It’s a funny thing: often the reality of a situation is very different to how you imagine it to be before you get there. This situation I’m referring to today is university.
Before I started I’d imagined it to be a very serious pursuit. Very adult. Contrast that impression with my day on campus today: I spent the morning in a lecture discussing internet abbreviations, online chat, and then the lecturer projected her computer screen onto the wall and we put a few of those "I feel lucky" gags through Google. This counts towards my attendance and participation mark.
Then, into the library to finish up my essay on Blade Runner (of all things). Keeping in the spirit of childishness, I gave a silent “yippee!” when I managed to squeeze the word “androcentric” in to the text. Given the topic, it wasn’t too hard.
Over lunch, with two other students, I finished writing the little play we have to perform for our French assessment tomorrow, in which we play make believe at an imaginary birthday party. It is for Benoît. He is a travel agent. He is very nice. The conversation covers pressing topics as the size of the host’s cat, and the weather. “Il fait froid ici!” “Oui, il fait mauvais aujourd’hui!” And all this time I'd thought that academia was for grown ups. No wonder I'm getting good marks.
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8 comments:
Isn't it, though? Many times I've thought to myself, "I should have done this years ago", but pulled myself up because I wouldn't have appreciated it nearly so much as I do now.
Maaaan. I am SO desperate to get back inside the walls of academe. I sold my 10 000th copy of Nora Roberts yesterday at work, or so it seemed. The entire world is childishness, only I'm in the wrong playground.
On a totally unrelated note, I'm reading My Life as a Fake right now, and I'm quite enjoying it.
Ooh, Peter Carey! Good on you! I haven't read that one, but recently read his latest, Theft, A Love Story. I didn't enjoy it as much as I was hoping to, but it was good nevertheless.
When I saw him speak recently someone asked him about writing about Australia when he's lived in New York for so long. He said that he writes from his memories, which are full of Australia, so that's just what comes out. I did note, though, that Americanisms were coming out of the mouths of his two otherwise very Australian characters in Theft. What Australian country boy says "diapers"? I guess memory is fallible.
Try living through Victoria's "Blizzard of 96" in a house that in its warmest spot registered 5 degrees celcius. Grows hair on yer chest. I'm still waxing.
Heh. I just knew that one of you lot would have to top this. ;)
I have a personal rule that, if it reaches 5°C inside a building, I set fire to that building, starting with the furniture.
Tim: believe me, we wanted to. Instead, we plotted our escape and snuggled.
Hmm... being unused to such frigid conditions, I hadn't thought of that. The 1.5 occurred in our house as well as outside, so I'll be better prepared next time.
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