May 2004 Archives

I have seen this movie about a bajillion times (bajillion and one, to be more precise) and still love it. I think I just like to cheer along.

So you can imagine my bliss to find the cheer section on this site. Now my classmates are all cheering too, and secretly want to kill me, methinks.

I said, BRRRR...

I am so frustrated today at my own lack of digicam. RESOLUTION: I will buy myself a decent digicam next year. None of this fucking around with Journ departmental equipment, praying the battery has life, never having a cam at the right time. I want to do so much!

That said, am also leaning towards PhotoJourn for my end of the year intensive project.

After a very successful and fun pyjama and pigtails party last night, I have decided upon my ultimate goal in life: to dance like Jennifer Grey. Having only ever seen the tiniest of snippets of Dirty Dancing before, watching the full movie was so awesome. I have already aquired the soundrack.

I still struggle to believe that the theory component of my course only requires one more assignment from me - a take home exam. It consists of a 4 500 word essay, minimum of 7 sources, and four days in which to do this. I have all sorts of pre-empting ideas (much copying of Frankenberg and Dyer to occur) but without having the essay topic makes this frustrating. I'm not looking forward to smacking 74 other Journ students out of the way to grab some elusive applicable reading.
After this, all theory will be history. I have loved this last course though - it's frightening, frustrating, scary, empowering to come to the realisation of your own unwitting propagation of outdated South African (even global) racial sentiments in your own work. It's heavy stuff, and I can no longer mark my J2 print tutlings' work without cringing at their word/photo/design choices. I have been given pause to analyse my own view of the world. I have been very blind, and as someone who is vehemently anti-racism, I am appalled at some of the stories I wrote before this year. Sigh, white guilt. All the negativity aside, I am grateful for this course.

I write, fresh from the Hall Brunch, where I managed my time/food ratio to the point where I was only full after having had a little taste of everything on offer. There is a caramel muffin in my room, beckoning me. If you'll excuse me...

Yes, the rockit photoblog has arrived. More pics to come tomorrow and henceforth.

This photo inspired this thought.

I find it strange how people can be so culturally different. Coming from SA, it's no news flash that indiviual cultures do things differently (insert DUH here), but what I'm particularly thinking about is how on different continents cultures and groups of people have evolved their own sense of where they are and how they live.
Logical thought would assume that as humans we would all have the same idea of this, that if there is an innate method of life and living then we would all have cities that look the same, we would all eat the same types of food and so on.
Obviously, this isn't the case. Your life experiences dictate what matters to you. Your upbringing allows your parents to influence you with their beliefs on the world, thereby transferring what their parents taught them, peppered with their own learning; and you then take this basis, live your life, make your mistakes, and pass on your own evolved knowledge to your children in turn who mould it in their own way.

Globalisation is putting an end to all diversity, some would argue. I found this photo interesting because of my own attitude towards my own culture. The photographer is American, I assume lives in the place he took this little 'slice of life' photo, and is used to the scene pictured because he might walk on that street every day. His is not a culture so different from my own, considering the South African tendancy to worship all things imported and specifically, all things American.

I feel that the people walking on that street have cultivated a way of life, a routine every day, that I have not, and I'm interested as to what their day consists of and why they have developed this pattern - and, as the converse, why they didn't develop a lifestyle more similar to mine, are the differences that big and why?

Sigh. This isn't coming out right. Maybe it's not stream-of-consciousness enough. Maybe I shouldn't attempt to explain the things that theorists and great thinkers seem to put more eloquently than I. One thing about my theory classes at uni, from first year philosophy to this last course on raced thinking, I have always felt validated when reading the writings of a theorist who managed to pinpoint a thought that has too ephemerally flown through my mind before. I have always felt more understood here at Rhodes than I ever did in high school, because I never had the intellectual means to express the deeper, less straightforward thoughts in my mind. Here, the theorists speak my mind. Sometimes.

There's a lot to be said for deeper, more introspective, more THEORETICAL thought. There's also a great deal of weight to the lighter, 'get over yourself' type of everyday living thought. It's an academic discourse versus 'what kind of beer do I love' discourse play.
Right. Thanks for reading my pseudo-intellectual attempt today. I promise tomorrow I will talk more about the intricacies of beer choice.

... okay, to be perfectly honest, I've been feeling a lot better for a while already.

It's strange - I wonder if I missed blogging so much only when I had absolutely nowhere to write down these arbitrary thought processes. Now that I've organised surrogate-rockit, I'm comfortable in the possibility of blogging, so when I think of something bloggable I feel less compelled to get it down NOW.

My J2 print tutlings presented their final tabloid, and blew the Wednesday groups away. Their visual identities have been the strongest so far, and there are only 2 more groups to present. Having 2 groups, 13 J2s in all, I've essentially had half the time that some other tutors have had, marked double the work but DAMN - it's been worth it. I felt swelled with pride as they pointed out what they'd learnt from the course; utterly and irrationally defensive as they were grilled by a particular uber-bitch on the judging panel; and sad to let them go as we toasted at the rat last night. Sad because I've come to know these people so well, and sad because at the beginning of next term I have to start from scratch with a new print group.
I've been really lucky - my tutlings were at least bright. A member of another tutor's group answered a well constructed and insightful question on design theory last night with "Well, you know, theory is, like... theory."
All this time! Theory is theory - my God, no one told me!

The Cue redesign is going well, with some really exciting things happening for a newspaper layout job. So far, we've only had 3 applications for advertisement designers from the J3 class. Should more applications not be forthcoming, Hilton and I will essentially have to take over the work of the absent 9 designers - I will have no life. But dammit - I'll claim BIG time!

Let's see... what else... ah yes, the Truro house pajamas and pigtails party on Saturday night, should be good - Pretty Woman, Dirty Dancing and all that.
AH - and on Tuesday at 4 I finished my last theory lecture EVER. Did you get that, EVER? I have one exam, and all theory will be gone.
This makes me happy.

When the Sanatorium nurse gasps at the thermometer, you know you've got a pretty mean fever.

Shocked nurse: "38.7!"
Oblivious me: "Is that, like, bad?"

Short of driving me back home, she did everything within her San powers for me - gave me Leave of Absence forms for 2 days, gross cough mixture, antibiotics and strict instructions to get Disprin, Corenza C and multivits. "And rest up!"

In between shivers and sweats, I managed to get a decent amount of sleep, and finished Oryx and Crake. I also didn't eat for a day and a half, consuming so much medicine it seemed to fill me up. Being alone at these times is pretty bad, but in a strange way I treasured my little bit of 'pity oneself' time.
Today was step one of picking up the pieces. Crockery and cutlery washed, Prof Comm CVs marked, J2 print presentation attended, I think I've done pretty well for someone with a wolverine cough and a voice in her head screaming "I wanna go back to beeeeed!!!!"

By the by, comments have arrived. Use it, don't use it.

UPDATE... I have decided to forgo the She-Ra stance, and have made a doctor's appointment for 9.30 this am. The Wolverine cough has evolved into a miniature sonic boom - my diaphragm muscles are toasted and my neighbours are giving me filthy looks. It is now time to fling myself trustingly into the arms of a professional and whisper, "Cure me!"

I didn't buy a ticket for the Allan Webb Hall Ball this year because the postponed trip to Jo'burg would have taken up the past weekend. But, with the sad news of Jo'burg, I organised to go, with much rushing around for ticket, dress, earrings, and so on. And by so on, I mean a new bra.

The dress, which was kindly lent to me by design Jess, and which is currently awaiting dry cleaning to remove all evidence of wine-filled fun, is strapless, and despite Jess' cleavage being of similar volume to mine, I needed some help in, shall we say, fulfilling the dress's expectations of my breastesses.

I now own my first Wonderbra.

"You'll never go back", res Jenny assures me. And it seems the hype is based in truth, I was supported and lifted and 'helped' all evening - the dress let me down a little (had to keep lifting it up to cover the supportive black beauty) but I was not failed by the unshifting reliability of the bra. In truth, I feel compelled to attatch the straps and wear it again tomorrow.

So, bra story done, the ball itself was fantastic. Res Ricarda, crazy German chick that she is, claimed me as her drinking buddy, and many glasses of rose/crackling mix were gleefully thrown back. After breaking it down, granny style, to 'Let's get Ricarda in here', it was off to the rat, to too many cigarettes and scaring at least two of my tutlings who I'm sure will be avoiding eye contact with me tomorrow at their 10.30 Prof Comm tut.

This, in conjunction with the wall painting party on Friday, has left me with an impossible amount of work at the moment, but it was worth it. I feel that every event like this chips away at the Truro granny perception, maybe by the end of the year they'll just view us as middle-aged.

Speaking of grans, I am currently knitting a scarf; am one-third into the venture actually. She eeees black, soft, long, and fluffy. Or at least she will be, should I be able to tear myself away from Isidingo and Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake.

After the rockit/foolstop crash of two thousand four, I have found myself missing blogging. I know that lately posts have been fewer and fewer, but I became angry at myself for the times when I didn't blog.
I guess it makes sense not to blog when I don't have anything to say.
Hmmm...

Awkward.

Aaaanyhoo, it seems you've managed to navigate your way to surrogate-rockit, a piss poor attempt at a new blog for the 'in-between'. I realise that I'm going it on my own here, which is a little bit shit considering I don't have Ian to fall back on when I decide I'm too cool to blog, but hey. Let's see how this works out.

Subjects I've been wanting to blog about but couldn't...
How weird it is when you're watching a movie and get really absorbed - and then come to the realisation that you're actually sitting in a large communal gathering, and the screen is square, and it's actually just moving lights, really.
The wall painting party (might post some pics)
The Hall Ball - don't have time now, but suffice it to say 'twas fun.
Why I eat things I normally wouldn't when drunk-hungry.

Please come again.