Shite Magazines of Oxford Part 1: (OH) Magazine"Because if I'm blogging then at least some good is coming out of the crap that gets released every term"(OH) Magazine was formed in 2008 by some students, apparently to fill the aching creative vacuum in their CVs caused by the fact that they hadn't been allowed to edit anything yet in their Oxford careers. As far as I can tell, the magazine's main remit is to serve as the backup 'sexy arts magazine' in the few times when there isn't a copy of the Isis directly to hand; I imagine that there was once a tragic incident when a student was having a stroke or something, but could have been saved if only there was a brightly coloured edgy student publication filled with unreadable opinion pieces about drugs or sex or indie music, but all of the copies of Isis were taken so the student tragically died; and so to prevent such a tragedy every happening again, a few brave undergraduates from Oriel College took it upon themselves to produce an emergency backup magazine and charge JCRs £100 for it; kind of like how nuclear power stations have an extra layer of lead-sealant on all of the radioactive chambers, just on the off-chance that the first breaks open, spewing white-hot chemical waste over the countryside and melting the tissue off any living organism in a 10 mile distance.
With such noble aspirations, it's difficult to imagine how (OH) could fail. After all, they cover all of the key bases of student life - with segments such as 'Music, Books, Film, Fashion, Art, Gay, and Misc' - it is safe to say that whatever your hobby is, there will always be something to interest you. For example if you are particularly into your music, you can read the section on the history of Reggae, if you like fashion you can check out the photos of girls wearing Topshop dresses in a field and if you were interested in being a gay you could read the gay section, specifically written for YOU (wow!) which includes such highlights as 'Tinsel Flakes', an article written by somebody who has recently read Irvine Welsh's 1993 novel 'Trainspotting':
mop up the remnents of pish on an already urine encrusted lavvy seat with the last two sheets of wafer thin toilet paper. Shaking away last night, I gave a bit of thought to words and...eh...language. At least, words that a cannae say. Don't get me wrong, it's not like etc, for two pages.
Reggae. Topshop. 'The gays'. As you can see, (OH) Mag is adept at hitting the marks with the kind of inyerface no-nonsense, no bullshit journalism of the type that made Russell Brand such a popular MTV presenter in September 2001. (OH) takes our standards of what to expect of a student magazine (in terms of content, presentation and readability) and throws them right the fuck out of the window. You want edgy? How about AN ARTICLE ON PORN told from the POV of somebody having a wank!!! How about a 'Introduction to (OH)' Section that on one hand offers you the chance to Have Your Say by casually inviting readers to 'drop us a line' before metaphorically Pulling The Rug Out From Under Our Feet by adding 'But we think its fucking brilliant' !!! How about printing the word 'shit' in a title. Twice. SHIT. IN A STUDENT PUBLICATION. WHAT IS GOING ON. Hey guys look at this. It's the line.
--------and Look at what (OH) is doing
----(OH)
----That's right IT'S CROSSING THE FUCKING LINE. I read somewhere that at (OH) HQ (which is probably some awesome den filled with fetish gear and bongs and vintage typewriters) there's just a huge rasturbation of Hunter S Thompson and Banksy and Kurt Cobain and other people that anti-conformist idiots idolise charging into riot police with FUCK YOU, SYSTEM spray-painted underneath and stuff. I have also read that one of the editorial practises is to take all articles and add the word 'fuck' or 'bastard' somewhere in the central paragraph. The result is sentences like this: 'The frames that resemble camera-work only make it clear how much closer to an aesthetically powerful film this is than most actual films. Basically, it's fucking brilliant'. woahhh, were you knocked for six by the cussing at the end there? I know I was when I first read it. My thought process was like "Hmm, frames, interesting, aestheticism, interesting, basically, hmm, OH MY GOD THEY SAID THE F WORD'. You could have knocked me over with a feather. Because that's how people talk in real life, isn't it? Swearing and that. It brings it closer to MY demographic and makes me understand and sympathize with it as an article. Clever work, (OH) editors. People say 'What's the point?' or 'It's a lazy crutch to be 'down wid da kids' and inject shock value' but to those people I say chill out, niggers! Are you retarded or something? It's the goddamn (OH) magazine! You know why its called (OH)? Because that is the shocked sound that you make when you read it (in parentheses). The shoehorning of swearing and stupid popular culture references into Every Single Article is an unorthodox editorial decision and while some may call it irritating and patronising, I do as well.
Apparently other unorthodox editorial decisions involve making up words - "the plainly repugnanty", more-or-less disregarding the concept of grammar or consistent orthography, repeatedly spelling the names of the contributors incorrectly (sorry,
non standardly), neglecting to credit whole segment editors and generally aiming to make the whole thing as UNDREADABLE AS FUCKING POSSIBLE. The result of this is that actually reading a copy of (OH) magazine is a strange, often unsatisfactorily frustrating battle against the English language. Reading an article is like wading through a strong wind, walking to a distant house that may or not be filled with angry bees. That's in the highly unlikely case that somebody actually reads an article. Flicking through it, the urge to Not Read is almost overwhelming. You look at the pictures. You read the headlines. You admire the pretty colours. Maybe-JUST MAYBE- you'll read an opening paragraph, say 'oh', then drift off into a catatonic coma, pass out, keel over and accidentally stab yourself in the eye with a fork. It's physically impossible to continue. It's like the literature equivalent of staring at the Sun or listening to The Kooks or drinking a gallon of listerine.
But of course that isn't the point is it? The point was never to produce anything interesting. The point is have something to look at, to admire as an Object, place on the table, absorb, lean back and then slowly, loquaciously, masturbate slowly over its matte finish and street styling, ejaculate over the five-page cartoon about the evil teddy bear, smear the resulting sticky mess all over your face and upper body and then lean back gasping desperately as it dries into a waxy dandruff-like scale and flakes off all over the double page about the Voynich Manuscript before hurling it into the nearest roaring wood fire and slinking off to read something better, like Atlas Shrugged or the safety instructions that came with the kettle.
I can't pretend to be Objective about this, by the way. I admit that I know three people who write for this magazine, and I produced a cartoon to go in it, and it wasn't included in the final press. My main excuse is that I was specifically sought out and asked to produce the cartoon, which I obligingly did. I say 'obligingly' because I'm not going to lie, I've already reached the point when I know that writing things for most publications in Oxford is more or less beneath me. And I was giving them a break, to be honest, I really thought they'd be grateful. I was dragging the average quality of the rest of the magazine, kicking and screaming, up. There would be at least two pages that would be worth reading. And they blew it, to be honest, an action that was confirmation more than conception of my disregard for this magazine. It's just the perfect confirmation of my theory that students shouldn't be allowed to produce anything. Reading it is plain painful. Like your dad rapping at a funeral. Your mum's funeral.
I know that this post is controversial and is probably going to lose me some friends. I mean, I'm not blind, it's obvious how meteorically popular (OH) magazine has become in its first two issues. One of my friends from home saw it and said 'Hey is that a picture of some guys wearing tshirts on the front cover? Jesus this thing looks amazing I wish I went to Oxford!' and he was so impressed he dropped out of Cambridge and applied here for next year JUST so he could read it. It's already gotten so big and popular the wikipedia entry for 'Oxford University' automatically redirects to the (OH) page. In the weeks leading up to the release of a new issue of (OH), the tension in Oxford rises to unbearable levels. Fights break out. Women go into labour early. The night before an (OH) is released, the air crackles as though anticipating a thunder storm. The common room is abuzz with people who simply cannot sleep, such is their excitement at the thought of a fresh new copy of (OH) sliding through their letterbox. They drink cups of cocoa and speak of their hopes and dreams for what the new magazine will bring - possibly four pages devoted to samey doodles of farm animals by some girl who doesn't even go to Oxford any more, possibly an article on Slagsmålskubben, possibly a page with just the word 'GAY' on it in big letters. Who knows?
So maybe I'm wrong. In the wake of such overwhelming public support for (OH), perhaps I should give them another chance? Perhaps, if what I've just said is true, they truly represent the dawn of a new level of student journalism? If THIS MANY PEOPLE love and adore (OH) and think that it is the best thing to ever be released ever then maybe I should just shut up for once
...
(oh) wait
January--birding and observing the locals in the Big Valley of Central Pennsylvania
On this same road today at lunchtime, I saw a pretty red female American Kestrel. I loves me some kestrels.
That's her on the right, pointing to her dolly. This was probably a newly opened Christmas present, I'm guessing. 
The raven’s call is also distinct from that of the crow. Ravens make what Peterson calls a “croaking cr-r-ruck or prruk” or “a metallic tok” as opposed to the loud and clear "caw" of the American Crow. While I’m at it, I’ll add that a Fish Crow’s call is a “short nasal car or ca.” (Like it’s an American Crow hailing from Bah-ston?) You can hear the 
Further, ravens fly in more of a hawklike manner, flapping and gliding on flat wings; crows hold their wings in a slight dihedral, almost like a turkey vulture (though not as pronounced of a “V”). Most all the crows I’ve seen pretty much flap all the time and rarely glide, but maybe they’re just all in a big hurry to go eat another starling.
Here's a hint:
That's Dr. Matthew Callahan (aka Matty McMatterson) and our friend Christine, who lives in San Francisco, who gave me the field guide pictured above because . . .
