Shagadelic

After being summoned by Deepak to discuss agreeable housing reassignments, the house rosters have been shuffled and I have made out quite well. Not only will I maintain residence at 14 Norreys Avenue I am entitled to select a nicer room. Perhaps, I should provide a brief explanation of this groundbreaking solution…

Due to my delayed arrival at Oxford, I was subject to the last available room. Although my housemates rooms are sizeable and well equipped I made out with a poor replica of Austin Powers flat. I suspect most male college students would applaud this analogy but I must give a resounding “Jeer” to this. Let me explain; my room has purple shag carpet (pictured left) with matching lilac drapes and a peculiarly shaped Alice and Wonderlandesque mirror that is deliberately crooked – trust me, it’s pretty ugly.

With the outing of one of my housemates I will assume his more appealing room, which has a sink. This may seem insignificant to you, but it’s big for me.

Real World: Oxford

This is the true story of five strangers, picked to live in a house and have their minds picked by Oxford tutors, and find out what happens when people stop being polite and start getting REAL.

The honeymoon was short lived and the household social dynamics have quickly soured. While it is unnecessary to detail the substance of this three-part Lifetime television special, it will result in several students being relocated from their respective residences. In the meantime, the commons room has been officially designated as the “confession room” where my housemates can sort out their issues.

Although, our house has not been shaken by the likes of Puck, the social atmosphere is near boiling – it seems that things are getting REAL. Caste as the pacifist who seeks unity among his housemates, I have been dubbed San Francisco’s Judd. Thus, I have spent countless hours meeting with Deepak, the program director, to help resolve the matter and protect my own housing arrangements.

Wait… do you have the keys?

What seemed to be an innocent afternoon breather turned into a three hour ordeal yesterday, as Cherith, Liz and I managed to lock ourselves out of the house. We saw no reason to panic because our roommates Dan or Michelle were sure to arrive in the afternoon. After an hour of conversating by the street we decided to take matters into our own hands, so Cherith and Liz walked around back to climb our fence (I was shoeless). Just as our luck would have it, Cherith had taken the liberty to lock all of the first floor windows and doors earlier that morning.

Recalling an incident on the Edwards campaign, where I locked my keys in my car I sought out the neighbors for a coat hanger. Sure enough, our peculiarly reclusive neighbors loaned/gave me a wire hanger that I unwinded to stick through the mail slot (I was in the process of doing this in the picture on the left). After about fifteen minutes the neighbor across the street came out and asked “Can I help you?” apparently assuming that we were burglars who thought that a three person effort, equipped with one wire, during daylight would be the ideal time and method to rob a house. Once we explained to her that we were the “dumb Americans” that locked ourselves out, she invited us in for tea out of pity. Kindly declining her invitation we decided to phonebank our friends to seek out Dan and Michelle, as we were uninterested in pressing on with the coat hanger for fear of a visit by the Oxfordshire Police.

Through several degrees of separation we were able to contact Michelle who apparently was in the process of sitting down for dinner with her friends. Apparently the fifteen minute walk seemed too daunting so she pressed on with dinner. Convinced that we were to see the street lights come on, we decided to make the best of the situation so off we went to the corner store for pints. So, we sat outside of the house for the next hour drinking Stella and bonding. Eventually, Michelle showed up, as she was rightfully guilted out of dinner and let us in. And that deserves a party so I unleashed my cooking skills and put together a three course meal.

My New Wheels

Yesterday seemed frighteningly reminiscent of the day I walked out of the Dover DMV office with a brand spakin' new drivers license, except this time I was leaving Cycle King and a new bike was at my side. Yes, I revel in the irony that at this point in my life a bike is my source for independence, but the bus schedule is inconvenient and the walk to town takes too much time. So I caved and purchased a bike, which has made traveling around Oxford much more desirable and fun.

Naturally, when bike shopping I selected the British made Mach 15, which I have yet to determine whether it is capable of reaching the speed of plaid. Actually, it was the cheapest bike, but nonetheless I am quite proud of my new wheels. If I am cool enough, I just may get a vanity license plate behind the seat, circa elementary school, which would complement a wolf t-shirt very nicely.

Cycling around the city is a rush due to the narrow roads and fearless drivers but I seem to be getting along quite well (I have avoided an accident, at this point). Unlike in the states, bike traffic – which is very much prevalent – must obey standard driving rules. Sure enough, I was told to “Watch my arss” after safely taking a left turn at a red light by a fire truck driver.

Settling in...

As it seems, I have made out quite well with my housing arrangements, after hearing countless horror stories about poor accommodations at Oxford. Although the house is well equipped, it seems that our landlady is crazy. Deepak, the director of Oxford Program for Undergraduate Studies (OPUS), heeded such warnings as she is notorious for levying bogus tenet fines.

Apparently last semester she tried to charge her tenets $1,600 worth of damages, most of which were grossly exaggerated. At any rate, one merely can walk into the house to realize just how anal the landlady is as nearly all of the furniture and appliances bear self-made labels and directions. For further elaboration, I direct you to the picture of our hallway stool with a notice that reads "This is a table not a stool. Please do NOT sit on it!" Seeing this posting was a great relief because I just may have been forced to test the sturdiness of all house furniture to determine what is and is not appropriate for me to sit on. This of course is after I would arbitrarily kick holes in the wall to test the strength of the sheet-rock. For those who may be oblivious of my blatant sarcasm, I will say: the landlady is nuts.

Fashionably Late

As I learned last week, it is best to double check matters of importance or you just may end up missing your transatlantic flight – like I did. You are probably thinking, "Matt that is moronic; how could one manage to overlook the details on a major flight arrangement?" Well, in defense of my shortcomings and clear disregard, I had long planned on arriving in London on the 31st of August - oh course, what I failed to consider was that the flight departed at 7:00 PM EST on the 30th and arrived in London on the 31st. Thus, I figured that I would leave on the 31st.

With this said, when I stopped by DCS on Wednesday the 31st to say farewell and collect some remaining items, only for the office to erupt in laughter and Chris to proclaim that I am - understandably so - an idiot, I assumed my fellow workers were pulling nothing short of a prank on me. I only did realize the seriousness and validity of the claim when I called my mother and she confirmed that I had missed my flight. Fortunately, I am blessed to have splendid parents that care enough to help me when I make mistakes of such great proportions.

My mother was grateful enough to book another flight on Virgin Atlantic for the upcoming evening (the date that I had intended to leave). With the new arrangements I grabbed my bags and bid a final farewell to my friends and loved ones and off I went to Dulles International Airport.

With the exception of several overly socialable toddlers, the flight was quick and relatively comfortable. Most importantly, there were not any disruptions and I arrived safely at Heathrow Airport, in the suburbs of London. After nearly spending an hour in customs, I was cleared to depart for Oxford University, so I hopped on the commuter bus and embarked upon a deep - but short - slumber.

Upon arriving to Oxford I solicited a cab, where he took me on an expedition around town to pick up my housing arrangements, drop off my luggage at my flat, and deliver me to orientation, which I was surprisingly prompt for, considering my circumstances. It was awkward arriving late, after everyone had already become acquainted but I seemed to assimilate fairly rapidly. Perhaps this scenario is best analogous to sitting in the wrong class on the first day of high school and then showing up late for the correct class - yes, I was that guy.

Evidently I did not miss much of the orientation as the entire morning and afternoon was spent discussing mobile phone plans and local public transportation. However, I have quickly taken a liking for Deepak Mukhi, the Oxford Program for Undergraduate Studies (OPUS) manager, as he has gone far out of his way to accommodate my needs.