Suffering from P.T.D

Or Public Transport Depression.

Is it just me - (an aside; I hate people starting articles and comment with 'Is it just me', because it's either A) blatantly not and an easy way to persuade people to side with you, or B) blatantly IS becuase you're trying to say something oh so individual and outrageous and pretending to be funny: I fear I'm doing the latter) - but does public transport depress people?

It's more when you travel on your own: the whole being surrounded by people you don't know, and never will, people you don't care about and vice versa. In fact, public transport encourages this sort of thing, that sort of introspective space to go into your own little world. You think things about people you're trapped with for a journey, and probably judge them. I know I do: one of the reasons I don't like using buses is because of the people you're likely to find on them. Idiot kids, who can't drive, in huge groups, called Dave B and Dave H, Darren, Chezza, Nikkeh, Danielle, Luce, etc. Who shout and scream and act like twats. I swear I was never like that, ever. Then you get women with massive prams and Argos bags on the back of them that roll into your shin while you're standing and give you looks as if you KICKED the pram. Then there's the old dears,...And there's always one really weird, deranged looking guy that spots you as you get on and won't stop looking at you til you get off - often, conveniently, at the same stop as deranged guy.

The worst thing about buses is how they look, too. Messy inside, steamed up windows with hearts and text speak written on them, and they just seem like boxes of artificial light. It's a strange qualm, but that sight just depresses me: at night, a box of people bathed in artificial light. It makes me think that there is no meaning to life.

Trains - slightly different. Still that sense of your own little world (yet it's 'public' transport - ). Bit more classy (richer people?), nicer setting and easier journeys and so on, but their main problem is alcohol. Alcohol on trains is, in my opinion, stupidly dangerous, and it's advertised and encouraged! It's almost as bad as Air Rage where people drunk on planes get violent and aggressive. Like being on a plane, when you're on a train and there's some idiot who's drunk and starting to eye you up for an argument, where the hell can you go except another part of the train? Trains basically trap you in an awkward space for a suitable enough length of time for anything to happen. A guy got stabbed on the underground recently, and they stop somewhere every minute.

And taxis, what the hell are they about. You can't even throw up in one nowadays!

I realise this is a weird thing to opine (again, is it just me?), and as I am wont to do I've taken it to some extremes to make my point clear. But basically, public transport's paradox of being a lonely experience, often a sorry excuse for a method of 'transport', usually late, never clean or pleasant, and in a country supposedly the most advanced in the world (of course, the actual infrastructure is usually at meltdown), I'm suffering from a case of PTD.

"When you're sad and feeling blue, with nothing better to do, don't just sit there feeling stressed, take a trip on the National Express!"
The Divine Comedy

Too much time.

This week I will spend 9 hours in University, as required by my timetable. Next week I will spend 7. How, then, can I not find the time to comfortably do all my work? Somehow, I think that having so much free time during the week (Monday and Wednesdays off, for example) lulls me into the sense that I will always have time to do everything, because I really do. I have enough time to do it all. The trouble is I'm not distinguishing my time beforehand to do things, and the last minute. Still. And I've been doing this Uni lark for almost three years. Fuck.

Similarly, how can so much free time go so fast? (When you're spending too much money, I suspect). What have I filled it with? It's now the eighth week of term, I can barely remember two weeks worth of it that actually stand out. Weekends blur into the week, nights out seem like one ungodly 24 hour mess, I've lost count of the amount of games I've had on Pro Evo. By the end of the year it will match my dissertation's 10,000. Do people ever learn? I'm worried I haven't, still. I've learnt a lot at Uni, and I've changed for the better because of it. But now I'm concerned that I've got a final lesson to learn, one last big hurdle to jump, which I've not seen coming and really should have.

Nevermind. I know that I have the aptitude to do this, and do it well eventually. I think I need something to stun me into action now, rather than thinking this time next year "Shit, I wish I hadn't slacked my way to a 2:2 after all." This week I've had some really disappointing feedback on some of my work, and I know I'm better than that. I think I needed it, though. Not everything is going to fall into place for me at this stage. These last two and a half weeks of term one, year three, I'm really going to throw myself into it all and get back on my highway to success.

That said, I'm still going out friday and having a house party saturday. Ole!

So shoot me.

I saw this and laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

Comic has been removed because it is Breast Cancer Awareness day today (27/10/2006)!

Because as they once said in Blackadder; "if you can't laugh, what can you do?"

And the answer was; "Take up politics perhaps."

And I'm not about to embark on that career just to cut short my tendency to see the funny side of just about anything. I realise that this joke is distasteful, in fact tasteless, but the BEP reference in the 3rd picture literally had me in stitches. I guess I'll remove it if I get enough "My aunt this" type responses, but for now, since you can't shoot the messenger, it stays. I had planned to put it on my MySpace, now THAT'S risque. But I haven't, I'm too scared.

To be honest, jokes with realistic endings are the in thing for Uni students. When you're this intelligent, when you're the cultural hub of society, when the future is ours and we are the future, what we say goes and at the moment, not funny is funny. Check out, also, www.somethingawful.com for more brilliant observational jokes.

Back to Uni! Yay.

It's a new dawn, it's a new day it's a new life, for me -

and I'm feeling good. Yep, it's back in Bournemouth for me, for my third (and final! Christ!) year at the University, and I cannot wait. The lucky but now a lot poorer fresher's Fortnight's been and gone, my birthday was dreadfully drunken, and I get Mondays and Wednesdays off til Christmas. Result!

Unfortunately, this continues my frankly shocking summer post ratio of about one a month, but with less time to party this year and more days off, I hope to be back blogging regularly. After all, it's good to talk.

Already slipping quickly back into the Bournemouth routine (checks clock - 1:06am - yep), this year promises to be a work hard/play hard split. It's really, now more than ever, time to knuckle down. But I think the year's work also promises to be interesting and stimulating, if a little frustrating from time to time. The new iMacs are awesome though.

Anyway I'm bored of talking about Bournemouth Uni. I want to talk about the Bournemouth-based insurance brokers Alan and Thomas Ltd, who have BANNED the signing of birthday cards by people in the office as comments made in the cards could be offensive under the new Employment Equality laws. New measures hot on age discrimination means that somehow, jokes made in birthday cards about a person's age could be considered harrasment. The brokers' solution is to send every member of staff a generic birthday card on their special day, signed by the directors.

Great. Typical old people in Bournemouth kicking up a fuss about being old. How cliched. Now we can't even sign birthday cards without offending people. And I had such plans for my black, gay, neo-nazi, patriotic uncle's 90th card. And what's even more pathetic is that a generic birthday card is about the worst solution possible! Who wants that? No imagination, nothing personal about it, no meaning behind it: it certianly won't be the thought that counts when you get "from the board at Alan and Thomas Ltd Ma PhD BSC" in your one office card with a picture of a greenhouse in autumn on it.

It's PC gone mad. Except you can't say mad. It's PC gone mentally unstable.

Pravda

Far be it from me, as a mere Media student, just starting out on the ladder to media and literary wisdom, to attempt to genuinely critique a successful stage play; a piece 20 years old, rejuvanated this year for its slant on the fickle industry of newspaper journalism. But, since I have no such qualms about doing it towards music, I'm going to give it a shot anyway.

'Pravda', by David Hare and Howard Brenton, takes the shape of a South African entrepanuer, who basically is protrayed throughout as a tyrant, coming into the English media with a view to making money at the expense of the trade. His arrogant Australian accountant might be just more than a subtle nod toward contemporary media mogul Rupert Murdoch, though the play's actual press baron character Lambert Le Roux is far, far more outlandishly written than any real life media owner, despite apprently being based on a 1980s Murdoch. Le Roux aquires a regional paper, and a scene or two later acquires a national, respected paper through his money-based persuasion of a Government member, and his smooth-talking manner. Setting about creating a media monopoly, he assures everyone he won't interfere with editorial freedom - before in the next scene firing about 6 people without reason, and declaring that he wants news; at the expense of truth (Pravda).

The rest of it plays out in a rather predictabe modern tragedy manner; Andrew, the hero (ish), as Editor of the Victory, tries to publish a big story about Government cover ups, in the interest of a free press. Le Roux disagrees and fires Andrew, who vows revenge. Conveniently, the editors, journalists and MP that Le Roux has made enemies of during the play meet, and conspire to out bid Le Roux for the The Daily Usurper, yet another paper he is supposed to be buying out - on secret information from his apparently disillusioned accountant.

The information is false, however, and was a ploy to get Andrew, now Editor of the Usurper, to make the claims Le Roux's accountant gave him, in order to be in a legal position to sue him. This takes place in a frankly bizarre scene set on the Yorkshire Moors, where Le Roux has engineered 'bumping into' Andrew, alone, and immediately crushes his spirit of revenge, issuing him with a legal writ and making him beg for forgiveness. Andrew does, and the final scene sees him editor of some dross nationalistic tabloid, trying to find the best pair of tits for that paper's competition. Andrew has become everything he was against at the beginning of the play, a tabloid editor, and another pawn of Le Roux's.

So that's the play. Is it really relevant to today? For a start, that strange scene on the Moors might well imply Le Roux's overpowering, irrepressable influence over a man's life, but to watch it it seemed absurd, outlandishly written to make a less outlandish point. Then there's the way in which Le Roux acquires 4 papers on stage, and we're led to believe more during the play's span. The fact is, it just doesn't happen like that anymore. There's more taking over football clubs than there is taking over papers nowadays. The satire behind the play aimed at a fickle industry where money rules all is still applicable, but now, 'Pravda' is outdated in the way it conveys it. Yes, stockholders and shareowners can have a large amount of influence in their media projects, but modern day media is influenced as much by advertiser pressure and audiences as it is their owners. And, since it was written 20 years ago, that isn't catered for in Pravda.
In fact, Pravda simply presents us with the usual suspects. It was Murdoch then, and it's Murdoch again now. Tabloids are portrayed in a shabby, sordid light, but then, tabloids are still, so no change there then. Pravda hits the right note with its portrayal of the shady minister, corrupted by fame and small fortunes. Indeed, politics and the media are more intrinsically linked these days - both rely on each other for success, and the 'you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours' relationship seemed the most approriate part of Pravda. Sadly, it was not the point of the play, proclaiming as it does to be a satire on the media industry.

Rather ironic, really, as it is the media industry which has heralded the return of this play.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do (and not what the terrorists want)

Never one to miss out on the thick of the action, last week I coincided flying out on my one holiday of the year with the day terrorist cells attempted to blow up 10 transatlantic flights. Somewhat remarkably, in my opinion, none of the planes went down, as the entire plan was foiled before it could at all get underway. Somehow, the press and public seem to have mistaken the operation preventing the biggest united terrorist action in history for a deliberate attempt to ruin holidays and bring airports into disorder. Usually the first to lay into the Labour running of the country, even I can recognise how 10 plane loads of living people and chaos at airports is better than 10 plane loads of people in pieces and hysteria at airports.

But I suppose, I was one of the luckier ones. (Not as lucky as those who would have been on the targetted planes, but close). My flight to Rome being at 6:40am, and with the news only flitering through at the time I and my friend Jon were checking in (4:45am), we were one of the very few planes, as it turned out, that were even allowed to consider leaving. Gatwick, as I later heard, grounded most flights for the rest of the day, while Easyjet valiantly tried (and I hope succeeded) in getting all the flights they had scheduled to leave before 8:15am away. Eventually, 4 and a half hours later, EZY5253 was up up and away, with its passengers carrying nothing but wallets and keys.

Again, my annoyance at losing most of my Thursday in Rome should be considered in the context of actually getting out of the country on the right day at least. Rome, in any case, was fantastic. The whole reason I went out was to meet three friends who are travelling Europe, as a surprise: unfortunately the plane situation meant having to give it away in order to meet them. Still. The city was constantly buzzing, a lively air about the place, yet most of the Italians were completely relaxed about life. I managed to see most of the sights: the Colosseum, the Spanish Steps, Vatican City - St Pietro. While we were there, the Pope (the actual POPE) gave his Sunday speech thing, just around the corner from the live feed I watched in St Peter's Square. He spoke 7 languages as well. Impressive, Pope.

Much beer was had, though only at regular intervals and only once mass consumed for getting very, very drunk. Ice cream, pizza and pasta was basically our diet, with a bit of apple tobacco for good measure. Numerous in-jokes and you-had-to-be-there stories arose from the 4 days I was out there, which I won't bore you with. It also took a lot more out of my bank account than I'd hoped to, but you can't put a price on good times. Except when you have an overdraft and no regular income, like me, in which case you need a Good Times Budget and quite possibly a Good Times Accountant.

It was nice to get out of the country for a while, desperately needed as well. I've not enjoyed living at home as much as I used to, I really want to get back to my Bournemouth way of life. Also, the summer's been shit in general due to the work experience, it has actually, in this many words, ruined my summer. The only brighter points have been the World Cup, the Rome holiday, cricket on hot July sundays, and next week, when sixteenpointeight go into the studio to record our fantabulous EP! Watch this space for more narcissistic plugging.

My lovely band

God is in the TV

Also, a quick plug.

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http://www.godisinthetvzine.co.uk

Now you can search by my name, and see all the lovely stuff I've written, and avoid all the bands I've slated.

Lazing on a sunny afternoon...

Quite so, Ray Davies of The Kinks. That's all I seem to be doing. And why?

Because of stupid, goddamn pointless work experience. This is going to be one major, unedited, non-sensival (likely) rant. One of the things the Uni prides itself on is its employement rate after the course. Therefore, you'd think it would take some responsibility for its students' work experience. But has it? I can't help thinking, from a personal point of view, what a waste of time this whole placement idea is.

1. We received CV writing and interview advice in late January, during the busiest term of the year. Which meant:
2. Most people didn't start thinking about placements until the Easter break. Which was when people simultaneously started thinking about exams.
3. The Uni FORCES - that is, you must have it in order to pass onto year 3 - the 6 week minimum placement. A lot of places see that as a questionable length of time: what can you bring to a company, a major company where your experience will be worthwhile, in just 6 weeks? There aren't many places that see 6 weeks as a good time period: most offer 1-2 weeks, or several months to a year.
4. Because of THAT, nearly all companies are reluctant to pay for just 6 weeks, though most cover travel expenses. Which is still, not a wage.
5. And that means you have to spend 6 or more weeks of your summer not earning much needed money to cover the debt we've accumulated over the last year.
6. That's also assuming you have your placement sorted, 6 weeks, no more no less, no gaps, in one place: if you don't, you can't get paid work over the summer until you guarantee your work experience because that must come first otherwise you won't pass the year. Personally, I now won't have had ANY paid work over this summer, due to the 'neccessity' of organising a placement. Brilliant.
7. All the good places go very quickly. Most decent magazines, for example, fill their placement spots about a year in advance. Why weren't we warned that? Why is our placement guidance held back til January, when in retrospect you realise that it should have been the time for finalising a placement, not starting to think about it.

Of course, this doesn't apply if you signed up to a STEP placement, where although the placements aren't always quite suitable, everything else is sorted for you. The Uni, for some reason, didn't see fit to advertise how useful that scheme is however, instead presenting it as an unglamorous alternative.

To sum up those interweaving, mish mashed points: Your often non-paid, not-particularly suitable placement is enforced otherwise you fail your course. It's a key part of the degree, and one students are interested to have, yet the Uni is inclined to sit back and let it add to students' pressing problems. If it's such a valuable element of the course for your students, why isn't it addressed so? It seems, at the moment, and I have no doubt come October it will seem the same: a complete waste of time.

I'm sorry Cromitor

Crime Monitor! Find me some crime to fight!

Alas, I don't have a crime monitor (Cromitor). So there's another excuse for it being a month since I last blogged gone. The last two weeks, I've been completing work experience at a PR company in Havant called HarvestPR. It's been very valuable, but ultimately quite time consuming work and for no wage. I might get a nominal sum for my work (which was, I hasten to add, valuable to the company as well as me) but not actually paid. I did get my own e-mail address though!

So this week, in light of hopefully starting a 3-week placement in London either next monday or the following, I've generously allowed myself some well-earned time off this week in order to see people, play football and guitar, and get up late. Especially since I passed year 2 of Uni last week, 62 overall for the year, which I'm obviously pleased about.

Anyway, in my last post I realised I mentioned getting addicted to Big Brother which is of course, a lie. In the same way as people can't help but stare at a horrendous car crash, in wonder at other humans' mortality and death, Big Brother is the same on tv. Train wreck TV (I think it's an actual term - I'll ask Bronwen). There's something, not addictive, maybe it's human nature, to look at other people so more unfortunate than yourself. It was only good, as in interesting, to watch while Grace was in there manipulating everyone to her own ends, which is the point as it's a game show, and generally being ace. Now, in desperation to save a dying programme, the producers chuck in 5 or 6 new people (most even more train wreck tv victims than the original lot) in a SECOND HOUSE, OMG LIEK NEIGHBOURS, in the hope that something interesting might happen. Which hasn't. Just more outrageous stupidity, people crying, playground level relationships. Thank god Nikki, with her 5 year old face and 4 year old intellect, has gone now, and that utter mess of a woman (she's a mother!!) Lea has gone back to her beloved children who she supports by making porn and leaves for 2 months to go on tv.

That's all for now. It's 30 degrees outside, I should be out sunning myself like a lizard on a Majorcan rock.

So long since blogging :(

It's getting on for 3 weeks since my last blog, and a lot has happened in those three weeks. I convinced myself I'd posted about exams, but I obviously haven't. Mainly, I guess, I've just been too busy to blog! But shall quickly wind up the events in the time since my last post.

Exams: The most recent post was probably the last ounce of time I had before I had to do nothing but revise, eat and sleep a bit before the Media exam 27/5/06. About 9:20am that day, the nerves hit me like a lorry. But I took my time at the beginning of the exam, and I thought it was a pretty kind paper all in all. Questions were specific but allowed for a lot of discussion. (If you didn't bother doing enough revision, then this won't apply to you. Unlucky.) Getting Media done was the biggie. Hard to revise for, hard to understand, hard to write about. So glad it was the first exam.

Then that left plenty of time to revise for Literature, and I managed to revise three texts, and thankfully none of the questions were dire. In fact, after doing the fairly gentle Heart of Darkness question first, I spent 10 minutes planning both Slaughterhouse-5 and Waiting for Godot answers. Eventually went for Godot as it was more specific and easier to make an argument from.

After Lit, though, there was no time to slack with Narrative just 48 hours away. But I slacked anyway, and went for a meal in the evening. The thursdsy was manic, dreadful. I'd already revised some about 2 weeks earlier before media, but that didn't really help when it came to going over them. Ended up spending the thursday revising Feminism, and glancing at Sitcoms, and went to bed not looking forward to the exam at all. The main reason was that I'd felt the first 2 exams to have been decent papers, and there was bound to be one bitch. And it was Bronwen.

Not exactly. Well, not exactly her. The paper wasn't "stick two pens up your nose and slam your head on the exam desk and puncture your brain" terrible. The questions were just worded in Bronwen's telling 'You better know what you're talking about' way, which meant the Feminist Q was out of bounds. The sitcom question was OK, but when did we ever do any work on Reality TV? It didn't matter though, as it simply gave me an excuse to tear into Big Brother for half an hour before I remembered the question. Oops.

But it was all forgotten 15 minutes later as everyone piled into Dylan's, then we went home and drunk, went out and drunk, and so on. Since then it's been a hazy mix of sunshine, sun burn, beer and football. Fantastic. If only I didn't have this stupid stupid work placement to waste half my summer (sorry, gain invaluable experience). I'd love to just spend my entire summer living how it is now, waking up mid morning, hitting the beach all afternoon, then seeing friends or going out in the evening. Alas, 'those were the best days of my life'.

Summer Ball: How awesome was THAT? Just the perfect day altogether. Watching England win in the World Cup at Bar Fruit which we had to ourselves, basically. Indeed, we were even stopped from going in originally because of a 'private function'.That private function was us!
Then getting ready and drinking and photos in the glorious sunshine was brilliant, and the Summer Ball really was the party to end the year. If you were there it doesn't need explaining. If you weren't, you don't deserve it explained. :)

That's it for now, posts on my Big Brother addiction and England's brilliant start to the world cup (2 games, 2 wins, no goals conceded, through into round 2 already?) to come.