Oxford, Mississippi’s popular java chain High Point Coffee is making its grand entrance into the California market, of all places, inside the Promenade Plaza’s retail courtyard at 1st and Hope.

According to company rep Thomas Blanche, the 900 square-foot space will begin churning out premium specialty brews by July 29, alongside espresso drinks and a variety teas.

The Biz profiled High Point in July's Business Journal. Download the issue.

دانلود فیلم زیبای The Oxford Murders

اطلاعات :

کارگردان : Álex de la Iglesia

نویسندگان : Jorge Guerricaechevarría  و  Álex de la Iglesia

تاریخ اکران : 18 January 2008 در اسپانیا

ژانر فیلم : Crime , Romance و Thriller

خلاصه فیلم :

در دانشگاه آکسفورد ، یک پروفسور به کمک یک دانشجوی باهوش سعی در متوقف سازی یک سری قتل زنجیره ای دارند که ظاهرا این قتل ها با نماد های ریاضی رابطه مستقیم دارند .

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دیسک دوم , قسمت اول | قسمت دوم | قسمت سوم | قسمت چهارم | قسمت پنجم | قسمت ششم | قسمت هفتم | قسمت هشتم

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سایت منبع : www.bia2abc.com

On Chesil Beach is the story of the wedding night of a young, naïve couple in the summer of 1962. Edward Mayhew, raised in squalor in a tiny village east of Oxford, and Florence Ponting, the polished product of a privileged childhood in North Oxford, were spending their first night together as husband and wife. The impending consummation of the marriage raised equally visceral, but extremely different, psychological responses in the two of them. He, a bit too anxious, and she, entirely repelled. Their struggle toward a night of sexual compatibility provides the grist of the story.

Although the book is ‘about’ the couple’s wedding night, a great portion of the story is told in flashbacks to Edward’s and Florence’s lives, from childhood to engagement. McEwan masterfully develops his characters in patches and fragments, the way one might stitch a quilt. While events in the bridal suite unfold slowly but inexorably, their power and meaning become clear as McEwan reveals the minds of the protagonists through these flashbacks.The reader senses that everything in Edward and Florence’s shared experience has led them, like it or not, to this moment.\The effect of the structure is as elegant as the prose itself.

There is one important difficulty with the book, which is that the action is centred on the marriage bed. The problem is not McEwan’s treatment of sexuality, which is serious and sensitive, somewhat graphic but by no means pornographic. The problem is that the story cannot be encountered without a significant element of voyeurism – an unfortunate human trait. This creates something of an intellectual paradox: the book engages the mind while instilling the feeling that one is a bit of a peeping tom. Highbrow voyeurism is still voyeurism.

On that account I would recommend On Chesil Beach only selectively.If sexual depictions in print make you uncomfortable, or if you think one ought not to be reading about someone else’s wedding night, even if fictional, you would be better off passing over this offering from McEwan. If your scruples are slightly less exacting or your tolerance higher, On Chesil Beach is a very worthwhile read – evocative, instructive, not quite dark but certainly melancholy.

Dear Mrs. Murray,

While we thank you for your valued custom and use of the Tesco Loyalty Card, the Manager of our store in Banbury is considering banning you and your family from shopping with us, unless your husband stops his antics.

Below is a list of offences over the past few months all verified by our surveillance cameras:

1. June 15: Took 24 boxes of condoms and randomly put them in people's trolleys when they weren't looking.

2. July 2: Set all the alarm clocks in Housewares to go off at 5-minute intervals.

3. July 7: Made a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to feminine products aisle.

4. July 19: Walked up to an employee and told her in an official tone, "Code 3" in housewares..... and watched what happened.

5. August 14: Moved a 'CAUTION - WET FLOOR' sign to a carpeted area.

6. September 15: Set up a tent in the outdoor clothing department and told shoppers he'd invite them in if they would bring sausages and a Calor gas stove.

7. September 23: When the Deputy Manager asked if she could help him, he began to cry and asked, "Why can't you people just leave me alone?"

8. October 4: Looked right into the security camera; used it as a mirror, picked his nose, and ate it.

9. November 10: While appearing to be choosing kitchen knives in the Housewares aisle asked an assistant if he knew where the anti-depressants were.

10. December 3: Darted around the store suspiciously, loudly humming the "Mission Impossible" theme.

11. December 6: In the kitchenware aisle, practiced the "Madonna look" using different size funnels.

12. December 18: Hid in a clothing rack and when people browsed, yelled "PICK ME!" "PICK ME!"

13. December 21: When an announcement came over the loud speaker, assumed the foetal position and screamed "NO! NO! It's those voices again."

And; last, but not least:

14. December 23: Went into a fitting room, shut the door, waited a while then yelled, very loudly, "There is no toilet paper in here."

Yours sincerely,

Charles Brown
Store Manager

2.Buckingham Palace

3.Westminster Abbey

4.Tower Bridge

5.Regent's Park

6.The London Eye

7.Harrod's

8. Shakepeare's Birthplace

9. The Spires of Oxford

10. Anfield

11. The Great Orm Railway

12. Dartmoor

13. The Lake District

14.Torquay ( Fawlty Towers locale )

15. The Cavern Liverpool ( where the Beatles played )

16. Oxford Street

17. Gretna Green

18. The Loch Ness Monster

19. Blackpool Pier.........

20. The Tower of London

21. The Isle of Mann

22. The White Cliffs of Dover

23.The Giant's Causeway

For many speakers and learners of English, the word "Oxford" spells authority about language. The second edition of the Oxford Dictionary of English is no exception. Any dictionary which comes from Oxford University Press (whose origins lie in the Middle Ages, the foundation of the university and the dawn of printing) tends to be in a different league from its competitors.
Based on the "Oxford English Corpus", language databases, which amount to "hundreds of millions of words of written and spoken English in machine-readable form", this hefty single-volume dictionary has four million words of text. That includes 355,000 words phrases and definitions, 12,000 encyclopaedic entries and 68,000 explanations. The statistics are mind blowing.

Like other new dictionaries the Oxford Dictionary of English provides boxed usage notes which point up, say, the difference between "pedal" and "peddle" or discuss the vexed old question of whether infinitives may be split. More unusual are the 14 detailed appendices on, for example, English in electronic communications, collective nouns and proof-reading marks. Most useful of all is probably the "Guide to Good English" which manages to be both admirably concise and immaculately clear.

Download Link:

http://rapidshare.com/files/50124798/Oxford_Dictionary_2006.rar

I wish I could remember more. My dream memories tend to be hazy at best. I am pretty sure that I slighted a mob boss at some point, however, and that may have been what started it all. Losing details of my dreams makes me sad sometimes, because they are so wild that it would be great to write about them, or play them back in my mind on more boring days in the office, such as this one. Sure, there is work to do, but it's nothing urgent and I'm happily distracted by anything not involving sorting through multi-ethnic names and figuring out how many clones there are running around out there.

I was resolute to keep this blog limited to shorter, more entertaining entries, but today has not found me bent towards brevity or particularly worried on the reader, and really, there are only a couple of you. Now then, because I am writing for myself I am going to describe my day since I woke up, because this will be enjoyable to look back on:

I woke up, that has been established. I woke feeling very good, for I had been lovingly nudged out of sleep by A. who had no news to report other than a few kisses, threats to skip work and climb back into bed, and that I was too adorable to leave. That's a nice pre-wake up mood setter. Especially given the tension that pokes itself into our conversations as we near our moving date. I bring this up now, because in the order of my day, I have now logged onto gchat on the laptop, still in bed. Before I even confirmed that A. was on, I remembered last night.

After talking for a bit online, less than merrily, I went upstairs to make breakfast. Eggs and refried black beans, no frills. Delicious. My mood had lightened as much as a heavy breakfast can afford. I zipped back downstairs and continued what would be another failed attempt at discussion. Once over, as is the trend these days, I retreated to the world of Harry Potter. I'm on the final book now, It's A.'s fault really, I had no interest in the books before. When I have been feeling weird, and in particular, about relationship issues, I have picked up the book and tried to use the forced mode of imagination to engage my mind on things less counterproductive than putting 2 and 2 together, only to get 3 or 5, or sometimes 37.

Sitting on the porch in perfect summer weather I read, and enjoyed a few cigarettes. My phone rang, I spoke into it and listened as it responded. Mood slightly lighter now I proceeded to work, I knew the day could go up or down from here, quite easily. Turned on MPR as I headed out of the Fridley Park parking lot to drown out the Mansion* and turned towards the sun. It would have been a beautiful morning had the bears been willing to come outside. -Oops, hold on, the phone.

The landlord cleared us to move early, keys on friday. excellent.-

So, the bears, yes. Utter hermits for the most part. Regardless, as I drove I heard the voices from the radio, but their thoughts didn't penetrate me. I remained oblivious to both my own driving and the words of the voices in my car as I made my way absent-minded towards the office. I considered stopping for a breakfast sandwich, remembered; I had already had breakfast. I thought about how it was really inconvenient that A. felt that this situation was my provocation and her response consistently throughout. I thought about how it made sense to feel that way since the awareness we are discovering together was something that had not been on her mind for years and years. On mine it had, and I knew what to say to myself. I knew what to look for on moving day or at the end of a prior relationship. I had already considered my extra-curricular activities in regards to the two of us and whether or not they fit the ideal parameters we now sought to clearly define.

You see, the goal of boundary building, while it may cause you to talk at length over a long span of time about things that are not always pleasant, things that do not reinforce the idea that you do, in fact, trust that person, the goal is to never have to bring it up again. You work hard to draw out a starting point, and move out from there, now armed with a map. From my thinking, the real trust comes in knowing that you outlined the ground-rules, you talked about your feelings on this or that, and now, going ever forward, you can trust that these ideals will remain virgin. Trust is a word often misused and meant to indicate ignorance. Trust and ignorance look the same to most people. I am ignorant of bridge structures and take it for granted that they tend not to collapse. Others may have to actively trust in that idea before crossing one. When asked to trust someone without having clear guidelines in place of exactly what I can look to for reassurance, I feel that I am being asked to remain ignorant. For example, It would be my ignorance, not my trust, that would allow me to indulge alcohol in the isolated presence of another young woman. Of course I trust myself, but that trust is likewise contingent on boundaries, boundaries such as not participating in the afore mentioned situation due to its renown to cause situations that wind up in heartfelt apologies bleated at the person now leaving the apartment, suitcase packed, headed to Mom's. Trust is what we feel about our ability to remain within a relationship's interpersonal behavioural limits. Without clearly verbalized and mutually consented parameters all we can do is ignore each other.

I parked the car so that the breeze would not be blocked by neighboring SUV's, left the windows cracked, and sighed as I entered the building.

There was a pile of work on my desk already, which was nice as I needed to stay busy today. Idle hands... As I got my things in order, processed the morning's emails and prepared to plug away I felt a calm wash over me. Peter, James, and Edmund had come to a consensus. This is always a very powerful ordeal, as when they agree, what has been agreed upon becomes integrated into my person as a trait. Current circumstances considered, I was properly encouraged.

I got a healthy amount of work done, ate lunch in my car, and did not sigh as I reentered the building.

I could be ignorant of the need for trust. That could be healthy/helpful. I could trust that my ignorance was possibly another parameter of our interpersonal dynamic. Dangerous, but potentially inspired.

Class was in session, all registrants were checked in. Time for my last break. I walked down to the car thinking over what I had written so far, decided not to reread or edit it before posting, save for typos or obfuscating language. It's ok to dismantle your values once in a while. When you put them back together at least you can assert them knowing they are not outmoded. -A. surprises me by getting into the car, it's very sweet-

To know that you are current with your life outlook and experiences; that you have accounted for, and reshaped your thinking on the behalf of, all that you have learned through the years... that... I believe, is called actualization. I've rearranged the Mansion, and the bears and I have come to an understanding.

Mutual understanding can be a violent process, but the peace it brings is unshakable.

It was a very different sigh that left the building with me. One of gratitude and a widened peripheral vision.

*the Mansion is residence to three brown bears named Edmund, Peter, and James. They all graduated Oxford college with various high level degrees in Theolgy, Psychology, Philosophy, and Literature. They are highly distinct manifestation's of my Id, Ego, and Super Ego who are frighteningly real in my day to day on goings. Expect more on them in the future. They are an entertaining trio. Edmund, the cynic, believes and trusts noone but, rather, sits in the study most of the day reading, thinking, and criticizing me and those I interact with. Peter is the mature one. He is responsible and wants everyone to get along. He reminds me of the thoughtful things I can do for others and keeps me motivated to improve. James is a wild one. He shirks most responsibility as often as he can get away with, pranks the other two, and loves to generally mess with those around him. He is responsible for my weirdness and social awkwardness. All three of them can be found in the study each evening, sipping brandy by the fire and arguing jovially about this, that, or whatever.

Our trip was primarily governed by the cheap National Rail train and National Express bus deals available that 2006 holiday season. We hit Stratford-upon-Avon, but didn’t pay to see Shakespeare’s or Anne Hathaway’s home. We went to Edinburgh, but skipped the underground city. Instead, we reveled in the cost-free beauties of the cities. After taking the train from Edinburgh to London, we had opted not to take the expensive London-to-Oxford train. We instead paid the few pounds cost to hop aboard the clean and comfortable Megabus.

The following spring, we took the same gear, adding a Johnson & Johnson tchotchke bag, to tackle Western Europe by primarily traveling and attempting to sleep on daytime and overnight National Express/Eurolines buses and a tiny EasyCruise riverboat, and by walking onto a SeaFrance RORO ferry (though we did take a TGV to Calais as a gift to me, and a currency exchange error on my part landed us in a nicer Paris hotel for the Easter weekend). After we were dumped off in downtown London, we again were happy to pay the small amount for our Megabus tickets home.

My final low-cost story reviews our most recent trip was this year. We hit Boston and New York, crashing at friends and family, staying in Hotwire-garnered hotels outside the city (and for a time, using a Hotwire-acquired rental), living on shared $5 Subway sandwiches (that promotion was a wallet-saver), and flying on JetBlue’s ‘red-eyes’. While planning, my wife and I found we needed to find a way to get from Boston to New York, and we loath spending over $10 for nearly anything. Our fears quickly vanished when we discovered that Megabus had recently added a Boston to New York route. Fortunately for us, the riders the week before were the guinea pigs (they luckily had a New York native aboard to help the lost driver), and we experienced a low-stress, low-priced—$8—jaunt into Manhattan.

Of course this isn’t about the chain-smoking and music that we had to endure on the bus from Amsterdam to Paris (it was awful), or about the 12am – 2am creepy tour of Brussels (it was the least expensive time to get there); it is about the reasons that Megabus as become one of the constants in our travels.

Megabus isn’t innovative simply because it caters to me and all of my fellow dinner-sharing, park-and-riding, non-AC-using cheapos. It wins because it has created a platform that wholly embraces the web and in so doing, passes on the cost-savings to the consumer (often said, but not often executed). They are succeeding in a thought-to-be-dead industry, using an Easy and/or Hotwire type motel, where seats are sold with a supply-demand treatment. Instead of looking at seats as a perishable item, like, say an airline that drastically cuts costs at the last minute to fill their plane, they look at their space as a commodity. When there are a lot of seats available, it's $1 to ride, and every seat taken increases that cost. The magic also comes in the routes they chose. The focus on high-use routes (LON-OX, BOS-NY), knowing that if consumers are made aware, the Megabus seats will fill. And, as a result of their model, they cut through the clutter—it seems primarily by word-of-mouth—and their services begin to own the route. Their success comes in adapting a proven, customer-centric model (seen most effectively with Ryanair and Easy; and I mean customer-centric not in a fluffy way, but in the way the customer does the work in securing the tickets, planning, etc.) in an antiquated industry, knowing that their larger competitors are hard-pressed to change their business models to compete.

As a result, Megabus wins.

read more | digg story

DVD Release 18 August 2008, Runtime 95 minutes, MGM Entertainment.

 Stargate Continuum is the second film this year made for DVD from the makers of the highly successful Stargate SG1 television series.

 It has everything a good science fiction film of this genera should have, from action, adventure, paradoxes, fantastic looking space ships, great fight scenes and time travel. However, the real star of the show is the scene extra, HMS Tireless, surfacing through the Arctic Ocean icecap. That's what I call great television. To read more http://www.oxfordprospect.co.uk/OxfordDVDReviews.htm#STARGATE_CONTINUUM

Voordat we hier weer gaan vliegen hebben we deze week eerst nog de 'First Officer Fundamentals'. Dit is een voorbereiding op bepaalde team aspecten die belangrijk zijn in een multi-crew cockpit. Daarnaast krijgen we ook de nodige tips voor onze solicitaties. Vrijdag moeten we een presentatie houden over een vliegtuig ongeluk. Hierbij moeten we bekijken wat er gebeurd is, wat er mis ging, waardoor, en hoe kan het verholpen had kunnen worden, etc. Wij hebben met onze groep de Air New Zealand ramp gekregen: flight 901. Dit vliegtuig (een DC-10) vloog in 1979 tegen een berg aan op Antartica, waarbij alle 257 personen aan boord het leven lieten. Meer info over deze ramp kan je hier vinden!

Volgende week beginnen we weer op de Seneca!

Basically, I cannot now even keep water down. I've had a bad stomach so I'm very dehydrated and haven't slept all night. They gave me a patch but it hasn't helped the pain, only given me loads of new and different side effects including nausea - ironically even the tab they gave me to stop nausea makes me sick and has other side-effects! So I'm not very good with medication just now.

I'll be back online when I return. Otherwise, it's been great knowing you all!

Looking down at the street from my hostel the first morning I saw this beautiful carpet … of gum. The streets look like there was just an apple blossom festival then a strong wind. Gum, gum, everywhere gum. I assume it is from the million-zillion tourists who descend like a flock during the day and vanish when the stores close up. Every single one of them is wearing an Oxford sweatshirt that cost them upwards of £20 pounds and half of them have on matching backpacks so the group leaders can pick them out in a crowd. It can be utter mayhem on certain streets during certain parts of the day.

Oxford is an old city full of old buildings. It has a lot of history. MissouriSouthern goes way back having held some kind of joint study agreement here for 20 years. Berkley, which has a program running in conjunction with Southern's program, has had a joint study agreement here for 40 years and some of the folks have been coming here every year.

It seems our program runs concurrent with the aristocracy of California, some of whom feel their blue blood quite strongly. This makes for some interesting cultural exchanges. I don’t think they’re quite sure what to make of us.

Mornings are free to explore. Oxfordis not a city of morning people however, as nothing opens before say 9 or 9:30. In fact the street sweepers are still doing their rounds at 10 a.m. and one morning I was surprised by a sidewalk sweeper (mini-version of the street sweeper). Everything shuts early too. Most stores are shuttered by 6 p.m. although there are two liquor/convenience stores and a grocery open 'till 11 p.m. or so. Even the pubs close at 11p.m. (much to the dismay of some of my fellow young people). The only thing open late around here is a gay bar called 'Baby Love' and the kebab vans. It really was a shocker to walk by a Starbucks at 8 p.m. and find it all buttoned up. Maybe the one around the corner was open. McDonalds - one of the few things to be open late - will have a queue out into the street. All the local teens hang out on Cornmarket street. They're either on their way to the bar or just come out of one. Girls stagger by in shorter, fluffier versions of what we'd call a prom dress or maybe a mini-skirt and leggings. Guys slouch around in groups, leaning on the benches that are at anything but bench height (like about butt height).

Oxford seems to be divided by it's linguistic categories. Folks just tend to socialize with the ones they can understand. Apparently parents all over Europe send their kids here to go to language school. This probably does not help the kiddos because they just run around speaking their native gibberish. Mostly it's Spanish or maybe French, Italian, Japanese, you-name-it. I never hear English on the street, not without a heavy accent and it's not Brit.

It rained every day the first week. The weather is unseasonably cold (or so they say). Sweaters are definitely not out of order. Umbrellas are the fashion accessory of the hour. If you have both of those and still want to look like a native then you need a bicycle - they are all the rage. If you're out of the tourist district in the mornings the bicycles outnumber the cars and the cars are mostly delivery vans. I don't think folks drive to work around here.

College, fuffa colossale spacciata per "vuoi vivere una vacanza studio da sogno seguendo la scia dei tuoi eroi telefilmici?". Inglese, lingua meravigliosa al centro di un business degno di un corso di sopravvivenza.

Strapaghi per imparare, mica per assicurarti che nel tuo bulbo capillare non proliferino pidocchi o muffe di ogni genere moltiplicatesi nella moquette.

Il Big Brother è fuori e dentro di te. Il primo giorno è tutto un come stai, fatto di sguardi diffidenti o presentazioni di effetto. La prima settimana è all'insegna del gioco di ruolo e della strategia. Nella tua seconda e ultima settimana, così stitica rispetto ai mesi di permanenza degli altri, sei già in nomination e l'esito è inconfutabile: perché affezionarsi a te se porteranno qualcun altro fino alla fine?

Scaduto il tempo della stoica fuga da Berlusconi ritorni e scopri che ti ha pure risolto l'emergenza rifiuti. Non c'è neanche un pretesto di cui sparlare: non ci manca proprio nulla.

          Levantamo-nos cedo e desafiando o frio descemos a seguir até Oxford, onde Antônio Olinto faria palestra sobre a cultura brasileira na Universidade. Sir Dave Hunt, arqueólogo por formação, senhor de humanística invejável e ex-embaixador de Sua Majestade no Brasil, cedera-nos carro com motorista. Richard Hunt, seu filho e nosso amigo, conosco iria até o condado na confluência do Cherwell e de Isis.ao leste da Inglaterra.

          Não seria longa a viagem e havíamos de chegar com o tempo de proporcionar-me a beleza natural da região. Seguimos a estrada quase reta, parando algumas vezes, enquanto o palestrante revia os pontos essenciais do seu trabalho.

          Enfim chegamos e descemos no campus diante do prédio que parecia o principal do conjunto. A cidade era a Universidade, a população não devia passar trezentas mil pessoas, casas antigas e ruas com tráfego suportável.

          Era um fim de semana, explicava-se. Um almoço ligeiro e aguardava-nos o Professor do Departamento que reunia brasilianistas de várias especialidades.

          Ao percorrer toda a ala e conhecer a maior parte dos interessados em nossa cultura, sentamo-nos em carteiras de aulas, adequadas à presença mais ou menos de centena de ouvintes.

          O inglês como idioma em Londres é um dom do conservadorismo britânico. Não há jargão com palavras mal constituídas. O conhecimento do latim e do grego entre os intelectuais tornam os lexicógrafos rigorosos na formação de neologismos indispensáveis às ciências aplicadas. As palavras não existem a fim constituírem aleijões etimológicos, o processo de formação é histórico e racional A gíria é outra coisa, desaparece em meio século de vida e está sujeita a mudanças de significado vulgar.

          Antonio Olinto discorreu muito bem sobre o tema, cuidadoso com as fontes. Atento, fixei-me no que expunha sobre as escolas filosóficas e literárias. Em nosso regresso fizemos algumas paradas, inclusive em Reading e Windsor, contornando na ultima o palácio real, ouvindo atentamente de Richard Hunt observações preciosas sobre o passado histórico na era de Eduardo III.

          Relendo hoje as observações anotadas sobre a palestra, encontrei seus ecos em livro escrito pelo conferencista na tradução de Adelina Aletti, Letteratura Brasiliana, publicada pela Jaca Book, de Milão, em l993.

For the most part, I admired my Dad for his willingness to stand up to anyone.  In my eyes, my Dad was superhuman.  One time, an inspector was looking over my Dad's shoulder while my Dad was in a ditch trying to solve some complicated waterline problem (My Dad was a pipeline contractor).  The inspector kept giving my Dad advice and telling him what he could and could not do.  Twice my Dad told him to leave him alone and to leave.

Not knowing my Dad, and thinking that because he was a government inspector, he didn't need to listen to this lowly ditch-digger, the inspector stayed.  The third time my Dad yelled at him to go.  But it wasn't just the words that were scary, it was the look in his eyes.  A sane person would know that my raging dad was insane when he was angry.

In the long run, this didn't work out very well

Even after the stern, no-nonsense third warning, the inspector had not left.  Just then the inspector started to micromanage the situation again.  By Dad rose up like Lou Ferrigno and in one loud, booming word, "NOW!!" The inspector turned on his heals and ran squarely into a steel post, which knocked him to the ground.

In the long run, this didn't work out very well.  This inspector hounded my Dad on every job he ever did in that county.

I'd like to say that I've learned to control my raging, but that would be a lie.  I have learned to be a little more discreet, and there are times when I've realized that rage would make things better, but like generations before me, I've allowed my lower nature to take control too many times.  This morning was one of those times.

From the very beginning, the experience at the Oxford Suites Motel has been less than ideal.  From a very late checkin, to too few towels in the room that took at least three calls to correct, I've been less than satisfied.  The staff seems indifferent to the guests and there has just been one little thing after another.

Like a growing number of people (See this Newsweek editorial), I don't need, or want, a TV in every venue I frequent.  Living in a home without TV makes us even more sensitive to the blaring TVs in public places.  So, the first day here, I asked the staff if we had to have the TV on in the dining area.  It was crowded and noisy already, the TV just made the cacophony worse.  The staff laughed at my joke (but it wasn't a joke).

When the dining room thinned out, I looked around and no one was watching the blaring news program.  What did we care about the morning commute in Portland?  So, I asked around, but no one minded if I shut it off.  So I did.

Yesterday, the TV was already off and it was bliss

Yesterday, the TV was already off and it was bliss.  My kids focused on their breakfast, my wife and I were able to talk with other guests, and it was a much more pleasant experience.  Today, I repeated the experience from a few days ago and turned off the TV when I saw no one watching it.

Toward the end of my breakfast a young man in a sport jacket came over and introduced himself as the general manager of the motel.  He adjusted his coat a few times, shuffled his feet, and then told me how the kitchen staff were upset that I shut off the TV.

Well, I didn't Hulk-out on him, but I certainly could feel the rage welling up inside me.  In fact, I sat still in my chair, legs crossed in a relaxed pose, but eyes flashing fire.  This poor young man, looking like a fresh graduate from Joe's Used Car Salesman School, tried to defend himself.  That's when I began to share with him the various missteps his staff has taken this past week.

Before the conversation was over, he was apologizing and promising to take action.  I told him, I'm not looking to get anyone in trouble; this is a systems issue, not a problem with individual staff (translation: "This is your responsibility.")

I'm not proud of the way I handled it

I'm not proud of the way I handled it.  I was a bit heavy handed and overbearing.  It was also embarrassing to my wife.  I'm just glad I didn't rise to my feet and thump him in the chest.

I'm learning, but I'm still continuing on the journey...

(NOTE: I've told my wife before that this is the reason people like The Hulk so much.  It's the rage we feel all too often inside; we just don't have the body to back it up.)

 The SCX-4500 not only manages to look like a piece of modern contemporary art, but is also able to scan, copy and print, in an all in one space saving device. Unlike other machines on the market, just by its design you would be proud to have it in your office or art gallery. To find out more see http://www.oxfordprospect.co.uk/samsungscx4500.htm

Alice’s Adventures in England, Part II: Fraught with peril
12 October 2006

Hello!

Hope the weather is holding up in the States. Yesterday, Oxford was subject to a torrential downpour, punctuated every so often with deafening thunder and lightning, starting in the middle of the night and lasting through the afternoon. I have to admit that I found it quite exciting. Anyhow...

I have discovered that I don't have anything like an "advisor" here, so no one knows quite what I'm up to. There are lectures, which are optional, as well as tutorials, which are compulsory. My English tutorial is actually in the Classics department, as I'm doing "Greek Myth and Tragedy in Translation and Adaptation." I made up this topic and requested this tutorial partially under the duress of receiving a form in the mail during my winter break last year that demanded I fill out my course requests and return them within ten days, but also because I was entertaining romantic notions of comparing literature of ages past to more recent adaptations in, say, the past 100 years. My hopes were dashed when on our first meeting, my tutor, whose specialty is Greek and Roman literature, generously proposed that we could go "even up to the Renaissance." However, the subject has turned out to be quite interesting, so I have no complaints. As for my other tutor, I haven't met him yet, but I heard that upon occasion he likes to “punt” himself in circles around the room on his office chair using a mop. (As far as I can make out, this British tradition of punting consists of pushing yourself through the water with a large stick.) I can’t wait to meet him.

Unfortunately, I still haven't received my library card, so I have had to devise all sorts of wily ways to get into the various libraries and read the books I need for my tutorials. The Classics library is especially troublesome, as I have to sneak out on the heels of someone who has swiped their card to open the door.

On the more physical side of things, I attended an induction to the St Catherine's College gym a few days ago. Like much of Oxford, the gym contains all the quaint charm of ages past—in particular, the leg press machine was probably an acquisition made when the University was first established in the 13th century. I was not especially comforted by our gym guide, who took care to detail all the gruesome and painful injuries that might be sustained on each piece of equipment—he gleefully informed us that he had a wall full of pictures as proof. Apparently, in the winter, the gym becomes a very special place indeed—all exercisers are given firsthand encounters with Mother Nature, as frost crusts the insides of the doors and windows.

In closing to this rather long and random email, I propose that all those who are seeking jobs contemplate a career in British university administration. Of course, a friendly disposition is required, but otherwise, the hours (at least at my college) are from 10-3:15 every day, with an hour for lunch.

Actually, there's one more thing. Following the heavy rains, I found approximately one-third of a worm stuck to my shoe today. That was kind of gross.

All my best,
Alice

Alice's Adventures in England, Part I: Greetings from London

25 September 2006

Hello, Friends!

Or, as they say in England, hello! (There's only so much ethnic pizzazz you can add to an email from a country that speaks the same language.)

Hope you are all doing fantastically well! There actually isn't much for me to update on, since I've only been in England for a total of eight hours, including two in the airport, but I decided to write anyway, since I miss you all.

In an auspicious beginning to my trip, I realized while driving to the Taipei airport that 20:20, the time of my flight, was not 10:20 but 8:20 pm (this is why I am not a math major). This magical moment of comprehension happened at 6:30, while I was still an hour away from the airport, ruining my plan of getting to the airport three hours ahead of time. Indeed, it seemed uncertain whether I would make my flight at all, especially when the highway patrol stopped us to ask whether we had seen the speeding motorcyclists who have been hacking hapless bystanders late at night with a machete (we had not). (And hopefully that last tidbit has distracted you from the fact that I thought 20:20 was 10:20 pm.) In any case, I made my flight—barely—and settled in to listen to a BBC radio special on gibberish, complete with sound "quotes" of babies speaking to one another.

Having hopped backwards eight time zones into Greenwich Mean Time, I'm now living the high life in London for the next few days while I have my study abroad orientation. So far, this high life has consisted of (be not too green with envy) taking the Tube at rush hour, meandering through the streets of London looking for the study abroad headquarters and my hotel while trying to figure out which way to hold my map, and finally, discovering that a gigantic winged insect recently decided to go for a dip in the toilet bowl of my bathroom, with tragic results. Luckily, I was unfazed by this sight, having seen various squashed and dried frogs and lizards on the streets of Taiwan this summer.

And on that happy note, I'm off to fight the good fight against jet lag. Farewell!

Take care,
Alice