in britannia

pictures are up!
Click the "Pictures of Oxford" link on the right to get to my website. :)
Enjoy.

A few little tidbits I've picked up today.

a) French bread tastes better in France. OK, like, duh. It's like saying that Irish Ales are better in Ireland or Chinese food is better in California. But still... It's important to note that by French Bread I mean a baguette, and according to the French there is an actual set way that a baguette has got to be made. There are certain measures which are charming, if a little totalitarian: A baguette must weight 250 - 300g, and measure in the strict vicinity of 70cm long and 6cm in diameter. I just went to the supermarket here, and to my astonishment, they were just putting out the baguettes. In fact, they were still warm. And at 45p each, I bought two. They were the right length, but much too fat. And that fatness really does cut down on that wonderful crunchiness of the crust. The interior was bland, with only a hint of salt and a very faint (perhaps imaginary?) idea of yeastiness. Bummer. Still, it beats a lot of the bread that I've been eating recently.

b) French baguettes are not good for peanut butter and jelly. Again, duh. But really. PB&Js are all about the gooiness and the wonderful mixture of tastes. Baguettes are about the intoxicating complexity of yeasty dough which somehow becomes a clean foundation for just about savory filling, and sweet jams. The mixing of peanut butter and jelly really doesn't work as well. Too bad - as I had a hankering.

A grand happy birthday to my friend Bill at Queen's. He's a musician and a fantastic alto singer as well, which is why it pains me to know that he's going to be a lawyer in a few years. It was his house we stayed at in Salisbury. Well, Chilmark. OK. Let's go see my advisor and see if that paper I wrote for him is any good...

The first essay of Trinity Term has been handed in! And a whole 1.5 hours in advance, too...
I picked up the Bate Collection's contrabassoon yesterday in a very short window of nice weather. It was strange: when the weather report two postings back said "Wednesday, 80% chance of precipitation", it wasn't kidding. It was rainy and gross for 80% of the day, and gorgeous and sunny and stunning for the other 20%. And I mean stunning - warm, sunny, blue skies, the works. Then all of a sudden the clouds would swoop in and unleash drop after pounding drop of rain.

Happy Birthday to my friends Daniel and Sundeep! They are the MCR co-social secretaries, whose job it is to make sure we go out and have fun. So when it was discovered that they indeed do have the same birthday (though, to be fair, Daniel is a fair bit older than Sundeep), they took that as a sign. So out they went, to a pub, to a club, then to another club. Unfortunately, I did not go with them. Why? Because I had a paper to finish.

But all is well, though oddly, I've yet to see either of them today. Coincidence? Hmmm...

Anyway, so back to the contrabassoon. I last played the contrabassoon in November, in a concert with the Oxford University Sinfonietta. It's a heavy beast of a contraption, with none of the benefits of the modern age of contrabassooning. A while back, and I'm being vague because I have no idea how long a way back, the contrabasoon went from huge and unweildy to just heavy but relatively compact. Somehow, the Bate Collection contra is not like that. I've played the one that Princeton rents - it's held together in places by duct tape, but at least it's small. The tubing is still 16-feet long, but it's coiled around and around to make it easy to carry. The whole thing is less than four feet tall. This one, the old one, is more than five and a half feet tall, and is so unwieldy. It also comes in a really heavy case without any sort of strappage, so you just have to carry it in your hand and hope that your hand will uncurl afterward.

Awful. Just awful.

So now Dim Sum is bad for me. If you think I'm going to stop eating shu mai you're out of your mind. In fact, when I was in Paris a month ago (wow... was it really a month ago? How depressing!), I couldn't escape those little Asian Tratteurs who stocked little trays of dim sum and all sorts of excellent goodies for snacking purchases. I caught my fair share of it too. Diana made fun of me constantly for it.

Paris photos will be up following this weekend. My friend Derek borrowed our guidebook, and without the guidebook to tell me, a lot of the photos I took are un-captioned. And that's just wrong, putting photos up online that don't have captions on them.

Speaking of things that don't have captions on them, the New Yorker magazine's back page has undergone yet another change. First it was the removal of the Shouts and Murmurs page to the interior of the magazine in favor of a full-page cartoon. Now it's the "every week is a caption-that-cartoon contest". It's awful. Give me my old cartoons back. For the past three years or so, there's been a caption-that-cartoon contest on the back page of the cartoons issue, which was once a year. That, I could do, because it was a pleasure to see what my fellow erudite Americans had come up with. But now, it's cheapened. The whole effect is ruined, and furthermore, it makes me work too hard for what should be an instantly gratifying and witty little bit of pencil and pen humor. Hmph.

I just hit upon a great article in today's Washington Post. For the record, I'm on a studybreak - chill out. The subject of the article is Axe body-spray, and while they're treating it like it's something brand new, as a former middle school teacher, I can attest that the phenomenon has been around for at least three years. Says the article: "Axe was introduced in the United States in 2002, much to the chagrin of anyone with olfactory memories of a 1980s dance club after the lights came up and everyone stopped doing the cabbage patch." Lord, this stuff smells awful.

Now, I'm aware that middle schoolers are not, shall we say, known for their subtlety. But wow... The article continues:

"Axe is not merely a deodorant meant to be rolled on sparingly under the arms. It is not simply a cologne meant to be dabbed behind the ears, on the wrists and other pulse points. The rise of Axe signals the birth of a new category in men's grooming: body deodorant. Axe is a cologne with stink-prevention properties.

It is meant to be sprayed all over the body with the exuberance that might be used to apply Deep Woods Off!, and anecdotal evidence suggests that young men -- particularly those in Generation Junior High -- have been dutifully following the package instructions: "Just hold can 6 inches from your body and spray all over, including your chest, neck, underarms - anywhere you want to smell great." Indeed, some boys must want to smell really, really great. From about 50 yards away."

I just had to laugh - reading about this takes me back to my days teaching in New Jersey. The worst would be middle school dances, when students would walk through the halls with a cloud of noxious fumes hanging off of them. Remember Pig-Pen, the Peanuts character? Sort of like that, but instead of dirt, these kids would smell like sandalwood, musk, cloves, and ew. No two ways about it. Axe. Smells. Bad.

So why is it so popular? There's already the lack of subtlety displayed by middle school boys in pursuit of girls, but there has to be a second factor, right? After all, it takes two to tango. Evidently, the girls who populate middle school boys' fantasies, and we must also assume, also populate the actual middle schools too, display the same lack of appreciation for subtlety when this stuff actually works on them. These girls need to be knocked out with a fragrance so powerful that it would choke a rhino. And some of these boys need all the confidence that they can get, confidence that is sold in aerosol cans that could, seriously, double as mace. Actually, mace probably doesn't smell nearly as bad.

Today is the first day of classes for Trinity Term, the summer term of Oxford. Michaelmas Term is the fall term, Hilary Term is the winter term, and Trinity Term is summer term. Note the distinct absence of spring. If you have to ask, well, you haven't been to England in a while. Spring doesn't really exist in England as much as it consistently infects winter and summer - in between the bouts of winter snow and summer gorgeousness, England tends to find itself in a dump of a rainy season recognizable to Britons as spring, but to all others simply as "crappy English weather".

So it seems fair that on today, the first day of classes for Trinity Term, the weather should be rain. In fact, if you look on Weather.com, for the 10-day forecast of Oxford, United Kingdom, this is the depressing scene that you find:
Today: Light Rain; 100% chance of precip.
Tue: Light Rain; 90% chance of precip.
Wed: Light Rain; 80% chance of precip.
Thu: Rain; 60% chance of precip.
Fri: Light Rain; 60% chance of precip.
Sat: Showers; 40% chance of precip.
Sun: Mostly Cloudy; 20% chance of precip.
Mon: Showers; 30% chance of precip.
Tue: Light Rain; 60% chance of precip.
Wed: Partly Cloudy; 20% chance of precip.

Gross. I am displeased.

On a separate note, we finished our CD recording sessions with aplomb and are looking forward to hearing the CD when it is released sometime next academic year. It was entirely music from the Portuguese Renaissance, which is a lot more fun than it sounds. The orchestra stuff this term seems to be shaping up for fun, though I've been tapped to play contrabassoon. I don't mind playing contra, but I do mind lugging the darn thing up and down Oxford trying to get it from rehearsal space to rehearsal space. There aren't any instrument lockers for it, which is pathetic, on the part of the department, and it's far too heavy for the good of my spine.

Magdala will be recording two CDs this term, which will go toward our housing and airfare for our tour to Genoa. Oxford University Orchestra will be doing the Dances of Marosszek by Kodaly, the Brahms Academic Festival Overture, and Mahler 1. Oxford University Sinfonietta will be playing a suite of Gluck dances from Orfeo, Tim Ewers, "Spaces", and Stravinsky Apollon Musagete. Interesting stuff, methinks.

Anyway, that's all for now, I guess. Just, I'm really not looking forward to having to set foot outside today - the weather is just so bad. To be frank, I'm not psyched about having to set foot outside for the next ten days...

I love food writing. It's just so over-the-top nonsensical. Today's filing comes from the Los Angeles Times, on an article on almonds.

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Toasting just adds a deeper, more resonant flavor, especially if you want to use them as a garnish or in a salad. I bake them in a shallow pan for about 10 to 15 minutes in a 300-degree oven to turn them taupe and crispy. (With Marconas, you can either sauté them in a smidgen of almond oil for about five minutes, then salt them generously, or toss them with even less oil and roast them for 15 minutes and then salt them extravagantly.)

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One can just picture that food writer sitting at her desk flipping through a thesaurus trying, desperately, to come up with other was to say "salt them well". Generously? Extravagantly? Still, my favorite line has got to be "taupe and crispy." I love it when my food is taupe, don't you?

A few months ago, I read an article regarding the possible intelligence of the iPod randomizer tracks, which happened to tend toward music connected to what the user was actually feeling or experiencing. Now, I'm not terribly convinced, since most people can find or hear patterns in a lot of what they experience. Also, I'm not a big fan of the iPod randomizer, since I listen to a lot of classical music, and it's not like you can randomize the movements of a symphony: Movement 3 does not, ever, come before movement 1. That said, I have one playlist of random pop music, and while it's not set to randomize, the groupings are entirely coincidental, generally in the order in which I downloaded the music.

Today, I was listening to a playlist of organ music from France, and just as a minor-keyed fugue had finished and a grand and major-keyed chorale was beginning, the clouds cleared up and I walked into blazing sunshine. It was a wholly coincidental occurence, but it certainly did also make me that much more aware of my surroundings and it enhanced my enjoyment of my walk. And last week, as I was walking past the Radcliffe Camera, which is a grand old round building, flanked by the Bodleian Library, Lincoln College, and All Souls College, my pop music playlist settled upon the theme from the movie Top Gun. This had the opposite effect of making me aware also of the absurdity of both of the situations: the music playing was really cheesy 80's stuff, and the setting was also pretty darn weird. But again, the juxtaposition was entirely enjoyable.

I bring this up because the use of the iPod is a very private experience: it is meant for you, it is your music, and it is intensely personal. In the Washington Post last week, a reporter was covering the theft of iPods, which he compared to the theft of a part of one's own being, and not just of a computing unit. Music is so personal that it touches on our memories and our personalities. Just a few thoughts today, I guess.

I'm spending the afternoon and evening today and tomorrow, and also Thursday evening recording a CD with the Queen's College Choir. This should be interesting - a lot of fun, for sure, but also trying, as spending so much time with each other cannot possibly good for our mental well-being.

So I just got an IM from a former student of mine, whose birthday it happens to be today. Happy Birthday T.! T. was a student in my class last year, and was a riot to have around - very funny, very energetic and mostly enthusiastic for learning, though enthusiasm for learning in general and enthusiasm for learning what it is we were supposed to be learning about that particular day are two separate things indeed. Still, I wish my former student the happiest of birthdays.

I also wish the rest of my former colleagues a fun and exciting and productive faculty day, while the students are all out having fun. Boy, I used to hate that.

It's difficult, really, to have to refer to former students or my former employer by initials, but that's the price of doing business in the blogging world, I guess. I started this blog to allow my former students and colleagues and all of my friends to follow along on this great Oxford adventure. But as it became more and more clear to me that by exposing myself in such a way online, I was also exposing the students and school back in New Jersey as well.

I bring this up because in today's New York Times, there's a story regarding blogging as a privacy issue in the workplace. Sure, if an employee is blogging on company time, it's probably OK to sanction him or her, though the idea of spying on employees while they're at the office is a little scary. But when a blogger, from his or her living room at 10pm, posts a musing about the financial situation of his employer, or a post which is critical of her boss, or just something inappropriate, is that then grounds for sanction? The great power of blogging is that it allows someone to grant an intimate look at one's own personal thoughts or life to their own comfort level. It's sad, therefore, when blogging must then also be accompanied by increased anonymity either for the sake of protecting one's employment status, or to protect, in my case, the privacy of kids who are well below the age when their information should be freely out on the net. Though, at the same time, I think that it's a responsibility which I gladly take on myself, given that I have a lot of affinity for my students and my former employer, and it'd be a real shame for anything to happen to either because of me.

By the way, Happy Patriot's Day! It's a Massachusetts-only holiday, as it marks the beginning of the American Revolution in Lexington and Concord on April 19, 1775. I, for one, am already going out tonight to celebrate the return of a good friend of mine to Oxford. But I will also use the opportunity to toast America, especially on English soil. :)

Oh, and the LCD front-screen on my mobile phone broke. Evidently, I'm heavier than I thought, and when I sat down, I had it in my back pocket. It's only cosmetic, as the front LCD only tells me what time it is. Still, it's kind of a bummer to know that a) my cellphone now has a black spot where the front screen used to be, and b) I can crush phones with my butt.

Queen's Choir is recording tomorrow, Wednesday, and Thursday. Looking forward to it - recording sessions are always fun. Buy my CD when it comes out. I'm already on a Magdala CD, and I'm on the cover of Early Music Today this current issue. I'm having trouble finding a copy of it, but supposedly, my conductor bought enough for us to get one from him.

I'm going to have to take down my pictures of the Torpids regatta, at least for a while. The Torpids directory comprises 290 different files in six sub-folders. Total space used: 9 MB. I thought that I had a disk quota of 25 MB, which is tiny, but no, in fact, I only have 15. This means that I am, in fact, over quota. Now, the email that I received from OUCS is a little weird, since it says that, and I'm quoting from the email itself:

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The disk usage for your web space on users.ox.ac.uk has almost reached
the quota for your username kebl2515:

Usage: 15944 kB Quota: 15360 kB

You will not be able to upload more files to your web space if this
would cause your disk usage to exceed your quota. If this is the case
you will have to remove or compress some files before you can upload
more.

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I'm a bit unclear as to how, if Usage > Quota, how I have 'almost reached' the quota. But anyway, so the Torpids directory is gone as of this morning. I'll cherry-pick and put some good ones up but at the moment, the directory has got to come down.

Another silly bit today from my friend Sundeep, who is one of the social secretaries of the MCR. Her job is, very simply, to make sure that we have fun things to do, and from time to time, this involves emailing us about parties (called 'bops', no kidding) being held at other colleges. From yesterday's email, forwarded from Wolfson College:

"Dear Bop-goers,
In the wake of the April 2nd You Request the Music themed bop it was apparent that many of you have crap taste in music.
That's why our next bop theme is We Know Whats (sic) Good For You."

Extra smarmy - just the way I like it...

Back in Oxford after a fantastic two-day jaunt to Salisbury. First was a stop at the cathedral itself for evensong. Salisbury has the highest church spire in England, and some said in Europe. It's also one of the oldest holy sites in England, though I honestly do not know how far back that goes. I think someone said c. 1050 AD. I suppose I should qualify that last statement then - it's one of the oldest Christian holy sites in England, certainly I'm not arguing with the druids who built Stonehenge. Salisbury cathedral is also the largest cathedral close in England.

The cathedral is gorgeous in a quietly meditative and contemplative way - there is a lot of stained glass, but it's not quite as flashy as Notre-Dame in Paris or Westminster Abbey in London. It's also big, but not oppressively big like National Cathedral in DC. There is a fountain in toward the end of the nave which spouts off in four different directions and the surface of which remains a calm and almost static mirror, even though the water is constantly in motion. From various angles, you can look down into the fountain and see reflections of the stained glass, which is beautiful.

Evensong was a bit off, unfortunately: this was probably due to it also being the first evensong we'd done together in more than a month's time. After Salisbury, we drove to Chilmark, which is a very cute little village, and home to Bill, one of the members of our choir. We did a quick concert in Chilmark for the locals, who were incredibly gracious hosts. Chilmark is only a community of about 400 people, and the turnout for the concert was outstanding. We didn't sing as well as we have in the past, but again, this was the first time we were singing together after an Easter hiatus. Then off to Bill's house for dinner.

Evidently, we were the biggest thing to hit Chilmark for a while, as our hosts (and host families) were out in force to chat with us and make friends with us. We went through three gigantic pans of meat lasagna, and I think the same amount of veggie lasagna, as well as a fantastic garden salad and several loaves of garlic bread. And there's nothing like homemade dessert to round out a meal. I stayed at Bill's house, which was really very very charming. Bill's parents, by the way, are fantastic as well. His mother was even so kind as to break out the baby pictures of Bill, which caused, as one might imagine, hilarity to ensue.

Bill's mom has one major fault, however, and that is a complete inability to gauge how much food one person needs to survive. There were three of us at the house for breakfast the next morning: Bill, Will, and me. We were served a pot of porridge (oatmeal), about half a loaf of bread in toast form, five eggs, 18 sausages, 10 slices of bacon (the big British stuff too; not the wussy American bacon), 8 croissants, and two big pots of coffee, not to mention ready availability of corn flakes and the full assortment of condiments: English mustard, homemade marmalade and raspberry jam, local Shropshire honey, brown sugar, fresh milk from the farm down the road (the eggs, by the way, from the family's hens), and creamy butter. I ate so much that I felt ill. It was a wonderful breakfast.

We had a wonderful rehearsal back in Salisbury in the morning, as we will be recording a CD next week at Queen's. Then free time until about 4pm, when it was back to the cathedral for another evensong. Salisbury is a very quiet little city, with not much to recommend itself except the cathedral and a good bit of shopping. Shopping not being my thing, I could only wander around aimlessly with other choristers. We ended up in an art gallery & cafe for lunch. Evensong the second night was oh-so-much better, and we went out for a pint before climbing back into the van and heading home.

Just to comment on a few news stories I've seen recently.

According to the Los Angeles Times, a rare hamburger is exceedingly hard to find. I love rare beef - juicy beef just tastes better, and the longer you cook beef, the less juice it's got in it. So I sympathize. I'd gladly sign a health waiver in a restaurant if they'd serve me a rare hamburger. For great burgers in the Boston area, go to Mr. Barley's Burger Cottage in Harvard Square.

Darn. Now I want a burger...

The Boston Globe reported yesterday that a local student got a perfect score on the new SAT. I think that's great. It's almost as gratuitous a press release as the one back in 1999 where a kid at Concord Academy in Concord, MA wrote out a press release with his parents regarding how great he was. He sent the release to the Boston Globe and the Harvard Crimson, among others. I think the message he wanted to send was 'I'm successful and I can be an inspirational story to many of you!' Word from Harvard the next year was that he was bullied on campus a lot.

I went to the National Press Club on a field trip once with students from the P. school, and it was a really neat experience. On the wall was a fantastic cover story from a local paper in Texas, which had the headline from 2000, "Local Ranch Owner Elected President".

Finally, two stories have got me particularly down on my economic situation:
The first is a story in the New York Times travel section which, under the 'Frugal Traveller' mark, recently wrote about seeing Paris on $250 per day. A few things: I'd like to be rich enough to the point where $250 per day seems frugal. I spent less than half that per day and stretched my budget, I think.
The second story comes also from the New York Times, in a slow news day human interest profile of Millionaire Walter O'Rourke, who owns a successful railway in West Virginia and other successful investments, and yet who works as a conductor on New Jersey Transit. From the article: "Walter Joe O'Rourke, who never wed, is married to the rails. Despite earning more than what he estimated at $2 million last year from his investments, he chugs along as a conductor, earning a base salary of $52,000 a year." He then goes on to describe his base salary (considerably more than I earned in my last year of teaching, as "pocket change". Boy, isn't that just a ray of sunshine! The article ends with Mr. O'Rourke saying "where does it say that a man can't love what he does for a living?" This isn't what he does for a living! This is what he does for 'pocket change'.

I'd like to mark the return of actual photos of Oxford to the "Photos of Oxford" link to the right. For a while, it had been nothing but rowing nonsense. The rowing pictures are still up (click on the Torpids Regatta link), but they will be revamped as they take up a wee bit too much space. The Torpids directory takes up more than half of the space on the entire site, for instance, and the photos have to be big b/c they're taken from pretty far away and you can't see anything except a distant shot of some rowers. I may just cherry-pick a few from each day to display or zoom in and crop... In the meantime, enjoy these. New galleries since the last time include the Hilary Term Black Tie Dinner, Christmas Dinner, Punting, and The Boat Race.

Is it wrong to dislike phenomenally arrogant people? I sincerely hope not, as I really dislike two phenomenally arrogant people. They're both MCR members, and they have, in the past two terms, gotten really on my nerves.

Mark is a Scottish Australian, or an Australian Scotsman, but either way, he's got bits of both accents and a pretty solidly unimpeachable belief in his own abilities as a witty and erudite speaker / debater. One of our first conversations was how he viewed Americans as stupid and then proceeded to belittle my academic research interests as being unfeasable. One time over lunch, as I was sitting listening to my iPod and reading the New Yorker (a stance which should have screamed "leave me along and let me read") he sat down right across from me with a "you don't mind if I sit down, do you?" "No, of course not," I replied, and he immediately started in on me regarding how stupid American foreign policy is, as if it were my fault personally. The only thing I could do was to take the neo-conservative viewpoint on *everything* and to argue it vehemently under the guise of being devil's advocate. I think, honestly, I may have argued against the integration of schools. For the record, I was just messing with him - and it worked. At the end of lunch, he was freaked out and was a bit worried that I wasn't just being devil's advocate, but that I was really a conservative who felt that America worked better unilaterally, that the rest of the world was useless, and that interracial couples shouldn't have the right to marry. Again, for the record, that's not at all what I think. Mark was hauled into the dean's office last term for writing an anonymous newsletter in which he lampooned everyone he disliked in the college, including the warden. And then he complained about it bitterly to anyone who would hear. Argh. I dislike him.

Stephan is a German/French philosophy student who spent the better part of an hour whining about the lack of beautiful women in Oxford (not that I disagree, I just tend not to complain out in the open). Last week, as we were watching The Italian Job (the remake), he made several remarks along the lines of "this woman is smart and beautiful? that's so unrealistic!" And tonight, he came into the MCR as we were doing crossword puzzles and made fun of crosswords for being anti-intellectual drivel. And then he sat down and attempted to do one, failing rather miserably.

I realize that some people will think that I'm being mean or overly critical. To them, I would emulate House Majority Leader Tom Delay and dismiss all criticism immediately before it gets out of hand. Evidently, this is allowed.

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On an entirely more positive note, I'm going to Salisbury tomorrow (mmm... steak...) to sing in the Salisbury cathedral. Back on Friday night / Saturday morning.

I just finished up a two-day seminar on legal history in London. It was run by the Warburg Institute, which part of the University of London's School of Advanced Study. The Warburg Institute, according to its website, "exists principally to further the study of the classical tradition, that is of those elements of European thought, literature, art and institutions which derive fron the ancient world."

So anyway, they just hosted a seminar entitled Legal Sources and the Historian, which is part of a larger teaching curriculum aimed at training historians of all stripes how to use legal sources as historical documents and not just as curiosities and oddities. It was amazing.

First of all, I should mention that I've never been to a seminar such as this before. A lot of grad students will look at me with some degree of disbelief. Seriously, I've never attended any sort of symposium or even dealt with one in Oxford. I've never been given the opportunity to eat with, talk with, and hang out with people who are interested in what I do but not in my department or university. I met people from UC Santa Barbara, New York City, and a whole bunch of other schools, including many in the UK. Sure, there were three people from the Oxford Ancient History program, and one of the guys I sing with from Queen's, but it was just so interesting to hear the opinions of people from all over.

One guy was there because he is researching drunkenness laws in the middle ages. Another is an economic historian who tracks commercial patterns in Republican Rome. Wacky.

The speakers were excellent, and I got a lot out of it. Unfortunately, it was funded by the AHRB, the Arts and Humanities Research Board here in the UK, who stated that the program, or program funds, were available only for doctoral students. So I had to email the director of the symposium and ask if I could attend, which he said was fine, but I couldn't receive housing or travel costs. Still, it was highly worth it.

Rowing camp also started today, but I had to miss it for this. And so I will row tomorrow morning. Ick. Thursday and Friday, I will be at Salisbury Cathedral, singing evensong and then back on Saturday to finish rowing camp.

Photographs will be posted soon of my time in Oxford, but it's difficult for me to fit the Paris pictures and other things at resolutions or sizes that I'd like to, but I'll try. Check back tomorrow for some different photo albums on my Oxford website.

Yeah, it's been a while. I guess I'm just tired, and also preoccupied with getting back on track after a nice vacation in France. Rowing is getting back up to speed - the MCR crew is doing well (ok, maybe well is a little bit of an overstatement) and with two, possibly three new rowers on the crew, we've got an uphill battle.

Meanwhile, the weather has been a marked change from that of a week ago. Last week, I was sitting on a park bench or, even better, on the grass underneath the Eiffel Tower in the sun, enjoying a baguette or some chocolate and the warmth of the sun. Yesterday, it snowed. Not too much, I mean - summer didofficially start last Monday... But still, snow. Freezing flakes of ice floating down from the sky. This was preceeded two days ago by hail, which I had the exquisitely good fortune to have experienced while riding my bike through it. Not a huge problem, really, as I was already soaked from the RAIN, but still, of all the times not to have a baseball cap... Those little suckers hurt!

I watched the Pope's funeral yesterday - it was such a mix of peacfulness, adulation, and sorrow. There really are no good words to describe it. It was beautiful, I guess.

I resisted the temptation to turn on today's televised wedding of Charles and Camilla. OK, there really wasn't any temptation at all - I couldn't care less. I did look online at some of the photos. Camilla's hat is ugly. But if we're talking ugly, like seriously stupid ugly, we should discuss the hat Camilla's daughter was wearing. If you can find a picture of it, it looks like someone stuck a few sheaves of wheat through her skull. (I'm actually reminded of the Trading Spaces episode where Hilda glues straw to a wall in an attempt to add 'texture'.) Kudos, it was said online, to Charles, for picking a dowdy wife - no posh Manhattan-esque trophy wife for you! It's like walking up to someone on the street and saying, "I think it's really courageous of you to pay so little attention to fashion trends. Good for you!"

Got sucked into playing a long game of Risk a few nights ago. Seriously - there's one guy who is totally obsessed with the game. It's our good friend, Australian lawyer Dan. Dan never stops running for office, even when it's clear he's not running for office. He's just naturally affable and friendly and then a little obsessive. Like at the moment, not only does he want to play Risk like, every night, but whenever he does, he takes over two spaces on the board: Great Britain, and the continent of Australia. After that, he works on what he has to do. As long as he has Great Britain, and his fair homeland of Australia, he'll be fine. Risk games take forever, generally. This one, nicely, did not. Only a few hours, I think. Sundeep had to eliminate all of Khai's armies from the board, and this was aided by the fact that Khai had really terrible board position and it was his first time playing. Even though this was only Sundeep's second time, she won easily. Nice work!

Home now.
Very sleepy.
Had a delicious dinner with my friend Derek and his girlfriend Emily in London.
But I'm exhausted, dehydrated, and sore from walking.
It's been a really nice day.

Times reflect the local time in Paris. Due to circumstances beyond my control, but generally regarding not being able to find internet access for my laptop, I was unable to update my blog posts live. Blog postings reflect, thus, the time and date that I wrote the entries, but all of them were posted back here in Oxford on Monday night.

So the weather today is a disgusting shade of gray; a fitting way to end my Paris experience. Not that it deserves to be gray, not by a long shot. But moreso that it rained the first night we were here, and it’s raining the day that we leave, and the four days in between have been nothing if not spectacular. And the weather was nice too.

We began the morning with a reprise of yesterday’s breakfast, but introducing a new player in the equation: salami! The salami was well-marbled and dry and both salty and sweet and also a bit peppery – exactly the way a salami should be. It comes sliced in a tub at the supermarket attached to La Bon Marche, which is the oldest department store in Paris, and which is just three blocks from our hotel.

So we had a delicious breakfast / lunch of baguette, mustard, and salami, which couldn’t have been nicer. We bought some nice things (what, I cannot say, since my family reads this blog, and most of what I bought are presents for them), but suffice it to say that we had a lovely time walking around Paris at a leisurely pace. Unfortunately, Diana slipped on some wet cobblestones and twisted her ankle, which is hardly a record for her considering that she is quite a klutz. Still, I feel kind of bad that I was walking awfully fast when it happened and may have been pushing her a little too hard.

So we got to the airport just fine, and there found even more opportunity to buy food, including anchovies. What, pray tell, might one need with anchovies in the airport. This is, by the way, also well past the check-in counter, so it’s not like I’ll be buying anchovies and then taking them back into Paris…

Little annoyance of the day (and it was little, in retrospect), my carabiner was almost confiscated by the security guards because it’s about the right size to substitute for brass knuckles. So while he yelled at me in “English” or what might be more accurately, but certainly not more politically correctly called “Franglais”, a rather large and boisterous queue was forming behind me, and I panicked. I ended up having to check my bag, which I hope is OK… I hate checking my bags, especially when I am carrying valuables or gifts. Anyway, they’re calling our flight, so off we go. Paris has been lovely.

Times reflect the local time in Paris. Due to circumstances beyond my control, but generally regarding not being able to find internet access for my laptop, I was unable to update my blog posts live. Blog postings reflect, thus, the time and date that I wrote the entries, but all of them were posted back here in Oxford on Monday night.

Today was a grazing day. We went from gastronomic experience to gastronomic experience today in search of everything that Paris has to offer. While we were doing this, we pinballed across the city, walking off many, but certainly not all, of the calories consumed for the day.

We begin our day in the morning. Again to our local boulangerie, which has a line out the door. I have, you guessed it, a pain au chocolat. Diana had another one of those delightful apple pastries. She informs me that they are called “chaussons aux pommes”. I don’t care – they’re hand-held apple pies on the order of McDonald’s pies. But better. And, you know, not McDonald’s.

But ooh! A twist! We also buy a baguette, which in this country is called a baguette. Interestingly, the baguette is cheaper than either of the pastries, and I consumed much of it as we searched for a grocery store at which to buy mustard. We settle on a park bench in the shadow of Les Invalides and enjoy baguette and mustard, and fresh, buttery, flaky pastries. This is what is called, “a good breakfast.” And lunch, as well, as the baguette was plenty of food to tide us over.

Of course, en route to the Eiffel Tower, I also stopped in at one of the ubiquitous Traiteurs Asiatiques that I had been seeing all weekend. Diana has been laughing at me for pointing out every single one of those establishments, as it seems as I am obsessed. And obsessed I am, since there is very little in the way of Chinese food in Oxford. And by “Chinese Food”, I don’t mean Chinese takeout. I mean good Chinese food. And no, there isn’t any in Oxford. So to be able to go into a little store and get some shumai and Vietnamese spring rolls was a real treat. A good hour-long digestive nap was enjoyed on the grass near the tower. At least, by me… I have no idea what Diana was doing. I was asleep.

It is here that it might be helpful to note that Paris is entirely populated by couples. Either young and dating or old and romantic-looking. Or somewhere in-between and with adorable little kids. But only in those three stages of life. Cute. But a little weird.

Taking a cue from many accounts of Parisian life, we walked by the Seine, which proved quite a delight. We crossed over onto the northern bank of Paris and walked through the 8th and 9th arrondisments, which proved to be quite less of a delight. Not only is life pretty much stopped north of the Seine on weekends, but this was a pretty dingy part of Paris anyway. A hasty retreat was beaten back down to the Tuilleries.

We went back to the hotel to drop stuff off as well, or at least, that was the plan. On the way, we stopped by a little café where I had a delicious quiche lorraine and a remarkably refreshing Strassbourgian beer. Diana had an apricot tarte (outstanding!) and a Ceylon tea (quite nice). You’d have thought that the quiche would have held off the hunger pangs, but in I went to another Traiteur Asiatique for some more spring rolls. Not as good as the ones this morning, with the result that I think my obsession with the Chinese food has worn off.

We went back to the area in the 6th arrondisment for dinner again. Delicious food tonight – another prix fixe meal which went even more beautifully than last night’s. Of course, were we happy to go in, settle on a restaurant, and eat? Of course not! We walked about, looked longingly at other foodstuffs, and then had a crepe with Grand Marnier and sugar. *Then* it was time for dinner.

Settling upon a restaurant just down the road from the one last night, we were enticed in by the idea of onion soup, escargots, and duck. I decided that I had to have two starters: first, a French onion soup. It was everything that a good onion soup should be – perfectly balanced between the sweetness of the caramelized onion and the saltiness of the cheese, with deliciously browned and toasted croutons and a broth that was both clean and crisp and incredibly deep and complex. I followed that up with the warm chevre salad. The chevre was sharp and much more ripe than Diana’s had been last night. The cheese blocks were also much larger than last night’s, though, to be fair, the other restaurant served three to these tonight’s two. Diana had the escargot, a masterpiece of butter, garlic, and parsley. We ran out of bread before the end of the appetizer course, which in this country is the entrée.

We were both seduced by the duck – I by the confit, she by the duck breast. My confit was buttery and rich, with meat that fell off of the bone. It was served with garlic potato slices. The salt and garlic in the potatoes cut through the fat in the duck confit, making a delightful pairing. Diana had a magret du canard with honey sauce and regular potato slices. This was really something else – the honey taste was slightly overpowering at first, but then it melted away leaving the savory richness of the rare duck, followed by the gaminess of the meat. It was incredibly delicious as well.

Dessert for me was a crème brulée, the traditional French dessert of a custard with a burnt caramelized sugar top layer. Interestingly, this was not as traditional as it could have been: instead of a layer of hardened caramel, this was just a charred layer of sugar on top. I was a little disappointed until I tasted it – while the more familiar one tastes of caramel and candy, this one tasted unmistakably of toasted marshmallow. Diana’s tarte tatin was a gooey mass of sour apple, not unlike her morning apple pastries. It was served with a delicious crème fraiche, and the overall experience was delightful. Wine tonight (this is France, of course), was another pitcher of table red. Not as good as the wine last night, it was still wonderful and matched the food very well.

There had been plans in the works to go back to Amorino for ice cream, but said plans were discarded considering how full we were after dinner. So our time in Paris draws to a close, but I don’t think that there was too much left undone, though Diana adds that there was far too much left uneaten. I would second that (ramen), but perhaps she and I do not agree on the relative merits of that which was left uneaten… Thanks to everyone who made suggestions as to what to do – expert knowledge of a city is essential to making the most of one’s time.

Times reflect the local time in Paris. Due to circumstances beyond my control, but generally regarding not being able to find internet access for my laptop, I was unable to update my blog posts live. Blog postings reflect, thus, the time and date that I wrote the entries, but all of them were posted back here in Oxford on Monday night.

I think that I am totally arted out for the week. I’ve seen more art in the past three days than I have in a very long time – serious amounts of art at the Musée d’Orsay, Musée Rodin, and the Louvre, not to mention Sainte-Chapelle, Notre-Dame de Paris, and the assorted gardens and parks of Paris, all of these challenge the mind and while they are beautiful, I don’t think I can handle much more. I begin to wonder how often the average Parisian actually goes to the Louvre. Do they go as often as Oxonians see the Ashmolean museum or Bostonians visit the Museum of Fine Arts or Gardiner Museums? For the record, I’ve been in the Ashmolean proper twice (two other times for coffee) and while I enjoy the MFA on a fairly regular basis, I’ve still never been to the Gardiner Museum.

So I enjoyed an almond croissant this morning: a real departure from my normal pain du chocolat. It reminded me of the custard-filled buns from Chinatown, except a little more flaky and with powdered sugar on top. I would have preferred either a little more browning on the pastry or a little more almond in the paste. Either way, it was good, but not outstanding.

The Louvre was, as expected, amazing. The Greek sculpture section was delightful, as was the Roman art section. Particularly noteworthy was the (not-gummy) Venus de Milo. We were remarking, though, how she’s not particularly good-looking. And her head is a little misproportioned. Perhaps that’s what she gets for everyone thinking she’s the prettiest girl in the room. The claws come out…

Much nicer was the Victory of Samothrace, which is a figure of power and majesty. Also of note were the visual signs pointing visitors to the Victory of Samothrace, the Venus de Milo, and the Mona Lisa. As if people just come in, see those three things, and return to America without a second thought that surely a museum with three separate and distinct parts might hold more than three pieces of artwork. Indeed, almost none of the paintings in the same room as the Mona Lisa had nameplates or tags, the curators having resigned themselves to the fact that, honestly, no one is going to be looking at these paintings anyway. For all we know, they were stolen out of the Best Western down the street and hung up on the wall. We have no idea.

A quick lunch break was taken in the early afternoon, and the two of us went off in search of comestibles. We stumbled across a very cute ramen house but, having eaten noodle soup the night before (ostensibly against her will), Diana would have none of it. Thankfully, said ramen house was right next door to a wonderful little sandwich shop. I had a sandwich of deliciously well-marbled salami, tomatoes, pickles, herbs and cheese. Wonderful! Diana had a ham and cheese. Simple, but no less tasty. Lunch was a delightful picnic in the Jardin des Tulleries before heading back inside for more art.

The afternoon dragged on a bit slowly, as both of us were quickly reaching our saturation point in terms of artwork. Honestly, one can only see so much Flemish landscape painting before wanting desperately to hurt someone.

Luckily, I found a nice place to check my email, though there was no hookup for my computer. I suppose I’ll be doomed to posting my blog musings and rantings when I return to Oxford.

Dinner tonight was a delicious little find. Having been alerted to a cluster of nice restaurants jockeying for space, we headed off to the 6th arrondisement. Upon our arrival on these streets, the proprietors of said establishments, situated, no kidding, cheek-by-jowl along a few very narrow streets, began to emerge, each one calling over to us and beckoning us. We settled on one really wonderful place with an ever-so-charming host and a nice prix-fixe menu. Starters: a warm chevre salad for her and a prawn and avocado salad for me. I’ve been starved for avocadoes, in the same way that I’ve been starved for garlic and real Asian food, so this was heavenly. The chevre salad was exceptional as well. I had a rumpsteak with Roquefort sauce, which was tangy and complex. The fries served alongside were of the highest quality. Diana had lamb chops and fries, and they certainly did not disappoint.
On a side note, we both bemoaned the state of lamb in the US. I’d heard it wasn’t gamey enough, Diana says that it tastes rancid whenever she orders it. No matter what, I’d like to order lamb in the US sometime soon, just to see again whether I like it as much as I enjoy lamb in Europe.

Onward to dessert – mine was a fromage blanc with fruit, a parfait of sorts made with a cheese not unlike a blend of marscapone and sour cream, or possibly very tangy fresh yoghurt. Diana’s was a lemon tart. Clearly, she wins. We had a carafe of the house red wine, much smoother than a burgundy, we were unsure as to what exactly it was. Total bill, I’m not kidding, €32. Unbelieveable. Seriously, we should have been eating here all week.

Dessert number two was gelato at a delicious little shop not 20 yards from the restaurant, though we spent the better part of 20 minutes circling and trying to find it. For rather little money, you get an amazing cone filled with creamy gelato which rivals the real thing. I had two flavors: chocolate and amaretto. The chocolate was deep and rich while the amaretto was sweet but never cloying. Diana mixed the chocolate with strawberry and got something incredible. Still, my amaretto would beat her strawberry any day.

That’s all for now. I think it’s honestly time for bed.

Times reflect the local time in Paris. Due to circumstances beyond my control, but generally regarding not being able to find internet access for my laptop, I was unable to update my blog posts live. Blog postings reflect, thus, the time and date that I wrote the entries, but all of them were posted back here in Oxford on Monday night.

Today was a lovely day – we were going to spend it in the Louvre today and then go outside for tomorrow, but the weather was so gorgeous today we seized the moment and struck out for more outdoorsy types of activities. First up, breakfast.

OK, so breakfast isn’t exactly what one might consider an ‘outdoorsy’ activity, except that a light and crisp and flaky and yummy pain au chocolat is much better when enjoyed in the sunlight and open air. And enjoy it I did. I was denied my pain au chocolat yesterday when the woman mistook my order (as it may have been mumbled, and in bad French, but then what is good French?) and gave me a sour apple pastry. Not that I minded the sour apple pastry, it was delicious. But I enjoyed my pain au chocolat very very much, especially as it was a day delayed. It was most enjoyable: light and toasty with delicious swirls of deep, dark chocolate.

Onward then to the Musée Rodin, which, according to Let’s Go, some call the best museum in Paris. I certainly wouldn’t go that far (the Musée d’Orsay is just too good), but I can see what they might be going for, especially on a nice and sunny day. The actual museum building is really well furnished – it’s old but it has a certain grandeur and character and elegance. If only they could bring themselves to restore the mirrors – nothing quite so disappointing as mirrors that are cloudy. The real draw for the museum is the expanse of lawn and gardens stretching out behind the main house. On this, the 1st day of April (Happy April Fools Day!), the grass was growing and the bushes were starting to flower, but I can only imagine what the place might look like in a month or so. It really was incredibly elegant. And to have Rodin sculptures scattered about the grounds is truly amazing.

From there, we walked up to the Place du Concorde, and then left down the Champs-Elysées. Even while walking next to an 8-lane road filled with cars, the fact that we were in a lovely park did not, for one moment, let in the notion that this was, indeed, a bustling metropolis. Paris has always felt like a series of little neighborhoods, and not like a city. At this point, we hadn’t eaten anything except a pastry each, and were sorely tempted by the aroma of perfectly browning butter wafting across our path. There truly is no smell like perfectly browning butter – our mouths were watering instantly. Sadly, it would be a little while longer yet before we got food.

We passed a guy with a McDonald’s cup in one hand and a copy of USA Today in the other. Seriously, he couldn’t have found something better? At least try the International Herald Tribune! Yes, I know that I’m being a snob. And proud of it, really. Oh, and we also passed by a giant Louis Vuitton handbag on the side of a building. Up toward the Arc du Triomphe, I was surprised to learn (at least, in the guidebook, which could, I suppose, just be Harvard students messing with our collective heads), that the original design for the Arc du Triomphe was to be a giant elephant. This would have been a blessing, I suppose, in relations between the French and the Republican party in 2004, but those ‘benefits’ would have been negated by the fact that, from at least one angle, one would be driving directly toward a giant elephant’s butt. We climbed to the top, from which the view was gorgeous.

Afterwards, we went down to check out some wacky architecture at La Défense. It’s totally modern architecture at its absolute weirdest – there were some very good looking buildings and some very bad ones too. But the main thing we were struck by was the juxtaposition of buildings that seem all business with sculptures and such that were exceedingly whimsical. Very cool, but also very disorienting.

Walking later through Montparnasse, we were tempted to get crepes, but thought better of it, being as dinner was to be in just a little while. We also tried to walk back to the UNESCO compound, but we got there as the business day was closing and they were shutting up. We responded by sitting in a little park between UNESCO and the Military Academy (speaking of strange juxtapositions) and enjoying the sun.

This perfect day was capped by a delightful stroll through Paris’ Chinese quarter. It’s difficult to call it a Chinatown, in that it was much less squalid and gross than, say, an American Chinatown. Unless you count the suburban ‘Chinatowns’ where everyone has a PhD (Lexington, MA comes to mind). We went to an amazing Vietnamese sandwich and deli shop recommended by Let’s Go, where we were treated to a delicious sandwich special of marinated cold meats, shredded carrot, pickled cucumber, cilantro (ew!), and a tangy Vietnamese sauce. I picked all of the cilantro out of mine. It was made easier by the fact that the cilantro was not just leaves, but whole twigs! This would have made an amazing dinner had I not gone without a proper lunch today. No, pastries don’t count.

So, while I was contemplating a prospective sandwich number 2, the sad fact that the deli had closed impressed itself upon me. Side note: Diana is looking over my shoulder as I type this. She thinks I am being pompous. I would venture to say that what good is having a blog if you cannot spin clever turns of phrase for one’s own amusement? End side note. Diana, it should be noted, was perfectly content to go home and go to sleep, and was rather incredulous that I should still be on the prowl for further ingestables. While we were looking at a menu posted outside a little Chinese restaurant, the waiter poked his head outside and invited us in. At this point, I needed no more convincing, Diana was not so sure. But in we went. Soon, we had a pot of tea (good Chinese tea and not this weird English nonsense that I’ve been forced to swill the past two months) and had ordered two bowls of what turned out to be exceedingly delicious duck noodle soup. The duck was perfectly roasted, though like last night’s duck, a little gamier than what one might find in the US. The soup was richly flavored and carried both the flavor of the duck and also an underlying current of garlic and ginger. The noodles were also heavily flavored with garlic and scallion. Unfortunately, perfection does not exist in this country: the duck noodle soup was sadly tainted by the presence of the sinister cilantro. Seriously, I think it tastes like soap. Two big spoonfuls of cilantro migrated via spoon from my bowl to Diana’s. My soup tasted like soup again. :)

I enjoyed my second dinner immensely and was left incredibly full. This might be the first night in a long time that I go to bed full. It is not that I don’t go to bed satisfied with the food that I’ve eaten. But tonight, I’m full. So I’m back in the hotel with a tummy full of soup and totally ready to attack the Louvre tomorrow.

Times reflect the local time in Paris. Due to circumstances beyond my control, but generally regarding not being able to find internet access for my laptop, I was unable to update my blog posts live. Blog postings reflect, thus, the time and date that I wrote the entries, but all of them were posted back here in Oxford on Monday night.

What a phenomenal day! And wow my shoulders are tired.

We went first to get pastries: I had a delicious apple danish-type thing, which was phenomenal. Sour apple in a beautifully buttery crust. All complaints made about Americans not knowing how to make pastries are entirely well-founded.

Went to the Musée d’Orsay and saw some excellent things. Realized that the Orsay was open late – went to Sainte-Chapelle instead. I remember the first time I went to Sainte-Chapelle. I had only seen it from black and white photographs and had never really understood why it was a tourist draw. You climb these really old stone spiral stairs and suddenly before you unfolds the most amazing blast of red and blue stained glass. I think it was fifteen different windows, each with a distinct story to tell, all shining forth with (today) the most magnificent light. It’s really true – the walls just melt away and all that’s left are these incredible windows.

From there we went to Notre Dame, which certainly doesn’t disappoint either. Cathedrals are wonderful – they’re huge, they have gravitas and majesty, and even the least religious among us cannot help but be moved by them. Notre Dame, National Cathedral in Washington, Westminster Abbey, and the Duomo in Milan are all examples of these. I wish I could add the Duomo in Florence to that list, but it was far too touristy and almost kind of tacky. The line to climb the towers, however, was way long – we’ll go back tomorrow. Leaving the cathedral behind, we walked along the Seine to the Ile Ste.-Louis for ice cream, as recommended by Let’s Go. Usually, I just walk away from Notre Dame the same way I come, from the massive façade to the west. It’s amazing to see the other side, with the flying buttresses and the intricate architecture. Once at the gelato stand, I had two scoops: white chocolate and blood orange. Diana had honey nougat. Both choices were fantastic. We also wandered into a fois gras store, in which the proprietor gave us samples of both fois gras and wine. That needs to happen more often.

Visited the Louvre museum, of only to scope out what we’d like to see tomorrow, and then back to the Orsay. On the way, we passed by the Hôtel-de-Ville (Paris City Hall), which is still all decked out in the Paris 2012 Olympic stuff. Last week, when I got really bored, I flipped through all of the bid books online for the five Olympic candidate cities. Madrid and Moscow don’t have a prayer – terrible bids. New York has a nice bid book, but having lived near New York and worked in New York, I really don’t see it working very well. London’s bid is very professionally done, but it took a small hit when the Queen herself expressed admiration for the French bid. I think it’ll be Paris. That’d be nice. We also wandered along the quai de Gesvres, which was the largest proliferation of plant life I’ve seen concentrated on a few city blocks. It’s nothing but florists whose shops spill out onto the sidewalk. Like being in a big garden, or at least, in a big garden center.

While on the way, Diana and I discussed an interesting physics problem: when you’re drawn and quartered (this was inspired by what happened in1610 at city hall plaza to Henry IV’s assassin) what exactly happens? Is there a possibility in a highly hypothetical world that each of your limbs rips off, leaving your torso and head in the exact center? Could you be drawn and quartered with ponies? Such questions!

Back at the Musée d’Orsay, I’ve never been so thorough with a museum in my life – I think we saw every room and almost every piece of art. Truly an amazing experience, if a little overwhelming. Favorites are too numerous to list.

Dinner tonight was at a classically French restaurant run by a Japanese chef whose specialty was a magret de canard in a teriyaki glaze. Outstanding – it also came with a puree of leeks and cheese, steamed snow peas, and mashed sweet potato. mmmm Wine tonight was a Bordeaux, which was perfect with the duck.. Coffee to round out the meal, and I’m set to go. On the whole, this has been an excellent, if a tad expensive, day.