The Train to Dorset

With every second between Stroud and me lengthens. I am sad to leave, which is a little surprising considering I was only there a month. But as one door closes another opens. The same feeling I had stepping off the plane at Heathrow urges me on into the unknown. I am not sure what the feeling is. Cindy would label it confidence. Last night at dinner she complimented me on my "confidence" and doing something she wouldn't have been able to do at her age. I'd be lying if I said that didn't feel pretty good to hear. But whatever it is it excited me for Lyme Regis, and the beach, and the cottage, and the ancient coastline. When my iPod quiets during the transition between songs, it bullies me into squeezing the most out of these next two weeks. I have just climbed out of my slump, a periodic disturbance in my activity, and this feeling is the constant adrenaline which wants nothing more than to sniff out the unknowns which hide just off the beaten path.

Bath Spa

Monday I decided to train over to Bath Spa. It's the only place in Britain that has hot springs, and was therefore very important to the Celtic people, and eventually Romans. The return ticket cost a whopping 15.80 pounds which translates to about 23 dollars or so. I brought Rob's bike along, because I figured I would get more bang for my buck if I rode around instead of walking. Unfortunately it is a real hassle to bring a bike on the train, especially if there is no bike rack. When I arrived at Bath I biked along the canal path which connects Bristol and Bath. Houseboats lined the cement wall which contained the canal, and old guys fished off of them, laughing at jokes that were spoken to fast for me to understand. Built into the canal was a giant fountain infested with seagulls. Nearby a giant house, or restaurant was built on top of an aqueduct. Usually I think of them as bridges so it was pretty crazy to look at. Along the canal was an ice-cream truck manned by an extremely bubbly American woman. She handed me a creamy chocolate ice cream and said "Yeah I've been here since 1981 but it sounds like I just got off the boat." Later on I went into the town centre which was pretty crazy. That's one thing I really like about English cities. In every one you will find a large centre where cars can't go, and cafes, restaurants, and tourist attractions thrive. In the Bath centre a pair of guitarists expertly rendered Queen and The Who. A rastafarian with a strange Oriental looking bongo drum entranced a crowd with smooth tones. And I descended into the underbelly of the cathedral to see the Vaults Museum. In it were housed some very cool 17th century goblets made of silver, a couple Anglo-Saxon crosses, and books that have survived for six centuries. After I trained back to Stroud, I stopped at Costa coffee and sat down to read Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris. After a relaxing half hour I biked on home to have tea with my host family.

Common Application Attempt Numero Dos

The students filed into the room and took their seats. Mr. Turner stood at the holo-board tracing something with his fingers. The door to the classroom opened gently, and a frantic looking boy with hair drenched from a hasty shower padded silently over to his seat. "I'll pretend I didn't see that" said Mr. Turner, his back still turned. The class erupted in laughter. This was everyone's favorite class. Mr. Turner addressed the students. "Today we will be analyzing the works of Marcus Kahn," he said, as he stepped out of the way to reveal a bold Marcus Kahn written in calligraphy on the holo-board. The class started grumbling. "What?" he asked. A confident girl in the front raised her hand. "Yes Isabelle?" "I don't like complaining Mr. T, but but first J.K. Rowling and now Marcus Kahn? When are we gonna start on something a little more... I don't know. Contemporary? Mr. Turner paused a moment. The class couldn't tell if he was scrutinizing Isabelle or cooking up some evasive response. "Though some of the technologies of 21st century literature seem outdated, the emotions and characters who experience those emotions provide insight into the mind and life of the author. And that my friends is timeless." The class and Mr. Turner stared at each other in an awkward silence until they took the hint, and pulled out their virtual-books. Soon the lively discussion that is the signature of a Mr. Turner class gained momentum. A small brooding boy with brown hair reminiscent of the Beatles raised his hand and the class lapsed into respectful silence, giving him their attention. "I think the character of the leper brother shows us the insecurities Kahn felt as a twin early in his life." The class had already read the About the Author portion of the book. Another boy, much to large for the standard sized chair, but with clever eyes cried "Oooh Oooh" as his outstretched arm threatened to punch the ceiling." When the class's attention shifted to him he exclaimed "But it's more than that. You can see the purpose behind the novel. He isn't just describing a lonely little boy. He is documenting that boys' transformation into a confident man!" Mr. Turner smiled and nodded his head. It was gratifying to see his students come to the same conclusions as experts in the field of literature. But he saw repetition coming in the talk, and repetition leads to boredom, with boredom resulting in the inevitable disconnection. "Let's move away from the metamorphosis aspect for a moment," he advised. "Instead why don't we focus on the strengths and weaknesses of our dear Mr. Kahn." The class fell deep into thought for a minute. Isabelle broke the silence. "The antagonist in the last novel he wrote was a mathematician. Maybe he hates math." she inferred. "Who doesn't?" piped up an athletic looking student in the back. He high fived one of his friends. "Settle down, settle down" said Mr. Turner, his lips trying to conceal a smile. "If you've read his autobiography would understand that Isabelle's supposition is entirely accurate. But let's get some positives in here. What does he love?" Six hands raised instantly. Mr. Turner pointed to a very pretty red-haired girl. "England!" she cried enthusiastically. This wasn't a stretch considering all of his novels were either set in, or at least incorporated the misted isles. A couple people in the class snickered at the surface-level inference, and the girls face matched her ginger hair. "Ah, very astute Samantha," encouraged Mr. Turner. "In fact in Kahn's autobiography he chronicles the intense effort he made to got o England for a month and a half. And he was only your age" The class seemed a little hung up on the fantasy of their own hypothetical adventures abroad so he plowed on. "And to take it a step further we can identify his passion for history as evidenced by his infatuation with so historical a place." The class was unimpressed by Mr. Turner's conclusion, since almost all of Marcus Kahn's works were st in the past. "And do you know the secret to our dear friend Marcus' success?" he asked conspiratorially. The students all tensed, and their eyes bored into Mr. Turner's face hungrily. He paused a few more seconds for dramatic effect. "A good college education!" The class groaned and rolled their eyes in unison.

Common Application Essay Attempt #1

I recline back in my lazy boy, and kick off the roman-style sandles that have been digging in my heel all day. God damn I'm sick of this heavenly bureaucratic bullshit. Yet another "Why can't I get into heaven just because I insert heinous crime?" Oops I said my name in vain. I pick up my new Space-Time Remote and flip on the T.V. A single bacteria struggles for the survival in the Primordial Soup. fast forward Strange aquatic creatures step out of water for the first time to test their luck on dry land. fast forward Large reptiles sprint through the jungle undergrowth, pursued by even bigger reptiles. fast forward A squat hairy man depicts the struggle of his daily life on a cavern wall. fast forward God reality television is tedious. Seafaring explorers wash ashore on a distant land. Savagery and disease threaten them at every turn. fast forward A civilization develops in the New World. They begin to press west. fast forward Poor Eastern European immigrants flee to America. They settle in Los Angeles during the early 20th century. Meanwhile an old Southern family picks up and moves to the San Francisco Bay area. fast forward Two children grow and learn on opposite ends of the state. Their names are Howard and Betsy Kahn. fast forward Howard and Betsy meet at a social event for their co-op dorm at UC Berkeley. Three years later they begin dating. fast forward Howard and Betsy socialize at a party. Their twin boys play in the background. Relatives and friends try to engage the lean brown haired Marcus, but he clams up and hides behind his blonde counterpart. fast forward Mrs. Taylor needs someone to talk during a 2nd grade assembly on Martin Luther King Jr. She presses Marcus, but it takes a bag of Lifesavers candy to bribe him onto the stage. fast forward The Kahn family packs up the last of their boxes, and head on the cross country flight from Connecticut to California. They are all anxious and excited but none more than Marcus. In his mind he sees golden beaches, and swaying palm trees, but he also sees the opportunity to start fresh. fast forward Marcus stands up on stage during the 7th and 8th grade productions of Grease and Guys & Dolls respectively. He goes on to win 1st place in a drama competition called DTASC. fast forward It is Marcus' sophomore year in high school. He gets on stage with his acting company and plays Demetrius and Peter Quince in separate casts of A Midsummer Night's Dream. The crowd laughs as he capers around the stage, and they congratulate him afterwards. He mingles effortlessly. fast forward A confident young man stands up in front of 250 people. He delivers an articulate and impassioned speech in favor of a bill he doesn't agree on for California's Youth and Government. It passes through committee, Senate, and Assembly. fast forward Marcus sits in his room lost in thought. A dusty picture of himself at 7 years old lies flat on a solid oak desk. "Am I still that shy little kid?" he asks himself. He recalls the flutter of fear in his stomach as he stepped up to the microphone during Youth and Government's Spring Conference. His mind touches on the adrenaline that leaves his hands shaking after he sat down again. "Yes" he admits silently to himself. " I am." My finger drifts to the remote for the 16th time. "Nah" decide. "I don't want to spoil the ending for myself." So I turn off the T.V. and go to the kitchen for a cold beer. Watching quality television is thirsty work.

The Weekend in Stroud

Saturday was a pretty fun day. After sleeping in to a solid 10:30 I went out on a bike ride with the my host family, and another family they are friends with. According to Luka (Adam's abnormally tall friend) we had biked 14 miles. With Rob, and his friend Mike navigating we wound up though the hills and into neighboring parishes. Some of the houses up there were amazing: sitting on a couple acres of land, and made of the signature Cotswold Stone which is so coveted in these parts. We stopped for a break by a stream and the boys went romping through a stream which wended its way through the forest. We heard splashes and laughs and Mike yelled out "You boys better not be playing in the water!" Jack replied "We're not!" indignantly, as he splashed obliviously in plain sight. They came out fibbing about some ducks and dogs which had splashed them and pushed them into the water much to their dismay. Towards the end of the ride we stopped in some random field which stood isolated from all the storefronts and byways of town. And smack dab in the middle was an ice cream shop with dozens of people lounging on the grass with sticky chocolate covered hands. Mike treated us all, and I have to say, it gave Fosselman's a run for it's money. We got back to the house, had tea (the English word for dinner which I think spawned the misconception that the English have a nationally recognized tea-drinking time), and went into town for Adam's band performance. It was a pretty sweet set-up. Instead of an auditorium we were seated at tables laden with good English cheeses, grapes, wine, and soda. 4 different bands performed, two of which Adam was in. I tapped my foot to Singin' in the Rain, something called Walking Down Broadway, and the Bare Necessities from the Jungle Book, but gritted my teeth during Abba. As I walked back to the car, Cindy's mom (Jack and Adam's grandma) explained to me that she doesn't quite understand American humor, and a couple of guys stepped out of a bar asking with hilarity"Did that bloke just order a Pinot or a penis?" I like British humor.

Wizarding Economics

Last week I read Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone for the umpteenth time. In the beginning when Hagrid explained the Ministry of Magic I realized something.. wizarding economics just doesn't add up. I have never heard of any wizard taxmen. How is the Ministry able to pay all of its employees? There seemed to be only 3 main types of jobs in Harry Potter: Entrepreneur, Ministry Official, or Hogwarts teacher. Two of these jobs are subsistent on taxpayer dollars. Of course Hogwarts would seem to be a private institution, yet never in Harry Potter was wizard tuition mentioned. Sure one could manage the school magically, but how would one go about paying the teachers? Assuming there are no enchantments against replication one could just multiply the galleons right? But let me ask you this. Do you really think the British Wizarding Ecnomy is robust enough to withstand that scale of inflation? If everyone just strated gemino'ing their galleons would be worth nothing.

My Rough Personal Statement for Oxford University

This is my first go at a personal statement. I'd appreciate either constructive criticism to help me improve it or compliments to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It's a little bit "braggy" I know.

I hate math. Freshman year I hid a copy of Sarum by Edward Rutherfurd under my desk while Mr. Chi conveyed Pythagorean Theorem. Sophomore year I hid the Italian Renaissance by J.H. Plumb behind my Algebra II book. Junior year I strategically slumped in my seat with my Kindle as Mrs. Leung rambled on about statistics. Since day one my escape has been into books both historical and fictional. In my English and History classes I emerged from my literary reverie to analyze, argue, and answer. But my greatest victory was visiting England in the summer of 2010. Sure I got 5's on my A.P. Language and A.P. U.S. History exams. Sure I got an 800 on my U.S. History Sat II, a 780 on the SAT I Critical Reading section, and an 800 in the SAT I Writing section, while getting A's in every English and History class I took. And sure, I can integrate my credentials into a personal statement. But how many teenagers were able to organize and execute a trip single-handed which not only triumphed over the labyrinth of customs, international travel, and the weirdly expensive U.K. train system, but also allowed room for a historically enriching experience? How many teenagers traversed the face of the planet in order to volunteer at an archaeological firm, and deal with pottery, bones, and miscellany dating back long before Christ? These factors are not why I am qualified, but rather are indicative of the quality of my qualifications.What at its most mellow is a passion, and at its most intense is an obsession manifested itself in my summer trip, and will undoubtedly guide me in the future. College won't just be a gateway to a high paying job. It will be, as the egotistical Sherlock Holmes would say "a most singular" opportunity to do what I love in a place that interweaves antiquity and prestige into a rich educational tapestry.