Oops! Sorry, that just burst out of me uncontrollably after months of frantically suppressing it for fear of being seen as ignorant, disrespectful to my contemporaries, or vastly technologically inept.
But I am none of these things.
(Can I say before I begin that I am really grateful for the lecturers' teaching and I have a lot of respect for them all. I don't want this blog to be misconstrued as an attack.)
I have been feeling increasingly disorientated on the course as the year has progressed. Mainly because my life has been completely revolutionised by journalism (which is a good thing).
It has literally taken over my thoughts, it is the motivation behind many of my actions, and it underlies my interpretation of everything I read, watch, or listen to.
Lurking beneath this new pro-active, excited, career-driven buzz, though, is an undercurrent of panic.
I am finding the ferocious onslaught of journalism on my life in some ways extremely difficult to adapt to, which I suppose is expected. But do I really need to grapple with certain technological advances to add to the mix?
What IS wrong with a handout? If I am having trouble fathoming what on earth the law textbook is trying to tell me (my faith in it as a journalistic tool is somewhat impaired by its ironic persistence in using 100 words where three will do)the last thing I want to do is wait for the lecture to be blogged a week later.
And to be honest - please no one take offence at this - I find many of the blogged lectures very muddled and super-basic and overall difficult to understand. We were told not to worry about trying to write down everything said in lectures because they would be blogged. But I need more detail!
A piece of paper. Bullet points stating the main points of the lecture with brief notes following each point outlining what was elaborated on. That's all I'm asking for. I can put it in my folder next to my scribbled lecture notes. I can refer back to it when I'm studying without having to log onto the computer. I can make notes down the side. I can tick off the sections I have understood or revised. It is a physical entity that can be filed in organised order with my notes, and THAT is what complements the lecture for me. The online lectures complement the handouts.
To revise for law and public affairs (as well as having read McNae's obviously) I trawled through the course message board trying to find the posted lecture notes, and then trawled through the law site trying to make notes from that. A simple hand-out every week to put it all into order in my head would have made this task so much easier when it came to revising.
It helps compartmentalise the (excellent) lectures in my head before I start taking notes once the lesson has begun. I know then, if the class digresses or the we go a bit off course, what bits I need to be listening out for and making notes on.
So please, before making us run, let us walk. We have already crawled by managing not to have nervous breakdowns at the huge impact this whole new lifestyle has had on our lives, which I don't think anyone anticipated. I would love to run, but I need a bit of extra help first.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Ten Puzzling Questions
Why do people wander aimlessly across my path in the tube station when I am in a particular rush to be somewhere, but rush to move out of my way when I have time to spare?
Why do customers insist on being ignorant and pig-headed when I have been forced to go into work on a busy day with a ferocious hangover, but engage in polite chit-chat when the shop is quiet and I am well-slept?
Why does my hair invariably decide to curl into a corkscrewed mess on a potentially hot first date, but remain sleek and straight on a study day at the library?
Why does my computer crash on the rare occasion that I am engaging in some academically relevant activity, but work like a dream when I am wasting time on myspace?
Why do my tights ladder before an important interview, but stay in perfect condition when I wear them under jeans to keep warm when no one can see them?
Why do clothes shops supply an abundance of beautiful but expensive garments when I am about to declare myself bankrupt, but contain nothing but plus-sizes and grey jumpers when I have just been paid and am braced to embark upon a mammoth shopping spree?
Why do I fall ill before an important exam, but remain in perfect health when I have nothing better to do than surf the net for amusing stories concerning David Gest?
Why do online book stores charge extortionate prices for my course books, but sell every other book in stock for excellent value?
Why do I look like a scruffy old hag in the graduation photos members of my family have placed on their mantle-pieces, but manage to look half decent in drunken photos of me clubbing?
And finally, why do I never see anyone remotely nice-looking at my campus when I am dressed respectably, but stumble into the path of a virtual adonis on the one day I have come into university in a tracksuit resembling a pair of glorifed pyjamas?
Why do customers insist on being ignorant and pig-headed when I have been forced to go into work on a busy day with a ferocious hangover, but engage in polite chit-chat when the shop is quiet and I am well-slept?
Why does my hair invariably decide to curl into a corkscrewed mess on a potentially hot first date, but remain sleek and straight on a study day at the library?
Why does my computer crash on the rare occasion that I am engaging in some academically relevant activity, but work like a dream when I am wasting time on myspace?
Why do my tights ladder before an important interview, but stay in perfect condition when I wear them under jeans to keep warm when no one can see them?
Why do clothes shops supply an abundance of beautiful but expensive garments when I am about to declare myself bankrupt, but contain nothing but plus-sizes and grey jumpers when I have just been paid and am braced to embark upon a mammoth shopping spree?
Why do I fall ill before an important exam, but remain in perfect health when I have nothing better to do than surf the net for amusing stories concerning David Gest?
Why do online book stores charge extortionate prices for my course books, but sell every other book in stock for excellent value?
Why do I look like a scruffy old hag in the graduation photos members of my family have placed on their mantle-pieces, but manage to look half decent in drunken photos of me clubbing?
And finally, why do I never see anyone remotely nice-looking at my campus when I am dressed respectably, but stumble into the path of a virtual adonis on the one day I have come into university in a tracksuit resembling a pair of glorifed pyjamas?
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Courting Disaster
Today I have been assigned the task of visiting my local magistrates court to find a story.
This may seem like a simple enough task, but in my world nothing is ever simple. Let me explain...
After several minutes attempting to persuade my father's resolutely sluggish and disobedient laptop to connect to the internet, I managed to establish that my local magistrates court is, in fact, in an adjacent town. Silly me! Who would be so stupid as to expect a court for one area to actually be in that area?
After further research I had also managed to ascertain that my destination weas reachable by bus, and duly set off.
This was when the trouble began.
I boarded the bus and made my way to the nearest available seat, slumping into it gladly. Unfortunatly for me, the seat had somehow and inexplicably detached itself from the vehicle. As a result, I catapulted rather ungracefully into the aisle.
As if this wasn't embarrassing enough, an elderly lady, sporting a blue-rinse perm and an array of frankly hideous clothing, had the audacity to laugh at me!
Fuming, I regained my composure and moved to the seat next to me while shooting menacing looks at the cackling witch.
When the bus at last pulled up at my stop, I deboarded gratefully and entered the magistrates court, whereupon I was informed by a slightly scruffy attendent that there was no public gallery.
'Ummm, I think you'll find there is,' I said witheringly (I get irritable when my elders belittle me in public).
Finally, a woman with half an ounce of sense and professional training approached and confirmed that, yes, there was a public gallery, but that the trials did not begin until 2p.m.
This left me with almost three hours to spare! So I made my way to the nearby library, resolving to adopt an uncharacteristically studious persona for the remainder of the morning and get some other work done.
This studious persona lasted approximately half an hour, following which I cooed at an alarmed mother's baby, updated my MySpace account and consumed enough food in the library cafe to feed someone of at least four times my body weight.
I am now uncomfortably full, freezing cold (as usual) and becoming extremely drowsy. Only an hour to go until the trials begin - I'm off to the celebrity autobiography department...
This may seem like a simple enough task, but in my world nothing is ever simple. Let me explain...
After several minutes attempting to persuade my father's resolutely sluggish and disobedient laptop to connect to the internet, I managed to establish that my local magistrates court is, in fact, in an adjacent town. Silly me! Who would be so stupid as to expect a court for one area to actually be in that area?
After further research I had also managed to ascertain that my destination weas reachable by bus, and duly set off.
This was when the trouble began.
I boarded the bus and made my way to the nearest available seat, slumping into it gladly. Unfortunatly for me, the seat had somehow and inexplicably detached itself from the vehicle. As a result, I catapulted rather ungracefully into the aisle.
As if this wasn't embarrassing enough, an elderly lady, sporting a blue-rinse perm and an array of frankly hideous clothing, had the audacity to laugh at me!
Fuming, I regained my composure and moved to the seat next to me while shooting menacing looks at the cackling witch.
When the bus at last pulled up at my stop, I deboarded gratefully and entered the magistrates court, whereupon I was informed by a slightly scruffy attendent that there was no public gallery.
'Ummm, I think you'll find there is,' I said witheringly (I get irritable when my elders belittle me in public).
Finally, a woman with half an ounce of sense and professional training approached and confirmed that, yes, there was a public gallery, but that the trials did not begin until 2p.m.
This left me with almost three hours to spare! So I made my way to the nearby library, resolving to adopt an uncharacteristically studious persona for the remainder of the morning and get some other work done.
This studious persona lasted approximately half an hour, following which I cooed at an alarmed mother's baby, updated my MySpace account and consumed enough food in the library cafe to feed someone of at least four times my body weight.
I am now uncomfortably full, freezing cold (as usual) and becoming extremely drowsy. Only an hour to go until the trials begin - I'm off to the celebrity autobiography department...
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