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Graduation Ball and My Degree
Hello. I know I've been away some days, but a bit has happened.
Firstly, the Graduation Ball at the Winter Gardens in Blackpool was on Monday. Got all snazzed up in a purple dress. Then went to Natasha's in order to have my make-up done (I am quite famous as being completely unable to apply make-up) and my hair sorted out. Had to punch holes in the straps of my new shoes because I have sticks for ankles and nearly slit one strap apart totally. Then, when it came time to get to the coaches, it was pouring with rain, destroying everyone's hard work. Duly got onto the coach and headed towards Blackpool (about an hour away from uni).
The Winter Gardens are pretty cool. First off was a champagne reception where we sat and snarked about everyone else's clothes (some chicks were wearing horrific dresses). Then it was off to the ballroom for dinner. Dinner sucked. I mean the company was good, but the food.... I should've known it was gonna be bad when I turn up and there's a plate of salad and feta cheese waiting for me (cheese makes me sick. Long story.). Then the main was pork. I only hate lamb more than pork and it was not quality meat. Considering I paid 46 quid for my ticket, I feel a bit robbed, especially when we only got three profiteroles each for desert. Three poxy little bastards. The cream that accompanied also made every person I spoke to want to vomit. Classy.
Anyway, after that there was music in the 'arena' courtesy of some bloke and then later the DJ Trevor Nelson. Non-Brits probably don't know who he is. Fortunately for me, he played some stuff you wouldn't expect to hear from him. I was so pleased that he played some old rap and hip-hop like Snoop and Dre, some old soul and stuff like that. There was also a funfair of sorts- a tiny rollercoaster that gave me serious whiplash, some stalls of the sort found at fairgrounds and dodgems, which I challenged everyone to and then didn't go on once. Also, there were comedians in some oval shaped theatre room. Didn't spend much time in there. First one I saw was some Irish fool with a bad beard using the c**t word a lot. Classy. Then later I went in with Tasha to find our other pals, who were all sittiing down. We stood around in the corner for a while cos the only seats available were in the very front row and who wants to sit there for a twat comedian who isn't funny? However, feet were hurting so I went and dragged the chairs away into the corner, at which point said Not Funny Comedian Man stops his act to make fun of me.
I am also a comedian. I am, unlike him, occasionally funny. I was not about to stand for this twat trying to humiliate me in front of a bunch of people. I told him very loudly that we didn't want to sit in view of him. He didn't understand my cockney accent and had to have it spelled out in fucking alphabet spaghetti practically. I then told him that we'd be sat out of hearing too if that was possible. He didn't like that much. I continue dragging the second chair away and move away, thinking it's over. He then, clearly unable to think of anything else, mutters into his microphone 'little whore'.
Now, I don't take kindly to being called a whore, but what fucked me off most is that 'whore' was the best insult he could come up with. He's meant to be a fucking comedian and he can't handle what wasn't even heckling at this point? Twat. Anyway, I decide not to take this (I know you're surprised at that) and walk right up to the edge of the stage where I point out that I'd appreciate him being funny for once and (he had a guitar and was doing jokes with it) him playing the fucking guitar well. He challenges me to name a song, any song and he will play it. I say While My Guitar Gently Weeps, one of the most famous guitar songs ever. Ever! He clearly doesn't know it, strums some perfunctory chords and sings the phrase 'While my guitar gently weeps'. I find this slightly amusing because he's such a gimp and clap. According to my pals, the rest of the people in the room only started clapping when I did. Felt riled up. He then continues his act, me and Tasha sitting in the corner not paying much attention. He asks us all then to shout out songs for him to sing. People shout out stuff like Smells Like Teen Spirit and he does feeble impressions of the artists. He's such a fucking awful singer and player I feel like going up, wrenching the guitar out of his hands and singing Soul Kitchen by the Doors because these poor students don't deserve this shit. I shout out 'Stairway to Heaven' cos I'm in a Zep mood. He scoffs and asks the entire audience (again in a feeble attempt to humiliate me I suspect) if the 'While my guitar gently weeps girl' should get Stairway. They reply more or less in the affirmative. He asks if I want the Zep or Rolf Harris version. Goes up slightly in my estimation. Not much. I say Rolf in the hopes he'll be funny. He wasn't. I finally get fucked off and leave, deciding that I'd rather floss with barbed wire than listen to any more of his crap.
In short: I don't care who you are, it takes more than that to belittle me. It takes more than a feeble joke or two in front of about 100 people in humiliate me. And most important: I will always find a way to get the last word. Always. You hath been warned. Oh, and don't ever call me a whore.
Anyway, got better after that, mostly cos of the aforementioned hip-hop and because my friends found my altercation with the Alleged Comedian so funny (it was hilarious). I love to dance to it, I really do, especially as I've got my Californian dancing since last year! Ended up dancing barefoot to stuff like Still D.R.E. and at one point Lady Marmalade, all kinds of stuff. Nelson left at some point and we got some rockier stuff, although nothing that sets me alight (read: Doors and Zep and Beatles). Did get Daydream Believer and some cheesy stuff right at the end. Was pretty damned good- all of us dancing along to it all.
When dancing, some silly tart in stilettos stomped on my foot (accidentally or not, I don't know). I now have a heel mark where my third toe joins my foot. Nearly swung for her, I swear. But I was sober, she was probably drunk and it wouldn't have been fair. Or something about pacifism, I don't know.
I think that's all about that. It was, all round a good night. And unlike every single night out when I was at school, partick the leavers' do at the end of Sixth Form, I didn't return home feeling like I wanted to curl up and die. Had a proper good time despite my feet killing me by the time I got home!
I've got a 2.1. For those uninitiated sorts, a first would be the very best and is pretty elite (only two American Studies students got them). A 2.1 is the next best, followed by a 2.2. These are the average kind of results. If you get a Third it's really not as good. Anything below is a fail. Anyway, got the result today, will get breakdowns and stuff tomorrow. My mother, as predicted by me, was not happy I didn't get a First because, quite frankly, that woman is never satisfied and because I was told there was a chance, a chance only, that I could get a first. Does she know how hard it is to get one of those? I could have got a first, but that would have involved me doing nothing else but work all year. I'm not prepared to make that choice. There are far more important things than work and study. For one thing: Life. For another, movies, for another, music. Do you want me to go on? She made some attempt at sounding happy but only after making it perfectly clear she didn't think it was good enough. Ho hum. Not like she's acting out of character really.
Anyway, more impressive was the way that Jonathan (head of Am Studies dept) stopped me in Furness Bar (where every Humanities student had congregated before and after getting results) to introduce me to one of the external examiners, who proceeded to tell me that my dissertation on Jim Morrison (or as Jonathan always insists on calling him, The Lizard King. Grr. Find something new.) was excellent and that I have a 'very dynamic' style of writing that would serve me well in journalism. Shame nobody told me that before I took American Studies instead of Journalism (which basically every media demands for graduates). Anyway, that did make me feel good because as much as I want to be in movies, writing is a very, very big part of my life (witness: 211 page HP DDD written in only a few months) and has been since that story I wrote for school when I was 7 that featured swearing and got me into tons of trouble. Since that story a year later for school based around the adventures of Tottenham Teddy. Since my mama taught me to type so I could write stories (the first there: Dannii, a boarding school Mary-Sue deeply entrenched in Enid Blyton). So that was good. That did impress my mama.
And although I won't find out more until tomorrow, I am so utterly glad that I haven't let Jim down. I'm so relieved that despite me writing all 10,000 words in about 4 days, I have perhaps made people think that there was more to Jim Morrison and his band than sex, drugs and bathtubs. I never kidded myself that I was being truly objective. Honest, but not objective.
Anyway, I hope you are all cool. Because I've gone on so long, I'll leave it there. Hugs to you all.
EDIT: Oh, Gangs of New York is still wonderful, even if I'm watching it on a laptop at 3am. Is just.... fantastic. Mr Scorsese, I hail thee! The rest of you- go watch it now!
Firstly, the Graduation Ball at the Winter Gardens in Blackpool was on Monday. Got all snazzed up in a purple dress. Then went to Natasha's in order to have my make-up done (I am quite famous as being completely unable to apply make-up) and my hair sorted out. Had to punch holes in the straps of my new shoes because I have sticks for ankles and nearly slit one strap apart totally. Then, when it came time to get to the coaches, it was pouring with rain, destroying everyone's hard work. Duly got onto the coach and headed towards Blackpool (about an hour away from uni).
The Winter Gardens are pretty cool. First off was a champagne reception where we sat and snarked about everyone else's clothes (some chicks were wearing horrific dresses). Then it was off to the ballroom for dinner. Dinner sucked. I mean the company was good, but the food.... I should've known it was gonna be bad when I turn up and there's a plate of salad and feta cheese waiting for me (cheese makes me sick. Long story.). Then the main was pork. I only hate lamb more than pork and it was not quality meat. Considering I paid 46 quid for my ticket, I feel a bit robbed, especially when we only got three profiteroles each for desert. Three poxy little bastards. The cream that accompanied also made every person I spoke to want to vomit. Classy.
Anyway, after that there was music in the 'arena' courtesy of some bloke and then later the DJ Trevor Nelson. Non-Brits probably don't know who he is. Fortunately for me, he played some stuff you wouldn't expect to hear from him. I was so pleased that he played some old rap and hip-hop like Snoop and Dre, some old soul and stuff like that. There was also a funfair of sorts- a tiny rollercoaster that gave me serious whiplash, some stalls of the sort found at fairgrounds and dodgems, which I challenged everyone to and then didn't go on once. Also, there were comedians in some oval shaped theatre room. Didn't spend much time in there. First one I saw was some Irish fool with a bad beard using the c**t word a lot. Classy. Then later I went in with Tasha to find our other pals, who were all sittiing down. We stood around in the corner for a while cos the only seats available were in the very front row and who wants to sit there for a twat comedian who isn't funny? However, feet were hurting so I went and dragged the chairs away into the corner, at which point said Not Funny Comedian Man stops his act to make fun of me.
I am also a comedian. I am, unlike him, occasionally funny. I was not about to stand for this twat trying to humiliate me in front of a bunch of people. I told him very loudly that we didn't want to sit in view of him. He didn't understand my cockney accent and had to have it spelled out in fucking alphabet spaghetti practically. I then told him that we'd be sat out of hearing too if that was possible. He didn't like that much. I continue dragging the second chair away and move away, thinking it's over. He then, clearly unable to think of anything else, mutters into his microphone 'little whore'.
Now, I don't take kindly to being called a whore, but what fucked me off most is that 'whore' was the best insult he could come up with. He's meant to be a fucking comedian and he can't handle what wasn't even heckling at this point? Twat. Anyway, I decide not to take this (I know you're surprised at that) and walk right up to the edge of the stage where I point out that I'd appreciate him being funny for once and (he had a guitar and was doing jokes with it) him playing the fucking guitar well. He challenges me to name a song, any song and he will play it. I say While My Guitar Gently Weeps, one of the most famous guitar songs ever. Ever! He clearly doesn't know it, strums some perfunctory chords and sings the phrase 'While my guitar gently weeps'. I find this slightly amusing because he's such a gimp and clap. According to my pals, the rest of the people in the room only started clapping when I did. Felt riled up. He then continues his act, me and Tasha sitting in the corner not paying much attention. He asks us all then to shout out songs for him to sing. People shout out stuff like Smells Like Teen Spirit and he does feeble impressions of the artists. He's such a fucking awful singer and player I feel like going up, wrenching the guitar out of his hands and singing Soul Kitchen by the Doors because these poor students don't deserve this shit. I shout out 'Stairway to Heaven' cos I'm in a Zep mood. He scoffs and asks the entire audience (again in a feeble attempt to humiliate me I suspect) if the 'While my guitar gently weeps girl' should get Stairway. They reply more or less in the affirmative. He asks if I want the Zep or Rolf Harris version. Goes up slightly in my estimation. Not much. I say Rolf in the hopes he'll be funny. He wasn't. I finally get fucked off and leave, deciding that I'd rather floss with barbed wire than listen to any more of his crap.
In short: I don't care who you are, it takes more than that to belittle me. It takes more than a feeble joke or two in front of about 100 people in humiliate me. And most important: I will always find a way to get the last word. Always. You hath been warned. Oh, and don't ever call me a whore.
Anyway, got better after that, mostly cos of the aforementioned hip-hop and because my friends found my altercation with the Alleged Comedian so funny (it was hilarious). I love to dance to it, I really do, especially as I've got my Californian dancing since last year! Ended up dancing barefoot to stuff like Still D.R.E. and at one point Lady Marmalade, all kinds of stuff. Nelson left at some point and we got some rockier stuff, although nothing that sets me alight (read: Doors and Zep and Beatles). Did get Daydream Believer and some cheesy stuff right at the end. Was pretty damned good- all of us dancing along to it all.
When dancing, some silly tart in stilettos stomped on my foot (accidentally or not, I don't know). I now have a heel mark where my third toe joins my foot. Nearly swung for her, I swear. But I was sober, she was probably drunk and it wouldn't have been fair. Or something about pacifism, I don't know.
I think that's all about that. It was, all round a good night. And unlike every single night out when I was at school, partick the leavers' do at the end of Sixth Form, I didn't return home feeling like I wanted to curl up and die. Had a proper good time despite my feet killing me by the time I got home!
I've got a 2.1. For those uninitiated sorts, a first would be the very best and is pretty elite (only two American Studies students got them). A 2.1 is the next best, followed by a 2.2. These are the average kind of results. If you get a Third it's really not as good. Anything below is a fail. Anyway, got the result today, will get breakdowns and stuff tomorrow. My mother, as predicted by me, was not happy I didn't get a First because, quite frankly, that woman is never satisfied and because I was told there was a chance, a chance only, that I could get a first. Does she know how hard it is to get one of those? I could have got a first, but that would have involved me doing nothing else but work all year. I'm not prepared to make that choice. There are far more important things than work and study. For one thing: Life. For another, movies, for another, music. Do you want me to go on? She made some attempt at sounding happy but only after making it perfectly clear she didn't think it was good enough. Ho hum. Not like she's acting out of character really.
Anyway, more impressive was the way that Jonathan (head of Am Studies dept) stopped me in Furness Bar (where every Humanities student had congregated before and after getting results) to introduce me to one of the external examiners, who proceeded to tell me that my dissertation on Jim Morrison (or as Jonathan always insists on calling him, The Lizard King. Grr. Find something new.) was excellent and that I have a 'very dynamic' style of writing that would serve me well in journalism. Shame nobody told me that before I took American Studies instead of Journalism (which basically every media demands for graduates). Anyway, that did make me feel good because as much as I want to be in movies, writing is a very, very big part of my life (witness: 211 page HP DDD written in only a few months) and has been since that story I wrote for school when I was 7 that featured swearing and got me into tons of trouble. Since that story a year later for school based around the adventures of Tottenham Teddy. Since my mama taught me to type so I could write stories (the first there: Dannii, a boarding school Mary-Sue deeply entrenched in Enid Blyton). So that was good. That did impress my mama.
And although I won't find out more until tomorrow, I am so utterly glad that I haven't let Jim down. I'm so relieved that despite me writing all 10,000 words in about 4 days, I have perhaps made people think that there was more to Jim Morrison and his band than sex, drugs and bathtubs. I never kidded myself that I was being truly objective. Honest, but not objective.
Anyway, I hope you are all cool. Because I've gone on so long, I'll leave it there. Hugs to you all.
EDIT: Oh, Gangs of New York is still wonderful, even if I'm watching it on a laptop at 3am. Is just.... fantastic. Mr Scorsese, I hail thee! The rest of you- go watch it now!
no subject
Shame about the tool at the ball, if I'd been there I'd have decked him for you ;). Okay, maybe not. Maybe a bucket of water :D.
Wish I could say more, but am snowed under in the office.
*Hugs*,
Dan
no subject