America, you are my sweetest downfall

Tuesday we, the members of the OPUS program, got a tour of the Union Society. The Union is one of those highly prestigious societies with pictures of the visits of Mother Theresa, Her Majesty the Queen, the Dalai Lama and every other notable world characters hanging on the walls. According to the current students and staff, and apparently British history, the president of the Oxford Union Society (a student) almost unfailingly goes on to do great political things, the Prime Minister usually emerging from this position.

Wednesday we toured the Bodleian Library, which is the single most significant thing to which I've had membership. I had to swear an oath that I wouldn't burn it down; no one is allowed to take books out, not even the king; it has miles and miles of underground storage and some 12 million books with over 1000 books, journals, etc. coming in daily.

I met with my primary tutor.

He established that it's going to be rough. According to him, we will do shockingly poorly after working far harder than we care to. It is no help that we're from the States, with a much different academic system that prepares us not at all for this type of work, i.e., legitimate scholarship. I cannot imagine this will go well or that it will feel good. I'm excited for the experience to be something I have rather than something I'm having...

At least he's Scandinavian (his name is Ilmo van der Lowe, his Finnish accent pronounces it fittingly).

He had a printed out picture on his wall--a picture of a man with a giraffe hat on that said “everybody shut the f*** up… I’m trying to think.”

A witticism that he decided describes him: I am so clever that sometimes I don't understand a single word of what I am saying.

It's going to be difficult going from daily house parties to actual work. I've never had the opportunity to just hang out in quite the same way the Americans do here in Oxford.

We had a High Table dinner last night. A tuxedo and cocktail dress affair, we marched into the dining hall of St. Catherine's college looking quite distinguished. The students seated at the lesser tables watched in awe and wonder, no doubt, as we took our seats around the table raised an appropriate 15 cm above them. (I'm sure they understood the point: 30 Americans claiming a British position of honour, we are allowing them to glory in our presence.) Our three course dinner was followed by about 20 minutes of toasting, the royal toast followed by those to our advisors, JCR presidents and other individuals. (I might point out, given my last parenthetical comment, that this was setup by OPUS as an invite-only affair; we did not create our own opportunity to be honoured.)

Formalities are odd because we’re all the same people either way. I recognize that it’s to set the occasion apart, but as seen in the etiquette of fine dining it’s almost necessary to choose to be offended by waywardness if you're striving to be entirely proper. While it may have stemmed from some peculiar but practical reason a hundred years ago, it certainly does not have any functional value at this point (though the small fork does work best for salad).

I'll stop for the sake of readability.

And because I have an essay for which I must research.

And because I'm hungry.

Cheerio!