I don't know how up to date you all are with my life at university, because apparently I don't mention it enough, but I am indeed doing a law degree* at the University of Nottingham**. I'm living in catered halls in a single study room and all in all am having a pretty ace time.
* law degree (noun): a scheme pioneered by UCAS and the government to filter out the most pretentious students from other degrees which they may otherwise have considered. Marketed as highly prestigious and opening doors to some of the highest paid professions in the country, students are often so busy wallowing in their own pretension that they fail to realise that essentially this is merely an elaborate segregation scheme to make the country a better place.
see: 'lawyers' - a fabricated profession holding vast amounts of capital for not doing much at all. The legal profession was a follow up to the law degree fabricated by the government in the 1950s: once they realised that these law students would eventually graduate, they had to find a way to continue the systematic segregation in keeping their smugness away from the rest of society. Unfortunately, the rest of the country fell for the hoax as well and these people are currently often earning £80,000 p/a by the age of 27.
**University of Nottingham: not Trent.
Anyway, enough ironically pretentious anti-pretension bravado, down to the nitty gritty (as I believe the miners said each morning before heading off to work).
1.) Take fuckloads of socks and underwear with you
I'm not sure who invented socks and underwear, but whoever they are they're a real asshole. When you're at home and your parents do all your washing for you, you [me (from now on assume 'you' as an extension of 'me'; pretending/hoping that your outlook corresponds to mine to make me feel less out of sync/foolish)] fail to comprehend that these are the items of clothing that get worn most, and thus go into the washing basket most quickly.
In my first term, I think I took about 7 pairs of underwear with me, and an 8th pair which are Superman boxers taken with the sole intent of being available for any potential fancy dress activities. The result of this was that whilst I still had more than enough chinos (alas, they have now all fallen to shreds; a pre-emptive metaphor of the faux-hipster empire*) and shirts to last me another week, I had only my (real fucking uncomfortable) Superman boxers to wear with them. Seeing this, when I went back home last term I took up more underwear with me so that I could last longer in between washes, finally seeing an end to my perennial frustration of premature soiling of underwear. I am assured that this is a common problem.
*infestation
2.) Buy loads of ace posters to decorate your room with
First impressions are everything, so the knack here is to completely pretend to be someone you're not (ideally someone better) to impress anybody who dares enter your abode of love* and productivity**. In my room I have a Radiohead poster, a kick-ass poster of Jim Morrison's beautiful face, a random poster of loads of rappers and an N.W.A poster. They each have their individual purposes beyond me actually liking them and I will tackle these in the aforementioned order.
*masturbation
** masturbation
Radiohead poster: this poster shows that I'm a real cunt. Namely a hipster cunt, but I have come to realise that essentially both phrases mean exactly the same thing. The reaction this immediately produces to the viewer is one of inadequacy, which is exactly the feel you're looking to convey to any invitees entering your room because it means you're already half way there on the task of emotionally grinding them down so that you can have sex with them.
Jim Morrison poster: this poster shows that I'm into the classic 60s stuff. It's also sufficiently psychedelic to allude to the fact that I might be a major pothead, which is cool because then they think I'm really hardcore and break the law and stuff. If you see someone looking at your own psychedelic 60s poster a good thing to do at this point in time would be to throw some rubbish on the floor or kick an inanimate object to show that you just don't care and have no respect at all for authority, whether it's the cleaners or inanimate objects.
Rappers poster: this shows I'm into hip hop, which is good because I've already covered pretentious indie music and classic 60s stuff in my previous posters. It also shows that beneath my scrawny white boy exterior, I'm really just a Chuck D-idolising black kid crying to get out - a bit like Michael Jackson, just the other way round.
N.W.A poster: this basically just reinforces my broadness in musical variety and the other conveyance that I may indeed be a massive badass.
Once you've covered all of these areas sufficiently in your poster collection, you have now furnished your room into the room of a black, hipster, musically broad teenager with no respect for authority - in other words, someone better than you.
Now obviously this image won't last for long. But it gives you time to become cool while your flatmates are still operating under the illusion that you're this super badass. Further, any course friend you invite to your room will also be bombarded with all these messages, and their image of you may be distorted.
I've just realised how much space I've already taken up with these first two tips, so I'll have to finish this off some other time. Stay tuned for more of Harvey's university tips.
On my solitary trip to Nottingham I stayed in a hotel across the road from Hooters. I didn't go to Hooters, incidentally - it seemed a better use of my time to do some shopping, and walk out along the Trent to see the football and cricket grounds.
ReplyDeleteThe underwear thing is true with regard to living sans parents generally, though I can imagine the frustration is heightened in a university arrival situation.
Glad you're having fun.
I haven't been to the Hooters as of yet, nor even identified it - don't think I've ventured down there very often. Nor have I been to *any* of the sports grounds yet. Suddenly my time spent here seems rather wasted.
ReplyDeleteUnderwear really is important, isn't it? I mean they're the most necessary to change. I didn't appreciate the job my mum was doing on them before I came to uni at all.