gigantor the terrible

Well hi. I’m another one of the many arts students who are contributing to this blog this year. I wrote out a post at home, but alas, forgot my hard-drive. So you get an introduction full of unadulterated rambling, typed in the 34 minutes I have left remaining on the (incredibly slow) internet here at the Melbourne City Library.

My name is Katie. I’m the second ‘blogger’ on here from Western Australia. Our enthusiasm stems from the fact that we’re used to having way too much time on our hands, by the way. Don’t bother visiting Perth, no matter how pretty people will tell you it is. It isn’t that pretty. Some of the architecture makes Federation Square look attractive.

Seriously.

 I moved here about a month and a half ago with a bunch of bros and brosephines I attended high-school with, united by our unwavering desire to flee Western Australia forever- to bite history in the back and escape  the West to run to the East. Since moving to Melbourne I’ve embraced student poverty in its entirety, albeit reluctantly. Lentil as Anything in Abbotsford knows me personally. I live forever in fear of Yarra Trams ticket inspectors. I’ve become incredibly inventive with canned tomatoes.

O-Week begins tomorrow. I am coming to Melbourne to study a Bachelor of Arts, majoring (probably) in either History or Spanish. But what does that mean, or what could follow from that? Perhaps I can be an ambassador, with a cocaine habit, in South America somewhere?! Perhaps a historian specialising in Hispanic, uh, history. Perhaps an interpreter? My Portuguese friend does the subtitles for SBS. That’d be pretty cool, I guess. The other night I was walking back from the North Richmond McDonalds where I had been using their free wifi, and these businessmen who all worked at a printing company invited me in for a drink. After listening to them drunkenly slur about workplace politics, one of them queried what I did. After explaining my plans for the next three or so years, one of them stood and asked over and over in disbelief, “But….. why?! Whatever for?!”. The guy behind the bar wiping glasses commiserated. He had been an arts student at a different university, and now was a teacher, but worked night shifts at the pub, because it paid better than his day job.

I guess I’m a little nervous to see how this will all pan out. However, after just receiving an invitation on Facebook from the Arts Student Society to what looks like roughly a ten or twelve hour pub crawl, I feel slightly more confident. The principal at my old high-school (who resembled and had a very similar demeanour to the principal in Grease, oddly enough) referred to 2[007] as the ‘Year of Action’ (oh lawd). So, 2010: The year of uncertainty?