In college, I’ve found out that everything gets better when the week is over. You’re done with classes for two glorious days so you cram all your homework into Thursday and Friday, pass out for a few hours Friday evening, then wake up before the midnight party. Saturday is a day of greatness in which you drink, smoke, and play poker with a ten dollar buy in.
All my life I’ve heard that your college years are the best you’ll ever have in your life. Now I know that’s pretty accurate. Life as a full time, on campus freshman college student consists of ten things:
Never Have I Ever
New (Better) Music
Waiting For Next Weekend
And I’m okay with that because everyone in my building is like family. What’s family without a mistaken hook-up, a fight over a hand in poker, pretending to get an emergency call so you can cut the line at Starbucks with the girl from 209B, and listening to weird but oddly great music at 3 in the morning?
If that’s not college I don’t know what is, guys.
But that’s gucci because none of it matters now. It’s Friday. Happy Friday.
Last Wednesday, I moved into my dorm. Since then, I have spent most of my time high. Baked like a cake. Stoned like old bones. Fucked up. Because college.
I’ve made friends with people from all over the place including Louisville, Texas, and Saudi Arabia. I’ve been to three traphouses, gone to six classes, developed a crush on a guy down the hall, made out with a gay guy at a Luau, and made plans for this three day weekend. Because college.
My roommate and the two people in the room that shares a bathroom with me are all going home for the weekend. So is the RA that lives right next door to me. The twenty-three friends I’ve made in the same building are going to be stuffed in my room. Because college.
Down the hall there is a boy that killed a crackhead in a knife fight. A guy that doesn’t believe in relationships because a girl cheated on him. A girl that is totally obsessed with the guy that doesn’t believe in relationships. The forestry major that smokes trees. The Jewish kid that isn’t really Jewish. Because college.
Alice and Peter
- Alice: Do you remember the way home?
- Peter: No, Alice, home is overrated. Home is a place that you're expected to grow up. I don't remember how to get home because I don't want to.
- Alice: Well, I guess I can stay here until I get homesick. What do you call this place?
- Peter: That depends. I call it Neverland because you never have to be anything other than you but some call it Wonderland because it's so strange.
- Alice: A land as curious as this could have a million names.
This fall I will begin my life as an actual adult going to school in an all new state and leaving home for what may be the last time. It’s not like I’m going to the opposite end of the country or anything but it’s still a pretty big deal.
First, it should be known that I’ve spent a large part of my life in Semi-Suburbian Ohio and will be traveling some 200 miles from home to attend the University of Kentucky in August. This leads to the point that my summer, the first of my adult life and last of my life in Ohio, is half over. The first half was full of all the "end of an era" high school drama, brimming with the empty promises of hanging out before we all ship off to start our lives.
It was evident within two weeks of graduation that I would really only be hanging out with two people from my entire graduating class of around 120. These two people include my guy best friend since second grade who has decided to stick around town and attend a local college and my girl best friend who has enlisted in the army.
This isn’t to mean that my friendships are all over. This is everyone else’s last summer, too. Everyone went and got a job, became too busy to hang out but still managed to make time for the second job they got. There are a few people that have already started taking their college classes as summer courses at the community college.
End of an era is an understatement for what happens when everyone marches off stage with their brand new, glossy diplomas. It’s the end of your fucking childhood. It’s either get a job or start working on your next diploma.
I’m not going to go in to detail about the place I reside because it’s actually not that bad, but I have to mention that about 75% of my graduating class was desperate to get out of there. I’m included in that estimate not because the city is the worst place to live, trust me it’s not. But every teen thinks there’s a better place than home, some go looking for it out of a sense of curiosity, most stay because the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t.
My dream was New York. Don’t know why but for the longest time I’ve wanted to live in the big city. I know the people are rude and the rats are huge, I mean come on I watch Broad City, but New York is my dream. NYC is to me what Vermont is to Olivia Pope and President Grant. It’s my escape and in some other universe I’m already there. But in this universe I’m stuck in Ohio.
Of course the fact remains that, starting in August, the next four to five years of my life will be spent in Lexington, Kentucky. Horse country. Hooch country. Beautiful city with nice people and great home cooking. It’s not New York but at the same time it’s not Ohio, so it’s still great.
And next summer, if I elect not to take summer classes and God willing, I will have some kind of awesome, kick ass, beyond belief great internship that will keep my from returning home for the entire summer next year. Don’t get me wrong, I want to come home and visit but not for a whole two months.
Ohio is cool but it’s not that cool.
The film industry has been shrouded in controversy since the very first silent film was created in the dwindling years of the 19th century. The controversy has only grown since then, getting in the way of the storytelling potential of film making. Even if you forgive the controversy, Hollywood is still dying.
Creativity is a natural resource that we cannot get more of. So when the stories become the same, there is nothing left to film. Scripts will become kindling for trashcan fires, actresses will return to waitress status, and the lights will burn out while the cameras collect dust.
Apocalypse occurs. World ends. Every existing film automatically becomes a classic.
It seems that the studios simply remake old films or historic concepts for their multi-million dollar budgets using well known actors to carry the weight of the film’s success or failure. At the same time, independent films use cheap effects and phoned in acting with wild sex scenes or violent gore to gather attention.
The point is the film industry is fucked.
I can attribute the fall of film to three major causes:
1.) Business vs. Art
The bigwigs in the corporations want to hear how much money they can make off of a film not how much they could lose by taking a risk on a script that challenges popular values. It’s a game of numbers instead of what it should be. A game of art at its most intense level: visual and auditory. Storytelling.
2.) Lack of Diversity
To add to the inability to ignore the business aspect, there is an impenetrable reigning group of white males from middle class or better socioeconomic backgrounds. There are very few women and/or minorities in the world of studio film making.
3.) Lack of Live Interaction
One thing that keeps the films pumping is film festivals. For whatever reason the actual experience of film has been lost and film festivals have not grown as exponentially as they should. Music is kept alive by the live, person to person connection and if the film industry could see that they could use the live interaction to their advantage there would be a lot more films in the park and film festival growth.
As an aspiring filmmaker myself, I hope the industry can be resurrected. The one thing I don’t want to do is return to the studio system that prevailed prior to the independent revolution. Plain and simple, the studios refuse to take risks on films and is the opposite of accepting to newcomers.
A patron approached the reference desk holding a title request slip.
Patron: “Can you help me find this book?”
Me [pointing to the next desk over]: “Our Readers’ Advisor will be happy to help you!”
Patron: “Oh, um, I asked her already. She said only you can help me.”
Me: “Are you sure? That’s unusual…”
Patron: “You are the only person who can help me find this book.”
Me: “All right. What’s the title?”
Patron: “How to Get a Date With a Cute Librarian.”
Me: “Oh. I see.”
He smooth as fuck