29 January, 2017

Let's talk about immigration?

Many of my relatives are good Christians, good people, and very conservative. I'm trying to figure out ways to talk to them. I'm hoping sharing my attempt might be useful to others, and that others might have some useful ideas.

I feel it's really important right now is to find common ground, unless we truly believe that we want the U.S. to split up. Last time I talked to my grandpa I realized we were completely talking past each other, and that I had to be compassionate, pragmatic, and understand first.

Yesterday I spent some of my time trying to figure out the real worries on the pro-ban-pro-wall side (easy way to find the arguments - just check comments on your senator’s page!), and then thought about how I would talk to my grandpa about them. The last conversation about immigration I had did not go well. So, try 2:


1. Terrorist attacks are happening all over Europe, and we don't want that happening in the U.S.

There is fear out there and it doesn't do any good to belittle it. The attacks in France and Belgium have been scary for me too, and what is more scary is how random they are, like on boardwalks and in concert halls. I’ve thought twice about visiting Europe these days. I've even thought about feeling unsafe at large venues.

But what I've been considering lately is: how do we divorce that fear from refugees? The refugee process is crazy detailed, it's a 20-step process that takes well over a year, and literally none of the terror attacks that have occurred in the U.S. have been done by refugees.

We are letting in a tiny, tiny portion of the Middle East refugees that Europe is, and we have a very, very large ocean as a natural barrier, so it’s not like any are sneaking in.  And the refugees are afraid of the same violence we are! That’s why they’re trying to leave!  Shout-out to This American Life’s (TAL) tour of a Greek refugee camp (it’s a two-part series), it’s a great listen and a way to practice compassionate understanding.

Canada's refugee process used to prioritize families (I think it still does?) and I do like that approach, at least for finding common ground. Hopefully we can all agree that kids deserve not to have their future shot in the foot by growing up in a refugee camp with no access to education, or living in a place with constant bombing or (literally) female enslavement. The larger underpinning of: we don't need to worry about the rest of the world... well that's a little harder for me, but there are some easy New Testament verses that I could probably prepare here about helping the least fortunate among us. Or I could quote the Pope! To be Christian is to help others.

2. We need to clamp down on illegal immigration. [said in various kind/unkind forms]

Reminder: refugees are not illegal immigrants. And we don't mind legal immigrants, right? We were all immigrants not that many generations ago, right?

Moving on to the wall, I think I’ve had a harder time pinpointing the exact fears about illegal immigration.  Is the fear that they’re stealing jobs? Or that they’re bringing crime to the U.S.? Or that they’re flooding our country with too many people and freeloading on the system? Maybe it’s just as simple as people want the rules to be followed. The recent podcast on the Border Patrol by TAL seemed to indicate that for the border police, they just don’t like that the current process is crap and that people get away with not following the rules. I get that. My grandpa thought that Mexico was sending its criminals over the border - but he did work at a restaurant where he also said the Mexican immigrants were very nice and hard working.

My approach last time when talking about this with my grandpa was to say: just try to remember why they came here, or ask them that. They will probably say they came here to make a better life for their family, just like our relatives did too. There's a starting point for common ground and (Christ-like!) compassion and understanding. We can be compassionate first. They didn’t come here to like, commit crime. Committing crime is certainly easier to do in Central America than here, one would point out.

There's probably an important discussion here that a ban on Middle East refugees does not help illegal immigration (remember refugees != illegal immigrants), and a wall might not either. See the TAL episode again, where the Border Police put up a wall and then found a bunch of 18-foot ladders...


But back to the idea of opposing illegal immigration, I get stuck here. There have been studies that illegal immigrants do not affect the wages of American workers, they don't get welfare benefits, many pay taxes. But listing facts hasn't really worked for me when talking to relatives, because there are always other facts these days.


Maybe the right approach is to say: sure we can agree on taking steps towards legal immigration, but a wall isn't the way to do it? And then point out the approach of neighboring countries like Canada, where there are more options to regularize status. If the fear is: no taxes, freeloading, stealing jobs, I'd say I'd agree with clamping down on illegal immigration but just challenge the method; if it was easier to become legal we would reduce illegal immigration.


3. [from my grandpa] Muslims came in and took over some of the schools, they didn’t work hard at the factory,  and they trained terrorists right down the street from me. [insert any other negative interaction]

Yikes. This is from a real convo with my grandpa and is legit, kind of. I saw something similar all over Facebook. Some of the 9-11 hijackers came from close to where my grandparents live in Minnesota. And basically it sucks that the interactions he’s had with the Somalian refugees in Minnesota have been largely negative.  Europe is grappling with this too: the cultural barriers are big, especially when it comes to attitudes towards women; Norway is basically offering lessons on it.


I feel like at least part of this is - these people look different and act different than me. Grandpa complained about them speaking in their own language to each other (they should "become american"), but I reminded him that I have a significant other who speaks a foreign language frequently and he doesn’t have a problem with that.

I suppose the right thing to say here would have been: don’t let x interaction color your view of all people from an area; get to know them. Other ideas welcome. I wish there was a way to encourage everyone to interact with people who are different than you. That’s something I can work on too - shout out to Tutoring Plus in Boston, where we used to tutor a lot of first-generation immigrants and I was always learning something.

It just might be a general goal for everyone is to try interacting with other groups of people than those they're comfortable with. Even just listening to other people’s stories - I buy my grandparents books for birthdays and holidays, can I buy them something like Americanah (immigrant tale) or some other casual read with another purpose? How do we get everyone to think about the fact that we're not all that different; that we have the same goals?


4. Islam as a religion is naturally violent.

So, actually, I think there are people on both sides that think that we should just leave the Middle East to war it out. My liberal father isn’t far from that view. I usually counter with the idea that there are millions of people practicing peaceful Islam, and that no one wants their group to be judged based on the most extreme faction. For instance, no Christians want all Christians to be stereotyped based on the Westboro Baptist's Church's actions, right?

My grandpa is a super good person and strong Christian. So mainly I try to appeal to his moral code, which is true and good. A he-said she-said approach really hasn't got me anywhere ("Mexico is sending their criminals" "No they're not" etc.). I think another approach is encouraging him/others to learn and listen to other people's stories, but I'd love to hear other people who have tackled similar conversations.

04 May, 2012

Bavarians, 5 a.m. Champagne and Twitter Methodology

Things I have started doing since I came to Britain:
1. Writing dates backwards.  It's 4/5/2012. Problematic on days like today, where both 4/5/2012 and 5/4/2012 are viable dates...
2. Writing times with periods instead of colons.  It's 9.42.
3. Clocking afternoon and nighttime times as 14.32 instead of 2.32. This one particularly annoys me.

The one I'm most upset about: Caught myself the other day saying things like "I'm going to have a shower" or "I'll have a think about that." What? Why? How did this unnecessary verb weasel into my vocabulary?

ANYWHO. Let's see, what have I done lately?

Last weekend was Bavarian Night. Which involved my German roommate and German next-door neighbor cooking a bunch of us dinner in lederhosen, which my Dad has informed me literally means "leather pants." And then  listened to the Bavarian anthem and watched Bavarian cartoons, which involved a bunch of cartoon characters that the rest of the Europeans knew but I did not.  Apparently the U.S. has more endemic cartoons.

And then Monday night / Tuesday morning was May Day! Oxford is famous for it's May Morning celebrations (oh hey, wikipedia page) which celebrate what exactly? The first of May? Spring started over a month ago?

Anyways, the idea is that you are supposed to stay up all night and then at glorious sunrise at 6. a.m. mosey over to Magdalen bridge and then listen to a boy's choir sing hymns from the top of the tower (which I climbed once, see my Dead Kings and Incorrectly Intoned Questions post for a picture of the tower). And then YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO JUMP OFF THE BRIDGE. This was previously thought of as a "thing" to do, but since the water is about 3 feet deep.... broken bones galore.  The number of warnings we received in the days prior about bridge jumping...Luckily seemingly the entire fire brigade of Oxford was out in their wet suits and ready for a river dive if anything happened (they stationed themselves at Hilda's).

I did not stay up all night. Too old for this. (hah).
6 a.m. fashion. Note the mismatched socks... with heels. 
But I did wake up at 5 a.m. to enjoy brunch with my fellow Hildabeasts, where we drank champagne (yes, at 5 a.m., so smooth) and then listened to the singing. Which was lovely had it not been raining the whole time.  Although the rain did allow for some hilarious views of drunken undergrads in formal wear, freezing cold without coats and rain-drenched rat-tail hair, tottering around in heels at 6 a.m. Don't worry, they were too drunk to feel it.  We scoffed and and laughed and discussed our superiority in our umbrellas and trench coats like all grad students will do in these situations.

On the research front: Hello, Twitter-as-a-research-strategy. I've been conducting research for my dissertation by surveying individuals (academics, teachers, IT managers, consultants, nonprofits) within the Learning & Technology field. Turns out the those working in L&T use Twitter. A LOT.

Hence the start of the Twitter Methodology section of my research. What, you haven't answered my three emails? What if I "tweet" it to you? Oh hey, that worked? Now you'll fill out my questionnaire? And share it with others? Guess I'll "tweet" you a thanks?

My heart is bleeding. I really dislike(d) Twitter. I hate the character limit. You can't explain a research approach in 140 characters. You cannot attach an abstract in a "tweet." I am a sellout! Or I am super hip. One of the two. Opinions may differ.

Going to have lots of fun describing what "twitter" and "tweet" mean to the Oxford Review Board. 10 bucks says they do not have Twitter handles. Read more about the research on my other blog which I created due to interest from research participants. Can you tell I miss journalism?

Coming up: Shakespeare Time! (said to the tune of Hammer Time) Stratford-Upon-Avon on Monday.

Miss you 'Merica,

Lisa

22 April, 2012

Disc-ing, Raining, Pudding, and Barista-ing

Whoops. Once again essays/sickness take priority over blog. I am still alive, relatives. Bonus: More to write about!

Wellcommeeee to rainy season in England! Characterized by the high correlation between me jumping on my bike or going running and me returning completely drenched (EVERY TIME). It has rained undoubtedly every day last week. Forecast tomorrow: Guess. The best way to describe it is no matter what kind of sky you look up at when you set foot outside your door, 10 minutes later it could be raining. Hanging laundry outside (it's sunny! it'll be fineee) has not been going well.

On the bright side, this has given me an excuse to buy a trench coat! I've always wanted one.

The usual seen-and-heard-around-Oxford

Tourist season is coming. TOURIST SEASON IS COMING. [[Star Wars Darth Vader theme music]]
I've never lived in such a small city that is quite such a large tourist attraction. This means that our lovely campus and streets are now increasingly swamped by random people taking pictures of the oddest things.   These awful tour guides lead them around, dressed as British guards (?) or as something else that looks old and British-y.  They try to sell their tours usually by referencing Harry Potter.  Harry Potter beats Newton and countless others in marketability. I'm resisting going on a rant about what this travesty says about mankind.

I do have to say, there is a certain coolness factor of strolling into the Bodleian Library while 3 or 4 tourist groups are snapping pictures of the building. Oxford student cards. They get you places.  Also I seemingly will be in many random family albums.

This also means that I may eventually be indicted for running one of these completely-unaware-of-everything-around-them tourists over with my bike. It's not my fault. I swear. They just stand there in the middle of the bike lane with their camera. If it's either them or a car, guess which one I'm choosing...

Food/Job News (interrelated topics, I swear) 

Black pudding, looking particularly turd-like.
I have now tried black pudding. Which may or may not be made of pig's blood. The worst part: I actually thought it was really, really good.  I'd totally have it again.

Also, I got a job! Part-time at a cafe here which serves amazing food AND above-normal-British-standard coffee (mainly why I chose the place, hah).  It is certainly a rarity among Oxford students.  It's not a 'thing' to have to work part-time here; I'd even border on saying that there's a bit of a social stigma to working a service job purely for cash, or at least an aversion to the idea.  I think I resisted getting a part-time serving job for most of this year for no other reason than it seemed like something you don't do at Oxford.

But, my Dutch-work-ethic psyche won over.  I have worked all my life while going to school.  I've never not earned my own way. I couldn't be more happy about caving and finding an income. I've only worked one shift so far but I've really, really enjoyed  it.  The staff is nice, it's busy and challenging, and I feel like I'm not constantly just putting myself more in the red.  Plus, I make a mean latte.

Frisbee Update (for those who care) (a.k.a. anyone outside of my immediate family... grumble)

Last week I played an Ultimate tournament for Dog Eat Disc (DED), the competitive mixed team I've been playing for. The competitive club scene in Britain Mixed consists of three main tournaments: Mixed Tour 1, 2, and 3. All the teams in the U.K. enter and are power-ranked into 'divisions' of 16; so the top 16 play each other, 16-32 play each other, and so on and so forth.  Around 45-50 teams are at each tournament, and where you place at the previous tournament determines where you're seeded at the next. DED went into this year ranked 4th overall in the U.K. Eek!

Last weekend at Mixed Tour 2, we were playing with 5 women. Traditionally, Mixed is played with 3 or 4 women on at a time. 5 women total = hardly any subs. SO tiring. Played 3 games on Saturday and went 2-1, and then pulled off an upset victory on Sunday with a brilliant win over the higher-ranked (and cow-print sporting) Thundering Herd.  Wooo!  Lost Game number 6 of the weekend for 3rd place by only one point. BUT since we finished 5th in MT1 and 4th in MT2, we've had more consistent finishes than any of the other teams except 1; so we're currently ranked 2nd overall in the U.K.!  Cool points.

It's really the first time I've played for such a high-level mixed team, and I'm really enjoying it.  It makes you focus in on your weaknesses and think about every move you make on the pitch (a.k.a. field in Britspeak). I'm also playing for a new competitive all-women's team in the coming months which we've been training for, and that should be really adrenaline-packed also. Yay.

In other sports news I'm also playing for the Hilda's co-ed rugby team this term! Hahahaha. Whenever I tell this to people, they seem to always remind me not to die, please.  Pshaw. I swear, no confidence.

Coming up: Brussels! (hopefully) Essays! (ongoing) Dissertation! (ditto) and Sun! (maybe..knock on wood.)

LP

04 April, 2012

Sipping Tea at Downton Abbey

Okay. Important first note.

Last weekend I went to Paris with a friend from home! It was amazing in the springtime! So green! We went to the Eiffel Tower and the Palace of Versailles and the Louvre and I went running every morning through this gorgeous park called Buttes Chaumont with this gigantic rock outcropping and moat and well-dressed old men running with scarves on (?). Also we ate crepes almost every day and I murdered a lot of French words (for instance Louvre is Louv-ra, kind of? Who knew? And why, oh why, do they just ignore last letters of words? This makes no sense).

I know Paris is enthralling and incredible and all. But the rest of this post is not about Paris. Sorry. More important things to discuss: DOWNTON ABBEY!

Oh you know, just sipping afternoon tea on the grounds.
Background for those who live under a rock.  Downton Abbey is this period drama set in the early 1900's in Britain. The pretense focuses on the Earl and Countess of Grandtham, who have three daughters but no son and therefore don't have a direct male heir to take over Downton; the next in line is a distant third cousin.  Predictably, drama ensues.

The show is filmed on location at Highclere Castle, the real-life seat of the Earl of Carnarvon.  The castle was open only for Easter holidays where presumably the family was on vacation and filming of DA had wrapped a few days prior. It was just a train and a short bus ride away.  Too tempting to pass up.

100% worth the trip. Things I learned at Downton/Highclere.

1.  THE ENTAIL IS REAL. Only male heirs can inherit Highclere Castle. The current 8th Earl of Carnarvon's oldest child is a female... and she gets jack-squat.  The heir presumptive is his second child, a 19-year-old male. I'm not saying we're trying to stalkishly track him down in the hopes of becoming a Countess. You didn't hear me say that.

In an interesting side note, the current Earl  (Oxford grad!) is also heir to the title of Earl of Pembroke and Earl of Montgomery, since those titles currently have no male heir and the Earl of Carnarvon is the 8th cousin. There are no male heirs in 7 iterations of cousins. And all these families are related. Geez.

2. THERE'S A REAL-LIFE MAGGIE SMITH.  So apparently the Dowager Countess of Carnarvon (Maggie Smith's role in the TV show) was among us on Monday when we visited. We just had no idea which one of the 300 other old people visiting she was.  300 old people and us. That's who visits historic castles.

One of two pictures I managed to sneak of the inside.
The main courtyard (across the way is
where Mary dragged the body of the Turkish guy....)
You walk into the castle right into the study where the Earl of Grandtham in Downton Abbey always is filmed in. The castle itself is this weird juxtaposition of ancient priceless paintings and portraits mixed with recent family photos; antique couches and lamps mixed with Patricia Cornwell books (the Countess has good taste) and hair brushes. The staff of Highclere Castle double as tour guides of sorts; they tell tidbits of what filming is like; showed us the chair that Maggie Smith gets to recline in when she gets tired.  A lot of the castle is left as-is for filming; the dining room is exactly the same, for instance.

None of the kitchen scenes are filmed on-location, although almost everything else is. The basement of the castle where the kitchen would be? A King Tut museum. Apparently the 5th Earl of  Carnarvon discovered King Tut's tomb. And then died after shaving a mosquito bite, perpetuating the rumor of the curse of the mummy.

In an interesting twist of events, apparently it is indeed quite expensive to upkeep a castle.  The whole third floor of Highclere (apparently, a bunch of bedrooms) was inaccessible because it needs to be renovated. Apparently the TV show came just in time to save the Castle from sliding too far into disrepair.

I was completely that tourist who asks a bajillion questions of the house staff. Other random facts:
  • It was built by the same guy who designed the House of Parliament, which makes lots of sense if you look at it.
  • It was indeed used as a wartime hospital.
  • They had Napoleon's desk and the newspaper from the day that Edward abdicated the throne. Apparently (now queen) Elizabeth was pulled out of her elementary classroom at school to hear the news that she was in line to be queen. Kind of a big day for a 10-year-old. 
  • You can hold your wedding there. Just saying. 
Now back to the grind of schoolwork.  This weekend is the big Oxford v. Cambridge boat race though, which will be a welcome break.

Cheerio!

Lisa

21 March, 2012

Gallivanting in Highlighter Green, Part 2

Back to Irish adventures! See previous post for the first part.

Monday: Found the Kiwis! By which I of course mean my New Zealand friend and her New Zealand friends. One of the Kiwis rented a 7-person car, and off we went for a terrifying careening drive through the Irish countryside. I thought Ecuadorian roads were bad. They have nothing on the narrow twisty full-of-blind-corners Irish lanes.

Sidenote I found myself thinking how the Irish flag is so perfectly representative of Ireland. I have never seen grass so naturally green. Suburban Americans kill for that color green in their lawns. The countryside is full of beautiful rolling hills blanketed in what my Kiwi friend referred to as “highlighter green.” The hills are criss-crossed by rows of gros (goss?), a hedge plant with bright yellow flowers (okay not quite orange like the flag, but close.. see what I mean?).  Add sheep and low medieval crumbling walls, and it is quite idyllic.

I just told this to my dad, and he scoffed “Grass is just green. It can’t be greener.” YES. YES IT CAN. (clearly never been to Ireland. scoff.).

The Glendalough round tower
After braving car sickness, we and the Kiwis first enjoyed a traditional Irish restaurant where lots of stew and lamb and brown bread were eaten.  Then off we careened to Glendalough, an ancient monastic village set between two lakes in the mountains. Saw some nice ruins and some adorable newborn lambs. Tried to not think about that we could have just eaten their siblings. 

And then my friend Ziyi and I were purposefully abandoned by everyone in Wicklow, a town on the Irish coast, where we set up camp at Captain Halpin's Bunkhouse (really). Went to one of two restaurant-pubs (synonymous words in Irish) where we ran full force into Irish hospitality. Irish lads bought us both the “usuals” of Guinness and Jameson+ginger ale, and then after a bevy of some of the worst (and increasingly unintelligible, see previous post about the Irish accent-to-alcohol ratio) pick-up lines I have ever heard, attempted to sneak a kiss when posing for a photo with us .There is an  excellent photo of a shock-faced Ziyi getting kiss-bombed which I will post as soon as I kidnap her camera. Too much fun. 

Tuesday: I cannot get over how good Irish brown bread is.  It is so much better than any other brown bread I have ever tasted and I have no idea why.  They pride themselves in it and the pride is completely deserved.

After filling up on bread, I spent the morning on a long run along the coast of Ireland while waiting for Ziyi to wake up. Yes I ran on vacation (insert Hildabeast friends’ collective gasp of horror, then my subsequent eye roll). Ran along some rivers, meandered through some fields, and skirted the Irish sea.  I love using a run to explore new countries, such a unique way to see the detail of an area. College running buddy Jenna, you would've loved it. Then, tricked city gal Ziyi into hiking by telling her we were going walking. Win! (an astute person would point out that walking is essentially what hiking is of course, but for some reason walking sounded less intimidating?). We hiked about 5 miles up a trail along the Irish coastline.

Sidenote Irish hospitality is truly touching. The Irish are the friendliest people I've ever met. We had three separate Irish elders greet us while walking and spontaneously explain exactly how to reach this beach full of seals and how to get back. We didn't even need to beg for directions. Friendly to tourists? How refreshing.

We hiked to this hidden-away cove where seals were known to sunbathe. No seals on the beach. Disappointing. And then I looked over the rocks, and lo and behold there they were frolicking in the bay! Baby seal was unsure what to make of me: kept popping up, staring at me, looking at mom, and then cocking its head and staring some more  I watched them for at least an hour. I love wildlife.

We then saw some lighthouses (Grandpa Dykhuizen, I'll send you a picture) and hiked back into town. Then this morning I woke up at 5 a.m. and started the journey from Wicklow to Oxford.  sidenote Not that I support this idea, but if anyone is ever thinking of sneaking into the U.K., they should definitely do it through Ireland. Minimal customs on the way in, no customs on the way back at all? Huh? 

Clearly the mark of a successful vacation was my perfect 5-for-5 in the Days in Ireland: Days Drinking Guinness ratio! Everyone should be so proud of me and my low tolerance. I may never drink Guinness again and my body hates me at the moment but at least I made the Irish proud.

Now ready to bury my nose back in the books.  Cheers Ireland.  Until next week! LP

Paddy's Not Patty's! Part 1

Hola!

Just hopped off the plane from jolly ol' Ireland, now sitting in London Luton airport waiting for a bus back to Oxford.  A recap of this weekend's adventures:

Friday:  Took four trains and then a ferry across England, Wales, and Ireland with 11+ friends from Oxford.  Played lots of cards. Set foot on Ireland for the first time and realized how many old medieval walls,well-trimmed hedges, and unintelligible accents there were everywhere (unintelligibility level directly proportional to level of alcohol consumed by the Irishman in question). Set up camp at my Irish friend's dad's apartment in DunDrum, a quaint suburb of Dublin. Geared up for the next day which was....

Saturday: St. Paddy's Day in Dublin! Features of the Dublin Paddy's day experience:
  • I have never seen a party with so many generations involved.  Got to the pub at about 2 p.m. and we were dodging the strollers being pushed around the bar. Walk on the PACKED streets, and we ran into green-decked grandparents along with the typical teenagers-wearing-things-they-shouldn't-be-wearing. It wasn't only tourists, every Irishmen in the country was in the streets of Dublin (source: Irishman on the subway). 
  • I was expecting that the whole wear-full-body-green phenomenon was something that the U.S. had interpreted as something the Irish would do, not something the Irish actually do. WRONG. So much green. They even lit up Trinity College green. In a spurt of unwarranted panic about not enough ridiculous green clothing, I bought this huge green hat that said "Who's your Paddy?" However, speaking pf something that the U.S. interprets as Irish but is not Irish: No green beer (thank goodness!) (it's all we drink in the U.S. on this day).
  •  St. Paddy. Do not make the mistake of saying/spelling Patty. Do. Not. Apparently Patty is derived from Patricia, which is just not somethin you call an Irish fella, ya hear...particularly a famous one. 
  • Did I mention how many people there were out and about? I can't emphasize enough how huge this party was. Filled the streets of Dublin. Put Mardi Gras to shame. And it was sustained. All day and all night the crowd didn't die down. Too cool!
We went to a pub, and then toured around the streets, and then ... another pub.  And then we watched the England v. Ireland Rugby game with every other Irishmen in a standing-room-only pub. Which was not a favorable outcome for Ireland but seemingly did not change the partying plans of anyone (celebrate if you win, drink if you lose= same result). After several more stops and some jigging with random Irishmen we ended the night at a three-floor club with a live brass band playing dubstep music. It was an excellent 12 hours of Paddy's fun in Dublin. 

Sunday: Sidenote Kudos to what must be an excellent Irish street cleaning crew, because when I went home at 3 a.m. it was raining and the streets were coated in beer cans and green paraphenalia. When I was back in the city at 10 a.m. there were hardly any signs of huge party that filled every street in the city the day before. Nice.

The view of Dublin from the top of the Guinness factory, beautiful.
Guinness tour day! After resolving to go with the (less-sleep-deprived) morning sightseers, I dragged myself out of bed and zombied (not a verb? should be) over to the infamous Guinness Storehouse, which was an incredibly well-done museum and tracked how the beer is made and the history of the brand. Did you know that the Guinness factory buys 2/3 of the barley produced in Ireland? I'm sure this useful knowledge will come in handy in some pub trivia night in my life. Because of this, ended up having free hangover Guinness for breakfast and lunch. Regretted this. And then went to another Irish friend's house and was treated to a huge barbecue with lots of dancing (with Irish parents) and dental hygiene tips (from Irish parents). Good food, good friends, good times.

Monday: Found the Kiwis!

But this post is getting long and my bus to Oxford is coming soon so I will post in two parts, stay tuned for adventures in the Irish countryside with the Kiwis and Ziyi and I getting kiss-bombed by Irish lads at a pub on the coast, among other exciting tales...

04 March, 2012

British Non-Senioritis, American Stubbornness

Ode to this blog....
I can't tell you how much I love writing this blog. Writing is like catharsis. For awhile I thought I would be a journalist; all through college I had a writing outlet in the college newspaper; by senior year I was writing opinion-editorials about whatever topics I wanted, like the disease of "senioritis" and healthy partying. My favorite elective class I took was memoir writing. I wrote a blog all  through Ecuador. And then I graduated and suddenly I had no outlet for writing. And it made me realize how much I love it. It's such a good way to take a break and reflect on life.

Supermarket quirks...
Aubergine? What's an aubergine? (for US: eggplant, apparently) Why are there no cranberries and so many potato choices? You're not even going to ID me when I buy alcohol? [for Brits: It doesn't matter that I'm well over 21. ID'd every time in the U.S. I look in the plausible range of 21 and they are meticulous] Also, they don't believe in frozen cookie dough! The horror! Additionally, where's all the light beer? And the processed cheese-like Kraft Parmesan and Velveeta?  They only eat real cheese here, where I'd guess if you look in the refrigerators of Americans, a HIGH percentage of them have processed cheese. That might be an improvement. But the lack of light beer is not.

Quidditch
Every Saturday we have frisbee practice, and on the pitch (for USians: field) next to us there are Quidditch games going on. Quidditch at Oxford. How fitting is that. As far as I can tell, one plays this sport by running with a long stick or broom between one's legs, and trying to pass and throw a ball in to one of several hoola hoops hung from trees. And then the two other people (seekers) have to go look around for a Snitch that's hidden somewhere.  I think? I'm not sure  Clearly I need to try this. I think St. Hilda's (my college) has a team. I was saying something snarky one time about the two Seekers wandering around our frisbee practice with brooms between their legs, and then my teammates pointed out we were playing Ultimate Frisbee, and therefore really had no ability to say anything about odd sports...Fair point.                         

Things I've gotten wrong this week...
Pudding in the U.S. = Soupy dessert substance that comes in chocolate, vanilla, or butterscotch. 
Pudding in the U.K. = Dessert. No specific reference to the soup-like dessert substance. Huh. 

Brits are Immune to Senioritis
In the U.S., a fairly well-known disease among college students is called Senioritis.  It occurs towards the end of one's senior (for Brits: 4th) year of college. Seniors already have the majority of their credits (for Brits: grades in every class adding up to a cumulative Grade Point Average) and are 'coasting' through the rest. Senioritis is characterized by a lack of motivation, coupled with laziness and revulsion towards doing schoolwork. And also usually accompanied by a copious number of keggers (My senior month of May = the long-standing tradition 30 Kegs in 30 Nights).  And then we blame it on this incurable disease. 

In the U.K., there is no such thing.  3rd year (for US: only 3 years of college, lucky huh) is characterized by preparing for final exams. Which determine your grade for ALL OF COLLEGE. Literally the evaluation of your work for the last three years. For obvious reasons, Senioritis hasn't spread here. Which is a pity.  On a side note, in my senior year I published an op-ed on senioritis, and got comments from my  professors for days. Good times. 

American Stubbornness
In the U.S., we have this notion that everything should be fair and just.  If it isn't, we argue. And argue and argue. Until we speak to someone high enough in the chain of command who will listen. If nothing else, we register our complaint.  We're used to being able to argue for our rights.  Example: If my dad calls a help line and the person doesn't help him, he'll ask to speak to his supervisor.  If the supervisor can't help, my dad will ask to speak to his boss. If that's not possible, my dad will ask the name of his boss so he can personally tell his boss what a bad job the supervisor is doing. And then suddenly the supervisor pays attention and makes things happen. It's a well-established mechanism of making things happen; one only needs to look at student activism campaigns on college campuses (to get rid of bottled water, for instance) for less-dramatic examples.

In the U.K., it is impolite and much less common to do this.  Everyone is expected to do their best to help you, and if you question this it is considered much more offensive. I think there isn't a preconceived notion of entitlement as much as in the U.S. Example at Oxford: Our program wrote essays four months ago now that haven't been graded, and won't be graded til May. The U.S. in me wants to argue til I find the right person and point out the ludicrousness of this. I will bite my tongue. 
Caveats: yes, yes, I know this isn't true of everyone, there are exceptions, these are sweeping statements. etc. 

On that note, it's the home stretch of the term! Back to essay writing.  Bleeeerrrrgggggggghhh.  Enjoy the snow Michigan! - Lisa