The inevitable moment.

Well I pissed away the summer and like a dim, long gone memory it now stands in the past. My older sister got married this weekend, and really I've just been so busy cutting up wrapping paper into heart shapes and collecting fairy lights that I haven't need to thing about job searching.

Until now. I made the call the JobCentre Plus last Wednesday. After I'd told them about 7 times that I was not disabled (because they just don't believe you by the 6th), they told me to shimmy on down to the office near my house and sit with two different ladies in their mid 50s in similar cardigans. Both with the same quiet middle classness that I instantly reciprocated. They both looked at me with a kind of longing, like I didn't belong there, such a good girl with a degree, just staying with her parents until she was on her feet and nice and employed. I would get to leave, they were both there until retirement.

I love that I live in a country that provides for people when they can't provide for themselves. I mean, I technically haven't paid any tax yet and as such I have not felt the violation of income tax. But its nice to have a helping hand, even though it comes with some level of bureaucracy, a thousand pieces of paper stamped and filed and a month wait until they actually pay you anything. I found it strange on the phone when the automated voice called me a customer, I'm certainly not phoning them because I want to. Still, even with all the signing and dating, I can see how people end up getting lazy, I mean you only have to do three things every two weeks to get 200 quid, thats a little on the pathetic side.

Still, I applied for internship today that I not-so-secretly really really want but probably won't even get short-listed for.

Oh well, we'll see.

Off Topic: Or Why I Love Harry Potter.

I sit here about 10 pages from the end of my 3rd re-read of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, 2 days after my second watch of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince at the cinema. Undoubtedly I will buy the DVD, peruse the special features, sucking from the ever drying well of new anythings from the Harry Potter fandom, in a desperate will to continue my life as a Harry Potter fan, perhaps addict.

So I've been trying to figure out that plaguing question, why do I love it so much? The story, the universe created? The humour? The drama? The action? All of the above?

It makes so much sense that I should love HP (as it is affectionately known in my house). I started reading the books at about 10 or 11 and I grew up in Surrey, England, where the story starts and continues to return to. Theres so much to relate to in Harry's story and so much that one can wish for. The friendships, those familial-esque relationships that are nothing to do with blood or genetics. The prevailing power of love, the overwhelming defeat of hate.

But I think what gets me, undoubtedly, is the nature of Harry Potter's world. I mean, it looks exactly like mine. All the main components are there; cars, computers, but they are always rendered quite unnecessary. Harry doesn't need to search Google for info or drive to pick something up, because he can fly, because he's got a best friend with every answer. While Harry's life is no doubt difficult, with that whole destiny and all, but some stuff is downright convenient.

I suppose the simplicity inside every piece of literature, where the sum of all parts must fit together chronically well, has so much appeal. Just like in a movie, there is an inevitable end and every edited section follows another in some logical fashion. Is life in any way like that?

We'll see.

A miscalculation of thought.

I'm having an issue with this blog.

It's supposed to be about the search for a post-graduate space in the world, an exploration of the value of higher education. But to be honest with you this isn't the first thing on my mind when I wake up in the morning, nor the last thing I consider when I go to sleep.

You see, I'm avoiding the inevitable job search, sidestepping questions about where I'm going, what I intend to do. Instead I've spent the last month and half spending the last of my savings gallivanting about south-east England. Whoops.

I suppose it could come to me during my sabbatical, ideas often flow to me like that, without warning, bouncing off some random thought.

We'll see.

Results Day.

I'd sort of forgotten about results day. I only looked up when the date was after someone asked me. I know its important what type of degree you have, I mean a first in cartography still looks more impressive than a 3rd in business, it proves that went to the classes and everything.

The thing was I knew that I hadn't completely worked my arse off like you're supposed to. I mean I finished the 14,000 words of dissertation and I did spend about 3 hours in total revising for that exam, but I feel like the my motivation was gone about a week in. I knew that if I was going get a 2.1. without slaving away and that getting a first was a remote possibility that would require the donation of sweat and blood to the project.

So I made a choice, I chilled out about it all and got the 2.1 and I feel as though that was a mistake, but I won't bother complaining about it. Whats done is done, as the great cliches purvey. I'll think about truly regretting next time I invent a time machine.
Does it even matter what kind of degree you have?

We'll see.

Well if Ze Frank says so...

My university experience is pointless. Yuck.

The Tiny, Insignifant, Giant Problem.

Disclaimer: This post is not actually about giants, though I realise now it reads that way.

The degree I will hopefully have in July, is a BA in American Studies and Film Studies. I get only two reactions when I tell people that, which are either "what even is that?" or "what are you going to do with that?". These are both fair questions, which I didn't really ask myself when I chose to dedicate 4 years to it, but I was only 17 at the time.

American Studies is 'multi-disciplinary' (or so it says in the brochure), which is apparently great to talk about at job interviews. But the bottom line is that I have no recognisable skills. I can tell you a lot about 1950s suburban America or blag my way through a discussion about film theory but for the life of me I can't figure out Microsoft Excel anymore (though I will not be mentioning this in any job interviews, provided I get any).

The despicable truth is that I would not, at this point, be a very good employee.

I recently read David Foster Wallace's commencement speech from Kenyon College , which discussed the practicality and worth of a liberal arts degree. He argued that the value of this type of degree, is that you can escape your own mind as the centre of the universe:

"I submit that this is what the real, no bullshit value of your liberal arts education is supposed to be about: how to keep from going through your comfortable, prosperous, respectable adult life dead, unconscious, a slave to your head and to your natural default setting of being uniquely, completely, imperially alone day in and day out."

Is it this kind of thinking that is going to dramatically effect my life?

We'll see...

Cartoon from www.nerf-herders-anonymous.net/Comics.html

Paper vs the Pixel

I've been trying to imagine what it would be like to have been in my position, say, 10 years ago. Back when the internet was fairly new and mobile phones weighed about 15lbs and had antenna. I would probably be using the postal service like a mofo, but instead I can access everything I need and contact whoever I want from the £20 desk and chair set from Argos which works as my home office.

While that is obviously a huge plus, because I am sincerely lazy and am trying to save on money, it also makes it a lot harder to express any personality in an application form or covering letter. Everything is so uniform, so standardised and since everything I've been working on I've copied from someone else, it results in pages of cliche.

I've always considered myself good with words and if I could write for a living I would. However, the reasonable person in me (its a dwarf, a half dwarf) tells me that's not a real thing. You can't just write like they did in the old days. I mean, you never hear about Shakespeare pouring mead at a local tavern to pay for parchment and quills. It seems like there is no other choice but to try and edge your way onto some corporate ladder and just hold on tight.

The thought of soon having a job has made watching the Apprentice a more terrifying experience. I know its television, I know its edited but everyone (including Alan Sugar and his advisers) seem like jerks. Everyone just walking around, keeping an eye on their colleague while they smooth down the creases in their polyester suits. Its exactly like being back at school, rules and codes of behaviour, except this time everybody is actually working their arses off and they listen to the the teacher.

Meh, we'll see.