Lessons learned, 2009 (Jennifer)

There have been times in my life that I have wished for a Tardis. (Specifically, to fast-forward through awkward public transport experiences with sex pests, and to time-travel back so I could relive certain moments of my life, generally involving live music, wanton imbibing and/or Japan.  Also every time I’ve ever missed Q & A on Thursday nights.) 

BUT if David Tenant extended his hand to me in a come-hither fashion, I would not step back in time.  Not that first year hasn’t been fun, but I’m happy to move on.  It will be a vast relief to know bathroom locations come O-week next year, and it looks like I’m off to France in November 2010 to undertake the subject Paris: La Ville Lumiere (read: gaze lecherously at boys in berets).  

And for now, I’m working manically (to finance said European gallivanting), waving my hands in the air like I just don’t care (The Jezabels, this Saturday, Newtown Worker’s) and cheerfully watching the Liberal Party self-combust (except that the looped visuals of Joe Hockey make me vomit in my mouth).  

 Here in what may or may not be my final blog post for this year, I give you lessons learned, 2009:

 1.     Stay away from the Socialist Alternative.  Do you know, I once tried to mention the good ol’ S.A. in a comment on a blog post on this very website and IT BLOCKED ME.  That’s how poisonous this cult is, folks.  Right up there with spam and the c-word, apparently.  

I realise I may get stabbed in the face by an over-zealous member for writing this, but it’s the best advice I can give any prospective first year.  How to explain?  Um, it’s like the Peoples Temple.  End of discussion.

Now, now, lest you brand me a card-carrying, bible-bashing member of the “radical right”, or being a “politically apathetic Gen Y-er”, I should make this clear: I’m not.  Don’t get excited; I “identify” as a “leftie”, I like to draw moustaches on Andrew Bolt in each morning’s Sun and, in fact, I “agree” with a number of the S.A.’s “policies”.  But political and social views become largely irrelevant once you’re sucked into the puritan vortex of the Socialist Alternative.  They don’t care whether or not you agree, whether or not you speak English, whether or not you’ve got time to stand there being browbeaten.  They just want to yell things at you in a rather intimidating and ill-informed fashion.  It’s all very Two Minutes’ Hate. 

 I am a prime candidate for S.A. attack: rather small (almost 5.2″) and not terribly assertive (I once became a Buddhist so as not to upset my Japanese host family.  I’m actually not kidding), and I learned the hard way.  So, in short, I am passing on this nugget of wisdom: when you pass a trestle table bedecked in red and black, surrounded by excitable S.A. members – don’t make eye contact, and run. 

2.     Avoid wankers.  Can I use the term ‘wankers’ on this blog?  I’m sure I’ll be alerted otherwise, and we can insert some asterisks.   Look, here’s how you can tell: a sweet scarf-wearing boy on the tram reading Raymond Carver is probably just that – a charming specimen, and full points to you if you can refrain from dribbling, ladies*.  An apparently sweet scarf-wearing boy talking loudly about how much he loves Carver’s sparse minimalist prose is a pretentious dong, and should probably be disabled.  Learn to discern, and save yourselves much heartache. 
Wankers are a part of life, and they apparently thrive in the university environment.  Don’t sit next to them in tutes, and if you do, just say something like, “Woody Allen?  Who’s Woody Allen?”, and they shall ignore you forevermore. 

*  The same most likely applies to pretentious gals, no?  Your thoughts, please, boys.    

3.     Be flexible.  Have you got your mind set on, for example, clinical psychology?  One might just surprise oneself when, unexpectedly, one’s psych. subjects begin to drain one’s will to live, but Post-VCE French is so enjoyable that it almost feels a bit rude.  Of course, these are mere examples, but one might then begin to reconsider career aspirations.  Which is scary and exciting all at once. 

4.     Enjoy it.  O yes, and now I’m going to end on a gag-inducingly saccharine note and we’re all going to have a Breakfast Club moment of unity.  Seriously, though, first year is pretty sweet.  Just do your readings before class, don’t join any cults, and enjoy a goon on South Lawn every once in awhile.

 

Ta for perusing my (mostly) irrelevant musings.  Have a swell summer, and if you’ve got tickets to the Laneway Festival, please gyrate suggestively at Mumford & Sons on my behalf.