Me and Friends of Albury Library

Compadres.

Well. Chifley Library. It is the library of choice de jour bon mot habeus corpus mis-en-scene for all arts-based folk at the ANU, also being the largest, the busiest, with the savagest librarians. It is not, shall I say, uncommon, to be surprised by kids you know from tutes, or wind up in discussion over why certain ex-Singaporean Leaders with histories of human rights abuses shouldn't be awarded honorary degrees in Law. It is where I am now and where I've been, pretty much constantly, during my days at this national institution. I've just had a lovely feed from the local cafe with an old friend from Wodonga, discussing the merits of Arts Vs Science and the questionable nature of his hometown. Incidentally, K-Rudd was there earlier this morning, and at my college, which he attended, filming a piece for 60 Minutes. Oh K-Rudd, how could you?

I'm having some major issues re: artistic license at the moment, writing as I am a piece for an "ideas journal". My idea of an idea is something "fresh" and "relevant", not a wank about "perceptions" and "the media". Alas. I hope I can get it published under a pseudonym, lest I be scorned by all in the realm of the pen. At least, the experience is providing a good experience as to what it feels like being ravaged by an editor.

Thankfully, my old noggin is beginning to get back into gear. I have three (3) large pieces due in the next two weeks which frightens me a little. Nonetheless I find it invigorating strolling around campus with purpose, head held high, carrying a copy of the Communist Manifesto-not to be a lefty per se, but also because it's handy for the old sociology. The world of timetables and assessment and debate and lectures is still foreign after a year of pulling pints, miming "$20", and travels.

College life is beginning to get my proverbial goat, which is perhaps not a good sign, I feel, given it's the first semester of six I will be spending there. I woke today to people in my room asking me about politics, whilst above me was the electric guitar whine of the Boy Who Can't Play. I haven't actually bothered to find out who he is yet. I want to smack some people right on the jowls the next time they talk about their maids or compare private schools. At night, across the carpark, comes the sound of drums from the chumps at Rival College. However my day was significantly brightened by dear mother sending me cake in the mail. Confusing, yet endearing.

Next week is Easter which makes me happy inside. Amongst other things: wine, a boat trip, sleep ins, and shindigs with old pals.

Onwards and upwards!