Anarchy in the UK

     News flash: Rogue civilians commandeered a tank in the parking lot of the hardware store in front of my house. Later in the day, 2 cows and 3 sheep may have been found dead, blasted to bits, in a nearby meadow.

Books

http://www.esquire.com/the-side/feature/75-books?click=news
     There's no better time to read than the summer.

Took a Bath in Wales

     Yet another essay is due, the deadline tomorrow. Actually, make that two essays. And I'm going to London to celebrate the Champions league. The next twenty four hours will be long, to say the least. The two essays are on John Lock as a response to Descartes' rationalism and the economic development methods employed in post Mao China.
     I blame today's ramblings on a week's worth of little sleep. Coming up: Mom's visit, hectic week, and maybe some stuff in between.

     Holy cow, my mom came to visit me in Oxford! It was her birthday present to me. I mean, doesn't every soon to be 21 yearold dream of spending their birthday with a nagging mother? Not me. However, I was surprised to realize there would be no nagging involved, just a good time. Mom, if you'r reading this, I love you. Thanks for spending the week with me. 

     Mom caught up on some much needed sleep, of which she doesn't get much of at home (she's supermom). Once rested, we walked through Oxford and the surrounding countryside. We hiked through a local village and up a nearby hill for an awesome view of the city of dreaming spires.

     In the Oxonian fashion, we attended a debate at the Union Society on whether the twenty first century belongs to the East or not. I believe the case was sufficiently made for the affirmative, but a resounding - and impartial - speech by the secretary general of the commonwealth posed a greater question "Will the century belong to you?  Will you seize the day?" We ate meals at Jamie Oliver's restaurant and the Eagle and Child, both very good. After some days, we left for the Cotswolds, Bath, Cardiff, and the Brecon Beacons.

     The Cotswolds were pleasant, comprised of rolling hills speckled with farms and quaint medieval villages.

     We went on a walking tour soon after arriving in Bath. A wizened, witty guide showed us the ins and outs of this ancient Roman city. I'd liken Bath to Verona, with its Oolitic Limestone streets, ancient monuments, imposing hills, and easy living. Aside from the tourists, Bath is a gentle place. 

From on top the hotel

The wellspring of the ancient Roman Baths

     It was great to experience Bath and the Cotswolds. Next up, Wales. We crossed the bridge onto the Welsh peninsula, and the first thing we noticed were the signs marked in two languages. Wales, all of a sudden, felt like a different world. We stopped in Cardiff for lunch; and to be honest, the city was a bit plain. Nonetheless, it was a good palette cleanser for what was to come: the Brecon Beacons to the North. The Beacons, a National Reserve, gets its name from the small light houses -beacons - that sit atop the myriad small mountains. Medieval Earls and Generals once used the light houses to send warning messages to one another of impending attacks. In certain valleys, once-great fortresses now stand solitary and stark against the blue sky and green pastures. And in those pastures? Sheep. They say there are thirty sheep to each person; I think maybe there are more. The lamb dishes at the local pubs were really delicious. We pulled in for the night at a cozy B&B and hung out with friendly locals at the pub downstairs. The early morning and late afternoon were especially beautiful in the Beacons, as a dim fog enveloped the lakes and mountains in the moors.  The landscape, the food, and the people, I could easily go back to Wales for some more.


Does your flag have a dragon?



Your cousin, sir, was delicious.

 

     Mom left Monday morning. Since then, it's been a hectic week. Evan Waksler, Monatrice Lam, Martina Mok, and Sophie Adelman all came to visit on different days of the week. Hanging out with them, my books, and microsoft word, left me with little time besides. Still, I made time for dinner with a new friend, Cecilia. Tomorrow is the Champions League in London and I'm going down for the day with my flatmate, Longhao and his friend from Birmingham. Rooney vs. Messi, I'd pick *cough messi cough* Rooney anyday.

     

Time to get back to the library,

Later

What Is Knowledge?

               Arthur, a professional painter who lived alone and not once allowed another person into his home, bought a blue-painted wood table from the furniture store down the road. He did not like the color and so decided to paint the table to look like a redwood table. Shortly after, Arthur unexpectedly died. Stanley, a young graduate, happened upon the sale of Arthur’s possessions. Stanley decided to buy the redwood table, since it reminded him of the time he visited the redwood trees in California. After buying the table, an appraiser walked by and complimented the quality of the redwood table. Stanley had a justified true belief that the table was redwood. However, when Arthur first bought the table, he did not know that the blue-painted wood table was originally made from redwood and so had a redwood finish. 
Can Stanley be said to truly know that the table is redwood?
If justified true belief is no longer an all encompassing criterion of knowledge as Plato once speculated, what then can we know for certain?

The Visa Hotline

                First semester was ending and I was in the process of applying for a UK visa. South African citizens, by recent decree, were otherwise barred from entry to the UK. Moreover, I wasn’t sure which visa option corresponded to my future UK student status. So I decided to visit my study abroad adviser to ask for her advice on the matter. I walked into her office and we talked a little about the problem at hand. She wasn't sure what to do, so she decided I should call the UK  Visa Hotline. She dialed the number and I put the receiver to my ear and waited for the dial tone to ring through. The ringing ceased and a sexy voice whispered through the receiver.

     “Hey Baby, I’m so glad you called. I’m going to help you with all your needs. Remember, this call will be charged at three dollars a minute plus an initial, non-refundable fee of eight dollars. Please press one to continue.”

I turned to Jessica, who stood across from me in the room.

     She noticed my surprise and said, “Really, its okay. I already know about the high fees.”

With her reassurances, I pressed one to continue.

     The sexy voice from before came on the line: “So Baby, what will it be today? Jenny, our busty blonde, Amanda, our wild redhead …”

I took the phone from my ear and held it out to Jessica. She put it to her ear and turned as red as an African firefly. She whipped the phone down and redialed, this time the correct number. I know this because instead of the sexy voice, a proper sounding Brit answered. It could have been Margaret Thatcher for all I knew.

                I did eventually get my visa, and here I am. Still, I wonder what my adviser's boss said when, on the  phone bill, he saw a charge of eleven dollars to a sex hotline.



*Here's a short BBC documentary on the UK visa problem and declining tourism in the UK in general, http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/programmes/fast_track/9473976.stm