All right, I forgive you...
Now let's get back to chatting.
Today is the first official day of classes for broadcast and new media concentrators at Columbia's Graduate School of Journalism - I write the full title to add pizazz and because rereading my last post made me realize most people think I'm probably going to NYU. Broadcast journalism, for those of you who don't know, means radio and television. New media means something to do with computers or whatever - those people are the really weird ones. Within broadcast, you can tell which people are the somewhat weird ones and which are the really aspiring go-getter types. The weird ones talk about radio all the time, while the go-getter television types bat their eyelashes and look stunningly beautiful. I imagine it's going to get cut-throat for the tv students, because everyone's going to be competing for jobs on air afterwards, so they have to get all sorts of plastic surgery on top of all the work they're going to be doing here. I kind of feel bad for them. We radio bog monsters never had that personal drive gene activated. Bags and bags of Frito-Lays products all combined into perfectly shaped molecules that sat in those cell receptors and blocked the motivation proteins from being transcribed. That doesn't matter though. Somehow we made it into what is supposed to be the best journalism school in the country, so our innate inferiority complexes are somewhat confused and roaming about, ready to latch onto new reasons to fret (e.g. His article is longer than mine; should I quit?).
The last two days of classes don't really count, because they were orientation. I was confused as to why they felt something as important as orientation needed only two days as opposed to the two weeks we had at the U of C. It turns out that two days is actually too long to fill, and they spend most of the time trying to terrify us about the upcoming workload. "Enjoy your loved ones now, because you won't see them till May." Whatever. I am a product of the 4 year gauntlet at the U of C that heaped stress on us like helpings of your aunt's nasty spam casserole. Are you trying to tell me that I'll be miserably busy when the school year is divided into semesters? I don't think so. But they spent so much time convincing us we were going to be swamped and stressed, and every alumnus they brought up to talk to us said the same thing. What if it really is worse than undergrad? I'll die. I'll actually die. No... I'll persevere and make up for those lost, wasted years of C-minuses. I'll probably die.
Yet, here I sit in my first class comfortably blogging because the instructor got stranded on a train from lower Manhattan. If this is a sign of things to come, then...hope.
Today is the first official day of classes for broadcast and new media concentrators at Columbia's Graduate School of Journalism - I write the full title to add pizazz and because rereading my last post made me realize most people think I'm probably going to NYU. Broadcast journalism, for those of you who don't know, means radio and television. New media means something to do with computers or whatever - those people are the really weird ones. Within broadcast, you can tell which people are the somewhat weird ones and which are the really aspiring go-getter types. The weird ones talk about radio all the time, while the go-getter television types bat their eyelashes and look stunningly beautiful. I imagine it's going to get cut-throat for the tv students, because everyone's going to be competing for jobs on air afterwards, so they have to get all sorts of plastic surgery on top of all the work they're going to be doing here. I kind of feel bad for them. We radio bog monsters never had that personal drive gene activated. Bags and bags of Frito-Lays products all combined into perfectly shaped molecules that sat in those cell receptors and blocked the motivation proteins from being transcribed. That doesn't matter though. Somehow we made it into what is supposed to be the best journalism school in the country, so our innate inferiority complexes are somewhat confused and roaming about, ready to latch onto new reasons to fret (e.g. His article is longer than mine; should I quit?).
The last two days of classes don't really count, because they were orientation. I was confused as to why they felt something as important as orientation needed only two days as opposed to the two weeks we had at the U of C. It turns out that two days is actually too long to fill, and they spend most of the time trying to terrify us about the upcoming workload. "Enjoy your loved ones now, because you won't see them till May." Whatever. I am a product of the 4 year gauntlet at the U of C that heaped stress on us like helpings of your aunt's nasty spam casserole. Are you trying to tell me that I'll be miserably busy when the school year is divided into semesters? I don't think so. But they spent so much time convincing us we were going to be swamped and stressed, and every alumnus they brought up to talk to us said the same thing. What if it really is worse than undergrad? I'll die. I'll actually die. No... I'll persevere and make up for those lost, wasted years of C-minuses. I'll probably die.
Yet, here I sit in my first class comfortably blogging because the instructor got stranded on a train from lower Manhattan. If this is a sign of things to come, then...hope.
posted by Skim at Wednesday, August 08, 2007
1 Comments:
welcome back to the world of blogging.
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