Quick Must-See

Two of the best Brits, Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon, have teamed up in 'The Trip', a six episode, part improvised series.

Check out this clip and then find more on the Tube. I am in love. The Richard Gere bit killed me. Off to dinner.

Turning to Some Self-Help

Hugh MacLeod

There comes a time in every thesis when you simply must turn to some self-help books.

I had resisted for ages - not (solely) out of snobbery, but because they appeared to be time-wasters, excuses for not getting on with the job (said with gruff Aussie accent).

I have relented, first with Authoring a PhD by Patrick Dunleavy, and now with Writing Your Dissertation in Fifteen Minutes a Day by Joan Bolker, and, a little off topic, Ignore Everybody and 39 Other Keys to Creativity by Hugh MacLeod.

The first book is highly technical and written in a slightly smug, 'You silly little novice' style. But it's a solid attempt at boiling down each of the components of thesis writing. If you're up for having your structure divided into proportions and number of words, this is for you. The second is more emotionally trustworthy - don't let the business speak title throw you! It follows the 'I will first come right down into your steaming mess of a mindset and only then will I help drag you out' approach, one which allows you to feel relaxed about accepting the advice (which is, essentially, how to become addicted to writing and to recognise psychological traps that stop you from finishing). The last is a bunch of swiftly dealt creativity tips from a cartoonist-blogger.

Here are some of the many tips from them (two each) that have stuck with me:

1. See the literature review as context not conflict - new writers often feel they need to prove that other researchers got it wrong.
   
   
2. Manage the readers' expectations with regular chapter and paragraph length and by watching the conceptual weighting throughout a chapter and then the whole thesis. Well-organized writers signal to readers what a chapter and a thesis will do. They make promises and keep them. You need to give equal weight to each issue if you say you will give equal weight.
   
   
3. When you're stagnating, try writing about what might be troubling you: Are you worried your supervisor might not like it? Are you uncertain if you believe what you've argued? Or is there something in the material itself that disturbs you?
   
   
4. Try to summarize each of your paragraphs in a single sentence - find out whether your paragraph has a central idea or too many ideas. This then serves as a chapter outline.
   
   
5. Don't worry about finding inspiration. It comes eventually. Inspiration precedes the desire to create, not the other way around.
   
   
6. The best way to get approval is not to need it.

Feel free to share any writing or motivational tips that have made things easier for you. Good luck (to me if no one else)!

Some Funny for the Weekend

image

I saw Bill Bailey, one of my favourite comedians, in Oxford last night. I was starstruck for most of his show - I am so used to seeing him on British TV (or iplayer, to be precise) that it took a fair old while for my wee brain to adjust. He describes himself as part-troll, 1985 Meatloaf lookalike finalist, and juggling multiple personalities: shamer, child, philosopher, rocker, and conspiracy theorist. He's unreal.

One of his gags that just about killed me dealt with his extreme embarrassment about the opening ceremony of the London 2012 Olympics. He envisions the following:

An inflated Churchill (with peace sign and cigar) on the Thames accompanied by the song, Who do you think you are kidding, Mr Hitler? and a crew of London hip hop dancers.

Then a huge Yorkshire pudding will appear. The top will unfold and out will jump a bunch of dancers representing gravy and mushy peas.

Then we will see a giant, mechanical bulldog with Tesco [Supermarket] Proud Olympic Sponsor shaved into its scrotum.

The dog will open its mouth and the Queen will roll down its tongue on a Stannah stairlift.

A laser will beam from her crown to light the torch.

Then her head will flip back like a Pez and a corgy will shoot out with Union Jacks coming out its arse.

Comic gold. Hope you have a happy weekend.

Things Brought into My Life....

...which I want to pass on to you.

I have been receiving some incredibly considerate emails lately. Most are simply words of encouragement or quick reality checks, some set forth life lessons, while others are solid attacks on the enemy, as if it were shared. All to get me through the next little bit. I think you need all of these at various points along the way, occasionally all in one day.

I have also been given some lovely things from people who get to see me in real life (the lucky few!). I wanted to pass these on, not least because I have noticed a hefty measure of burnout in blogland at the moment - in both hemispheres. Hoping they will help a little.

Aspire Style tea

This exact mug and Happiness tea were given to me by a friend, Emily. Pretend to warm your hands on it and take a sip. It's a very large mug:

Cath Kidston mug

The boyfriend set me up with the best, chunky (organic) vegetable soup to watch a handful of TED talks. (If you're not all over these by now, sort it out!). Here is one we watched given by (pop) philosophy essayist Alain de Botton, on a kinder, gentler philosophy of success. Some twitchy eye moments particularly when he makes his conclusions, but certainly some helpful tools to manage the Sunday (status anxiety) blues. (The comments are also worth a browse).



We also watched some oldies. Probably the most thought-provoking of this oldies lot (and certainly the most kooky) was Amy Tan's talk, Creativity:



And, finally, The Journey, a poem by Mary Oliver (not easy to find without a photograph of a sunset or waterfall), sent to me by a friend whose pretty name is so distinctive that I can't name her here:

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Thanks to my supporters and as the Brits say: Chin up, tigers!

What's That Over There?

photo by: goenetix (with 999 uploads!)

I have noticed that my recent posts have been distinctly non-academic, at least in the direct sense. I am in heavy thesis mode at the moment, thrashing out the very last of my empirical chapters. I will then turn my efforts to rewriting the history and context chapter, and then, only naturally, rewrite the introduction and conclusion as if I knew exactly what I was saying all along. Nothing to see here, really. I ride to my Department most days and sit in an open plan workspace. Otherwise, I walk a few hundred metres to my College library or else, I stay home (in College). It all depends on the type of thinking I need to do and whether I am in a focused or excitable mood.

Each day and all day, I receive emails about upcoming seminars and conferences, job opportunities, IT maintenance, washing up (drying and putting away) coffee mugs. I struggle with the habit of writing a good few sentences or paragraphs and then - instead of stretching (I have a clicky sternum from cowering over the keyboard), doing my eye exercises (it's all about varying that focal length!) or simply ploughing on - finding someone or something on the Internet to make me feel connected to something other than my new ideas or old ideas in tidy sentences and arguments. I am often confronted with Facebook status updates of fellow academic friends gloating about internships, accolades or some garden party or other. I get lost in the anxiety and find myself frantically clicking on a total stranger's Greek Island holiday. Each time I do this, something (probably sharpening my focus and seeing the strange couple in their swimwear) kicks in to make me stop and return to my work, vowing never to go back to Facebook during work hours.

Nonetheless, if I get up and walk to the Department kitchen for a drink, I then have to absorb the complaints of various students about how long a PhD takes, how the time required for academic tasks is almost impossible to predict, how ill-disciplined and/or inadequate they feel, how someone else in the Department published an article or received some research work from a Professor. The next day, sometimes the next hour, the same people offer speeches on how fortunate (and horribly selfish and without perspective) we all are. We vow to be more grateful. Often I hear myself jumping on these conversational trains or even, I admit, spearheading a theme. But, these days, I am actually quite bored of these types of conversations. I have little energy for anything that won't help me across that finish line. This aloofness is uncharacteristic. Sitting and typing is the way forward. I am writing a lot. This means my downtime, even at the Department kitchen, has to count as downtime.

By the end of the day, after I go for a walk or to the gym, feed myself, check my emails again, read, watch some BBC iplayer, read again, the last thing I feel like doing is writing an involved blog post about my day, the unremarkable bullheadedness that is academia for me right now. I trust or at least sincerely hope that once I am done with the thesis I will have whole spaces in my daily routine and brain to dedicate to more thoughtful, dynamic posts about the politics, vagaries and practicalities of academia. And I plan to get a whole lot more whingey too, possibly in that ultra dramatic, filthy tempered way that is quite the hip approach in blogland. Maybe not. I suspect having some sort of job security (there are degrees, I am aware) will lead to a blog reblossoming of sorts. I hope so.

So instead of battling on, trying to provide spiffy, insightful posts about academia, I will instead refer you to some far more keen, reflective and/or witty posts about the subject. I am hoping it will serve a 'Look over there!' and a counterweight function until I finish my thesis. Here we go. Some inspiration:

1. Academic Cog (2007) Dissertators, Has This Ever Happened to You
2. Academic Cog (2009) Lessons for Girls: Don't Just Ask Insist on Help (even if it makes you feel weird)
3. Dr. Crazy (2009) One of My Best Qualities: Ability to Meet (Ish) Deadlines
4. Dr. Crazy (2009) How to Succeed in Academia Without Really Trying?
5. Dr. No (2009) Getting Naked
6. Dr. No (2009) I Got Nothing
7. Inktopia (2009) And then my Grading Pen Exploded
8. Inktopia (2008) You Might be an English Professor If...
9. Historiann (2009) What is Good Teaching, and How Can We Know It?
10. Historiann (2009) Teaching and Tenure: What counts (and what's good?)
11. Candid Engineer (2009) Irritation Yields Clarity
12. Bavardess (2009) Career Angst and the Scholarly Life
13. John Flood (2009) What is Your Research Worth?
    

Ok. That actually took a lot longer than planned. I intended to include around thirty as there's some excellent stuff out there. Need to stop now. Too fiddly. But if you have any favourite academia-relevant posts to share (your own or others), please do send them to me in a comment to this post. Thanks team!

p.s. Just in case there's any confusion, you're still expected to stay loyal and check my blog a few times per week. I'll still be nattering away.

Magdalen College Ball 2009

These are some photographs of the Magdalen College ball I attended on Friday night, courtesy of Brett Tully.

You'll have to just believe me that there was a harpist playing at the champagne reception, where the 1800 (or so) guests first assembled.

At the back of the College is a deer park with benign trees and soft grass scattered with pieces of tree and ivy, reminiscent of an Enid Blyton story. The deers had been replaced for the evening by dodgem (bumper) cars and a big top circus. There were also white food stalls (lamb and cous cous, roast pork and apple sauce rolls, Indian curry, doughnuts with cinnamon and chocolate sauce and an ice cream stand). Young couples sipped their drinks in between the buttress roots. Many of the women (or at least the ones I noticed) were wearing quasi-regency, quasi-Greco-Roman dresses, with empire lines, fine detailing, multiple layers, in white, pale golds and creams, their hair long and flowing and barely pinned back. The men were in white tie.

Then, just in front of the park, the New Building lawn housed a more modern scene: igloo-style cocktail and oyster bars, chocolate fountains, and a large orchestra (which went on to accompany the fireworks that erupted once the pink sky turned dark grey).

In obscured corners of the College buildings, there were massage parlours, hairdressers, old-fashioned performers and large vases of orchids.

When I sauntered through to the Cloisters for the first time that evening, I found myself suddenly caught up in an eerie, purple light and the honey-coloured stone. Then, through the medieval tipped windows, I caught the first glimpses of the most heavenly scene and I squealed, 'Eeeee'. From a poll in the middle of the quadrangle, strings of fairy lights gently reached each corner. Once it was dark, the Cloisters seemed more Hollywood glamour than celestial. The dance floor was a checkerboard, the singer was suitably husky, and there was a whiskey and champagne bar and an olives and cheeses tent at two of the corners.

In large marquee in a parallel quadrangle, a load of English bands rocked it from 9pm, including The Epstein, The Feeder and The Pipettes. (The last were like The Wiggles for adults, but in the 1960s. I was hooked.) Then, from around 3am, the survivors happily exchanged sweat and shapes at the silent disco as the sun quietly rose.

Yes, it was ridiculous in hindsight, and even during it, there were a few people getting a little intoxicated on their own splendour. But, it was essentially playful and truly beautiful, and, given the scale, the sort of thing I will probably only experience once.

Having quickly read my description though, it's clear that my tone is far more formal, possibly even reverent, and far less humourous than it is by nature. (That third photo is asking for something, whereas I just left it there.) Maybe the whole thing's gotten to me. That's it. The old me is finished. Lavish only from now on. LAVISH!

The Good, the Bad and the Funny

photos by: Kate

The Good:

Surprise mail at any time is good. Surprise goody bag mail to "cheer up dreary thesis-plodding" is the best. Check out what Kate (of love you big) sent me! The rainbow tape that was binding the handmade packaging was very exciting for me, so imagine my inner squeals when I discovered inside an old-fashioned popcorn bag filled with super cute, crafty treats. Thanks Kate! Check out the rest of her goodies, get amongst her free giveaway, and do think about sending one of your friends a pack of colour sometime. It helps. The return of sunny weather, regular exercise, summertime energy and patient loved-ones also help.

The Bad:

Dealing with my thesis, other publications, and 'What Next' questions at the same time; inner siren going off at second email this week informing me that I 'must be almost finished' (I assure you, I will let you know); trying to come to terms with the situation in Iran; and a non-blog-friendly dull sadness about something personal.

The Funny:

The other night, two ginger friends (who don't know each other particularly well) were sitting around a table at The Turf with a bunch of non-gingers (including me). They start to size up each other's gingerness. Ginger boy has to show he is a real ginger by revealing his arm hair. Ginger girl tells us how when she walks past another gingette (my term) there is an implicit understanding between them, as well as a quick scan to see whether the other is wearing the right shade of pink, for instance, given their limitations (and opportunities, I would say. Greens, browns, ruby red and electric blue are winners!). Ginger boy declares that society is intolerant of ginger couples, that if we see two dark-haired people cuddling or walking hand-in-hand, it's not an issue, not even noticed, but if they are two gingers, we see it as wrong (as if gingerness should only ever be an outcome of a freaky throw-back) or highly suspicious and uncomfortable. Ginger girl replies that she learnt early on in high school that having a ginger boyfriend would be no easy choice.

For some more funny, check out this song from Aussie rednut, Tim Minchin. Hope you're having a positive week!

Happy Little Oxonians Enjoy a Garden Play

photo by: Lawrence OP

On Sunday evening, I had one of those perfect experiences that Oxford offers from time to time. After deliberating on a punt, a group of us took off to see the Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest presented by the New College MCR. The setting itself was almost enough - New College is breathtaking.

photo by: Hans S

There were around 200 of us perched on fold-out seats or lounging on rugs on the grass. We were encouraged to bring picnic food and drinks and the classics - Pimms, strawberries and chocolate - were not forgotten. It was warm and yellow, with Spring things in the air diffusing the light. We were boxed in by a couple of charming, low-hanging trees and the cloisters which served as the back drop for the play.

The photographs below were taken on another night. I am glad that I can use them here (Thanks Anu) as I didn't take my camera, but they don't quite portray just how light and lulling it was on the Sunday. It seemed more like the photos above, but dreamier.

photos by: Anu Devi

The student actors did a pretty terrific job at capturing Wilde's wit and satire. Also, the director who opened and closed the night was deliciously eccentric which helped set the tone. I know one of the cast members and I can say unreservedly that she was a stand-out. The famous lines made everyone smile and by Act 2 we were all sitting back and laughing together. By the end, were only too happy to oblige the drinking needs of the cast and put our seats away before riding home on our bikes.


Here are some of the many gems for your pleasure. Got a bit carried away, so feel free to stop when you need to:

Really, if the lower orders don’t set us a good example, what on earth is the use of them?
Algernon, Act 1.

Girls never marry the men they flirt with. Girls don't think it right.
Algernon, Act 1.

Ah! That must be Aunt Augusta. Only relatives, or creditors, ever ring in that Wagnerian manner.
Algernon, Act 1.

Nor do I in any way approve of the modern sympathy with invalids. I consider it morbid. Illness of any kind is hardly a thing to be encouraged in others. Health is the primary duty of life.
Lady Bracknell, Act 1.

I do not approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone. The whole theory of modern education is radically unsound. Fortunately in England, at any rate, education produces no effect whatsoever. If it did, it would prove a serious danger to the upper classes, and probably lead to acts of violence in Grosvenor Square.
Lady Bracknell, Act 1.

I am sick to death of cleverness. Everybody is clever nowadays. You can’t go anywhere without meeting clever people. The thing has become an absolute public nuisance. I wish to goodness we had a few fools left.
Jack, Act 1.

Few parents nowadays pay any regard to what their children say to them. The old-fashioned respect for the young is fast dying out.
Gwendolen, Act 1.

If I am occasionally a little over-dressed, I make up for it by being always immensely over-educated.
Algernon, Act 2.

I don’t quite like women who are interested in philanthropic work. I think it is so forward of them.
Cecily, Act 2.

Cecily: When I see a spade I call it a spade. Gwendolen: I am glad to say that I have never seen a spade. It is obvious that our social spheres have been widely different.
Act 2.

Well, I can’t eat muffins in an agitated manner. The butter would probably get on my cuffs. One should always eat muffins quite calmly. It is the only way to eat them.
Algernon, Act 2.

Never speak disrespectfully of Society. Only people who can’t get into it do that.
Lady Bracknell, Act 3.

Untruthful! My nephew Algernon? Impossible! He is an Oxonian.
Lady Bracknell, Act 3.


Here's a picture I came across this morning (Wed) by Brett Tully, another Aussie student (we're everywhere!) and one who is very handy with a camera. For some more of his delightful pics of Oxford, click here.

Article Dump 3

photo by: smallandround

Some things in my electronic collection box:

1. Beaten to the Punchline by Germaine Greer: What's holding women back in comedy?
   
   
2. The Quiet Coup by Simon Johnson: Former chief economist of the International Monetary Fund says the finance industry has effectively captured the US government
   
   
3. Who's Buried in Cleopatra's Tomb? by Stacy Schiff: Women, power and myth
   
   
4. Born Believers: How your brain creates God by Michael Brooks: Is religious belief hardwired?
   

Read if you like.

Two things in my mental collection box:

1. When colleagues/fellow students/friends are self-centred and emotionally greedy after a long day: I only accept compliments or presents after 10pm. (A student here gave me this to use in future and I like it.)
   
   
2. When people ask you what you're doing next and you have neither the answer nor the energy to come up with a grand plan to satisfy them (as you might have done at some earlier stage): I understand you need my certainty to make yourself feel reassured, but I just can't provide you with that right now.

Use if you like.

Too Tired to Be Grateful

photo by: Denis Collette

Hey, remember how I said I listened to this meditation podcast that told me to turn my frustration into gratitude? Well, it's only just about working at the moment. Probably not working, really.

Here are some things I did on Sunday that made me smile and feel connected:

• Lay in bed for a while, stared and turned into different foetal balls.
• Rang home for Aussie Mother's Day and had a nice chat with my mother and my youngest brother.
• Pilates at the gym - which I am suddenly rather fond of since it appears to be reversing some of the effects of my poor posture at the computer. Wore some long 80s-style leggings which made me want to do star jumps.
  
• Strolled from town to Cowley via G&D's for a bananarama milkshake and the Sunday papers (reading about Liv Tyler bouncing back after divorce, the MPs expenses scandal, and how a high profile lesbian fell in love with a well-known bisexual author).
• Boyfriend met me there and asked me to hurry up by looking at me in a certain way. I asked him whether he was "on my team today or not because things could be easy or hard." He gave me a big hug, but then walked out anyway so I abandoned my reading material.
• Met friends for lunch, at their place off Cowley Road. Brought chicken and rhubarb as contribution to feast.
• Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares (USA) was on in the background while we prepared vegies for roast lunch and fruit for crumble.
• Watched someone who knows how to cut things quickly and cook intuitively.
• Animated conversation over table about how we were parented, the nature of ambition, social rules.
  
• Full and pretty drowsy, cruised on over to the Little Feat gig at the Carling Academy on Cowley Road. Full of chunky men, most over 55.
• Favourite Little Feat songs still Fat Man in the Bathtub, The Weight, Willing, and Dixie Chicken. (I talked these guys up a while ago and think you should at least check out these songs.)
  
• Back home for foccacia dipped in oil and balsamic vinegar as no dinner. This snack seemed very late 90s New Labour to me.
  
• Boyfriend playfully poked me and I said he poked me like Monty Burns and he said "Release the Hounds."

Here is what happened yesterday that is making me feel emotionally detached from the list above:

• Went to Dept, tried to work, but felt glandy and squinty.
  
• Then after lunch, as if on auto-pilot, just left Dept, walked home and slept for 2 hours.
• Feel as if I could sleep for a month but must get on with chapters.

Now wondering if day off (Sunday) is best spent just lying and staring. Bearing in mind that I do exercise in the week and I do try to get to bed at a sensible hour, I would really appreciate some tips to better relax and use my time off to gain energy rather than lose it. Thank you.

Only in Oxford...

image

...would you spend a Thursday evening eating overpriced pub grub (£10 for a slab of crumbed chicken in a dry bun) with students from Poland, The States, The Netherlands and Italy and then ride down in your Converse to join a bunch of English undegrads hear Jack Straw, Lord Chancellor and Secretary of State for Justice, present a case for why Labour should win the next election (on the basis that it is more committed to substantial equality than the Conservatives) and explain why the British Goverment did not lie to the public about the presence WMDs in Iraq; how there was no dishonesty just wrong information and that it was a matter of public confidence being lower than it should be. Only in Oxford would you find yourself unlocking your bike right next to the MP himself as he jumped into the back of a shiny cobalt van surrounded by a bunch of geezers in black suits. Only I would be so desperate for attention as to ask them for a lift back to my College, "plenty of room fellas". I got a couple of chuckles for my troubles (Mmm...tasty doggie biscuit treats).

Am off to Ben's Big Gig tonight with a load of friends. You can watch it live at this site from 8pm-10:30pm GMT. It's geek pop that Demi Moore thinks is "hilarious" and to which posh celeb chef, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall has given the thumbs up (or the pointy finger).

Basking in Some Poetry

photo by: Sunday Grrl

I came home last night to find on my desk The Great Modern Poets: An Anthology of the Best Poets and Poetry Since 1900 (edited by M Schmidt). It's an ideal (re)introduction for someone like me who has not studied poetry in any sustained way since high school and who doesn't have the frame of mind for a tome. Each of the 50 poets is given a short introduction, and some historical and critical context for his or her work. Plus, the book itself looks pretty and feels precious. I will resist taking it around with me today for show and tell.

The usual team was called up - Hardy, Houseman, Frost, Yeats, Frost, Pound, Eliot, Graves, Auden, Thomas, Hughes, Plath etc. - to join names I hadn't heard of before. I was quite surprised to find an Aussie in there, Les Murray (1938 - ). After reading a few of the heavies (it is ordered by poet's date of birth), I came across him and was taken back to the muggy classroom of my teenage years.

I want to share one of his poems here, not because it was necessarily the most pleasurable or insightful of those I read before bed (although I don't think I was being particularly discerning, I was just happy to have my new book!) and certainly not because he is an Australian (you may already know about my ambivalence towards patriotism). I have chosen it because his poem threads many of my recent thoughts about academics, particularly those in consuming spells of thinking and writing. Also, it's reminiscent of a fair few religious/spiritual and philosophical ideas I have read or heard over the years that have appealed to me.

The Meaning of Existence

Everything except language
knows the meaning of existence.
Trees, planets, rivers, time
know nothing else. They express it
moment by moment as the universe.

Even this fool of a body
lives it in part, and would
have full dignity within it
but for the ignorant freedom
of my talking mind.

Anyway, I am off to my Department. It is far too bright and warm for it and my legs are rebelling against the idea. I am quite certain this will be another day of students talking about admiring and smelling flowers and worrying about their inability to focus or finish sentences.

Feel free to point me to your favourite poems - who knows how long this zeal with last! Hope you are feeling uncluttered and positive about things.

Nordic Treat

photo by: just.K

I just discovered this pretty special (and very manageable) Spotify playlist, Vantapamig, posted by a Nordic sweetie. Try this if the other link doesn't work.

I am as quick to join in on a rant about the dearth of letter-writing as any other toff around here, but bless the magical interweb. I am so grateful that I didn't have to meet this person on a Contiki tour and then hope she would indeed send me that mixed tape she promised in exchange for my Crowded House tape, the one that had been playing (along with Counting Crows) on the bus during the entire trip of 73 countries in 6 days. That would suck on so many levels.

Judging from her last name and her careful selection of moody, but accessible songs, I think she's Scandi, but I will say Nordic to be safe since the girls from that part of the world are fierce. Scandis have the low contextuality (ie directness of speech, fewest words to convey meaning) of Australians mixed with that intense pride that comes from being from a set of countries that are apparently so much more evolved than everywhere else. They just don't seem to care if you like them or not. Anyway (ahem), it's been getting me through today's writing session. Thanks Alexandra.

Feel free to (please) send some more study/work playlists my way. I'd like something upbeat to join this one, but not something that will trigger any automatic robo-dancing.

Creativity as Frippery?

My grandmother is accomplished. She's fiercely bright, high-spirited and decisive, she's a doctor and a giver, and she's creative and thoughtful. She's also from one of those generations that doesn't exchange complaints all the time. A short while back, she helped my family move house (and sort through thirty years of encumbrances) and was, I recall, the only one of us not to grumble. Part of this package deal is modesty - she would see my description here as possibly gushy or improper and definitely unnecessarily fussy.

One of her hobbies is photography, and from time to time she worries that it amounts to mere frippery. I think it's interesting how certain types of creativity are harder to justify to oneself than intellectual pursuits or the service of society (or the market!). But I guess there is a scale of things in life, right? And pure commitment to aesthetics would preclude so many other possibilities in life. Although, I am not sure who has the authority to judge the useful from the (merely aesthetic?) rest. Do we need to justify these things? Some claim that usefulness is hideous, and that art is serious. How do you guys see your creative endeavours, including, for instance, your blogs? Is it essentially about having both in your life, about covering both bases - the useful and the aesthetic?

In the meantime, these are some of her beautitful photographs that were recently highly acclaimed by her peers. How delightful are those droplets?!

Sydney as a Bathtub

Hey, I found these wonderfully zany films yesterday. The artist, Keith Loutit, uses techniques such as tilt-shift and time-lapse photography to make the world appear as figurines and miniature toys in a giant's playground. Watching them took me straight back to my hometown, Sydney; they capture superbly much of the colours and lifestyle. Louit has selected some great, quirky soundtracks too. Bathtub IV is brought to life by Megan Washington's adorable and affecting song, Clementine - definitely worth a listen to and look at on its own. His most recent short film uses a song by Shawn Lee called Throwing Shadows at the Wall and the video for this song makes me terribly sentimental.* I can't really cope with senior citizens singing the words of someone else's song.

*until the dancefloor part.


Bathtub IV from Keith Loutit on Vimeo.

Peak District Bliss

The boyfriend and I escaped to the Peak District for the weekend. We stayed at Cotesfield Farm, Parlsey Hay, a working farm managed by Andy, a welcoming bloke from Scotland. From our window, we could peek at the dairy cows in the barn. Andy's only advice before we set out to explore the farm was to avoid the bulls who would "not mind if you were dead, like."

On Sunday, we cycled over 20 miles (or just over 32 km) from Parlsey Hay Cycle Hire, where we picked up our fancy mountain bikes (and stood out because we were not wearing any lycra) to Tissington and back again.

How magnificent are the dry stone walls? I cycled for the most part with my face at right-angles; the views were dreamy. This meant riding through many limestone potholes and happily copping mud spray all over my back.

I said to my boyfriend that this is surely England at its most beautiful. He agreed. I asked him where he thought Mr Darcy might have proposed to Elizabeth Bennett, even though I knew in my heart that our bearings were a little off. This kind of romantic absorption reminded me of my mother who is deeply attached to English landscapes (her father having been English) and I recalled how, in my early teens, my dad said, in relation to a converstion about our (Australian) home renovations, something to the effect that my mum still thinks she is "in some English novel where she can go and sit on a large swing set up in a rose garden."


By the time we reached Tissington, we had transformed. We felt as though the wind had blown blocks of stress off our bodies. Everything around us seemed perfectly lovely and I started to think about poetry and vowed to read more of it.

Tissington itself is a very proud, untouched village that has been managed by the FitzHerbert family for over 400 years.



Can you see the sweet little cats in the window? They've been there for 150 years.

Our half-time reward was cream tea in the Old Coach House across from St Mary's Church (built in the early 12th century, heavily restored in the 19th century). There was a bunch of very senior ramblers also enjoying the spot. Good on them, I say.



(We were far too famished to take a pre-scoffing pic.)

The scones gave us enough of a boost to make it back (uphill!) to Parsley Hay, although my boyfriend commented that perhaps I could have done with a low-GI lunch as I became a bit scrappy two-thirds of the way. Of course, once the end was in sight, I began doing mental wheelies and in fact did a skid-style brake outside the hire shop. Happy times.

Article Dump 2

photo by: Whiskers and Whispers (the future is feline)

Here are some of the articles that have been sent my way by Oxford nerdy nerds in recent weeks:

1. Shop Craft as Soulclass by Matthew B Crawford: reconsideration of an ideal that has fallen out of favor: manual competence
2. The Daily Me by Nicholas D Kristof: we may believe intellectually in the clash of opinions, but in practice we like to embed ourselves in the reassuring womb of an echo chamber
3. 'Brain Decline' begins at age 27, BBC online: mental powers start to dwindle at 27 after peaking at 22, marking the start of old age
4. Books and Music that Make you Dumb by Marisa Taylor: Caltech graduate student's tongue in cheek research into the correlation between taste and intelligence

This is a purposive sample, but perhaps not completely unrepresentative of some of the concerns and vanities of Oxford students!

I haven't been able to blog too much of late. I have been trapped in the write-up spiral and spending any time out of it enjoying the glorious Spring weather. (Daffodils, fresias, soft breezes and good but also flitty moods have returned to Oxford. Our hunched over bodies are absorbing the vitamin D as if we had straws to a frothy milkshake.)

Also, I had a massage on Tuesday and the masseuse told me that I need more nurturing and less analysis in my life so I have been trying to replace time at the computer with dancing, walks, dinners and reading by the window.

I had my first bike ride on a friend's handlebars last night and I may as well have been in Portofino.

Six things

photo by niznoz

Was just transmitted a meme by Inktopia. Am now compelled to create a list of six things that make me happy. If you're reading, you're now a host too.

1. Lady parties - the ones where the group hormones are aligned, and there's intellectual, sincere and (at its best) playful conversation between women
   
   
2. Witty, affectionate banter with just about anyone, strangers will do
   
   
3. Middle Eastern (Belly) Dance classes with the zany menopausal lot
   
   
4. "Cracking the Code" or finally working out how to structure academic material that had up til then been right hooking me in the jaw
   
   
5. Reading, walking or picnicking in the park, with my man, friends, the birds, flower and grass smells, distant chatter and squeals, the breeze - the classic combo deal
   
   
6. Come to think of it, I'd trade in 5 to explore somewhere vast, dramatic and preferably watery any day
   

A Little Biscuit for Being so Good

click images to zoom in

I have finally had a major breakthrough with my thesis. Up to this point, I was a slave to both my data (allowing it to live in a cave in the mountains) and the pre-existing literature (worrying about the significance of every finding). I have finally written up the terms of their arranged marriage and they are to be wed in the next week. They will just have to learn to live together.

To celebrate, I have reproduced (with permission) a selection of delicious pics from She's Jack, a prodigious (high school!) photographer. Some of the images are clearly depictions of adolescence, but they do represent aspects of how I am feeling right now and the imaginations and silliness that are keeping me going.

Article Dump

photo by: Animaux

For a while now, I have been collecting articles that I have taken my fancy for one reason or another. Here is a bunch of them that may serve as a nice afternoon read:

1. Domestic Disturbances by Judith Warner: the dark side of people's faux-familiarity with the Obamas
2. How an Emotion Became a Virtue by Clifford Orwin: a history and assessment of "compassion"
3. The Myth of Multitasking by Christine Rosen: the downsides (neurological, educational and cultural) to multitasking
   
4. No Hay Banda; a Long, Strange Trip Down David Lynch's Mullholland Drive by Allen B Ruch: a superb explanation of the obsessions and fantasies that make up this "puzzle-box of a movie"
5. Thoreau's Worst Nightmare by Michael Agger: Are the new ascetics masters of self-denial or just self-promotion?
6. A Study of Self-Presentation in the light of Facebook by Sasan Zarghooni: an essay on the adequacy of current theories of self-presentation to account for Facebook, as an online social network

In any case, as my mother often says, "Be of good cheer!"