Orson Welles Likes to F*ck with People

Well, today's topic is RADIO. Not the mentally challenged Cuba Gooding Jr. movie, but that thing you listen to in your car if you haven't heard of that new Apple invention..what is it? Oh, the iPod. Right.

Unfortunately, I am not going to talk about my classmates today. If you follow, you know Cheats and Scarface are bromancing while Bedhead slumps nearby and Douche shouts/stares at his female friends. Today, I can only find Douche and I really don't feel like exploiting his rare, extreme douche-ity. Besides, I'm doing this thing called multitasking so I don't really want to people watch my entire class.

(just fyi, when I say "multitasking" I mean "I have 10 tabs and 2 Word documents open.")

I should probably pay more attention to Prof. X than this blog, though, considering Thursday is our first midterm exam. We have a study guide. It's 16 pages.

Yeah, I just took a break from the last paragraph and instead of paying attention, I was on Wikipedia looking at sitcoms. Wow, work ethic.

Now I have 13 tabs.

Mostly, this blog happens to land with Micah and I implementing some sarcasm and dry humor in our judgments on humanity, specifically in our Journalism class. The key word in the last sentence is "mostly" because now I'm going to stray from what I normally talk about.

Alright, I'll be quick. (that's what she said?) Have you heard of MuchMusic.com? If not, just go there. It's basically the Canadian MTV, but so much (ha, much) better. If you like music, tv, entertainment knowledge/gossip, then this site might tickle your fancy. My fancy was pretty much experiencing a tremor. Okay, I'm done. That wasn't so bad right?

The Journalism class we're in is Media History & Literacy. So, fittingly so, we are constantly discussing media and how people use it, respond to it, work within it. I'm always so shocked at how daft mankind is, has been, and will forever be. In my mind (that's a scary image already, huh) the entire human population is made up of 98% who just do not understand. They have problems with clear direction, comprehension, common sense, and just overall regular brain function. The other 2% have a clue. Ultimately I've concluded there are approx. 6.7 billion hopeless buffoons and approx. 137 million geniuses. I think I have probably met a dozen people who fall in the brainy minority. Sad.

15 tabs (and counting).

Bye now. You suck if you're not reading this. Which means that last statement is pointless.

Little girl sued for illegally downloading Finding Nemo

Mr. Lee Banv- Professor X turns down the lights. The crowd quiets. Never mind the crowd is still blabbering like sheep in a Scottish pasteur. Not a normal pasteur, a very Scottish one.To further state his supremacy, Professor X takes a stoic drink of Doctor Pepper, or Knob Creek Burbon, or Jack Daniels, I can't really tell which. As he himself says, his voice is back as strong as ever, like an aged blend of thunder and honey, with a dash of chili powder (given to him in return for saving the life and marriage of an Incan Shaman).

Today is about the recording industry, again we have a powerpoint. This time with a documentary clip o Wilco. Interesting shit. I can see Professor X brooding in the shadows, stroking his moustache. Fixing the class with a steely gaze, stealthily pacing a small circuit, impatient for the video clip to be over so he can resume his regime of intimidation and "education". 

As I can deduce from this powerpoint, Reprise Records are a bunch of dicks. Yeah, it turns out they totally hung Wilco out to dry when the band wouldn't make changes to their album for marketability purposes. Of course, Nonesuch picked up the band, took their album, released it in 2001. Go figure, both Nonesuch and Reprise Records are both owned by Warner Brothers. Sure enough, Wilco's next two albums won Grammies.

So the man with a longboard just walked in late. I have no clue what his name is, so we'll call him Humphrey. Humphrey comes in late every day, he seems nice enough, he's just stoned. He walks in on tiptoes, tripping over my backpack, and apologizing profusely. Then he begins gazing with glazed eyes at Professor X. His notes are comprised of assorted doodles of penises and random words which he comprehends. Their not even good drawings of penises. They aren't even proportional. 

Some people look pretty damn funny when their taking notes. I mean sure some people just look from the teacher to their notes, idly transcribing facts of Journalistic significance. But theres another caliber of note taker. These students bring note taking to a whole new level. Never before have I seen such looks of concentration, cognition and quite frankly, constipation. I feel like I should bring a few emergency enemas to class.

Now Professor X is trying to identify with us. Talking about going down to the Malt shop and listening to the Jukebox. Poor man is lost in time. I guess we can expect nothing more. Like many great caesars before him, he drinks from a lead coffee cup. Or shot glass, depending on the time of day. I understand a good character should develop throughout the story. I also understand Professor X isn't developing. I suppose there is a chance he just has no character, or he isn't mortal, or maybe he's just some sort of Shaman himself. Perhaps the Incan Shaman he saved passed his wife and his powers on to Professor X. I'm not sure. But I should probably be taking notes right now.

Lacking Humor Today (Oh Well, Go Play With Yourself)

In case you couldn't tell by the title of this blog post, I'm not very funny today. If that turns you off, maybe you should find something better to do and stop the damn whining.

I cannot seem to locate my faithful characters today in class. Instead, I'm going to do a feature of someone new. He really deserves it. There is a guy diagonal from me in a poser sweatshirt..he thinks he is God's gift to earth. Let's just call him Sgt. Douche. Douche for short. He likes to turn around and talk to the girl behind him, about every 4 and a half minutes. He likes to stare at the person he's talking to. He likes to wear his lanyard that says "hot stuff." As far as I can tell there is not a single thing about himself which he doesn't love to bits. Oh god, I just heard him chortle to a terribly obvious Prof. X punchline. I can't talk about Douche anymore. He's too douche-y.

Do you happen to remember the full-length feature film Easy A? From last year? Well, I do. I also remember a line from that movie when Olive is talking to her audience about the irony of the book you're reading in English class paralleling the mental or social aspect of your current life. I'm having a day like that. Today's class topic is all about music and the recording industry as a whole. I find this actually compelling because today was the morning I woke up early to check my tweets and find out if the new Rihanna single was "unlocked" on her Facebook page yet. Lucky for me, I woke up, read the latest @rihanna tweet and it just happened to be the one I was waiting for. Link to the song and all! Waking up to listen to something you're so excited for it kept you from sleeping the night before..now that is PRIME. (In case you're wondering, "why did Austin just say 'prime?'" the answer is because my roommate and his friend say it a lot and, although I made fun of it, it's growing on me).

So far in this blog I've: judged another human being, referenced a snarky chick-flick, revealed my Rihanna/pop music obsession AND used the word "prime" like it was cool. I hope you're not going to stop reading because you just realized I have issues.

If you do stop reading though, let me know so I can give you the Indian burn of a lifetime. Ass.

(Is it just me or was this post total weak-sauce?)

Anyway, here's a link if you care. YOU SHOULD.

http://www.facebook.com/rihanna?sk=app_246539032049610

Contrast

First off, it turns out Austin wasn't dead last class, nor was he off battling pirates and saving indigenous cultures. No, Austin was just being a lazy ass American, he slept through his alarm. Yup, he abandoned me to the powers of Professor X, all on my own, a beacon of solitude in a sea of oppressive learning.

Professor X has the ability to talk quite happily for hours on end. Thankfully this class is only an hour and twenty minutes on end, I don't know what I would do otherwise. As I sit back here, I see so many studious children. All of them so desperate to please, so ready to prove their journalistic savvy if only given that one chance. Its all they'd need. I don't get how they do it. Especially the front row students. They've got these attentive knowledge seeking- slightly worshiping faces on, just beaming at the professor X's bold figure. I feel like they had a few cosmetic surgeries so they could make that putridly happy face all class period.
I can see the skin graft marks, too bad they took it from their buttocks, it sucks to have a hairy lip.

I'm beginning to understand professor X's love of the powerpoint. I first assumed it was about educating us. Maybe he wanted to use power-points to help convey his message, through pictures and big bold letters. But after a few class periods it dawned on me. Professor X doesn't use power-points for education, he uses them for intimidation. Yep, he uses them to induce cold hard fear in our weak minds. Why do I say this? Because Professor X understands the power of contrast. The bright projector screen dominates our eyes, we can hardly see Professor X. His voice simply lurks in the shadows. When he does come out to stand center stage, all we can see is a hulking silhouette. A massive hairy silhouette with a deep booming voice tends to intimidate most students. Me included. I'm scared.

Helen Gurley Brown Sells Sex

Sorry I was out last time, unfortunately I turned my alarm off and proceeded to turn myself over, back towards the coddling arms of my bed. It actually isn't very coddling. Dorm beds have this casing around them which I assume is to prevent vomit soakage. Oh well, I was too tired, 'kay?

So now I'm really in class, as I should be. Scarface is (thankfully) again in the row ahead of me, this time a handful of seats over. Cheats is close to him. Too close. I can't find Bed-head, now taking his place is a strange guy with a hat who is undeniably younger than 22 but looks to be about 46. It's weird. Scar is wearing this very...striped yellow sweater thing. I bet Cheats enjoys it.

Today's topic: Magazines.

Holy buckets, there was a magazine in the 1800s about me.

MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE.

Apparently it was the Cosmo of it's day. I'm awesome, and lecherous.

Micah is writing his blog right now, I hope it isn't better than mine. If it is, though, I'll just have to chop his legs off at the knees. Either way...

Poor Prof. X has chlamydia. Not really, it's actually a common cold which went straight to his lecturing voice. Or a touch of emphysema. Nonetheless he's doing a grand 'ol job. What a muthaf***ing trooper.

Now, I've decided to give you a tiny peek into my personal life. Since this is The Journalism Window after all, I figured it would only be fitting to show you the many windows of my Journalism experience. This one I will share with you is about a girl. Oh, now you're ready aren'tcha? Okay, it all began long long ago (and by that I mean yesterday at approx. 8:20 am) in my Drawing class. The girl who sat next to me is one I had noticed in my Anthropology class, but I didn't say anything about it because usually I'm not noticed. Not to be self-deprecating, I'm just not the most popular guy. Anyway..she sits there, looking like she could be a natural bitch but also looking quite superb, and says "hey, aren't you in my Anthro class?" I'm hooked. Love, it must be. Long story short, she's a Journalism major and she's super fine and we have not one, not two, but THREE classes together! Don't get too excited just yet though. I decided to be a super freak (like Rick James, bitch) and find this hot Journalism girl on Facebook. It took me about 10 minutes (which, if you're an internet creep is actually a long time to spend just finding someone) but eventually I hit the jackpot! Unfortunately, I also hit

a brick wall, face first. She's "in a relationship" with some kid (he's probably older than me, but he's a senior in high school so I'm still going to make him sound like a child) with a stupid name. I know I can't use his name against him because it really wasn't his choice, but it's dumb so he is too. That's what I deduced alright? So now, here I sit in my Journalism class, taking notes, writing a blog, and every so often glancing about 6 rows ahead of me where HotJournalismGirl sits. Urgh.

Wow, I just spent 16 lines telling you a story that basically ends with a FAIL and I've hardly talked about the real romance in the room.

Cheats just dropped his phone. Luckily Scarface was there to pick it up form him. What a pair, what a pair.

That's all for now because I'm sick of you. BYE.


Edit: Micah would like to offer his condolences to Mr. McClure and extend the arm of compassion. Just the arm mind you, not the whole shindig

The Power of Pictures

The happy morning Journalism session has begun. I arrived to class with mere moments to spare, having biked my personal best, 13 minutes from my house across town, to campus. unsurprisingly I'm not the latest student. Assorted dip-shits come in one... no, three, nay, thirty minutes late. Alas, my colleague Austin is not present. Where is he? No clue. Perhaps he is off combating pirate rades upon an indigenous Filipino village, untouched by time and technology. Maybe he's summiting the Meru Shark's tooth in the Himalayas, I have no clue.

All these thoughts pass quickly through my minuscule mind, which is then distracted by Professor X's presentation. Photojournalism is the topic. An intro video fascinates me. A Pulitzer prize winning photographer talking about his prize winning photo, cool shit. Photojournalism is something I have a deep interest in. Apparently not the case with the goober in front of me. He slouches dejectedly in his seat, bowing his disheveled head on his desk. His notes are an assortment of random words, doodles of Professor X, and a drool stain approaching the size of Lake Superior. His white t-shirt has an assortment of ketchup and beer stains. Poor guy, he was hoping for a Neanderthal degree, but he's stuck in the Journalism class.

Photojournalists die? What a gripping lesson! Professor X's timely showing of death toll stats sobers me up. Maybe I should go to school for philosophy instead. 135 photojournalists died in Vietnam, 35 died in Iraq. Oh boy! "If your pictures aren't good enough, you're not close enough" -Robert Capa. Sure enough, he stepped on a landmine in Vietnam. But hey- he had some great pictures, and lets face it- he had a blast.

As I glance around the classroom I see the rest of those budding photojournalists emailing advisors and rescheduling classes. Hell- I don't blame them. But I also forgot who my advisor was, shoulda written their name down- damnit. I guess I'm stuck here. Well- sorta, class is over now.

Austin

My colleague Austin is a medium tall baby faced guy. We’ve known each other since our junior year of high school. We met in a situation of apathetic depravity, under the regime of Mr.- err, I’ll call him Fidel for the sake of my safety. Fidel was an older dictator, who walked with a slight hunch, which emphasized his vast age, his head was slightly bald, with a gray ring of hair still desperately clinging on for the ride. Like all good dictators Mr. Fidel controlled us. We didn’t pee without asking, we didn’t breathe without asking, we didn’t speak without asking. So mostly we silently asphyxiated. Within ten minutes of class you could hear the clunk of heads on desks as one by one we dropped like flies.

Miraculously we survived to live another day. Now we sit together under the nurturing passion of Professor X. This time we are better prepared. Now we are combating the dictatorial vices of our “teachers” by writing about it. Yes, you heard me right, writing about it. Gone are the days of undocumented brutality at the hands of education, today we strike back!

“News is what I say it is.” –Ben Bradlee or David Brinkley, we just don’t know.

A scar on his left cheek and an Under Armor jacket, a guy’s guy. We’ll call him “Scarface,” just for entertainment purposes. His neighbor copies his notes, why should he have to spend his time watching a video clip about the changing, somewhat struggling times for newspapers when he can look at the contents between the lines of his buddy’s college ruled notebook? Now they’re talking. The one that copies, we’ll call him “Cheats,” seems to have a bit of a twinkle in his eye. Am I witnessing a budding bromance? We’ll see. Oh yeah, 36 minutes late for class and typical Montana boy with bed-head wanders into the aisle in front of me where Scarface and Cheats reside. Before sitting next to ‘ol Scarface, Bed-Head decides to half whisper/ half shout “Happy birthday!” Apparently our friend Scar is celebrating the day he was forced from his mother’s uterus. Cute.

We’ll let our three new characters marinate for a bit. Now, let’s talk about the Professor. Professor X makes most of my mushy-brained classmates laugh, but not me. His humor style is typical and about 4 years behind. He’s the kind of guy that, as he lectures, he’ll end a point with a quick, mumbled, sarcastic sentence, either to make us listen or (please God, no) he actually thinks he’s funny. Well, according to the first 5 rows, he is. They chortle every time. I REFUSE to laugh because, at the end of each of those comic relief sentences, he stops abruptly and says “uhhh” or “umm” to quickly change the subject from his joke back to the lecture. It’s one of those things people do when they think they’re funny and want the listeners to believe they’re SO unaware of their (self-proclaimed) awe-inducing sense of humor.

“Since the recession hit this is such a bigger deal.” Seriously? Blonde girl in grey shirt just said this to our professor. I just pray to Lucifer she is not a Journalism major, ‘cause if she is THEN SHE SHOULD HAVE SAID “THIS IS A MUCH BIGGER DEAL!” Learn grammar you 6^th row blonde.

Professor X just received a low rumble of laughter for simply using the words “retro” and “legit.”

Back to the real fun. Scarface is chomping gum and appears to be taking a furlong of notes. Cheats is still living up to his name, whilst biting his pen. Bed-Head looks confused. I can only see the back of his head, but I assure you, he’s confused.

Just in case you fancied learning a bit about my blog partner, Micah, here’s a quick glimpse. Currently, Micah is working on his blog post for today and making sure he keeps his hat hair up to snuff. That’s not much, but what the hell did you expect? We’re not giving full-length bios in our first posts. Freak.

Both Scarface and Cheats are chewing on their pens as we watch a third video clip. They’re leaning into each other. Yep, I’ve deduced: Bromance. Poor Bed-Head, he’s still confused and now very alone. Oh, what’s this?! I’ve stumbled upon a new character in the row directly behind me. He’s slipping off of his chair, sleeping with his iPod in his ear and his tattered white t-shirt on his napping carcass. Hold the phone! Cheats just asked Professor X a question! Man, this is getting good. My characters are already developing. Emotions are running deep. This is some nice shit.

Okay, it seems there are only 18 minutes of class left and Micah is hounding me about our deadline. I didn’t know we had one, but I guess I’ll go with the flow of that schmo. I hope you enjoyed this little peephole into the Journalism Window. Come back for more. Or don’t, I won’t cry about it.