Moving In and Orientating

WOO HOO first blog post! (from Zoë). I'll usually post on Thursdays, but for these first ones anything goes.

THE SHOPPING:
As usual, you approached this from a way more organized standpoint, making lists and such. I just things when I thought about them, which resulted in one trip to Ikea, three trips to Bed Bath and Beyond, and a few trips to CVS once in Boston. Side note but the "beyond" part of Bed Bath and Beyond isn't very expansive. I mean they have all the kitchen stuff and the lovely "as seen on tv" section, but that's a pretty depressing representation of the abstract idea of "beyond."

THE BOMBARDMENT OF QUESTIONS:
When you come from a place as small as Swarthmore it's very difficult to answer the question, "So where are you from?" I've taken to just saying Philadelphia, and then only saying "Well, a suburb of it," if the person asks a follow up question. I've found that when you answer with "Swarthmore Pennsylvania," the people who haven't heard of the college think that you're a hick from Pennsyltuckey, and the people who HAVE heard of the college think you're a crazy liberal-hippy-environmentalist who doesn't shave their legs or armpits and goes commando.

Then there's the major question, which at Emerson is kind of hilarious because we all pretend to know what all the majors actually entail. Like, if someone answers with Marketing and Communication, we're like, "Oh cool, I have an uncle or something that does that." Or with Political Science, "HOLY SHIT we've got James Carville over here!"

You're totally right about the majors that can be described as a verb or activity. For instance it's much easier to answer with "animation" than it is to answer with "corporate communications." The sociology majors have it the worst, bless their hearts.

When you answer the major question with Film like I do, the follow up question is usually, "Oh and what are you interested in doing?" And then you have to come to terms with the fact that (mostly) everyone wants to direct, and that not all of us will continue to want to direct, and that if you choose something else it's like you gave up on your childhood dream, and that even though it's completely unlikely that out of several hundred freshmen film students all of them will hold on to that dream, there will still be that small part of us that secretly wants to be David Fincher, and that only David Fincher can actually BE David Fincher, and that we're not ready to have our dreams crushed like that, and that run on lists are a very grammatically irresponsible way to construct a sentence.

In general, things keep on flip-flopping in between, "you guys are going to have so much fun in Boston," and, "you're going to work so hard because THIS SHIT IS REAL!" (Or o-fish-e-al as you would say). As odd as it may sound  I'm looking forward to the work way more than I'm looking forward to the other stuff, maybe just because this may be this first time that I'm really pursuing something I honestly care about. And the knowledge that I'm passionate about what I'm about to do makes the whole thing seem way more manageable than if not, which is why I would encourage others to do the same.

College: It's O-Fish-e-Al

‘Ello y’alls—this is K.Wise, the Ithaca-going one of this shindig.  As you may or may not know, this whole thing is pretty much a convo between Zoë and I.  We’ll talk about random shit, pertaining to our college experiences and pop culture and all.  Expect a lot of movie quotes, Toy Story Love, and… Yeah man.

ALRIGHT, SO….

 Let’s start at the beginning, which was not shopping or ordering books or any of that shit – it was when the Target commercial featuring kids who just got accepted to college came out and for weeks I pretended I was the dude who looked like Lil’ Wayne, because it’s o-fish-e-al. For some reasons he pulled that off better than I.  Secret Wish: If I could have any hairstyle for a week, I’d probably go for the dreads.  Not the nasty kind but the cool kind, nose-ring-optional sort, that I could literally pile on top of my head.  And put a giant baseball cap over and give extra syllables to words, because shit man, I have freakin’ dreads.  Or I’d wear long skirts and a shit-ton of bangles and sandals my friend gave to me when she went to India and parade around an art fest or just show up randomly in another field, like one filled with peewee-football-leaguers and their protective parents, and stop in the center of said field, not noticing at anyone, and do a little dance, preferably with a hula hoop or one of those gymnastic ribbons, look up at an impressing cloud, and peace out of there.

Or of course put a bandana over my braids and pretend I’m Johnny Depp’s Captain Jack Sparrow.  But that’s so obvious I honestly probably did not have to mention it, y’all were thinking it anyway.

THEN, THE SHOPPING.

  I divided my list to basically two places: Bed Bath and Beyond and Target.  Triple B was mostly the front of the mullet ‘do and Target (sometimes pronounced Tar’shay if you’re feelin’ fancy) was the party in the back.  Meaning at Triple B I got the shelving, body pillow, towels, those things and at Target I got the patterned dishware and turquoise clothes basket.  Honestly, that’s when it really all starts to hit, and you’re like “Damn, now that I have matching hangers, I really feel that the next step of my journey of life is going to begin.”

THEN, THE BOMBARDMENT OF QUESTIONS

Mostly, the major one.  Here is the short answer:

“So what’s your major?”

“Writing.”

Sounds like a winner, right?  So then I go into, “Well, I could go into profession writing (a wee bit better), or creative writing, I’ll try to do both, and we have to minor in at least one thing, so… I’m not really sure what I’m doing, but there’s lots of opportunities… like internships.”

Basically, if your major can be understood as a verb or activity, Lucy, ya gots some explaining to do.  I could only imagine if my major was philosophy.  See, back in the day you could do that shit, go to classes for funsies and sound ridiculous and as if college was a side job, as if the degree was just a result of your corduroy attire or super long and fantabulous beard.  But college is not just four years (or seven years, in Bluto’s case) of shit and gigs anymore, it’s o-fish-e-al.