Dear friends,
It has been noted that I have not updated for 17 days. My apologies. [Insert comments about how the last 2 weeks were busy]. I certainly have much to say now, though, and I will try to do it in a post that is less than a mile long.
I am home. In Rockford, Iowa. Which I might add has gotten 10x trashier since I left (the town, not my house). Has the town gotten trashier or have my standards gotten higher? Nevertheless, America is the best thing in the history of ever. And when I say America, I mean my comfortable bed, my parents, and the food that my parents give me. I want to come back to America every day of my life.
The travel home went more or less without a hitch. Getting through Heathrow turned out to be the easiest thing ever. Who would have thought? However, there was a minor discrepancy with where I needed to get off the bus. You see, I took a bus from Oxford to Heathrow terminal 5. Then I had to get on a new bus to take me to terminal 4. So I got on said bus and hoped I would know when to get off. So we drove for awhile and then got to this stop called Stirling Lane. It sure didn't look like an airport entrance but some sign vaguely referred to terminal 4 so I thought, "crap, I think I need to get off here. I better just do it!" So I dragged all my luggage quickly off the bus and disembarked into what looked like a vacant parking lot. I stood there for about 5 seconds, scanning the vacant parking lot, wondering how the bloody hell to find the Northwest ticket desk. "Hmm," I thought, "I really wish I had common sense." At this point, a kind lady ran out of the bus and said, "Are you sure you wanted to get off here?" I said, "Is this terminal 4?" She smiled and informed me that the vacant parking lot was indeed not teminal 4. Thus, I made a walk of shame back to the bus, having to haul my suitcases back on while everyone watched the idiot girl who didn't know what she was doing. The lady then proceeded to make kind small talk with me (very abnormal for a Brit). She asked me why I had been in England. "I was studying at Oxford University," I told her. I'm sure she had quite the time computing how that had gone for me, seeing as how I couldn't get off at a proper bus stop and all. Oh well, something of that sort was bound to happen.
So I reckon that the last 2 weeks wrapped up fairly well at Oxford. Well actually, the second to last week was pretty dreadful. I was writing a very dumb essay on Darwin and religion and whenever I was writing dumb essays, I always wanted to come home. Thus, that whole week I only thought about coming home. As soon as that was over, though, I could finally focus on my long essay on the non-canonical gospels. This long essay was supposed to be some huge project, showing off our ability to do serious, independent scholarship, but let's be serious, I only worked on it for about a week and didn't even read half of my primary sources. In the end, my essay ended up being fairly bad, because I had the broadest question in the history of ever. Nonetheless, I hope Albus likes it.
I went and talked to Albus two days before I left. It was absolutely glorious. He had missed me, I could tell. I said, "Albus, can we be best friends forever?" He said, "I was hoping you would ask." Then I gave him a friendship bracelet as a token of our time together. Then, in real life, he said that he had enjoyed teaching me and shook my hand. Awesome.
I have one last library story that is fairly enjoyable. I was in the library researching for my long essay, and on the top of my hand, I had earlier written "milk" in blue sharpie, because, well, I needed to remember to buy milk that night. Also that day, the lecturer in Angst class had used the word "manifesto." Since that word has special meaning for my friend Brittnee and me, I added "manifesto" in blue sharpie to my hand. Later, in the library, I was really very tired while reading, so I fell asleep on top of my hand for awhile. When I woke up, tattooed in blue ink across my left cheek read "milk manifesto." "Milk manifesto!!" Ridiculous!
In other news that is very important in my life right now, I have to retract an official decision I had made. I earlier told you that I had officially decided to go to Princeton Seminary. Well, I have now changed my mind. I am officially going to Duke Divinity School. BooYah. They came through with the money after all, making the price almost comparable to Princeton and so I said, "Hell yes, Duke, I'll see you in the fall." Actually I think I said, "It is with great pleasure that I accept this scholarship," but the sentiments are the same. I feel so much better about this decision. I had been unsettled about Princeton, but now I feel very excited about Duke. If there's one thing I learned at Oxford, it's that if academia is going to be one big mess of pretentiousness, with pretentious people being pretentious all the time (you get it, I know), then I don't want any part in it. Now Duke might be just as pretentious of an area (apparently the area has one of the highest concentrations of master's and PhD's in the country), but I figure that it's the SOUTH. People will be nice there. I used to want east coast pretentiousness and want people to just leave me alone so that I could be anti-social, but that is the absolute last thing that I want anymore. All I want to do is go somewhere where people will be nice to me. Is that a dumb request? Also, I think I thrive more in an environment where people are more conservative than me. I thought that I would more likely find that in the South. Needless to say, I am very, very excited.
So, if you can remember back to my first post ever, I started out with 3 goals:
1. View Codex Sinaiticus and Codex Alexandrinus in the British Library
2. Not eff up my GPA.
3. Learn to enjoy a good pint.
Unfortunately, I don't think I fulfilled even one of these goals. I definitely did not view the manuscripts, which was really stupid on my part. I didn't take the initiative to plan a trip to London, which I should be kicked for.
I'm not quite sure whether or not I effed up my GPA, as I didn't receive a single grade the entire time I was there. I imagine that I effed it up a little bit, but I don't think things could have turned out too terribly. I feel good about my potential Albus grades, unsure about my Angst class grade, and most fearful about my Greek grade. I later joked with Albus Jonathan that the hardest part of that class for me was that I had no one to be better than. Since I was the only student, I was consistently at the bottom of the class. Bummer. I'll be anxious to see if I maybe did better than I'm expecting.
In terms of the pints, I visited far fewer pubs than I ever thought I would. This was perhaps largely because my house was 40 minutes out of town, so it wasn't too convenient to head back into town to the pub. Plus, I generally turned down people's offers to do fun things, as I was studying.
This brings me to another point: I would say that my social interactions at Oxford were nearly a comprehensive failure. I did very poorly in this regard. I never met my "kindred spirits" so I was a floater the whole time. I don't like being a floater. It is not my preference. However, at the end of it all, I very regretted not spending more time with the majority of people. That was a large mistake on my part.
In turn, I feel as though whereas other people regretted not putting more time into their schoolwork, I do not have regrets about that. So I guess that's good, seeing as how Oxford is supposed to be the academic semester and all. I will never have an experience like this past semester again, where I have no jobs and so few obligations. Oxford was the time in my life where I could study unabashedly with few interruptions, and never in my life will I have that again. Thus, I am glad that I left without a lot of regrets about my academic performance.
Interestingly though, I do not feel like Oxford was the most intense semester I have had. By no means, actually, was it my most challenging semester. In fact, I found it rather relaxing. I don't think that all my Oxford peers would agree with me, but let's be serious, all we had to do all day was study. It was a cakewalk.
Thus, the areas in which I grew the most involved more practical things, like learning how to live in a city. That was initially very hard for me, but I eventually figured it out and even learned to enjoy it quite a bit. This will be very good for me next year, I think, as Durham will be much, much bigger than Orange City. Learning how to use maps, cross streets, and ride the bus isn't that hard after all. Who would have thought?
Well, this isn't going to be my last post here, as I know that I have forgotten things that I'd still like to write about at least once. I am heading back to Orange City very soon, and it'll be interesting to see how things go there. Thus, I will definitely update you again.
Until that time,
Best,
Sara
Monday, April 20, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
"I could spend every night in a different parking lot"
Dear friends,
Happy "when I wake up tomorrow, I will be flying home in 2 weeks and 1 day" day! Actually, as the number of days keeps decreasing, I'm kinda getting angsty about leaving! I just think it'll be weird. Because then I will be graduating. And then living in my car.
Speaking of living in my car, I have spent the better part of today thinking about whether I could feasibly live in my car this summer. I have considered where I could shower, what I would eat if I didn't have a refrigerator or a stove, and where I would do my laundry. I have concluded that it would not be the best summer of my life, but that I could do it, and it would be very adventurous. Orange City would definitely be a safe town for such an adventure so I hopefully wouldn't die every night.
I also began thinking about how to incorporate my dream summer into my living in my car summer. You see, my dream summer would consist of travelling around America, visiting all the different churches and church events that I possibly could. "Wow, Sara. You are so spiritual. I wish I could be as godly as you." Error. I would not be doing this for spiritual purposes. I would be doing this for "observe the crazy evangelicals" purposes. As it happens, the thing I am perhaps most obsessed with in my life is Christian culture. Everything about it fascinates me. I love bad Christian literature, bad Christian music, bad Christian merchandise, Christian colleges, etc. One of my favorite activities in the world is typing 'rapture' into the search box on youtube. Or 'evangelical.' I spend hours doing these things. Hours. I highly recommend searching for 'the Lord's boot camp' or 'jesus camp' on youtube. I never tire of watching these things. I also once planned to send notes to hundreds of campus mailboxes that said "Ready or not, here I come! -Jesus."
"Wow," you say, "I wish I had those sick fascinations. That is awesome."
Anyway! My roommate pointed out to me that if I'm going to be living in my car, I may as well do it while I'm travelling around living my dream summer. I, however, had not been swift enough to figure that out. I had instead been thinking that my car would remain parked in Orange City, and I could try to do a mini-version of "scaling the area churches" right in the land of God that I know and love. Basically, I was trying to think of ways that I could get people to feed me, and I figured, "I should go to church!" I could join a local Bible study and say things like: "God has really been laying this thought on my heart lately." Or, "I've been praying about it and I think..." Then hopefully area families would scoop me into their homes for a game of hearts and a casserole. That would be AMAZING. So if I don't have jobs or a house, I will see if I can make this happen. Then maybe I can write a book about it and be cool.
In other news, I spent 35 minutes on skype earlier with a kind admissions lady from Duke. I had emailed to withdraw my decision to attend Duke, so she had emailed and wanted to talk to me about grants, stipends, and scholarships. She told me that I have been nominated for a scholarship (which I've known for about 5 months now), and the committee is meeting for the final time on April 13th. I've obviously fallen through the cracks the other time the scholarship committee has made decisions, but apparently there's still a chance for me. It was really nice to talk to a real person about the school, since I haven't talked to a real person at either Princeton or Duke. She obviously tried to sell the school to me. I said, "Really? Remember I told you I didn't have enough money to go to your school? Now you're trying to get me to buy the place?" Hahaha...I'm so clever. I mean, she tried to make the school really appealing to me, which kind of worked, so if I do happen to get a decent scholarship, I would be very conflicted about what to do. I might have to withdraw the official decision that I made to you all that I was going to Princeton. I just want to tell these schools to "[cue Nsync] quit playing games with my heart."
I've been really conflicted about the Princeton decision, though, just because everyone and their dog from Northwestern is going there.
And that is all I have to say about that.
Today, I tried to figure out the post office again. I was determined to figure out how to buy stamps. However, as it happened, I couldn't figure out how to do it. So, I left defeated. Someday I swear I'll learn how to use a post office. Maybe while I'm living in my car.
Well, this post could be longer. (It also could be shorter.) But time is short, and I must go to bed! Cheers!
Best,
Sara
Happy "when I wake up tomorrow, I will be flying home in 2 weeks and 1 day" day! Actually, as the number of days keeps decreasing, I'm kinda getting angsty about leaving! I just think it'll be weird. Because then I will be graduating. And then living in my car.
Speaking of living in my car, I have spent the better part of today thinking about whether I could feasibly live in my car this summer. I have considered where I could shower, what I would eat if I didn't have a refrigerator or a stove, and where I would do my laundry. I have concluded that it would not be the best summer of my life, but that I could do it, and it would be very adventurous. Orange City would definitely be a safe town for such an adventure so I hopefully wouldn't die every night.
I also began thinking about how to incorporate my dream summer into my living in my car summer. You see, my dream summer would consist of travelling around America, visiting all the different churches and church events that I possibly could. "Wow, Sara. You are so spiritual. I wish I could be as godly as you." Error. I would not be doing this for spiritual purposes. I would be doing this for "observe the crazy evangelicals" purposes. As it happens, the thing I am perhaps most obsessed with in my life is Christian culture. Everything about it fascinates me. I love bad Christian literature, bad Christian music, bad Christian merchandise, Christian colleges, etc. One of my favorite activities in the world is typing 'rapture' into the search box on youtube. Or 'evangelical.' I spend hours doing these things. Hours. I highly recommend searching for 'the Lord's boot camp' or 'jesus camp' on youtube. I never tire of watching these things. I also once planned to send notes to hundreds of campus mailboxes that said "Ready or not, here I come! -Jesus."
"Wow," you say, "I wish I had those sick fascinations. That is awesome."
Anyway! My roommate pointed out to me that if I'm going to be living in my car, I may as well do it while I'm travelling around living my dream summer. I, however, had not been swift enough to figure that out. I had instead been thinking that my car would remain parked in Orange City, and I could try to do a mini-version of "scaling the area churches" right in the land of God that I know and love. Basically, I was trying to think of ways that I could get people to feed me, and I figured, "I should go to church!" I could join a local Bible study and say things like: "God has really been laying this thought on my heart lately." Or, "I've been praying about it and I think..." Then hopefully area families would scoop me into their homes for a game of hearts and a casserole. That would be AMAZING. So if I don't have jobs or a house, I will see if I can make this happen. Then maybe I can write a book about it and be cool.
In other news, I spent 35 minutes on skype earlier with a kind admissions lady from Duke. I had emailed to withdraw my decision to attend Duke, so she had emailed and wanted to talk to me about grants, stipends, and scholarships. She told me that I have been nominated for a scholarship (which I've known for about 5 months now), and the committee is meeting for the final time on April 13th. I've obviously fallen through the cracks the other time the scholarship committee has made decisions, but apparently there's still a chance for me. It was really nice to talk to a real person about the school, since I haven't talked to a real person at either Princeton or Duke. She obviously tried to sell the school to me. I said, "Really? Remember I told you I didn't have enough money to go to your school? Now you're trying to get me to buy the place?" Hahaha...I'm so clever. I mean, she tried to make the school really appealing to me, which kind of worked, so if I do happen to get a decent scholarship, I would be very conflicted about what to do. I might have to withdraw the official decision that I made to you all that I was going to Princeton. I just want to tell these schools to "[cue Nsync] quit playing games with my heart."
I've been really conflicted about the Princeton decision, though, just because everyone and their dog from Northwestern is going there.
And that is all I have to say about that.
Today, I tried to figure out the post office again. I was determined to figure out how to buy stamps. However, as it happened, I couldn't figure out how to do it. So, I left defeated. Someday I swear I'll learn how to use a post office. Maybe while I'm living in my car.
Well, this post could be longer. (It also could be shorter.) But time is short, and I must go to bed! Cheers!
Best,
Sara
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Oatmeal and Douchebags
Dear friends,
Another week has passed here in Oxford, and if I were to tell you about it, I would probably summarize it by using the words 'angst' and 'douchebag' quite frequently. "Really Sara? You would do that? That doesn't sound like you."
I've definitely gotten to that point where I wake up thinking about going home and go to bed thinking about home. I am just really so very ready to go home. I think that this program should not have given us a spring break, because it is really very hard to transition from traveling back into academia. Especially when that 'academia' no longer involves beautiful gospel topics and Albus Andrew, but nasty British landscape topics and history video series.
I am currently writing an essay on Julian of Norwich. Perhaps I should be interested, but I'm just really very not. I think that I'm not a very well-rounded person. This is unfortunate but is just how things go I reckon.
Wow, I'm writing about really boring things right now. Good thing I have a brief story that I've been saving up for awhile now. So one time I was sitting in the large, ominous, silent library while I was working on an essay. All of a sudden, I sensed that something was wrong. Music was playing. I looked up to see a guy frantically opening and closing his laptop. He had shut it, and then removed his headphones, but the music hadn't stopped. While he feverishly tried to stop the music, everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at him. He continued to make panicked motions and finally looked around at all of us staring at him. 2 seconds passed. Then, in desperation, he grabbed the laptop off the desk and literally ran out of the library, with the music still playing. The readers at the desks glanced around at each other with smirks on their faces. Ahhh, Bodleian reader bonding. Poor guy. Of course then he had to make a walk of shame back to his desk to gather the rest of his belongings. Man, I almost wish that had happened to me. Nothing bad ever happens to me anymore. It's a dang shame.
So here's something maybe you should know. I am officially going to Princeton Seminary this coming fall. Technically I've been officially going to go there for about 5 months now, when I told them I was coming, but then I also told Duke Divinity School that I was going to go there as well. Since I obviously can't go to both schools, I was going to have to tell one of them no. I finally got my financial aid notification from Duke yesterday. They are offering me $30,000 in loans. Princeton is offering me free tutition. Thus, I think I'll go to Princeton. I'd be a lunatic not to do so.
So, it's nice to have that decision made!
Except now people have started to tell me things like "New Jersey is the armpit of America." "Jersey is really dirty." "You are going to get stabbed and die." "You are going to fail and die." "You are going to get stabbed, fail, and die."
So, I guess I'm getting excited for that.
No, I reckon it'll be good. I've only gone to the east coast once, for the national spelling bee (woot woot!), so I hope it's a good fit for me. I hope that not everyone is a pretentious tool. I hate pretentious tools. One thing that I have reaffirmed while being at Oxford is that I don't particularly like to hang out with people who are like me. Hanging out with people that are all really driven and focused on success makes me super angsty. I mean, I would never want to hang out with myself, so why would I want to hang out with people who are like myself? So, basically I hope Princeton is not filled with people like me. Or maybe I can get a job at a coffee shop and hang out with people that are chill and not angsty all the time. Actually, one of my greatest desires for awhile now has been to bartend my way through seminary. We'll see if I make that happen. I think I'm too short to be a bartender. We will see.
I have also more or less officially decided that I will be spending my summer in Orange City. Of this decision, I am ridiculously pleased. Really, so very, very happy. Making the decision completely goes against the normal way I make decisions, considering I'm not sure I'll have a place to live, or jobs, and it may very well be a very financially unwise decision. Regardless, I'm doing it because I want to. Sometimes I think it's okay to do things that make you happy. Oh, and let me know if you are aware of any living/job opportunites. I mean, I may have an apartment...and a roommate...and a job...but it's still all completely undecided. I think I'll still have a job at the coffee shop, but I won't be given enough hours to only work there. I'm going to apply at Blue Mountain (swanky Orange City restaurant), and I hope to God that they hire me. Hopefully my chances are good since I think they always need help, and some of them know me from the coffee shop (which is right across the street), and I have like 6 years of experience as a server. I hope it works out. I think I have a job cleaning someone's house once a week as well. Basically, I just plan to pimp myself out to anyone that wants me to do something. (Hmm...in a completely ethical/moral way, I mean...) I adore working. Absolutely love it. I remember in high school telling one of my teachers that working was my identity. She insisted it was not. She was wrong. She's also the one that told me I would have a nervous breakdown in college. She was wrong.
Oh yes, I went to Belfast last weekend. It was absolutely glorious. Really, probably the highlight of my time in the UK. I kind of feel guilty for thinking that; I feel like I should have an Oxford highlight instead. As of right now, though, my favorite part about Oxford is the clouds. We'll see if I can make a better memory that that.
Anyway, Belfast. I stayed with/hung out with friends that I had met last spring on my SSP to Belfast. Just picture amazing, wonderful people and that would be these people. I finally got to drink my Guinness in Belfast (which I had been denied last year -- darn NW rules), and I did so while watching an apparently monumental rugby match in a pub with very enthusiastic Ireland fans. Again, amazing.
I was so glad to get away from the program here and just be in real life. I feel as though Belfast may be that place that I'll always try to return to in my life. That can be a life goal.
Well, I did that thing again where I wrote for a long time about completely inconsequential things. Now I'm going to go make oatmeal. I'm planning to not buy groceries for my last three weeks here and instead live off of a bag of oatmeal. I always end up doing this weird thing where I deprive myself of groceries in order to meet some strange goal that I've set. It's okay though, mom, because I got a real meal for lunch during the Angst/Douchebag classes, and then I just have to fend for myself at supper. Basically, I'm a stronger breed than most humans.
Yes, well, that is that. Hope you're doing well.
Best,
Sara
Another week has passed here in Oxford, and if I were to tell you about it, I would probably summarize it by using the words 'angst' and 'douchebag' quite frequently. "Really Sara? You would do that? That doesn't sound like you."
I've definitely gotten to that point where I wake up thinking about going home and go to bed thinking about home. I am just really so very ready to go home. I think that this program should not have given us a spring break, because it is really very hard to transition from traveling back into academia. Especially when that 'academia' no longer involves beautiful gospel topics and Albus Andrew, but nasty British landscape topics and history video series.
I am currently writing an essay on Julian of Norwich. Perhaps I should be interested, but I'm just really very not. I think that I'm not a very well-rounded person. This is unfortunate but is just how things go I reckon.
Wow, I'm writing about really boring things right now. Good thing I have a brief story that I've been saving up for awhile now. So one time I was sitting in the large, ominous, silent library while I was working on an essay. All of a sudden, I sensed that something was wrong. Music was playing. I looked up to see a guy frantically opening and closing his laptop. He had shut it, and then removed his headphones, but the music hadn't stopped. While he feverishly tried to stop the music, everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at him. He continued to make panicked motions and finally looked around at all of us staring at him. 2 seconds passed. Then, in desperation, he grabbed the laptop off the desk and literally ran out of the library, with the music still playing. The readers at the desks glanced around at each other with smirks on their faces. Ahhh, Bodleian reader bonding. Poor guy. Of course then he had to make a walk of shame back to his desk to gather the rest of his belongings. Man, I almost wish that had happened to me. Nothing bad ever happens to me anymore. It's a dang shame.
So here's something maybe you should know. I am officially going to Princeton Seminary this coming fall. Technically I've been officially going to go there for about 5 months now, when I told them I was coming, but then I also told Duke Divinity School that I was going to go there as well. Since I obviously can't go to both schools, I was going to have to tell one of them no. I finally got my financial aid notification from Duke yesterday. They are offering me $30,000 in loans. Princeton is offering me free tutition. Thus, I think I'll go to Princeton. I'd be a lunatic not to do so.
So, it's nice to have that decision made!
Except now people have started to tell me things like "New Jersey is the armpit of America." "Jersey is really dirty." "You are going to get stabbed and die." "You are going to fail and die." "You are going to get stabbed, fail, and die."
So, I guess I'm getting excited for that.
No, I reckon it'll be good. I've only gone to the east coast once, for the national spelling bee (woot woot!), so I hope it's a good fit for me. I hope that not everyone is a pretentious tool. I hate pretentious tools. One thing that I have reaffirmed while being at Oxford is that I don't particularly like to hang out with people who are like me. Hanging out with people that are all really driven and focused on success makes me super angsty. I mean, I would never want to hang out with myself, so why would I want to hang out with people who are like myself? So, basically I hope Princeton is not filled with people like me. Or maybe I can get a job at a coffee shop and hang out with people that are chill and not angsty all the time. Actually, one of my greatest desires for awhile now has been to bartend my way through seminary. We'll see if I make that happen. I think I'm too short to be a bartender. We will see.
I have also more or less officially decided that I will be spending my summer in Orange City. Of this decision, I am ridiculously pleased. Really, so very, very happy. Making the decision completely goes against the normal way I make decisions, considering I'm not sure I'll have a place to live, or jobs, and it may very well be a very financially unwise decision. Regardless, I'm doing it because I want to. Sometimes I think it's okay to do things that make you happy. Oh, and let me know if you are aware of any living/job opportunites. I mean, I may have an apartment...and a roommate...and a job...but it's still all completely undecided. I think I'll still have a job at the coffee shop, but I won't be given enough hours to only work there. I'm going to apply at Blue Mountain (swanky Orange City restaurant), and I hope to God that they hire me. Hopefully my chances are good since I think they always need help, and some of them know me from the coffee shop (which is right across the street), and I have like 6 years of experience as a server. I hope it works out. I think I have a job cleaning someone's house once a week as well. Basically, I just plan to pimp myself out to anyone that wants me to do something. (Hmm...in a completely ethical/moral way, I mean...) I adore working. Absolutely love it. I remember in high school telling one of my teachers that working was my identity. She insisted it was not. She was wrong. She's also the one that told me I would have a nervous breakdown in college. She was wrong.
Oh yes, I went to Belfast last weekend. It was absolutely glorious. Really, probably the highlight of my time in the UK. I kind of feel guilty for thinking that; I feel like I should have an Oxford highlight instead. As of right now, though, my favorite part about Oxford is the clouds. We'll see if I can make a better memory that that.
Anyway, Belfast. I stayed with/hung out with friends that I had met last spring on my SSP to Belfast. Just picture amazing, wonderful people and that would be these people. I finally got to drink my Guinness in Belfast (which I had been denied last year -- darn NW rules), and I did so while watching an apparently monumental rugby match in a pub with very enthusiastic Ireland fans. Again, amazing.
I was so glad to get away from the program here and just be in real life. I feel as though Belfast may be that place that I'll always try to return to in my life. That can be a life goal.
Well, I did that thing again where I wrote for a long time about completely inconsequential things. Now I'm going to go make oatmeal. I'm planning to not buy groceries for my last three weeks here and instead live off of a bag of oatmeal. I always end up doing this weird thing where I deprive myself of groceries in order to meet some strange goal that I've set. It's okay though, mom, because I got a real meal for lunch during the Angst/Douchebag classes, and then I just have to fend for myself at supper. Basically, I'm a stronger breed than most humans.
Yes, well, that is that. Hope you're doing well.
Best,
Sara
Thursday, March 19, 2009
"Come Back To Me, Albus Andrew. Come Back To Me Is My Request."
Dear friends,
Another Thursday=another blog post. However, this time I have not emerged fresh out of another tutorial experience. And what a grim day it was.
Today marked the beginning of the portion of my time here that the program has so aptly titled "Angst: A Historiographic Approach to the Methodologies of How to Make You as Angsty as Possible." I've always wanted to get credits for angst. Now the opportunity is mine to seize. The participants in my program sometimes refer to the Angst class as British Landscapes, just so they can pretend to their schools and families that they are learning something substantial and worthy of credit at their home institution. Underneath this fondly assigned label, though, we all know that the class is very terrible and lives up to its name by being properly angst-inducing.
So, now that tutorials are over, I have 3 main things going on.
#1. Angst Class
#2. Writing and researching for my "Dissertation"
#3. Douchebag Seminar
"Wow," you think, "I have got to get me into that Oxford program. A Douchebag Seminar sounds right up my alley."
To elaborate further, my entire schedule has been changed drastically. You see, the Oxford term consists of eight weeks of tutorials. Then, all the students go home until the next term. There are 3 eight week terms throughout the year. Thus, I have finished the real Oxford portion, and we are now doing fake Oxford things so that we can fulfill requirements at our home institutions and be allowed to do this whole study abroad thing. Thus, a normal day for me now will consist of waking up early, vying for the shower at the same time as forty other douchebags in my house, and then playing a game called: "Try as hard as you can to walk the 35-minute path alone and avoid 40 other douchebags walking in the same direction." I failed miserably at the game this morning.
Upon arrival at 9:30am, we immediately settle in for a one hour film that hurls us wildly through British history. 10:30 brings tea time while I sit amongst a crowd and think about how angsty everyone is making me. 11:00 brings another one hour lecture about something British and landscape-ish. 12:00 brings lunch. Yay free lunch (that my tuition paid for)!! Then we're all supposed to scurry off and spend the rest of our lives in the library until the next day starts. I only have 2 essays to write for this class, but the topics that I have to pick from are very terrible. From my first day of "class," I can summarize what I learned by dropping a few names, but not knowing at all what those people did. How unfortunate.
The Douchebag Seminar began today as well. Some people refer to this as the Integrative Theology Seminar, but again, we all know what it really consists of. This was maybe the angstiest hour of my life because 8 students and 1 facilitator sat in a pretentious circle and talked about pretentious things that were completely pointless. All we did was talk about theology in some horribly abstract way and use words and phrases like "patterns of judgment," and "metaphysics." Actual mention of the Bible occurred very few times. I utterly despise theology in the abstract. There are things I can appreciate about biblical theology--a lot of things--and overall, I think it can be a quite worthy enterprise. However, there are terrible ways to go about theology, and I think that my Douchebag Seminar is going to be a crash course in worthless ways to discuss theology. (Of course, you perhaps should realize that this is me talking. I evaluate most things in a pessimistic manner. However, in my opinion, the Douchebag Seminar is worthy of rampant pessimism.)
The one thing that does make me happy is the prospect of working on my dissertation. The only problem is that I don't have much time to devote to that since I have the Angst and Douchebag classes eating into my time. I don't know why pointless things have to infringe upon my scholarship. Angst.
In other news, I did just return from Wales. Wales was perhaps one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. It was a very chill trip. We hung out, went to castles, and hiked a mountain. The hike was probably my favorite part. I like to accomplish things.
Tomorrow will consist of a field trip to a cathedral somewhere north of London and then I will depart at 1am to catch a bus to airport where I will board a flight to Belfast. Even though I just got back from break, I really need another one. Belfast will be wonderful. I'll arrive Saturday morning and leave Sunday night so it will be a very quick trip, but I am terribly excited.
There is perhaps more I could write about, but I must really get to bed in preparation for the early morning "fight 40 douchebags for the shower" game.
Best,
Sara
Another Thursday=another blog post. However, this time I have not emerged fresh out of another tutorial experience. And what a grim day it was.
Today marked the beginning of the portion of my time here that the program has so aptly titled "Angst: A Historiographic Approach to the Methodologies of How to Make You as Angsty as Possible." I've always wanted to get credits for angst. Now the opportunity is mine to seize. The participants in my program sometimes refer to the Angst class as British Landscapes, just so they can pretend to their schools and families that they are learning something substantial and worthy of credit at their home institution. Underneath this fondly assigned label, though, we all know that the class is very terrible and lives up to its name by being properly angst-inducing.
So, now that tutorials are over, I have 3 main things going on.
#1. Angst Class
#2. Writing and researching for my "Dissertation"
#3. Douchebag Seminar
"Wow," you think, "I have got to get me into that Oxford program. A Douchebag Seminar sounds right up my alley."
To elaborate further, my entire schedule has been changed drastically. You see, the Oxford term consists of eight weeks of tutorials. Then, all the students go home until the next term. There are 3 eight week terms throughout the year. Thus, I have finished the real Oxford portion, and we are now doing fake Oxford things so that we can fulfill requirements at our home institutions and be allowed to do this whole study abroad thing. Thus, a normal day for me now will consist of waking up early, vying for the shower at the same time as forty other douchebags in my house, and then playing a game called: "Try as hard as you can to walk the 35-minute path alone and avoid 40 other douchebags walking in the same direction." I failed miserably at the game this morning.
Upon arrival at 9:30am, we immediately settle in for a one hour film that hurls us wildly through British history. 10:30 brings tea time while I sit amongst a crowd and think about how angsty everyone is making me. 11:00 brings another one hour lecture about something British and landscape-ish. 12:00 brings lunch. Yay free lunch (that my tuition paid for)!! Then we're all supposed to scurry off and spend the rest of our lives in the library until the next day starts. I only have 2 essays to write for this class, but the topics that I have to pick from are very terrible. From my first day of "class," I can summarize what I learned by dropping a few names, but not knowing at all what those people did. How unfortunate.
The Douchebag Seminar began today as well. Some people refer to this as the Integrative Theology Seminar, but again, we all know what it really consists of. This was maybe the angstiest hour of my life because 8 students and 1 facilitator sat in a pretentious circle and talked about pretentious things that were completely pointless. All we did was talk about theology in some horribly abstract way and use words and phrases like "patterns of judgment," and "metaphysics." Actual mention of the Bible occurred very few times. I utterly despise theology in the abstract. There are things I can appreciate about biblical theology--a lot of things--and overall, I think it can be a quite worthy enterprise. However, there are terrible ways to go about theology, and I think that my Douchebag Seminar is going to be a crash course in worthless ways to discuss theology. (Of course, you perhaps should realize that this is me talking. I evaluate most things in a pessimistic manner. However, in my opinion, the Douchebag Seminar is worthy of rampant pessimism.)
The one thing that does make me happy is the prospect of working on my dissertation. The only problem is that I don't have much time to devote to that since I have the Angst and Douchebag classes eating into my time. I don't know why pointless things have to infringe upon my scholarship. Angst.
In other news, I did just return from Wales. Wales was perhaps one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. It was a very chill trip. We hung out, went to castles, and hiked a mountain. The hike was probably my favorite part. I like to accomplish things.
Tomorrow will consist of a field trip to a cathedral somewhere north of London and then I will depart at 1am to catch a bus to airport where I will board a flight to Belfast. Even though I just got back from break, I really need another one. Belfast will be wonderful. I'll arrive Saturday morning and leave Sunday night so it will be a very quick trip, but I am terribly excited.
There is perhaps more I could write about, but I must really get to bed in preparation for the early morning "fight 40 douchebags for the shower" game.
Best,
Sara
Thursday, March 12, 2009
"Please don't forget me, Albus"
Dear friends,
One thing that I have realized about this blog is that I have gone about it all wrong. I don't ever really tell you what I'm actually doing in Oxford. In fact, mostly all I have done is try to tell you interesting stories while seeing how many times I could possibly insert the word 'angst' into a blog post. I realized this when a friend told me that she had directed someone who wanted to go to Oxford to visit my blog. This person is really going to learn nothing about Oxford, but rather only a lot about this strange 'Albus Andrew' figure who has taken over my life. That is all to say, I don't much care if I have gone about this blog wrongly. I, in fact, hate reading boring study abroad blogs that say things akin to: "Today I visited a castle. It was beautiful. God lived in the castle. I like God. I like castles. Therefore, I like castles with God in them." No thank you. I prefer my methods.
That being said, get ready for a new batch of stories about my tutorial experiences.
Today I had my last tutorial ever with Albus Andrew. It was a sad, but glorious hour. I was glad to see when I came in that he had lit the fireplace, likely in anticipation of avoiding my freak show of shivering on his sofa. We went through the usual routine of him saying, "Right, let's see how you got on then," and then me reading my essay on the fourfold Gospel aloud to him. When I had finished reading my last sentence [which happened to be a BAMF sentence], there was the usual long pause in which my mind races wildly while I try to figure out by his facial expression whether or not he liked it. Then he said:
Albus: "Let me start with a broad question. What are you doing next year? Have your plans for seminary come together yet?"
(Um what? Albus? Fourfold Gospel? Remember...we were talking about it?)
Sara: "Um, no. As of right now, both Princeton and Duke think I'm coming there in the fall. I'm going to need to remedy that at some point."
Albus: "And what do you want to do eventually?"
Sara: "Well, I've kind of been thinking for awhile that I wanted to use seminary as a stepping-stone to a doctoral program and go into academia, but Oxford has made me doubt that a lot. I mean, I doubted it everyday of my life before I came here, but Oxford has magnified that."
Albus: "Why?"
Sara: "[insert weaknesses and lack of abilities here]" I'm just not sure that I'm cut out to handle what would be expected of me."
At this point, Albus and I transitioned into territory that we had never ventured into before. We talked about the more personal topic of whether or not I suck at life. Albus lapsed into a 10-minute segment where he told me that he, in fact, thought I did not suck at life at all. He said many very good things that people should not reproduce on their blogs unless they wish to be written off as a pretentious jerk. Basically, he affirmed that he thought I was quite capable and he told me that it would be "disastrous" if I left Oxford thinking that I wasn't cut out for academia, because that just wasn't true at all.
To some of these comments I responded: "Yes well, I often feel as though I can be confident in my writing and my ability to express the content in an essay, but as I'm sure you've seen in our tutorials, I often struggle more with my ability to express things well verbally."
Albus Andrew thought about this and said that he had never thought that I couldn't articulate myself well, and that he had always thought I had responded relatively well to his questions.
Sara: "Well, maybe I'm just too hard on myself sometimes. I tend to be very hard on myself."
He agreed that if I felt like I was doing poorly, then it was because I was setting impossible standards for myself. I said, "I know I do this, but it's very difficult not to do this." Seriously. I don't know how to be a normal person that can be satisfied with the quality of my work. I may have the poorest self-esteem when it comes to academics of anyone that I know. Actually, it's bi-polar self-esteem. Sometimes I can feel very confident about my ability to do well, but most of the time the feeling of imminent failure overrides everything. I happened to be reading back through my facebook status reports over the last 3 years [lame activity, yes I know], but it was interesting to see how many times I had talked about failing at life. "Sara is upset to be failing at life." "Sara is happy that she has avoided failing at life." I really wish I would get over this. I remember one time my junior year getting a 95 on a paper and after seeing the grade, going on a failure walk in which I reprimanded myself by chanting: "failure, failure" to the tune of my footsteps. [WOW, these are maybe not things I should write in a blog]. Suffice it to say, I know that I'm not normal, and I know that I beat myself up too much, but I also know that I will always be this way. I don't see a shift in optimism coming my way.
Having expressed these sentiments about always doubting my abilities, I feel as though having Albus Andrew affirm me so greatly can give me a little boost to think back on in the future. Albus Andrew knows really nothing about me, and he has absolutely no reason to give me praise if I didn't deserve it, and yet he did. Thus, perhaps I can do things decently from time to time. I very much appreciated the opportunity to start from the bottom, and prove myself to him, even though it made me angsty as heck back in the day.
I was recently told that I shouldn't feel as though I have anything to prove, but I do. I really, really do. Maybe I shouldn't operate from this basis, but again, I have no idea how to not.
I was thinking the other day about how this whole tutorial experience has been quite similar to the first time I went skiing (which was only about 3 months ago). I, in fact, am generally quite terrible at physical endeavors such as these. In middle school basketball, when I was put in the game during the last quarter because we had basically already lost, I never ever made a basket. I would have dreams in which I scored points for the team, but in real life, I'm not sure I ever even took a shot. Needless to say, the prospects for my success in skiing were not high. Nonetheless, after about 2 hours of training, "Ski Master Dave" pointed and asked me if I was ready to go down "that hill." Having never gone skiing before and having absolutely no idea what "that hill" entailed, I enthusiastically agreed that I thought I was ready to conquer the hill.
The thing is, I had no idea that the hill, that I will forever refer to with a distinct string of cuss words, was roundabout a 18 mile straight shot to the bottom (of course you know this is not true). Thus, as I started confidently down the hill, I suddenly realized that I HAD NOT LEARNED HOW TO SLOW DOWN. "Hmm," I thought, "I am going really very quickly. There is a fence coming up." [insert lots of cussing, screaming, and crashing here]. This process continued as I picked myself up and hurled myself down the next stretch of death.
As I got into one horrible, death-defying crash after another and was continually helped up by a little boy, I realized that I could not quit because I had to somehow make it down the hill. Thus, I simply could not quit. Unless I died in the process, I had to keep going down that hill.
Why in the world am I telling you this? Because the whole process of my tutorials with Albus Andrew has been a little bit like having to get down that hill. As he would ask me a question and I would flounder and crash in a cloud of my own self-induced failure, I HAD to come up with an answer to his question. I could not quit. I had to get to the bottom.
As my day of skiing continued, I went back to the bunny hill and learned how to turn and how to slow down. After about 4 hours of this, I tried "that hill" again, and I made it the whole way down without falling. Amazing. The past three weeks with Albus Andrew have been like making it to the bottom without falling. In today's tutorial, I may have even won the prize for having the "maddest skillz."
That, my friends, is how my skiing experience is relevant.
I will very much miss my tutorial experience. Every evening (or the wee hours of the morning) when I would finish my essay, and the last pages dropped down into the printer tray, I went through a bit of a stapler ritual. For some reason, in my attempts to staple two separate copies of my essays, I would always staple one of the copies poorly. The other copy, however, I usually managed to staple very well. I would then meticulously check to make sure that I gave Albus Andrew the copy with the nice staple. Not that he ever would have noticed if he got the essay with a staple slightly askew, but oh my was this stapling process important to me.
Well, well...perhaps I have packed enough angst into this post to hold us all over into the next week. It should be pointed out, however, that Oxford is currently going quite well. Tomorrow will be my last Greek tutorial with Albus Jonathan and on Saturday morning I will depart for a 5 day trip to Wales. Of this, I am greatly pleased. I think it will be a delightful time.
I do thank you for reading these thoughts of mine. Perhaps I share more than I should on a public blog, but I believe that authenticity is one of the things I value most in life.
And on that note...
Best,
Sara
One thing that I have realized about this blog is that I have gone about it all wrong. I don't ever really tell you what I'm actually doing in Oxford. In fact, mostly all I have done is try to tell you interesting stories while seeing how many times I could possibly insert the word 'angst' into a blog post. I realized this when a friend told me that she had directed someone who wanted to go to Oxford to visit my blog. This person is really going to learn nothing about Oxford, but rather only a lot about this strange 'Albus Andrew' figure who has taken over my life. That is all to say, I don't much care if I have gone about this blog wrongly. I, in fact, hate reading boring study abroad blogs that say things akin to: "Today I visited a castle. It was beautiful. God lived in the castle. I like God. I like castles. Therefore, I like castles with God in them." No thank you. I prefer my methods.
That being said, get ready for a new batch of stories about my tutorial experiences.
Today I had my last tutorial ever with Albus Andrew. It was a sad, but glorious hour. I was glad to see when I came in that he had lit the fireplace, likely in anticipation of avoiding my freak show of shivering on his sofa. We went through the usual routine of him saying, "Right, let's see how you got on then," and then me reading my essay on the fourfold Gospel aloud to him. When I had finished reading my last sentence [which happened to be a BAMF sentence], there was the usual long pause in which my mind races wildly while I try to figure out by his facial expression whether or not he liked it. Then he said:
Albus: "Let me start with a broad question. What are you doing next year? Have your plans for seminary come together yet?"
(Um what? Albus? Fourfold Gospel? Remember...we were talking about it?)
Sara: "Um, no. As of right now, both Princeton and Duke think I'm coming there in the fall. I'm going to need to remedy that at some point."
Albus: "And what do you want to do eventually?"
Sara: "Well, I've kind of been thinking for awhile that I wanted to use seminary as a stepping-stone to a doctoral program and go into academia, but Oxford has made me doubt that a lot. I mean, I doubted it everyday of my life before I came here, but Oxford has magnified that."
Albus: "Why?"
Sara: "[insert weaknesses and lack of abilities here]" I'm just not sure that I'm cut out to handle what would be expected of me."
At this point, Albus and I transitioned into territory that we had never ventured into before. We talked about the more personal topic of whether or not I suck at life. Albus lapsed into a 10-minute segment where he told me that he, in fact, thought I did not suck at life at all. He said many very good things that people should not reproduce on their blogs unless they wish to be written off as a pretentious jerk. Basically, he affirmed that he thought I was quite capable and he told me that it would be "disastrous" if I left Oxford thinking that I wasn't cut out for academia, because that just wasn't true at all.
To some of these comments I responded: "Yes well, I often feel as though I can be confident in my writing and my ability to express the content in an essay, but as I'm sure you've seen in our tutorials, I often struggle more with my ability to express things well verbally."
Albus Andrew thought about this and said that he had never thought that I couldn't articulate myself well, and that he had always thought I had responded relatively well to his questions.
Sara: "Well, maybe I'm just too hard on myself sometimes. I tend to be very hard on myself."
He agreed that if I felt like I was doing poorly, then it was because I was setting impossible standards for myself. I said, "I know I do this, but it's very difficult not to do this." Seriously. I don't know how to be a normal person that can be satisfied with the quality of my work. I may have the poorest self-esteem when it comes to academics of anyone that I know. Actually, it's bi-polar self-esteem. Sometimes I can feel very confident about my ability to do well, but most of the time the feeling of imminent failure overrides everything. I happened to be reading back through my facebook status reports over the last 3 years [lame activity, yes I know], but it was interesting to see how many times I had talked about failing at life. "Sara is upset to be failing at life." "Sara is happy that she has avoided failing at life." I really wish I would get over this. I remember one time my junior year getting a 95 on a paper and after seeing the grade, going on a failure walk in which I reprimanded myself by chanting: "failure, failure" to the tune of my footsteps. [WOW, these are maybe not things I should write in a blog]. Suffice it to say, I know that I'm not normal, and I know that I beat myself up too much, but I also know that I will always be this way. I don't see a shift in optimism coming my way.
Having expressed these sentiments about always doubting my abilities, I feel as though having Albus Andrew affirm me so greatly can give me a little boost to think back on in the future. Albus Andrew knows really nothing about me, and he has absolutely no reason to give me praise if I didn't deserve it, and yet he did. Thus, perhaps I can do things decently from time to time. I very much appreciated the opportunity to start from the bottom, and prove myself to him, even though it made me angsty as heck back in the day.
I was recently told that I shouldn't feel as though I have anything to prove, but I do. I really, really do. Maybe I shouldn't operate from this basis, but again, I have no idea how to not.
I was thinking the other day about how this whole tutorial experience has been quite similar to the first time I went skiing (which was only about 3 months ago). I, in fact, am generally quite terrible at physical endeavors such as these. In middle school basketball, when I was put in the game during the last quarter because we had basically already lost, I never ever made a basket. I would have dreams in which I scored points for the team, but in real life, I'm not sure I ever even took a shot. Needless to say, the prospects for my success in skiing were not high. Nonetheless, after about 2 hours of training, "Ski Master Dave" pointed and asked me if I was ready to go down "that hill." Having never gone skiing before and having absolutely no idea what "that hill" entailed, I enthusiastically agreed that I thought I was ready to conquer the hill.
The thing is, I had no idea that the hill, that I will forever refer to with a distinct string of cuss words, was roundabout a 18 mile straight shot to the bottom (of course you know this is not true). Thus, as I started confidently down the hill, I suddenly realized that I HAD NOT LEARNED HOW TO SLOW DOWN. "Hmm," I thought, "I am going really very quickly. There is a fence coming up." [insert lots of cussing, screaming, and crashing here]. This process continued as I picked myself up and hurled myself down the next stretch of death.
As I got into one horrible, death-defying crash after another and was continually helped up by a little boy, I realized that I could not quit because I had to somehow make it down the hill. Thus, I simply could not quit. Unless I died in the process, I had to keep going down that hill.
Why in the world am I telling you this? Because the whole process of my tutorials with Albus Andrew has been a little bit like having to get down that hill. As he would ask me a question and I would flounder and crash in a cloud of my own self-induced failure, I HAD to come up with an answer to his question. I could not quit. I had to get to the bottom.
As my day of skiing continued, I went back to the bunny hill and learned how to turn and how to slow down. After about 4 hours of this, I tried "that hill" again, and I made it the whole way down without falling. Amazing. The past three weeks with Albus Andrew have been like making it to the bottom without falling. In today's tutorial, I may have even won the prize for having the "maddest skillz."
That, my friends, is how my skiing experience is relevant.
I will very much miss my tutorial experience. Every evening (or the wee hours of the morning) when I would finish my essay, and the last pages dropped down into the printer tray, I went through a bit of a stapler ritual. For some reason, in my attempts to staple two separate copies of my essays, I would always staple one of the copies poorly. The other copy, however, I usually managed to staple very well. I would then meticulously check to make sure that I gave Albus Andrew the copy with the nice staple. Not that he ever would have noticed if he got the essay with a staple slightly askew, but oh my was this stapling process important to me.
Well, well...perhaps I have packed enough angst into this post to hold us all over into the next week. It should be pointed out, however, that Oxford is currently going quite well. Tomorrow will be my last Greek tutorial with Albus Jonathan and on Saturday morning I will depart for a 5 day trip to Wales. Of this, I am greatly pleased. I think it will be a delightful time.
I do thank you for reading these thoughts of mine. Perhaps I share more than I should on a public blog, but I believe that authenticity is one of the things I value most in life.
And on that note...
Best,
Sara
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Nerds are better in the Rainbow Pack.
Dear friends,
Two weeks have lapsed since my last blog post. My apologies: [insert boring comments about how busy I've been here.]
I'm sorry to say that nothing terrible has happened to me in quite awhile. I mean, come on, am I going to write about good things? I am nowhere near witty enough to make good things entertaining. My tutorials have been going really well lately. Last week, I finished reading my essay on why the Gospel of John was written, and after giving me no feedback for five weeks, Albus Andrew (without even looking up from my essay) said carefully:
"Well Sara, I don't know that I agree with everything you have said, but that is one of the best essays I have heard. Your other essays were good, but this one is really excellent."
(2 seconds of stunned, awkward silence)
(tentative tone) "Thank you."
(3 seconds of awkward silence)
Sweet Jesus.
I was in shock for about the next five minutes and had to force myself to be chill and not smile. I don't think I did a very good job of this because I was so distracted by his compliment that I couldn't concentrate on his questions for awhile. I forced myself to repress my joy for the next hour until I left his office and could smile like a giddy school-girl as I walked to the library. That moment will forever remain a moment that I can think back upon when I am convinced that I can do nothing adequately.
Ironically though, his good comment contributed to more angst in the coming week as I had now set a standard for myself that I didn't want to fall below. I HATE setting standards for myself, but this is a recurring theme in my life. My own expectations haunt me.
In other news, I've spent the past two tutorials with Albus Andrew shivering uncontrollably on his couch [that is, I was the one doing the shivering--this would not be ambiguous if I were blogging in Greek (how fun would that be?)]. The first week, before I had noticed that I was visibly shaking, he stopped mid-sentence and said:
"(Irish lilt) Are you okay? Are you warm enough?"
"Oh, uh, am I? ... I'm okay."
After this, I vowed to take a sweatshirt but conveniently forgot again this morning.
"Albus, will you turn on your fireplace, pretty please? Because I am freaking cold." Unfortunately, he didn't pick up on the subliminal messages I tried to send him by staring longingly at the fireplace, and this time he didn't comment on the shivering which made the fact that I was shaking uncontrollaby all the more awkward. I'm sure that he was wondering how to deal with me when I looked like such an angsty freak. Ahh well, good old Albus.
For an Albus Jonathan update:
Albus Jonathan: "Do you feel like there's a general sense of gloom among the program right now?"
Me: "Uh, I'm not really sure. I feel a lot less stressed than most people in this program. And I've been getting more sleep this semester than any other semester in my college career."
Yes, I really said that. Why the heck did I say that? Albus Jonathan then proceeded to quadruple the amount of Greek homework for my next tutorial.
Note to self: Always appear angsty.
Oh yes, one more thing, I totally taught Albus Andrew the word 'discombobulate' today. I used it in my paper and he said: "I have never seen that word in my life. What [the crap] does it mean?" I felt happy about this. I guess the word does look completely messed up.
In more shallow news, on my walk to the grocery store today, I stopped in a thrift store and found the most amazing trendy euro boots ever for 5 pounds. These are the sort of trendy euro boots that beckon me from the store windows with their nasty price tag of 30-50 pounds. Thus, I should probably pull an evangelical and say: "It was a God thing. It was as if God wanted me to have those shoes." I'm sure that was it. I mean, what else could it be?
Here is an awkward thing: My next essay topic is: "A theological opportunity or a historical problem--what should we make of the fourfold gospel?" The awkward part is that Albus Andrew put one of the books that he has written on the topic on my bibliography. I mean, of course I am going to read his book, but do I cite it in my essay? I feel as if that would be overly awkward. What would be exceptionally awkward would be if I were to quote him in my paper. Then I would be reading aloud my essay to him and quoting him. Sketchy. How would I phrase that? "As you comment in your book..." No way, dude. Any advice on how to deal with this predicament? Because if I don't cite it, I don't want him to think I completely ignored his book. Oh the trials of studying under tutors that are undoubtable BAMFs.
Well, I apologize that this post was rather mundane. Maybe another natural disaster will come my way in the next week. We can only hope.
Best,
Sara
Ps, I've gotten some amazing mail lately. Thank you greatly for your kindness. :)
Two weeks have lapsed since my last blog post. My apologies: [insert boring comments about how busy I've been here.]
I'm sorry to say that nothing terrible has happened to me in quite awhile. I mean, come on, am I going to write about good things? I am nowhere near witty enough to make good things entertaining. My tutorials have been going really well lately. Last week, I finished reading my essay on why the Gospel of John was written, and after giving me no feedback for five weeks, Albus Andrew (without even looking up from my essay) said carefully:
"Well Sara, I don't know that I agree with everything you have said, but that is one of the best essays I have heard. Your other essays were good, but this one is really excellent."
(2 seconds of stunned, awkward silence)
(tentative tone) "Thank you."
(3 seconds of awkward silence)
Sweet Jesus.
I was in shock for about the next five minutes and had to force myself to be chill and not smile. I don't think I did a very good job of this because I was so distracted by his compliment that I couldn't concentrate on his questions for awhile. I forced myself to repress my joy for the next hour until I left his office and could smile like a giddy school-girl as I walked to the library. That moment will forever remain a moment that I can think back upon when I am convinced that I can do nothing adequately.
Ironically though, his good comment contributed to more angst in the coming week as I had now set a standard for myself that I didn't want to fall below. I HATE setting standards for myself, but this is a recurring theme in my life. My own expectations haunt me.
In other news, I've spent the past two tutorials with Albus Andrew shivering uncontrollably on his couch [that is, I was the one doing the shivering--this would not be ambiguous if I were blogging in Greek (how fun would that be?)]. The first week, before I had noticed that I was visibly shaking, he stopped mid-sentence and said:
"(Irish lilt) Are you okay? Are you warm enough?"
"Oh, uh, am I? ... I'm okay."
After this, I vowed to take a sweatshirt but conveniently forgot again this morning.
"Albus, will you turn on your fireplace, pretty please? Because I am freaking cold." Unfortunately, he didn't pick up on the subliminal messages I tried to send him by staring longingly at the fireplace, and this time he didn't comment on the shivering which made the fact that I was shaking uncontrollaby all the more awkward. I'm sure that he was wondering how to deal with me when I looked like such an angsty freak. Ahh well, good old Albus.
For an Albus Jonathan update:
Albus Jonathan: "Do you feel like there's a general sense of gloom among the program right now?"
Me: "Uh, I'm not really sure. I feel a lot less stressed than most people in this program. And I've been getting more sleep this semester than any other semester in my college career."
Yes, I really said that. Why the heck did I say that? Albus Jonathan then proceeded to quadruple the amount of Greek homework for my next tutorial.
Note to self: Always appear angsty.
Oh yes, one more thing, I totally taught Albus Andrew the word 'discombobulate' today. I used it in my paper and he said: "I have never seen that word in my life. What [the crap] does it mean?" I felt happy about this. I guess the word does look completely messed up.
In more shallow news, on my walk to the grocery store today, I stopped in a thrift store and found the most amazing trendy euro boots ever for 5 pounds. These are the sort of trendy euro boots that beckon me from the store windows with their nasty price tag of 30-50 pounds. Thus, I should probably pull an evangelical and say: "It was a God thing. It was as if God wanted me to have those shoes." I'm sure that was it. I mean, what else could it be?
Here is an awkward thing: My next essay topic is: "A theological opportunity or a historical problem--what should we make of the fourfold gospel?" The awkward part is that Albus Andrew put one of the books that he has written on the topic on my bibliography. I mean, of course I am going to read his book, but do I cite it in my essay? I feel as if that would be overly awkward. What would be exceptionally awkward would be if I were to quote him in my paper. Then I would be reading aloud my essay to him and quoting him. Sketchy. How would I phrase that? "As you comment in your book..." No way, dude. Any advice on how to deal with this predicament? Because if I don't cite it, I don't want him to think I completely ignored his book. Oh the trials of studying under tutors that are undoubtable BAMFs.
Well, I apologize that this post was rather mundane. Maybe another natural disaster will come my way in the next week. We can only hope.
Best,
Sara
Ps, I've gotten some amazing mail lately. Thank you greatly for your kindness. :)
Saturday, February 21, 2009
"The Flooded Cowpath"
Dear Friends,
My regular Thursday blog post has turned into a Saturday post this week because Albus Andrew pushed back my Thursday tutorial to Friday, thereby entirely confusing my normal routine. That is to say, need not worry that I died.
I have found that I usually like to start out these posts by regaling you with the tale of my latest debacle. The angsty situtation for this week can properly be deemed: "The Flooded Cowpath."
Alas, think back to the angsty situation of two posts past--the canceled tutorial and the snow-covered, icy hill--that story should transition quite nicely into this story because lots and lots of snow, when melted, turns into lots and lots of water.
As I set out last Friday morning for my tutorial with Albus Jonathan, clicking down the lane with my newly attained trendy Euro boots, I thought I might take the scenic footpath that winds blissfully around one of the university parks. However, I hadn't gone too far down this path when I came to a locked door preventing me from going any further across the bridges (locked doors are becoming a bit of a motif, aren't they?). Considering the situation, I deduced that the water was too high, and that the path had flooded and I would have to go around. I then proceeded to click much more quickly with my trendy Euro boots, as I now had to trace my steps back and then take an entirely different path. I might also mention that at this point, the newly attained trendy Euro boots had caused a blister the size of a golf ball to form on my right foot. Regardless, I did not want to be late for my tutorial with Albus Jonathan so I clicked feverishy on.
When I had gotten a little ways down the new path, a friendly British woman with even more trendy Euro boots stopped and informed me that the path I was heading towards was completely flooded over.
"Oh no," I said, glancing at her knee-high trendy Euro boots, "what did you do? Did you get wet?"
"No, I didn't go through--it's too deep--I turned around."
The blasted snow was going to get the best of me once more.
I was already running slightly behind for my tutorial, and if I were to turn around now and pick another new path, I would be at least 40 minutes late. Thus, having not yet seen the water level, I forged ahead. As I rounded the corner and the field path came into view, I saw that the path was indeed covered with nearly a foot of what could not be described as gently, gurgling water. However, having no choice at this point, I stooped down, pulled off my newly attained trendy Euro boots and socks, rolled up my pants like a young girl excited to go frog-hunting, and moved my way confidently into the gushing stream.
I cannot say that this was a good idea.
I did remember that it happened to be the middle of the winter while I was wading through the foot of ICE COLD water. Thus, I did what any girl would do as she waded barefoot through 300 yards of frigid terror. I cussed unabashedly.
When I got to the other side, my pants were soaked up to the thigh from the splashing water, and I was very, very cold. I shoved my feet back into my trendy Euro boots, minus the socks, and hoped that I had not contracted syphilis by wading through the water with my golf ball sized blister. Now being about 15 minutes from the location of my tutorial, I thought that I might be able to make it without dying.
I arrived finally at the house and was greeted by a nice lad and ushered in. Albus Jonathan poked his head into the doorway.
"Hello Sara."
"Hi," (looking downward) "It seems I got my pants quite wet. The cowpath is really flooded. Is there by chance a girl around that I might borrow some pants from?" (Remember, Albus Jonathan is the RD-type person for the other house students live in).
Albus Jonathan looked around and found me a girl who provided me with a lovely pair of sweatpants and put my own soaked pants in the dryer. I then proceeded to have a wonderful tutorial with Albus Jonathan in my socks and newly attained sweatpants. Having finished, I retrieved my warm and dry pants from the dryer, returned the lovely sweatpants, and headed out for the rest of my day in town.
Roughly six hours later, as I was walking back to my home for the evening, something struck me. Pants, in British-English mean UNDERWEAR. Thus, I had arrived for my tutorial, promptly informed my tutor that I had gotten my underwear wet, and asked if I might borrow some dry underwear from a nearby female. Oh. My. Goodness. I laughed joyfully all the way home. I had always been worried, and therefore conscientious, that I was going to make that mistake, but in the aftermath of my angst-filled debacle, I had completely forgotten to make the differentiation. Dearest me.
You ought to be glad, you know, that I have no common sense and get myself into these situations. They're probably going to end up being the highlight of my trip.
In other news, since last week I have comsumed my first, and second, Guinness. I am quite pleased that I enjoyed it as doing such was I believe my third listed goal in coming here. I have found a friend that enjoys going to the pub and discussing theology over drinks. Of this, I am most glad. A discussion of universalism makes a pint go down so much more smoothly.
I hate to tell you this, but I am enjoying Oxford a lot lately. A lot, a lot. I enjoy the clicking of my trendy Euro boots as I travel the 45 minutes into the city--I enjoy the crowded streets--and I especially enjoy the books I read and the essays I produce. I had a chat this past week with the "cutest, most brilliant English woman in the history of ever"/senior tutor for our program. When I had submitted to her the required progress report for how I thought my tutorials were going, I had mentioned that I was a bit concerned because Albus Andrew never gave me any feedback, and therefore I wasn't necessarily sure how to improve. She imformed me that Albus Andrew, in his own progress report on me, had reported that I was doing really very well.
"Albus! I wish you would tell ME that!"
He had also offered to be my long essay/"dissertation" advisor, which is not the norm, as he is an outside tutor. Thus, I'm going to get to keep Albus Andrew for another 4 weeks after my tutorial finishes.
I'm starting to like Albus Andrew so much. During my tutorial yesterday, I just wanted to give him a hug and bake him a casserole. Nonetheless, doing such might be the most inappropriate thing possible one could do to one's tutor. Also, I've never baked a casserole. Do you even bake a casserole? Or do you cook it? No one really knows.
For next week's tutorial, I get to describe and account for the distinctive emphases of the Gospel of John and answer why it was written. I am SO excited. As I begin doing some of my reading, I remembered/realized that John is most certainly my favorite Gospel. It is the best. I could definitely be a Johannine scholar and spend the rest of my life steeped in that literature. Not only does the 4th evangelist present a superhuman Jesus as speaking "as no man has ever spoken" (7:46), but he also portrays Jesus in a very human way--getting tired, weeping, having friends, engaging in long drawn-out discussions with his opponents (rather than the polished one-liners of the Synoptics). John is both so hard and so easy to understand. Scholars have described it anecdotally as a Gospel in which both an elephant can swim and a child can wade. Needless to say, I am super excited for this week's studies.
Also, to keep you updated, I have decided to do my "dissertation" on what the non-canonical Gospels offer to the discussion of the historical Jesus. I ended up picking this because it was the topic Albus Andrew had offered to advise me on, and I thought having his input would be fantastic as he is currently writing a book on the non-canonical Gospels. Booyah. Can't beat that eh? And he's going to hook me up with a super sweet bibliography.
Alas, I should probably go read now. It s a delightfully beautiful day and perhaps even warm enough to lounge outside with my books. Joy.
Best,
Sara
My regular Thursday blog post has turned into a Saturday post this week because Albus Andrew pushed back my Thursday tutorial to Friday, thereby entirely confusing my normal routine. That is to say, need not worry that I died.
I have found that I usually like to start out these posts by regaling you with the tale of my latest debacle. The angsty situtation for this week can properly be deemed: "The Flooded Cowpath."
Alas, think back to the angsty situation of two posts past--the canceled tutorial and the snow-covered, icy hill--that story should transition quite nicely into this story because lots and lots of snow, when melted, turns into lots and lots of water.
As I set out last Friday morning for my tutorial with Albus Jonathan, clicking down the lane with my newly attained trendy Euro boots, I thought I might take the scenic footpath that winds blissfully around one of the university parks. However, I hadn't gone too far down this path when I came to a locked door preventing me from going any further across the bridges (locked doors are becoming a bit of a motif, aren't they?). Considering the situation, I deduced that the water was too high, and that the path had flooded and I would have to go around. I then proceeded to click much more quickly with my trendy Euro boots, as I now had to trace my steps back and then take an entirely different path. I might also mention that at this point, the newly attained trendy Euro boots had caused a blister the size of a golf ball to form on my right foot. Regardless, I did not want to be late for my tutorial with Albus Jonathan so I clicked feverishy on.
When I had gotten a little ways down the new path, a friendly British woman with even more trendy Euro boots stopped and informed me that the path I was heading towards was completely flooded over.
"Oh no," I said, glancing at her knee-high trendy Euro boots, "what did you do? Did you get wet?"
"No, I didn't go through--it's too deep--I turned around."
The blasted snow was going to get the best of me once more.
I was already running slightly behind for my tutorial, and if I were to turn around now and pick another new path, I would be at least 40 minutes late. Thus, having not yet seen the water level, I forged ahead. As I rounded the corner and the field path came into view, I saw that the path was indeed covered with nearly a foot of what could not be described as gently, gurgling water. However, having no choice at this point, I stooped down, pulled off my newly attained trendy Euro boots and socks, rolled up my pants like a young girl excited to go frog-hunting, and moved my way confidently into the gushing stream.
I cannot say that this was a good idea.
I did remember that it happened to be the middle of the winter while I was wading through the foot of ICE COLD water. Thus, I did what any girl would do as she waded barefoot through 300 yards of frigid terror. I cussed unabashedly.
When I got to the other side, my pants were soaked up to the thigh from the splashing water, and I was very, very cold. I shoved my feet back into my trendy Euro boots, minus the socks, and hoped that I had not contracted syphilis by wading through the water with my golf ball sized blister. Now being about 15 minutes from the location of my tutorial, I thought that I might be able to make it without dying.
I arrived finally at the house and was greeted by a nice lad and ushered in. Albus Jonathan poked his head into the doorway.
"Hello Sara."
"Hi," (looking downward) "It seems I got my pants quite wet. The cowpath is really flooded. Is there by chance a girl around that I might borrow some pants from?" (Remember, Albus Jonathan is the RD-type person for the other house students live in).
Albus Jonathan looked around and found me a girl who provided me with a lovely pair of sweatpants and put my own soaked pants in the dryer. I then proceeded to have a wonderful tutorial with Albus Jonathan in my socks and newly attained sweatpants. Having finished, I retrieved my warm and dry pants from the dryer, returned the lovely sweatpants, and headed out for the rest of my day in town.
Roughly six hours later, as I was walking back to my home for the evening, something struck me. Pants, in British-English mean UNDERWEAR. Thus, I had arrived for my tutorial, promptly informed my tutor that I had gotten my underwear wet, and asked if I might borrow some dry underwear from a nearby female. Oh. My. Goodness. I laughed joyfully all the way home. I had always been worried, and therefore conscientious, that I was going to make that mistake, but in the aftermath of my angst-filled debacle, I had completely forgotten to make the differentiation. Dearest me.
You ought to be glad, you know, that I have no common sense and get myself into these situations. They're probably going to end up being the highlight of my trip.
In other news, since last week I have comsumed my first, and second, Guinness. I am quite pleased that I enjoyed it as doing such was I believe my third listed goal in coming here. I have found a friend that enjoys going to the pub and discussing theology over drinks. Of this, I am most glad. A discussion of universalism makes a pint go down so much more smoothly.
I hate to tell you this, but I am enjoying Oxford a lot lately. A lot, a lot. I enjoy the clicking of my trendy Euro boots as I travel the 45 minutes into the city--I enjoy the crowded streets--and I especially enjoy the books I read and the essays I produce. I had a chat this past week with the "cutest, most brilliant English woman in the history of ever"/senior tutor for our program. When I had submitted to her the required progress report for how I thought my tutorials were going, I had mentioned that I was a bit concerned because Albus Andrew never gave me any feedback, and therefore I wasn't necessarily sure how to improve. She imformed me that Albus Andrew, in his own progress report on me, had reported that I was doing really very well.
"Albus! I wish you would tell ME that!"
He had also offered to be my long essay/"dissertation" advisor, which is not the norm, as he is an outside tutor. Thus, I'm going to get to keep Albus Andrew for another 4 weeks after my tutorial finishes.
I'm starting to like Albus Andrew so much. During my tutorial yesterday, I just wanted to give him a hug and bake him a casserole. Nonetheless, doing such might be the most inappropriate thing possible one could do to one's tutor. Also, I've never baked a casserole. Do you even bake a casserole? Or do you cook it? No one really knows.
For next week's tutorial, I get to describe and account for the distinctive emphases of the Gospel of John and answer why it was written. I am SO excited. As I begin doing some of my reading, I remembered/realized that John is most certainly my favorite Gospel. It is the best. I could definitely be a Johannine scholar and spend the rest of my life steeped in that literature. Not only does the 4th evangelist present a superhuman Jesus as speaking "as no man has ever spoken" (7:46), but he also portrays Jesus in a very human way--getting tired, weeping, having friends, engaging in long drawn-out discussions with his opponents (rather than the polished one-liners of the Synoptics). John is both so hard and so easy to understand. Scholars have described it anecdotally as a Gospel in which both an elephant can swim and a child can wade. Needless to say, I am super excited for this week's studies.
Also, to keep you updated, I have decided to do my "dissertation" on what the non-canonical Gospels offer to the discussion of the historical Jesus. I ended up picking this because it was the topic Albus Andrew had offered to advise me on, and I thought having his input would be fantastic as he is currently writing a book on the non-canonical Gospels. Booyah. Can't beat that eh? And he's going to hook me up with a super sweet bibliography.
Alas, I should probably go read now. It s a delightfully beautiful day and perhaps even warm enough to lounge outside with my books. Joy.
Best,
Sara
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