medication, and my lovely Australian tutor Terry, who told me that he had broken his leg one week before his big move from Cambridge to Oxford (typical), and that I should not worry about anything until I am mobile again. It is now Sunday and I am up and walking and pretty much recovered, although I do get to go see an NHS physiotherapist (physical therapist) this week.

That's all for now because I need to get back to all of this reading, but I will provide some more updates soon.



TRICK OR TREAT (I'm in the library writing an essay, but lots of people on my floor are heading to a club in some very standard Halloween costumes (cat, mouse, ghost, witch) for a night of spooky fun.)

A tourist took my picture today on my way to a lecture

I have two (main) goals for this week: 1) To visit a museum (almost definitely the natural history museum that is 2 blocks from my college) and 2) to provide some more bloggage for all of you listeners at home.

I figured now would be as good of time as any to give you all the low-down about what my life is actually like here.

So here goes:

I am a Philosophy and Economics major at IU, and have been put into the Philosophy, Politics, and Economics (PPE) program here. We are primarily with the second years academically (although I am with some third years for Economics), which works out perfectly for me because in the second year of study at Oxford almost all PPEists drop a subject and focus on two. (Almost) everyone takes two courses per 8 week term, which is what I am doing, and for this term they are Public Economics and Logic. For Public Economics I have a tutor, Terry, who is one of the fellows in Economics at St. Anne's (read: kind of a big deal) and is a very kind and very brilliant Australian man. St. Anne's is a self-described "casual" college in that we refer to our tutors by their first names. This made me very uncomfortable at first given that most of these people have written more books that I have read, however I've warmed up to the idea. For Public Econ we have one class a week, on Mondays, 3 lectures a week, taught by various economics professors at the University, and 4 one-on-one (sometimes one-on-two) tutorials a term with Terry to defend an essay we write about the weeks topic. We got to pick the four topics that we wanted to write essays about. Out of the ten students in my Public Economics class, one is from Brookline, MA and is a third year (he went to BU Academy), and another is from Acton-Boxboro, and then there's me. Talk about random right? Anyway. The class is conceptually challenging but also very interesting because I am in the UK and the UK loves to tax and redistribute and provide welfare and do all the things that the course is about.

My other course is Logic. It is a mix of visiting students and "real" Oxford students and taught by a young professor from Nova Scotia named Brian. The class is pretty interesting but much more basic so far, and we have 4 hours of class a week and 1 hour of lecture. The lecture is taught by Volker Halbach, whose name is also on the front of the "logic manual" that we are using for the class, which he just you know, had published at the OUP (oxford university press), over the summer. There is a visiting student in that class from Marlborough, MA and another from Newton. I know, random.

I met with a Professor who works at the Ethox Center (one of the ethics centers at oxford) during the first week, and he essentially gave me an open invitation to all of the lectures and seminars he was involved in (and some he isn't) at Oxford that relate to biomedical ethics (my current career field of interest). This morning I rode my bike 3.5 miles (in the rain, ugh) to one of the Oxford hospitals to attend his class on medical ethics for some graduate medical students. It was very fun and interesting, and I also got to met the director of Ethox, just another day in the life.

Consequently, Mark, my main Ethox man (not the director) is also Australian and a basketball fanatic, and during our first meeting we got to talking about basketball. I had mentioned that I played years ago and his eyes lit up. He is friends with the women's blues (varsity) coach here and literally up and called him right as we were sitting at the restaurant, after a few minutes of "I've got this American girl here, she says she can play," he hung up and told me "Practice tomorrow at 4:30." So, I thought why the hell not and showed up for practice the next day, almost apologizing to the girls on the team beforehand about how terrible I would be (let's just say it had been a while). Well, practice ended with the coach walking up to me with a simple "You're in, see you tomorrow at 12." And there it was, I became a Blue, which is a pretty big deal at Oxford, and more importantly, accidentally achieved my childhood dream of playing basketball in college. Whoever said Disneyland(world?) is where dreams come true has obviously never been to Oxford. And we definitely have the monopoly on magic.  Anyhow, the team is GREAT. The girls are all fantastic, 3 from the UK, 4 from the US (including a former all-american and rhodes scholar from Drake University), 1 from Finland, Australia, Austria, Turkey, Hungary, Italy, and Russia. Most are graduate students or Ph.D. students (anyone from the University can play), and everyone is just a whole lot of fun. We had "initiations" with the boys teams on Saturday night, think basketball-esque games with lots of 'punch' and some (very) competitive drinking, all of which was a blast, most of which was memorable. We also get a bunch of varsity "perks" like getting these little blue cards that let us jump the line (que) at all of the clubs, and getting invited to the elusive all mens varsity restaurant and bar, which would normally infuriate every feminist ounce in my body but I have decided to overlook this fact and go with it.

In other news the food is, decent, but obviously not stellar. Luckily we have kitchens and I managed to con my way into a fridge in my room. Unluckily I have no pots and pans (or actual plates and bowls) as of yet, and as some of you may know, I'm not exactly susie homemaker in the kitchen anyhow.

It really rained today for the second time since I have been here (a little over 3 weeks), which isn't bad at ALL. But so I've heard, it's just going to get worse. Eh, less tourism and more studying I guess.

Okay, this is getting a little long winded I am sorry. I realize for those of you that aren't friends with me on facebook you haven't gotten much in the form of pictures so far, so I'll try to figure how to get some of those up here soon, maybe even a video!

Later gaters,

oh,

and

GOOOO CELTICS. (I'm illegally streaming the game live here tonight at 12:30am).

ALSO:

can all of you people follow this thing (I'm not actually sure how that works, but if my mom figured it out I'm sure you can, or comment, or post something so that I know that I'm not talking (typing?) to myself. And let me know what you want to know! I aim to please, really.

I've been wearing a helmet, and might invest in some knee pads.

One of the most amazing things about physically living in Oxford is the "road traffic." There are essentially three ways to get around Oxford. They are: walking, cycling, and bus. Some people drive, but cars are in the vast minority and parking is almost impossible to come by.

With walkers obviously walking on the pavement (UK for sidewalk), that leaves the cyclists and the buses to fight it out for road space, a concept that should make you cringe if you are from Boston or the like. However, the WEIRDEST thing happens. Cyclists actually have the right of way, there are bike lanes on each road at least 2 yards wide, and the buses literally stop and wait until the road is clear of people on bikes. There are bikes everywhere you look, locked on to almost any pole or railing in sight, or just free standing against a wall. Within the first few days of being here (after my first big walk to the social sciences building/economics library), I bought a second hand bicycle to get around town. A little nervous (primarily because of the whole left side of the road situation), I rode it home from the used bike shop. On my way home, a bus literally came to a COMPLETE stop to let me and 3 other people on bikes go ahead. I literally turned around to make sure it hadn't hit someone, because surely it couldn't have been stopping simply to let us silly people on bikes go. But it was. And for all you lovely smart-asses out there, no, it wasn't a bus stop.

Now the thing is, very few people on bikes are actually wearing helmets, primarily because it is so safe to ride, but also because no one else is, and there is the issue of the dreaded helmet hair. Lately, I have been. Which gets us to the purpose of this post. (And then I have to go back to reading about optimal tax theory). I haven't been wearing a helmet because Mr. Rasico told me to on 5th grade bike safety day, or because my mom told me she would kill me if I didn't, or even because I just got this new white and silver bell helmet that makes me look "so pro." (quick shoutout to my teter cycling biker chicks, miss you).

The answer is: D. None of the Above. I have been wearing my helmet because the past 4 days of my Oxford academic life have been so incredible, and enriching, and just all around mind-BLOWING, that something bad has to happen. Life cannot just be this good. These opportunities, these brilliant people that spend their mornings teaching little old me about economic and philosophical theories when they could be writing brilliant shit to publish at the Oxford University Press, for other brilliant people to read, cannot just be at my academic "disposal" without the universe throwing something back in my face. So I am wearing my helmet, and might invest in some knee pads. In the meantime, I'm just going to keep on having the time of my life.

Miss you all

Stay tuned for: "All British people do is stand in line."