Week Eight - Vic moves in.

Week Eight was my last week of classes. Thus, I have officially taken my last class as a student (or so my parents hope). I cannot believe how quickly Michaelmas and Hilary Terms just flew by; now only Trinity Term remains, during which I'll take exams and write my dissertation. You know how sometimes you wish you could just freeze time at a certain point and sloooooow things down? Well, now is that time for me.

So, this week, in addition to sitting through my last class with Hubert (one of the best teachers I've had, due to his extensive knowledge on the subject, eagerness to impart it upon us, and concern for our well-being), I met with Peter, the Christ Church art tutor, to discuss taking more artsy classes and to pick up my lady-man bust. Please allow me to introduce you to Vic:

Her eyes were freaking Will out during his 3am bathroom runs, so we decided to cover those bad boys with some shades. (The bandana and hat were later additions, to complete her look.) It would be a gross understatement to say that I'm slightly concerned that my art teacher said she/he resembled me, but other than that, I'm pleased with the bust's final look. She/he looks pretty realistic, enough that her stare gave Will the willies. We had to name her, so we chose a classic English royal name (Victoria) that was also the name of our fav pub (The Vic), and androgynous, for obvious reasons. Thus, Vic was born.

Speaking of birthdays, I finally discovered Henry I's actual birthday during a routine check-up. He started making some random squeaking noises, so I took him in, and while he was being primped, I asked the bike dude when he thought Henry was made. Bike Dude stared Henry up and down, and then said, "November 1980." Amazed, I said, "Wow, could you tell that from the parts or something?" And he said, "Well, yes, that, and the fact that the date is printed on the spoke." Doh. I felt about as embarrassed at that moment as I did an hour earlier when I sat on Henry's seat without noticing that a bird had just relieved himself on it. In short, Bike Dude had two things to laugh at as I walked out of the shop with Henry: my inability to observe the obvious and my bird-poop-covered-butt.

Other amusing things (maybe just to me) that happened this week:

1) I went to a 50's Bop in the Linacre CR where I witnessed adult males attempt to hula hoop to the beat of Grease Lightning. Frightening what people will do under the influence of beer and broadway musicals.

2) We discovered that one of our friends is actual royalty, a 'Lady', as her mom is a princess. No joke, her godmother is Princess Diana. I then spent a few hours trying to figure out if there was anyway I could get some random royal person (even someone like 826th in line for the throne - beggars can't be choosers) to adopt me. Princess Big V has such flair, no?

3) I tried to figure out a way to get us to Spain for the running of the bulls in July. If anyone has ideas for where to stay for this event, pass them along as I'm all ears. I didn't realize this was like the Spanish superbowl; the hostels have been booked since last year's run. And don't worry, Mom, I'll be careful whilst bull running. I've already researched safety tips, my favorite of which is: "take the corners tight, as the bulls are going to go wide." See? Not to worry. I have a plan.

Week Seven - thrice bumped during 'Vindaloo'

Week Seven was pretty much consumed with rowing. The big four-day Torpids race happened this week -- what a blast! Torpids is a race where all the colleges compete to be the "Head of the River", or fastest boat. The race consists of 13 boats on the water at a time, one-and-a-half boat lengths apart. Each boat attempts to catch up with the boat in front of them. So, you get to the top by literally ramming into (or "bumping" as they call it) your competition in front of you. (And unless the cox concedes, you actually have to hit the boat in front of you or it doesn't count as a bump!) If you bump a boat all four days of the race, then you win "Blades", which actually means that every girl in the boat gets an oar to keep with all of our names engraved on it. Your college's position in the race is determined by your college's position in previous years, so for older colleges, this means that their position is determined by the hundreds of students that have rowed for the college in the past. They say that we are all part of a hundred-year tradition by participating in Torpids. Very cool.

So, as I described in the last post, I was supposed to row in Linacre's B-Boat, BUT, when one of the A-Boaters broke her sternum in the varsity Judo match (that gives you an indication of the hardcore type of chick in the A-Boat), I got called up. That's right, I made the big time: the A-Boat! So, I rowed insanely hard busting my butt for four days to help Linacre bump some boats. It was tough, and the water level was dangerously high, such that only senior coxes and 'experienced' boats could race. (The race planners even had ten different back-up scenarios to cope with the weather conditions. For example, when the water level rose the day before the race, we got an email saying: "We will now go into a contingency plan known as 'Vindaloo.'" Yes, they named the contingency plans; this one after a curry dish.)

Sadly, Linacre didn't really shine in the races, as we ourselves got bumped three times, but we had an amazing time doing it! And, at least we didn't get bumped all four days -- there is even a special award called "Spoons" for that. So we didn't really get the glory, but at least we didn't get spoons!

Racing on the Isis... I'm third from the back.

The A-Boat crew post-race...

During this week, we also managed to fit in a trip to Stratford Upon Avon to see the Royal Shakespeare Company perform King Lear. (I went straight from racing to the Stratford bus, so I wore spandex to the theater. Oh, and those striped socks. That wasn't embarrassing or anything.) We also spent a night hanging out and playing cards at The Vic with all our pals. And then on Saturday, the rowing team had a nice Russian dinner to celebrate completing Torpids sans spoons. It was so much fun to celebrate with everyone and feel like a real part of a team. I can't wait for the next race!

Week Six - bumping via boats and dance

Hilary Term is just flying by before my eyes. I wish I could just freeze this moment in time. Alas, as I cannot, at least I will document every awesome moment that makes me pinch myself.

This week I found out that my boat - the B Boat (that's right, it's the boat with the smaller chicks -- what we lack in thigh size though, we make up for in spirit, usually expressed via face paint) - had to "row-on" on Friday to qualify to race in Torpids. SO, that meant a ton of practicing. Even one at 5:30 am. Ok, seriously, that's early. The gates to the river entrance don't even open until 6am, so I was literally told to "jump the fence" to get in. I figured, "oh, no biggie, I'm sure it's like waist height." Nope. I spent 15 minutes trying to get over that fence -- it was a 12-foot fence at the end of a bridge, so I had to hop over the bridge, clasping the sides like the last piece of cake before a diet, just so that I wouldn't plunge into the river below; I then shimmied along the bank fence, suspending myself over the water, until 20 feet later, I could climb a tree to get over. I need to take a picture of this bridge/fence/tree scene, because you just wouldn't believe it. Anyways, long story short, I was late to practice, and had a rip in my pants (as I caught the fence on my leap over the top). The fence had managed to avoid piercing the ten handwarmer packets that I had strategically placed around my body to keep warm, so at least I luckily avoided exposure to chemicals.

All the practice was worth it, though, as on Friday, we kicked butt and came in 6th out of 30 crews. We qualified!!! Next week, we race in Torpids (a race where you literally try to ram into, or "bump", the boat in front of you) .... stay tuned.

The Crew...

The gear...

After the race... (see that team spirit I was talkin' bout?!)

Celebrating the big win at the Turf...

Also this week, we had a little curry dinner, card playing, and trip planning on our fancy new metal fold-up table that is covered with a sheet. (see pic below) You'd never guess that it could fold up to paper size, would ya?! Ah, dorm living.

On Friday night, we had a little game night where we played "Things." I described this game in an earlier post -- we had so much fun that night that we decided we had to play again. It's the game where people write down categories like "Things you do when no one is looking", "Things you say to your mother-in-law" etc. and then everyone writes down their responses and you have to guess who wrote what. I bring this up because reading a certain one of our friend Kevin's categories and response classifies as one of those memorable moments I mentioned earlier. See for yourself in the pics below.

Category:

Response:

On Saturday, Will and I volunteered to help out at Rotary's fundraising drive for polio eradication. So for a few hours in Bicester, we collected donations from people walking around the Bicester Tesco and helped raise awareness about polio and Rotary. The event was a success as Rotary raised 545 pounds!

Then on Saturday night, I went to a beer tasting (where I taught my British friends to play Flip Cup!) and dancing with the ladies at The Bridge. So, all in all, Week Six was a fantastic time, and I wish I could redo it, and the whole of Hilary Term actually, like Bill Murray in Groundhog's Day.

Whingeing in the RAIN...

Ok seriously, I can take the cold, the snow, the fog, the cloudiness, and the darkness (thanks to fake tanners), but I seriously cannot take any more RAIN. It rains like every day here. I feel like I must accidentally be doing some sorta raindance when I get dressed to go outside, because I swear, the second I'm ready to leave the indoors, it starts. Just a little at first, so that you feel like it's safe to bike in it, but then once you're too far to go back and ditch the bike, it starts pounding. Tricky rain. I am determined not to let It stop me from doing things, though, which has resulted in some near disasters.

This week alone, let's see... I biked in it, one hand on the handlebar and the other holding an umbrella. (Sorry mom, I know it's dangerous, but desperation got the best of me. I'm no quitter!) I thought I had this under control as I stayed on empty sidewalks, away from small animals and children. But, I forgot that one of Henry's brakes is broken, so when my handlebarred hand's break didn't stop the bike on my downhill path, I just had to keep on going until I found something soft to ram. Then, to top it off, the umbrella flipped inside-out. I think my rain-biking days are numbered. (I also can't take the thought of sitting on another wet bikeseat -- it's not cool walking around looking like I've peed my pants.)

I've also been walking in it, even when it's blowing in sideways. Because I've been pressing the umbrella directly on my head (to block maximum rain), it blocks my vision, so, to the horror of some construction workers, I walked directly onto their fresh cement. And I had both feet in before I realized my shoes were stuck. Super. Also, (due to the umbrella-head-pressing), my hair got stuck in the wiring, so when the gale-force winds blew the umbrella out of my hand, my hair, and thus head, followed it. Talk about embarrassing.

Rain: 3; Vanessa: 0.

Iguana Update - thanks to guest blogger Mama Sisti

After my mom saw the "Dad v. The Iguana's" blog post, she gave me a little update on The Situation. I thought I'd paste her response for you all, and make my mom A Broad's first Guest Blogger:

"So here's an update on the iguanas: the 13 day cold snap killed them! We know this because now the vultures are digging the carcasses up from the ground where the iguanas had burrowed to keep warm. They are pulling on tails and pulling up half decomposed iguanas and feasting...isn't nature wonderful?
I think we FINALLY got rid of the pests."

She also told me that due to this new situation, Dad Sisti has been accidentally running over iguana skeletons whilst mowing the lawn. Man, that cannot be good for karma. Our yard has become an iguana graveyard.

Week Five - eating pancakes, butter, and glue and sculpting busts

This week, we celebrated Pancake Day! Basically, on the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday (when Lent and fasting begin), the UK celebrates Shrove Tuesday, or Pancake Day, by devouring a ton of pancakes with lots of crazy toppings. Seems contrary to prepare for fasting by pancake-bingeing, but who am I to argue with a holiday that involves chocolate pancakes? Apparently, this tradition started about 1000 years ago when folks decided that fasting season should be kicked off with a massive party where people ate at much fatty food as possible. Mardi Gras or 'Fat Tuesday" has the same origin - crazy right? My College advertised this event as a chance (no joke) for "all of us to eat ourselves stupid", so all the dorms got together to cook the traditional pancakes. We flipped some nutella-loaded pancakes and covered them with toppings both sweet and savory -- we're talking everything from berries and cream to onions and meat. I'll take a meat pancake for dinner any day. Good stuff. I plan on celebrating Pancake Day in the States -- I predict it will be a hit. Americans love celebrations involving food.

Also this week, I had another sculpting class! Unlike the last class where we sculpted a whole person (remember my little naked lady sculpture?), in this class we sculpted busts. We once again had a live model, and despite the fact that this time, she was fully clothed, I again had a tough time staring at her. I was always taught that was impolite -- old habits die hard. So, my lady bust might have suffered. In fact, I may have unknowingly compensated for the lack of staring by using my own likeness to sculpt the face, as my teacher walked up to my bust and said: 'you know, the first time people sculpt heads, they tend to sculpt themselves.' Now, I took this as a compliment (as I don't think I'm totally unfortunate looking), until she said, about a minute later: 'You know, it's interesting -- your bust looks like a man.'

Here's a pic of me sculpting my man-lady.

The compliments from Sue, my teacher, didn't stop there though. She was on fire that day. The next memorable comment/constructive criticism was: "She (or He, not sure at this point) looks good from the back." Since I had spent 99% of my time focusing on the face, and hadn't touched the back of the head (which, btw, had started to sag from the weight of the extra-large hair bun I gave Lady Bust to eliminate any doubt as to her femininity), you can see how this might be disconcerting.

Needless to say, I breathlessly await Lady Bust's arrival post-firing, as I'm sure she/he looks way better than I remember from Sue's comments. All joking aside though, I do have to tell you Sue's final comment at the end of class, when she was gazing at Lady-Man Bust before stuffing her in the transport box: "You're wasted on the law." She really thinks this kid has talent. That really meant something. She can call Lady Bust a man anyday.

That day was full of art for me (despite the fact that I had a 3,000 word essay due the next day that was about, oh, 20 words of the way there), as I also went to a mosaic making class! I was in heaven. I mosaic-ed (still not sure of proper terminology here, clearly) a mirror with bright-colored tiles. I thought it was very pretty, and my instructor did to (you see a theme here?) She said I had natural talent for this and 'quite the eye for color.' Don't worry though, my head isn't getting too big. As soon as I got home with it to proudly display the artistic genius to Will, he deflated my big head by asking if I got it from the kid's craft fair. (Due to that little quip, I didn't feel bad when our flatmate later asked him if he cut his own hair.)

I biked home carrying the mosaic (I mean, 'artistic genius') in one hand, while (shockingly!) it was raining, so my art was soaked by the time I got home. When the glue started to weaken and chunks of tile started to slide, I panicked and got the hair drier out. I know, I'm dedicated to my craft, be it kid's-craft-fair mosaics or Lady-Man Busts.

Later that night, I went to a formal dinner at Linacre, where I discovered what my 'third' would be in my series of 'bad' things to happen that day.

#1 was in the morning when I went to button the last button on my coat and all the buttons popped off. I think it was God's way of telling me to lay off the pancakes.

#2 was in the afternoon during mosaic-ing, when I was deep in (artistic genius) thought and raised what I thought was my panini to my mouth only to discover I raised the hand with the gluestick instead. When I saw the look of horror on the girl's face across from me as I was about to chomp into glue, I realized my error and tried to pretend I was sniffing it instead. In retrospect, I'm not sure which was worse. That's so genius-y, eh?

#3 was at the dinner when I bit into a what I thought was a big chunk of brie only to discover that it was in fact butter. In one bite, I consumed my caloric intake for the day. I think it would have been healthier to eat the glue.

Finally, we capped off the week with a trip to London with the Rotary Club. They took us on a fantastic walking tour around the city (through which I walked off my butter-eating calories) and we just fell in love with the city.

'Look kids, Big Ben!'

The Snyders do London.

Week Four - "cake" and Kristin Cavalleri

Fourth week kicked off with a trip to Woodstock to give a presentation to the Rotary Club there. As usual, I had a fabulous time (and unusually, I managed not to throw food on anyone during dinner). The next day, we had a class tour of New College which has been around since 1379 (they filmed parts of Harry Potter and James Bond there). Besides the beautiful castle-like buildings and chapel filled with medieval stained glass and carved wooden seats, they also have a famous Mound in the gardens where, if you stand in a certain spot and clap, you'll hear the Mound quack back at you. Sounds silly, I know, but it's just so bizarre and surprising and kinda neat when it happens, that you end up standing there for a while, clapping to yourself. (Apparently you can't clap to yourself for too long though, as security is serious about Mound protection... not that I would know or anything...)

Yes, this is the Mound. Only fellows of the college are allowed to climb the steps...

On Wednesday, we went to the Vic to help Kevin, Will's friend, ring in his birthday with some brews. And on Thursday, I went to an exchange dinner at St. Anne's College. What their College lacked in beauty (it was new, like Linacre), it made up for with a fine salmon dinner and unlimited wine. After dinner, as is custom, everyone retired to a special room for teeny-tiny glasses of port -- it's so Oxford. Then, on Friday, our whole crew went to Kevin's house to really celebrate his birthday. I attempted to bake a cake (basically, it looked like a cake and frosting container exploded all over the pan) and Will got Kev a poster of his fav American lady, Kristin Cavalleri. Sadly, The Hills has also infected England. The rest of the evening was spent laughing, playing Spoons, and taking pictures with Kristin posing in various locations around the house.

On Friday, Linacre had a Valentine's Day Kink Bop (you can just imagine the costumes for this one) that I attended, and then we celebrated Valentine's Day on Sunday with an amazing dinner at Brasserie Blanc and some dessert at G-n-D's. All in all, another fabulous week in Oxford...

Week Three - punked, Medea-style.

One of my classmates invited a group of us over for lunch on Monday for a traditional Pakistani meal. His wife must have been cooking for days, because there were like 8 different dishes waiting for us (you can see some in the pic below)...

Having never eaten anything like this, I was psyched to dig in. Everything was amazing, until I ravenously chomped down on what I thought was a big olive. When my mouth started to burn like the fire of 1,000 suns, my face turned beat red, my nose spontaneously started to run, and my eyes started to stream tears, I realized it was not an olive. I had chomped down into my first hardcore exotic pepper. I frantically looked around for water, a napkin, anything to stop the burning sensation without causing a commotion that would alert my hosts to my wimpy tolerance for spices. Nothing could hide the faucet-like reflexes of my nose and eyes though. One of my classmates saw, but thankfully attributed the tears to those of joy at finally having some home-cooking: 'Look', she said, 'Vanessa is so happy she's crying!' At that point my mouth had started to numb, so she was partially right.

On Wednesday we had another crew dinner, this time at Chutney, an Indian restaurant. Having learned from my earlier pepper incident, I made sure to ask the waiter for the mildest dish on the menu. The chicken korma I got was amazing, and I was able to both feel my mouth and remain tear- and snot-free. Success!

On Thursday, a group of us went to see Medea at the Oxford Playhouse. Never have I been so baffled by theater. When the actors busted out harmonicas in the first scene, I was concerned, but was willing to overlook the strange musical honky-tonk number thinking that maybe my naive theater tastes weren't sophisticated enough to get the brilliance of this modern Medea. However, when the harmonicas were joined by the keyboard (being played like Ross on Friends, one strange note at a time), cymbals, and (no joke) an electric guitar, I started to look around for reality-tv cameras. We were being punked. Others felt similar pain... as one reviewer put it: "It seemed to bring out a comedic aspect to Medea that I had never before appreciated and am quite sure shouldn't be there. I think it's somewhat cruel to pick out any other aspects for paticular recognition as there was no detail that did not add to the horror." Oh Medea, harmonicas just aint your thang.

The one and only set. See the cymbals on the right?

On Friday night, we went to a fundraising "uniform party" for Unicef, so everyone came in some sort-of uniform costume (or "fancy dress" as they call it here). The pic below is a bunch of my lady friends, mostly dressed as schoolgirls (the easiest fancy dress to put together), with one cheerleader thrown in. (Cheerleading costumes are tough to find because, alas, cheerleading is only a US thing! Who knew.) One of my favorite things about this town is that there is a costume party -- aka bop -- basically every weekend ... it's like Halloween 52 times a year. My personal heaven.

Then on Saturday night, we went to a prosecco/gamenight at a friend's place for some Apples-to-Apples madness. I thought I loved Taboo, but Apples-to-Apples makes Taboo look like Medea. Long story short, it's a game where everyone writes down their responses for categories like "Things you don't say on a plane" and then you guess who wrote what. As you can imagine, the responses get more and more outrageous as the night (and prosecco drinking) wears on... we were laughing so hard that we got noise complaints, and I'm fairly certain at least one person peed their pants.

Week Two - climbing the modeling chain, one wink at a time.

On Monday, we hopped on a bus to Stratford Upon Avon to see the Royal Shakespeare Company perform Arabian Nights. We had dinner at the Vintner restaurant beforehand (see pic below)...

checked out the adorable city (with architecture as it was when Shakespeare was there), and then headed to the theater. It was very likely the best play I've ever seen -- captivating story, great acting, creative sets. We left the theater in awe, and decided that we are definitely going to go back for their next show.

Tuesday and Wednesday were filled with schoolwork. Yes, although I don't often mention it, I am doing a lot of coursework, and even had an exam on Monday. I omit a lot of this as it might be, oh, just a tad bit boring to hear how I sat in the library for 6 hours writing an essay and (let's be honest) checking facebook, all while covertly eating a turkey sandwich that I had smuggled in via coat pocket. Also on Wednesday, I brought Will to yoga class. I actually snorted out loud while stifling laughter as the instructor, who took quite a shine to our Will, attempted to push Will's arms and legs into the correct position for downward dog. I was so proud of Will's efforts. It was all for naught though, as when he woke up the next morning and couldn't move his legs, he decided his yoga career was over.

On Thursday, we headed to Bookbinders, an adorable super-old pub, to play some cards. And on Friday, we hit the Ashmolean Museum to check out their paintings and exhibits (the violin exhibit for Will, and the jewelry exhibit for me). This was the closest thing to a 'shopping trip' that I've had since the Bicester Village incident of 2009. I think Will thought it was safe to take me somewhere that I could stare at the jewelry without being able to purchase it. Smart man. Also on Friday, I went to a dinner party where we ate pasta and played boardgames, and then headed to the Living Room and Purple Turtle (think loud pop music and sticky floors - classy!), two legendary Oxford hangouts. On Saturday, I went to Open Mic Night at the CR. I wish I had a talent to contribute to the show, but I don't think karaoke singing, cup flipping, or planner staring -- three of my strengths -- would qualify, so I merely observed. I missed the Aussie Bop that night because I just didn't have the strength to conjure up a kangaroo or koala costume. It's tough creating bop-attire every weekend!

And finally, on Sunday, I decided to audition to walk the runway in Oxford Fashion Week. When I saw the ad that said the designers were looking for a few students to hit the runway in pretty couture dresses, I just couldn't resist. This could be my big break! or not. After they took head-shots and full-body shots, they asked me to do a little runway walk, but having no real clue on how, I strode out there as if I was in an interview, being sure to make good eye contact with each of the designers. I may have even winked at the end pose. 'Um, yeah' sayeth head judge, 'could you maybe do that again, and this time when you walk, just stare at the wall?' Probably not a good sign. But, I lived my modeling dream for those 45 seconds! Look out Ms. Klum; Big V is ready to wink-walk her way to the top.

So, later, I drowned my failed-modeling-attempt sorrows over a pint and curry at Far From the Madding Crowd for Quiz Night. Team 'Quizlamic Jihad' (a name conjured up by our witty Lebanese friend Yas) was equally a disaster. Despite our mediocre performance though, we had a blast. Curry, cards, quizzing -- what a great way to spend a Sunday with friends.

Week One Hilary Term - Dad v. The Iguanas and My Quizzle, Fo Shizzle

Week One was packed - Let the Hilary Term madness begin! Where to start...

Rowing: The Isis water level was still too high to row (likely from the feet of slushy snow that fell over the holidays) so training consisted of doing some form of painful (yet strangely satisfying) indoor workout, every day. Monday was yoga. (The contorted positions the teacher had us perform resulted in me seeing my body in a whole new light - i.e. as I rolled into the ball he commanded, with my knees hugging my head and my face inches from my butt, I decided it was time to give up ice cream. No one's face should ever be that close to their butt. No good can come from that.) Tuesday was circuits. (I've described this before, so I'll spare you the tales of what it feels like after that 18th burpee -- a masochistic jumping/pushup move -- when you think your heart will explode.) Wednesday was more yoga and butt staring. Thursday was erging. (i.e. 20 to 30 minutes on the rowing machine, pulling as hard as possible, again with the heart-exploding feeling.) The only comfort I found from this one was discovering that my butt actually does not have enough padding on it to happily erg, as, during this exercise, I bruised my butt. So, two lessons from the erg: (1) I can continue to eat ice cream, and (2) it is possible to bruise a butt. Friday was jogging through the pretty park next door. Saturday was weights. (David, the rowing coach, after seeing my split time on the erg -- 2:20, which pales in comparison to my more muscle-y teammates whose quads are bigger than my waist -- was like, 'um, yeah, vanessa...we're gonna need you to lift some weights.') David devised a game plan for me with the machines, and I pumped iron that day until I couldn't feel my legs. I basically crawled back to the dorm. I think I'm well on my way to yet another MIP award.

Non-Rowing: On Monday, we had "mojito's" in the CR. (I use quotes, as none of the "mojito's" I've had in Oxford resemble the Miami mojito, aside from being served in a glass.) Still though, it was a nice 'welcome back to Oxford' via mojito event planned by Linacre. On Wednesday, we played some card at Kevin's, and I was once again reminded why I don't play cards for money. We had a blast though hanging out with this crew of friends (Kevin, Ben, Mark, Anna, and Yas) who has really turned out to be one of the reasons we're so in love with Oxford. On Thursday, I had a formal dinner with my advisor and her other advisees at Linacre. She shared stories of her husband's battle with the squirrels that devour the seeds in their birdfeeder, and I was able to reciprocate by regaling them with the tales of my dad's battle with the South Florida iguana population (explained below, for those of you with interest in Dad v. The Iguanas: Deathmatch. Think Under Seige, revisited).

Warning, long sidenote: For those of you that don't know, Dad Sisti has actually tried hanging garlic from the trees -- even though I assured him that only scared away vampires -- and has wrapped the trees in our lawn with sheets of tin in an attempt to stop the iguanas from climbing them. As you can imagine, our lawn looks quite interesting now to passersby. When that didn't work though, he smeared the tin with what looks like iguana blood. I thought he was trying to scare the iguanas away with the blood of their ancestors, but no, he assures me that it's just grease so that the little buggers will slip during their climbing attempts. Oh Dad. He has also tried flushing them out of the drainpipes with water hoses, and now, in a last ditch attempt to run them out, has even used, [gasp], chlorine! Extreme measures, I know. He says it's either him or them. He's turned our yard into Caddyshack.

On Friday, we had a crew dinner with the rowing club from another college, and then went to St. Anthony's college for a bop. On Saturday, we had another dinner with the students at Linacre at the Big Bang, hit Raoul's for some cocktails, and then a house party. On Sunday, I skipped out on Ceilidh Scottish Dancing in the dining hall to head to Gardener's Arms for quiz night. The highlights of the evening included our crucial discussion over the team name (contenders included Jizzle My Quizzle and New Quiz on the Block, with the actual team name being blog inappropriate), our formerly second-place team being relegated to last place for improperly scoring a competitor's score sheet, and Will and Mark trying to ride one bike home.

And now, a few pictures for your viewing pleasure:

The snow is gone, but the frost remains.

This is my walk through the park.

We wanted to get some flowers to make our dorm room more homey.

These are mine, still fighting after 2 weeks.

And these are Will's.

Clearly, they have totally given up.