This past fortnight a great many things have happened to me. For one, I broke my boxing bag. The frayed straps finally gave way, leaving me both secretly proud of such testament to my own brute strength, and deflated that I could not finish the venting of my frustrations through pounding fists and kicks of fury. I left the bag hanging there on a skewed angle, knowing full well the possibility of it coming completely undone and landing on my unsuspecting dog – which thankfully did not happen. I am in no means defending my own negligence, I just thought that Max (my ‘a little smaller than a Newfoundland’ dog) would have the good sense to stay away from a 50 kg weight crashing to the ground…
Secondly, I had a conversation with a curious lizard, that sat next to me whilst I was eating my lunch at Uni. I named him Gary. We got along swimmingly.
Thirdly, I had another bizarre dream that I was Batman – cape, utility belt, gravelly voice and all. Fighting off Catwoman (Michelle Pfeiffer version), the Joker (Jack Nicholson version) with a bazooka, many minions armed with machine guns, and saving children from unexplainable crates dangling from high-rise buildings. Quite frankly, it was better than Xbox.
And, oh, what was that other thing I did? That’s right, I started University. Obviously this list gives priority to the most important details first…
Today, I wrote down three things during my ‘Australia, Asia and the World’ lecture, that at the time felt important in surmising my second ‘cultural studies’ experience in a whole. I made a note that I do appreciate a good Star Wars reference in the teaching of, well anything; that I’m enjoying my peculiarly swinging, swively chair; and that lecturers like to use YouTube clips of foreign people singing to illustrate points about culture.
Another thought also crossed my mind in that lecture, namely ‘Woman! For god’s sake just calm down!’ – obviously referring to the designer sunglasses, midriff wearing ‘scholar’, who would not quit with the fidgeting, playing with the mobile phone and the constant opening and shutting of the MacBook Pro. I get it, you can take notes and look up stuff on your whiz-bang information machine, while I just jot on my totally cool Typo notebook – but the pages popping up on your blaring screen are distracting me from what I’m sure is a very interesting lecture about…something.
Actually, I exaggerate. I do listen and take notes, and participate in all the philosophising, theorising and questioning. What I don’t get is that, in one of my unrelated tutorials, we were to discuss a critical work on orality and literacy, amongst ourselves, like, you know, we were at a coffee shop. I don’t know about you lady, my inner monologue says to my teacher, but I don’t theorise about the written word at a ‘cafe with friends’, my cafe experience usually comprises of drinking coffee and perhaps talking to my mum about what’s for dinner…I can’t pretend like University discussions are just casual chit-chat between gal-pals.
So, it seems that I haven’t quite caught a grip on being all pseudo intellectual without sounding like a total pompous ass. If I’m to be a ‘scholar’ I feel like I’m in need of a pipe, a glass of brandy, perhaps a monocle, or even a fine mustache that I can tweak between my thumb and forefinger whilst remarking ‘Hmm, interesting point old boy!’ But seeing as though I’m not some sort of 18th century gentleman, I will have to adjust my view. Easy enough as I so discovered, by listening to a fellow classmate ‘articulate her thoughts’, the so-called ‘scholars’ of today sound more or less like this: “Like, like, like, individuality, like, like, creative writing, like, like, you know, like, like, like, you know what I’m saying?” Kind of reminds me of the Yip Yip aliens from Sesame Street…
Okay, so that was only one person, and perhaps the ‘liking’ wasn’t to that extent. It just sounded that way – ‘like’ seemingly replacing where an intake of breath or a full stop should have been. Inner Monologue: “Just spit it out, woman! Think before speaking, it’s not that hard” aaaand breathe, let it go. End of rant.
Tune in next week (or whenever I find the motivation between reading Jane Eyre, amongst a million other texts, and French class, and touch footy, and work and perhaps Women’s Self Defense Kung Fu…? Hmm, ponderous!) for another exciting installment of… yeah, I can’t really finish that sentence.