I love feet. I love my feet. That's why I asked the caricature guy at the ball last weekend to draw my feet instead of my face. 

"Can you do a caricature of my feet?" 

"Hmm I'm not sure if I can draw a caricature. 

But I can try to sketch you a likeness." 

So I stood on the modeling chair for five minutes as the pencil went whisk whisk on the surface of the paper. I also asked the guy to draw my new court heels. My shoes were pretty but hurt like hell, like all the nice things in life. 

My toes are generally disfigured. But my pinky toe looks hideous, resembles a pyramid than a ball. It even has a sharp edge. I don't think a toe is meant to have an edge. 

I read somewhere that Quentin Tarantino has a foot fetish. I'm happy we share one thing in common. 

As you can imagine, Oxford goes big on balls. Formal balls aren't my cup of tea, but I decided to go to one because I thought it would add flavor to the life-in-Oxford chapter of life. Yesterday was the 'Exeter College: The Orient Express Ball' which my friends and I attended. Typical of me to leave things up till the last moment; I spent yesterday afternoon fishing the shops in city center for a dress and a pair of decent heels. It was a highly stressful and intellectually stimulating task. 

Dress codes are a matter of life and death here in Oxford, a trait I deem properly English.  (For more info, please have a look at Downton Abbey) Last night's code was 'black tie,' which in itself is lucidly straightforward for the lads but perplexing for the girls. Rumor had it that girls would be expected to wear floor-length gowns or cocktail dresses at the least; dresses that went over the knees would be frowned upon; no flat shoes; etc. I pondered for a good while whether I should buy a long gown I would never again wear in my life. But no, I ended up purchasing a casual dress I would make practical use of.
Clever me : )

M, Lotti, Plebwood, Moi, P, Bartini, JMS, Smithers, Spicy

There are so many things in life one does for the sake of being able to say one has done it. Much of Oxford is like that: the Oxonian experience. And it sells so well. Many international students brave the dreary weather and unhealthy food of the UK for this precise experience: studying in the oldest university in the English-speaking world, living in pleasantly antiquated housings, dining in formal hall and high table, wearing sub fusc on matriculation and exam days, and all the items on the true Oxonian/English life track list. Charming, indeed, but what about inefficiency, elitism, and backwardness? Because these words are the negative flip sides of propriety, privilege, and tradition. 

Oxford was ranked no 5 in World's Best Universities with its rival and counterpart Cambridge at no 2. These days I often wonder what is at the core of the Oxbridge magic, what makes the spell so enticing. Being an Oxford-phile myself, I am in no position to assess this matter with an objective eye but one cannot help but ask: if all the buildings in Oxford were burnt down, would the university still hold the same academic prestige? 

I say no. And oh yes, the ball was fun.