First off, this entry is dedicated to my dear friend Sarah, who is departing Oxford for good today after a year in which she changed all our lives and made it infinitely more fun and interesting. The first time I met her was during a party: I was drunk out of my mind and sitting on the floor of the Octagon moaning about being dumped by my girlfriend; Apparently someone told her I had a tattoo of the Harvard athletic logo (she went to Yale) and I promptly undid my trousers to show her (it's on my hip). The next day I ran into her in the MCR stairwell and she said, "Hi, P.J.!" and I had no idea who she was...

But that initial encounter doesn't compare to her first meeting with SHP ("Sexual Harassment Pete") The first thing Pete ever said to her was, "May I stare freely at your breasts?" and ten months later, the last thing he said as she was leaving was, "Nice boobs!" In between, there was mostly drool. Actually, Pete's a pretty sweet guy- when he's not drunk.

Last Saturday was my graduation ceremony, and as a service to my non-Oxford readers I thought I'd post a brief pictoral explanation of what happens when you get an Oxford education:

	Pretend this phone booth is Oxford University.
	Mild mannered graduate student PJ hears a desperate cry of ignorance and plea for help!
	He jumps into the phone booth...
	...effects a quick change... (we've abbreviated time here somewhat for the purposes of this demonstration)
	...and emerges, ready to battle the forces of apathy, dogmatism and ignorance with education and enlightenment...
	He is Oxford Graduate-Man! (cue cheesy theme music)

And that's basically what happens.