Tempered Fragility

Yesterday, my photography class was given a task. We had to go out, either alone or in groups, and photograph a small area around our building. Specifically, we had to show the difference between four streets.

The point was to find interesting things in the ordinary. We see the streets everyday, so they don’t fascinate or intrigue us any more. For my first walk down Lygon Street, I took boring photos of traffic and buildings. It  wasn’t until I turned the corner that I started to enjoy myself and actually look for unusual things.

Most people, when I bumped into them, were whining about not having any inspiration. I can completely understand that. It was difficult to start with, really strange to try and visualise such a familiar place through new eyes. By the end, though, I was noticing a million different things that I hadn’t seen before.

There are more on Flickr, if you care to look.

School work is killing me right now.

Seriously, it appears to be endless. Just when I think I’m coming to the end, I realise that something else has to be worked on. I know that it’ll be over at the end of this year, and I know every student feels like this, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I want my weekends to myself again. I want to be able to relax at the end of the night and not worry about writing 2,500 words about the evolution of desktop publishing.

Working probably won’t be much better, but at least I’ll have new stuff to whine about.

Also: money.

I gave a presentation on self-publishing today, and I ROCKED it. People were engaged, they were interested, they asked questions. Melanie came to see me in the library afterwards, and told me that it was fantastic, that I don’t have to worry about my grade. Since the presentation counts for 20% of our mark, it’s an understatement to say I was thrilled.

We received our major editing projects back, along with plenty of comments. I got a DI; not the HD I was hoping for, but much better than the CR I was expecting. Apparently, it does help to set the bar low. I did the proofreading exam, too; not saying how I went on that until the results are in front of me. Regardless, I will pass Editing, and that’s good enough for me. Next year is when the marks really count.

I still have a bit of homework to finish, but it’s rapidly diminishing. I’m surprised, to be honest, by how easy it has been to ignore the internet and get my work done; the internet ban must have worked. Next year will be completely different in terms of organisation, though. I’ve learnt so many little tricks this year, especially about how to organise and motivate myself to do school work.

This weekend is all SQ (Samhain Festival FTW!) and homework, but as of next Tuesday? I’ll be back at WB with a VENGEANCE. I’ll also be revealing a new website design, and adding at least one new page to SQ’s manual everyday. I’m excited about the time off, but as much as I joke about sleeping and lazing around doing nothing, I’m actually looking forward to doing what I want to do.

Right now, though, it’s back to cleaning, homework, and Universal Soldier.

I win at multi-tasking.

I had Journalism this afternoon. The trip to Melbourne Central took two and a half hours. The trip home took two hours. Ouch. The pain, however, was lessened by the Connex staff who were on duty. Did I just type something positive about Connex? Unlikely, highly unusual, but… that would be a big, resounding YES.

I got on the train at 4:00pm. It left ten minutes later, and when we pulled up at Lalor station, the driver made an announcement: “There has been a lightning strike at Clifton Hill station, and we’re expecting some delays. This train may be terminating at Bell station, where replacement bus services are being provided, but we’re hoping to push it through. Please make yourself comfortable.”

And then the all-important addendum: “We apologise for any inconvenience.”

Great, I thought to myself. Connex handles bus services more poorly than trains, if that’s even possible. The canned ‘update’ wasn’t promising, either. I figured I’d spend about three hours on the train, with maybe one or two announcements, and I’d miss my class entirely. I considered getting off the train and going home, but then the train pulled into Keon Park station (finally), and the driver made another announcement.

Less canned, more information. The signals were out, that’s why it was taking so long. Clifton Hill is where two train lines merge into one, and without signals it was a dangerous area. He thanked us for being patient, again. Warned us that we may as well get comfortable, since it was going to be a while. I stuck around. By the time we were at Reservoir, it was 4.45pm and I should have been at Flinders Street station.

Wonderful. The rest of the trip was a long, slow crawl. At Rushall, the driver stopped and said, over the loudspeaker: “If you’re a smoker, feel free to get off the train and have a cigarette - we’re going to be here for a while.” The smokers took his advice, and the train felt lighter, somehow. We weren’t being kept in the dark this time, we were being informed. It made a big difference.

We reached Clifton Hill, finally, at 5:20pm. They had the crossing blocked off with cop cars, news crews filming everything, and people in uniforms running around, trying to look official. Chaos, basically, as the cops tried to keep all of the traffic moving through safely. Just up the street from all the commotion, a kid was knelt at a garage door, spraypaint can in hand. Good old Clifton Hill.

The ride home was just as slow, since they had to stop and get written permission to move after each signal. I think the stopping and starting was particularly hard on three guys in my carriage. Two were laying on the floor, one was standing, bent over a rail. They were drunk, I think; two of them threw up, one couldn’t stop laughing, another kept groaning as if in pain. They stumbled off at Lalor.

Once again, though, the drivers kept us informed during the trip, explaining what was happening and - perhaps more importantly - why. I think it made people were more patient, and less tense. Well done, Connex: you got it right. And to the driver of the 4.11pm Flinders Street train from Epping? You were amazing. Thank you for making those two and a half hours bearable.

Total travel: Four and a half hours. The things I do for classes, seriously.

P.S - to the driver of the 6.31pm Epping train from Flinders Street: please don’t ever tell us that you’re going to try and ’sneak through’ an area without signals ‘as best as you can’. It isn’t reassuring.

I had a really awesome time at class today, despite the weather that kept my entire face numb every time I stepped outside. I met up with James at the station – he’s in two or three of my classes – and we spoke about the short story classes. I was surprised by his view of it; I think he’s the only person in the class who would be happy for the classes to go on unchanged.

Most people seem to want more substance and less random talking. Ania is very quick to ramble, and although I find her charming – and often hilarious – the classes would be much improved if we focused on the mechanics of short story writing occasionally. I’m still hopeful about that happening this semester, and Ania certainly seems to be warming up to the idea.

In Editing, later on, Ian gave a presentation about j t leroy. I hadn’t heard much about the whole fiasco, but I do plan on doing some research later on. There has been much discussion about ‘editing scandals’ in class, and I’m always interested in hearing how people have reacted. Generally, most people feel that misrepresenting a book is terrible, and that authors who do it should be punished.

Expect a long, ranty post on this in the future. Gosh, I love the word* ‘ranty’.

After Ian’s speech, Melanie handed us about a ton of paper. I’m fairly certain that RMIT’s editing classes destroy entire forests each lesson. I have more notes from that class than from all my other classes combined. This semester, we’re looking at actual editing, rather than the grammar behind it. We learn the editing marks, different house styles, and we start marking up actual text.

It sounds dreadfully dull to most people, but I am SO excited.

I mentioned yesterday, briefly, that Thursday’s class didn’t happen. I’m still not sure why, since (once again) RMIT isn’t allowing me to send e-mails to staff members. Last semester, I couldn’t contact Arthur due to a faulty e-mail address, and none of Melanie’s mail was going through. Now, it seems that David’s e-mail isn’t functioning correctly. Anyway.

A cancelled class isn’t that big a deal, I know. However, David has never been late for a class, let alone just not shown up. That is exactly what happened on Thursday. We – about six or seven class members – waited for an hour, and he never showed. Claire, the course coordinator, had no idea where he was. She advised us to go home, but we waited for another twenty minutes before giving up.

Needless to say, we were worried. That’s why we sat outside in the fading light and bitter wind for over an hour, waiting. I’m even more worried now, since I haven’t received an e-mail from David or RMIT, telling us why Thursday’s class never happened. All I’ve learned from his personal site is that he left for Sydney on Wednesday, some time. Why would he leave for Sydney the day before class?

Curious, no? I might e-mail Claire and enquire about the issue.

* I am well aware that ranty is not, in fact, a word. It should be.

I have spent a large part of the last two days playing The Sims 2, I will admit that readily. I have also been trying to emulate a magazine article for my Journalism class. The particular style that I’m trying to emulate is Cleo, and let me tell you. They may not have a great deal of content, but style is one thing they know.

The magazine is filled mostly with advertising, or pages on fashion, which are really the same thing. Why did I choose to emulate a magazine that focuses so strongly on fashion, when clearly, I know absolutely nothing about it? To be honest, I thought it would be fun. Problem: it is, in fact, NOT fun. Painful, yes. Fun, not so much.

Thankfully, only the draft is due in tomorrow. I’m going to try and get David to look at it and tell me whether I’m on the right track or not. Plus, you know. Workshopping. Because that was oh-so-helpful when it came to my reviewing piece. *coughs* Not. Still, I have to show my work to everyone and hear their opinions.

Tiffany won a $15 McDonalds voucher for her recent performance in the school talent show. The school that just today, sent her home with a booklet on healthy eating… and a voucher for McDonalds. They’re obviously trying to combat obesity by making all the skinny kids fat; that way obesity is the new thin!

Or something, anyway. I don’t know.

I had a short story class tonight. We were looking at science fiction, or more specifically, the work of Arthur C. Clarke. Science fiction is something that I haven’t read very often, if at all, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. Judging from Clare’s views on it, I was expecting really geeky stuff, like Star Trek.

Deidre: *a bit confused* “He said it would be the end of the world, but then the monk said it was nothing as trivial as that.”
Clare: *serious* “No, he said it would be the end of the universe, and if you’re a science fiction fan, that’s VERY different.”

Perhaps it was, I don’t know, but I really enjoyed the two stories that we read tonight. Afterwards, Ania decided we should review two more stories written by class members. Clare and James volunteered to have them read aloud; very brave of them, I thought. Although the class isn’t highly critical, silence can be telling.

Both Clare and James were open to suggestions and criticism, and neither of them were too ‘precious’ with their work. They didn’t mind if we pointed out things that might need tidying, or made suggestions to improve readability or accuracy. It was the most enjoyable reviewing class that I’ve had so far.

Before we all left class, Ania reminded us that next Monday is a public holiday. She also said that next semester we get to have ‘tutorials’ with her, where she basically chats to each of us one-on-one about our work, for a half hour. I think they will be a lot more critical than the public comments she leaves on our work. I hope so.

Tomorrow, I get to sleep in. Can I get a, “wOOt, wOOt!”?