Blog 53: Patterns and Dull-ture

My second term at university introduced a new module called "Patterns and Culture". Bear in mind that this is a Graphic and Communication Design course when I tell you our first lecture was all about cave paintings.

I'm writing this whilst/instead of a journal I'm meant to be keeping on the lectures as they go. Each week I'm MEANT to write 450/500 words about how the material we studied in the lecture is significant, or relevant, to me. Each week I return home and furiously study the notes (for about 12 seconds) frantically searching for anything which is relevant to me.

Now it's hard enough seeing the relevance of a painting by Michelangelo to Graphic Design, but when someone tries to tell you how important cave paintings are on the world of art today, I'm sorry, but they're just wrong. I'm not denying that they're fascinating to look at, or that it's incredible how they have been preserved all this time and are still in amazing condition and can even tell us something about the culture of the cave dwellers, because they do all those things. HOWEVER, they are basically just some doodles by someone who didn't have some paper and a biro handy. Most of them are pictures of animals, and they're not particularly good ones either. There is basically nothing that a Graphic Designer could learn from them. If I wanted to draw on a wall, I'm pretty sure I could figure it out. If I wanted to draw an animal, I'd ask someone who is good at it rather than a caveman, who, by the way, is dead.

I reckon if a prehistoric neanderthal could figure out how to paint on walls, then give me enough time, I might just be able to do it on my own.

To top if off, in a crit session today, my course tutor decided it was completely ok to keep the session going for an HOUR longer than it's meant to, bringing the grand total to 4 hours, or one sixth of a day. FOUR WHOLE FREAKING HOURS.

Nice to see I'm back to my old grumpy self.

Blog 28: Life - Phase 2

University has begun. It's official. I'm halfway through Fresher's Week and I'v discovered that with a new life in a new city comes new rants, which is a bit of a relief because I haven't done one for AGES.

Anyhoo so I start my year at university with several induction talks. One of my first ones is scheduled at 11.30, so I turn up at 11.27 to find the course tutor telling everyone how this sort of lateness won't be tolerated. I look at my watch, and it says 11.27...ok so maybe my watch is wrong, I'll just fix it and then it won't happen again.

THEN he says "the sheet clearly says this began at 11.20". I look at the sheet. It clearly says 11.30.

So what, shall I just make up the times? How am I meant to know it starts at 11.20 when you told me 11.30?

So my first task at Uni is to work out what alternative time zone my tutor is living in. I know I'm quite far north compared to home but that wouldn't advocate a difference in time zone.

Anyway, then we had a talk all about something; I wasn't really paying attention because the two women giving the talk were about 50 and both had bright red hair. One was also named after the main character in Toy Story, and the other ran around the lecture hall Jerry Springer style choosing people to ask questions even if they didn't have any. I'm pretty sure she fancied herself as the next big comedian, even though NOTHING she said was funny, it only provoked looks of a quizzical nature. She even at one point said "I feel like Jack Dee!" to which I muttered, "Yes but you're not as funny."

Anyway, the Joker twins kept up this charade of a talk for 45 minutes, through which I sat, frustrated that we were being talked to as if we were 5 years old or something by Tweedle Dum and Dee from Alice in Wonderland. It reminded me of the same sentiment I felt on holiday at a camp for 16-18 year olds when a man with a wig and a flashing badge popped up one morning at breakfast claiming to be "Professor Sandwich". He then asked who remembered him from 5 years ago and two people in the room embarrassedly raised their hands in the air. Well at least two people sort of got the in joke then. He carried on his children's entertainment whilst I grew more and more annoyed that I had survived 18 years of life and GCSEs, AS and A levels, Rugby matches, stalkers, work at a supermarket, and yet I was still being treated as if I was literally a 2 year old with an awful sense of humour. He then proceeded to make a sandwich with ridiculous condiments such as toothpaste, and then eventually ate the entire thing, quite quickly, which the made him feel ill and he fell to the floor behind the counter, and some of the more sensible leaders hurriedly began to give out instructions in a brave and well-meaning but nevertheless futile attempt to cover up the unmistakable sound of Professor Sandwich being sick.

I didn't finish my breakfast that day.