Qui dit le amour dit les gosses, dit toujours et dit divorcé

Our Editor Writes:

Diary of a Mature Student: Slump Week

Every now and then I actually forget that I'm surrounded by people a decade younger than me for at least ten to twenty hours a week. I was brought up with a fairly simple outlook vis-a-vis age; I was taught, or at least learnt, that you don't treat people differently because of it. Sure, the younger are less experienced - sometimes - but apart from that, a person's a person, and the number's kind of irrelevant.

Thus, when someone wants respect because of their age - old or young - I tended to think, well, huh. But that's a different line of thinking.

No, what I'm considering now is the amount of truly stupid shit I did when I was a student on the first ride on the degree merry-go-round. I won't bore you with the funny but l-o-n-g details, because we all (most of us, anyway) do stupid things in our youth.

But it does leave me with a quandary.

Do I warn someone who's about to do something stupid?

If I do, there's chances that it (a) won't alter anything, (b) will make me look like I'm interfering, and (c) that the people in question won't make the mistake that they need to learn from.

If I don't, I have to step aside and watch as people make all the mistakes they have to learn from, but, crucially, they have to make the mistake in order to do the learning. And it's kind of heartbreaking.

And I do attend a course where dressing a coursemate in a neon pink bandolier, two tutus, and a matching neon pink bandana for an assignment is considered a sane and rational act.

Making a film is, by definition, neither a sane nor a rational act. It's the imposition of order on a fundamentally disordered system; trying to bring together cast, crew, location, equipment and mentality followed by months of editing in order to create something people will either not pay attention to or will forget, if not tomorrow then soon, and for the rest of their lives until they remember it again, for whatever reason.

It feels a lot like that's how culture works - people forget until they remember, and often enough remembering is triggered by something media or culture-related anyway, so...

I'm having a good week, anyway, in case it's not entirely evident. The strange thing about most university courses is that the longer you stay on them, the less tuition you receive; the first year is bootstrapping, designed to bring everyone up to an approximation of the same level. 

But here's the weird thing about slump week - traditionally, the first week in the second half of the semester - it affects everyone differently. It's all about the assimilation of information, you see; after six to eight weeks of constantly being told to learn new things, the course becomes less a matter of research and more a matter of neuroplasticity,in that you have to be able to take up what you learn, otherwise it's just waves crashing on a beach. 


After the six to eight, it becomes less an issue of learning and more a matter of survival, because suddenly instead of a theoretical exercise you're actually expected to put what you've learned into practice, with the aim of being assessed not necessarily on your ability, but more on whether or not you've been paying attention. 


Slump week is nearly over, but that's not necessarily a good thing, because of what comes next...