I am poor

Today, I went to a local supermarket, Sainsbury, to buy some food when I realized, "I am poor." Money conversion continues to haunt my mind as I reach out to buy a jar of peanut butter. Yes...it says 42 pence...but it really says $1. So I put the jar back, and decide to buy a small bag of ballpark peanuts and a small crock of butter.

Orientation has finally come to a close and many of us are spending uncountable hours in the beloved Bodlean Library. My favorite part about the library is when they search you - I feel special, like a secret agent of sorts. With some much studying going on, it's still pretty hard to believe I'm in Oxford. I think if this keeps going on, I'll end up thinking I was in America the whole time. But then again, the endearing old British folk and the gentle caress of Mikey Fatigati in early mornings to stir me awake serve as a grand reminder.

The most awkward thing I've seen thus far:

On the way back to Oxford from the London tube, a man was sitting in a shopping cart making monkey noises as his friend proceeded to push him into a light pole...and on top of that, the drunk lady next to me says, "Looks like they had too much to drink." The cruel irony.

I also promised to write a brief excursis on Elizabeth Choi:

Dear Liz

You made me write about you

On this blog

I hope everyone is satisfied.

They speak "English" in England

I think the above picture captures a multiplicity of my emotions at the moment:

1) The raised eyebrow says, "Where on earth am I? British-land in Disneyland?"
2) The white metal bars say, "I can't go back to America?"
3) The sweater-vest says, "Yes, I am in England."


This morning, I woke up and imagining myself to be in America began to panic. "Why is it so gloomy?! Why is it so cold? Why am I laying on a matress with bad springs?!" Somewhere between struggling to my feet and putting on a pair of pants I realized that I was no longer in California, but Oxford, England. Besides everything being twice as expensive, I've met quite a few friendly townsfolk and had a pint of All Around with an Anglican priest. I'm determined no longer to be dubbed "half-pint Pearson," and Father Peter was more than happy to see such a goal-driven young man.





After mass I decided to go to a nearby department store named "Boswell" and attempted to buy laundry detergent and a plastic basket. Being more than lost, I proceeded to the cashier and asked him where I might be able to find such products. I am proud to say that after having helped me, I said to him, "Thank you. Cheers guv." Needless to say, I am eager to experience British culture.