morning on the river

Walking to the river this morning, alone and in the dark, was like stepping into some primordial past.  The stars blazing above Christ Church, only to be blotted out by the trees growing dense and dark on either side of the path.  And the river itself, rising out of a rolling mist that shrouded bank and distance in the mysterious grey of pre-morning light.

The puff of breath, the sting of frozen fingers, red with cold, as the sun rose over frost covered docks, and the white geese preened themselves on the ice-covered shore.  And in the fields of Christ Church meadow, the deer could be seen bounding between the lumbering cows, frost-covered in their crystallized pasture, as the spires of Oxford rose behind them, gleaming gold in the early morning light.  

And that, I suppose, is why students rise early from warm beds, and walk through deserted streets, weaving through trucks unloading merchandise on Cornmarket, to row in the dark on the river Isis.

College Lodgings

Some pictures of my Oxford space, taken when I first arrived.  I've since decorated (and rearranged) my room, so this was just first impression documentation.  Hopefully you're properly impressed.

interesting wood designs in the ceiling

oh the beauty of bare bulbs . . . 

miniature table, perfect for afternoon tea and biscuits

the original room setup, currently reversed

the kitchen with the baby windows
(but free washing, and bright overhead) 

 our incredibly disgusting table, that no amount of scrubbing
will clean (we're investing in a table cloth)

 the narrow hallway

and last but not least, the bathroom
(which I'm sure you all really wanted to picture)

a jot (regarding radical feminism and queer theory)

Warning: forthcoming moment of intense geekiness.  All those not interested in feminist theory, this is your chance to run away.

So, I just read a transcription of a talk given by one of our Women's Studies conveners (at the London Feminist Network's "Feminar"), addressing the difference between radical feminism and queer theory's use of the term "gender."  Fascinating.

But I'm not sure I agree.

Cameron and Scanlon's critique seems to ground radical feminism firmly within a dialog of rights.  Liberation from an oppressive system is the goal (and a very worthy one, I might add), and it is achieved through clear political objective.

That I have no problem with.

However, I'm wary of letting utilitarian objectivity (for so it almost seems) discredit queer theory's potential to disrupt established binaries, and thereby enact social transformation.  For, by defining gender as the system of power relationships existing between men and women, radical feminism has tied it inseparably to a binary that queer theory seeks to displace.  If they succeed (which I would argue they often do) in undermining the concepts of an essential sex, a true gender, or a coherent sexuality, do they not thereby create a world in which the male/female binary is rendered absurd?  If the binaries undergirding oppression and inequality (male/female, white/black, etc.) are demonstrated to be, not only unstable, but entirely fantastical, must not the entire system collapse?

It seems to me that binaries cannot survive in a world that has, not two, but (as Virginia Woolf once pled for) an infinity, of genders.

But perhaps I am being simplistic.

Roast duckling, missing tortoises, and the beauty that age and money can buy

Well, I walked into Balliol for the first time ever today, and it is almost too beautiful for words.  Regent's Park is quite pretty, and the red ivy is lovely, but there is a breathtaking grandeur to the rich old colleges (and in this case a luscious beauty) that is really incomparable.  I wish I had taken my camera.

I was there for a meeting of the Oxford Walking Club, which I am now a member of.  More than that, I spent 130 quid towards weekend trips this coming term.  It seems a bit extravagant, both in money and time, but when I really think through my priorities, experiencing England is near the top.  And consistently hearing how almost impossible distinctions/firsts really are (an impossibility that I'm required to attain in order to remain for a DPhil) has served to convince me, not that I should spend all my hours in the library, but that I should take full advantage of this year, as it's quite possibly all I will get.

Part of that "taking full advantage" involves joining the Regent's Park novice rowing team, which I've done (along with two other MSt students).  We haven't actually been out on the river yet, but tomorrow morning we head out bright and early (6:30) for a crash course on staying afloat.  And tonight, after shoveling down dinner, we have to pass a swimming test, fully clothed, to prove that we won't drown in the event of a capsize.

In other news, I have yet to meet Emmanuella, the 90-year-old tortoise, but I keep a lookout every time I walk through the quad (apparently she likes to sun herself on warm days).

Also, I would like to commend the Regent's Park caterers as being truly excellent.  While I know it seems a bit decadent to complain about George Fox's cuisine, when there was food in such abundance, I have to say that it is a joy to have truly delicious food at every meal.  For formal hall (which takes place every Friday evening) we had roast duck in a delectable sauce, the name of which I cannot remember.  We also bowed every time we entered or left the room, and looked very serious in our official robes.  The only downside was being informed that one rule of formal hall is not to discuss the portraits hanging on the walls, which, of course, made me look at them for the first time.  Which then led me to realize that only one of the myriad of official looking scholars was a woman (who did not happen to look very official, or very scholarly, and was hidden away in a far corner).

I could go on, but alas, dinner beckons.  As they say on this side of the pond, cheers.