I need to acquaint myself with Final Cut Pro for school, so today I set up a virtual machine running OSX on my system so I can run the OS-specific software.
I feel like I’m playing with one of those toys from the pediatrician’s office with the multicolor beads on a wire ground into a block of wood.comment (0)
A couple of days ago, I went to the journalism department’s orientation to be inundated with dates and deadlines that, at present, seem like they are going to roll around sometime during the next millennium. After that, I joined some of my new comrades at the campus tavern (which, incidentally, is called The Tavern).
As we sat outside beneath the roar of planes from the airfield next door, everyone decided that it would be prudent to drink beer. If you have known me for any amount of time, you know of my rocky relationship with this most insidious beverage. It’s gross. It’s beyond gross. I smell it – nay, I look at it the wrong way – and I am mere steps away from an esophageal eruption on par with most active volcanoes.
However, as I sat at a picnic table with a bunch of other people around my age I realized that my life cannot proceed like this. As disgusting as beer is, it is becoming clear that the path to normal twenty-something relations invariably travels through a brewery.
So like I had done many times before, I told myself, “Self, it’s time to man up. You’ve got to learn to drink beer again. Your future depends on it!”
I stopped by Publix on the way home and bought a six pack of Killian’s Irish Red. I now realize that this was probably a poor choice for a new beginner. Regardless, I proceeded home, whipped up some dinner, and cracked open a longneck.
I took two sips.
Now there are now five beer bottles sitting in the fridge, wondering where their brother has gone and waiting for my father to get home so they can join him. I only hope my special condition isn’t too detrimental in my social life during the next two years.comment (1)
Yesterday, I went for the first time to my new school’s campus. I realize that it is extremely risky and not generally recommended to sign over multiple years of your early twenties to an institution you’ve never seen in real life, but in this case I think I lucked out.
The campus is nestled mere blocks from the hallowed halls of Tropicana Field with a quaint view of Bayboro Harbor and buildings that seem younger than I am, which is always nice when you consider that such edifices are more likely to have clean bathrooms. Also, their Chick-fil-A is on the waterfront, which I think is the perfect way to enjoy overpriced (but admittedly delicious) chicken.
But the best part? YOU SHOULD FEEL THE AIR CONDITIONING. I’m not kidding. I walked across 6th Avenue South after my appointment with human resources so I could scope out the building where most of my classes will be, and I’m pretty sure I somehow fell asleep and entered into that dream from Inception with all the snow. Trust me, after parading around in my avian disguise for the amusement of strangers in temperatures above one hundred degrees day in and day out, the frigid respite of the Peter R. Wallace Florida Center for Teachers is quite a welcome surprise.
In an unrelated matter, I’m pretty sure the hardest part about adjusting to J-school will be only using one space between sentences.comment (0)
I just accepted an offer to pursue my Master’s at USF St. Petersburg in journalism?
No, the question mark was not a typo.
After four years of learning the ins and outs of politics and not caring much one way or the other about the topic except to point out the faults of everyone involved, I’m going in an entirely different – and equally low paying – direction.
While the prospect of living at home with Mom’s free cooking is appealing, I am going to miss Gainesville. It’s not that I did any particularly noteworthy stuff while I was here (except for the time we convinced Angus to bathe in beer), but I’m a creature of habit who shies away from any uncertainty. And even though I couldn’t point it out to you on a weather map, Alachua County is my home.
Also, I’m not really sure why they accepted me. I Facebook stalked some of my classmates-to-be (with full knowledge that if they read this when I’m in school with them that they will be sufficiently creeped out), and these people have experience. I’m not talking about managing some scholastic press association, either. They interview, they write, they code, they edit, they fly through the air with the greatest of journalistic ease. They have experience.
Whatever, though. Experience or no, here I come. And I will work my ass off.comment (0)