Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I

After the great import and sobriety of this post’s immediate predecessors, I must admit I feel horribly trivial posting on so banal a subject as colleges. The current search for colleges rather reminds me of genteel marriage in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. High-powered mothers, like so many SAT Prep book-welding Mrs. Bennetts desperately trying to fling their offspring into the paths of the most eligible colleges, although some of us have nothing but our intellectual charms to recommend us. Yet, like a silly young girl I resolutely refuse to understand that the attractive colleges (to me, at least) need to have some funds to live on as well as the unattractive ones.

At any rate, that rather garbled introduction was my last gasp of desperately pretending that I really can go to Oxford. This morning I received a letter from Oriel in reply to my letter informing the college that I am now officially a subject of her Majesty. I have not opened the letter yet, but I know it can contains one of but two possible replies.

1) You like marmalade and read the Spectator, therefore we consider you British and the British government can foot the bill, or

2) We only wanted you for your money, so give us $150,000 or get lost. (Besides, you’ve never actually lived in Britain, you hideous imposter.)

My parents have been gently trying to prepare me for the latter response, and I regret now that I was so stubborn in my naivety. Rawr. Anyway, if I don’t get the optimal ending now, I can always try again when I apply to graduate school. However, Ryan’s post really helped me see how silly I have been. It is only a college, after all: going to Oriel is not an inalienable human right, but a “fiction... a dream of passion.” All the TASPers are safe and well: that is the important thing. And what’s the use of honing one’s intellect if one does not put it to as brilliant use as Comrade McClure has just done? At any rate, writing to the TASPers always makes one feel better and reminds me of the truly important things. So I shall open the letter tomorrow, but for tonight, I can still pretend…

Forgive my silly whining.

P. S. My Scottish grandfather just sent me a T. E. Lawrence action figurine. It’s awesomeness defies description. Pictures coming soon.