On A Clear Day You Can See Forever The Musical The Meaning Of Life From A Student Point Of View

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The Meaning Of Life From A Student Point Of View

University! Now there is an organization! I’ve always said that if anyone can model a society based on university values, I can count. This means that the majority of the population will not have to work very hard and will not be paid very much, but will be able to eat and live regularly. Spend half your time at the bar buying beer for half the price you can drink overnight. While cannabis and other hallucinogens are legal and free as adjuncts for the more creatively inclined, the idea of ​​any fixed moral code can be abandoned. “A little bit of what you like is good for you!” If anything were to threaten this perfection, these single citizens, the guardians of the world’s knowledge, would be fully within their right to raise their flags and protest. The national anthem should be something by Motorhead.

What am I talking about here? I think it supports a more romantic view of life that is “nurtured by love” rather than “driven by greed”. There is a serious difference between the two, one which fills our hearts with warmth and security, the other which is dangerous and demanding, but no two can agree which is which. I couldn’t believe my luck. The first day at Baddock Hall was a spiritual existence of pure ecstasy, like nirvana. More than half of the four hundred odd students were single girls. It was the perfect opportunity to feed a little greedy love.

I couldn’t help but laugh with joy as I looked out over the sloping open green garden and lush trees and unpacked my bag in one of the four hundred single bedrooms allotted to me. The room was small, just big enough for a bed and a table, but that was all I needed. I laughed because I got my car. In the parking lot, my slightly dented but proud maroon Marina was polished and waiting in the back seat.

Unlike school, Bristol didn’t have the feeling of being in the wrong time zone. In fact, everything was modern, liberal and fair. After paying so much attention to us at school, we were surprised by the attitude of the teachers, because they hardly cared about us. They talked about themselves two or three times a week in lectures and tutorials, and then they left us. It depends on us.

The morning after the Fresher’s Party I stayed in bed until twelve and then panicked when I realized I was late for my lecture. But I remembered that it was not Trollope’s. Nothing happened here, nobody noticed if you were gone, I went back to bed. It was very fair. We have been given the best education and the best brain, and it is up to us to use it well.

Fresher’s Week was a time-consuming endeavor, a chance to meet older students and join various clubs and societies of their dreams, an odd variety of activities, and a time-consuming endeavor that didn’t even fit ten minutes with Rita. stripper, and until it was over, we could have attended more serious business to study. Between lectures and classes totaling twelve hours a week, it sounded great that our time was ours, but the importance of self-discipline soon became apparent.

At lunchtime there was usually a giant canteen where you could get a decent meal for about a pound. It was adjacent to the university’s focal point, the Wills Memorial Building, a large, neo-Gothic structure that looked like a cathedral at the top of Park Street, built by the wealthy Wills family, tobacco magnates. century. Students ran up and down the grand hall stairs all day, going to and from lectures, but everyone lectured at different times and in different buildings, so even though I was with a lot of people, I felt very alone in the early days. city.

A long time ago, I ran into my brother Mario and some of his friends from law school. He was about to graduate in his third year. It was obvious that for the first time in his life he felt superior to me. Oxford had slipped through my fingers and I was a sad newcomer to his old school. He was fine with me, the odd comment, but it was clear he didn’t intend to include me in his circle, which was fine with me. I craved the freedom to explore and was glad that my older brother and his friends weren’t breathing down my neck.

The car made me famous very quickly. At the end of each day, four or five long-haired Badoc guys randomly wandered into the parking lot for a lift. I didn’t mind because it was good company. After a while I got tenpence a side to pay for my first beer every night.

The best time to meet people was in the evening, after dinner at the bar. The Badock Hall bar had a pool table, billiards, darts and an unlimited supply of cheap beer. Most nights we sat cross-legged on a low round table and waited for something to happen. There was always music playing in the background, The Police, or The Pretenders, or Blondie, artists who were making waves at the time, and soon I had a small group around me. At first it would be just the two and three of us, and if we seemed to be having a good time, the others would join. It was not unusual to sometimes have fifteen or twenty empty sprinklers sitting around a large circle. to contribute to any relevant and important discussion.

We thought it was our duty to change the world and make it a better place. This was the message we inherited from the 60s, that students can make a difference. But there is always one thing that gets in the way of our minds. One night, Gerry, a Northern Irish biochemist with an orange hairdo with an Art Garfunkel explosion, summed it up in neurotic terms: “It’s very biochemical,” he said in his charming Belfast voice, and a few more people stopped to listen. . “When parts of the body are stimulated, signals are sent through metabolic processes in the retina of the brainstem, and the tissues are activated, so you feel pleasure. Sometimes t’ process is resolved by lack of oxygen and excessive circulation, so you feel hot during sex. , gets upset. You know, it’s all about the hypothalamus. The tat bugger is in charge of everything. Our body has so many pain points, it has its own memory and it’s got its own habits, so it’s easy to get addicted to sex.”

There was a brief euphoria afterwards. We were already members of that club. I was impressed with Gerry’s knowledge of neuroscience, but decided to keep him away from me the next time I tried to pull him off.

I once met a Greek Cypriot who I thought was doing me a favor, but I saw him as too strict, too slimy, a future bank manager, and after a meeting or two, I did. it is better to avoid it. Instead, I spent more time with the tall, hook-nosed jockstraps of East End London. He appeared in several Millwall games and looked like he was leading the way. His name is Chukka, and he’s 6 feet if an inch, with arms like an orangutan, long drooping, and carelessly carving great arcs in the air as he walks. He always had a twinkle in his eye and his knuckles dangled next to his smiling mouth. Midway through the second season, he meets and falls in love with a cute little blonde girl named Linda, who always wears sexy leather or denim like Suzy Quattro. He was a fun couple like Chukka, straightforward and no frills. There was about two feet of empty air between them due to the difference in height, but that didn’t stop them from being stuck in their mouths forever, he doubled back down and they both lifted up on their toes like a lovesick school. children.

Our social life is a curious mixture of two conflicting impulses that govern our behavior: on the one hand trying to appear intelligent and on the other behaving like savage beasts. Some come down more than others, like my neighbor Sheridan, who is pure elegance and never leaves his room, but spends all his time studying and paying attention to the mating behavior of the Lesser Spotted Eagle. intimacy, while listening to Steely Deng’s harmless tunes, the others spent the first season not exploring a single point, instead devoting their energies to testing the limits of their endurance at parties.

I steered the middle path, drawn to those who sought the best of both worlds. I’ve met people who refuse to pigeonhole and impersonate real life characters. I’ll never forget the people I was with at university: Chukka (he was really Charles) got his nickname from the book he threw up after a good night out, but was planning to major in chemistry; Gerry, a brilliant biologist who sees himself in the future handcuffed to chicken wire on Greenham Common in protest against nuclear weapons, or buried in a swamp in the path of bulldozers coming to stop the construction of a flyover; Little Linda always makes us think of her cute little behind every time she strums a rock anthem on guitar, but one day she’s going to be a researcher in a cancer ward and do amazing work for kids. These were unpredictable people with a decent future.

We can say anything without fear of criticism or attack. It seemed to me to be a fair and creative way to encourage peers and like-minded people to live together and share a common dialogue, regardless of religious or political boundaries and without fear of persecution. It was similar to the ancient Greek symposia that produced the intellectual fruits of 5th-century Athens. Government funding made it noble.

Despite our eagerness, the first few weeks were spent talking about what classes everyone was taking, the societies everyone was in, the amount of work everyone was taking on varied from department to department, so it wasn’t long before we were talking about the mundane student stuff. got boring and kicked some of us out of the residence hall altogether and mingled with the townspeople.

In town we drink amongst friendly Bristolians, hard-working people who don’t try to fix the world but work minimum-wage menial jobs, watch football at weekends and get angry at night. In the future, when my life becomes more complicated, I will think of the simple promise of a thousand English cities and a million in Britain, and consider it the perfect way of life. But I worried that I would never fit in, never be normal. Being enlightened was a curse, and many students felt it, drawn to the complex, intangible, mysterious, and unanswerable. I’ve always been like that. When I was about ten years old, I still have a piece of paper that says, “Things to do before I grow old: (A) find out if God exists, (B) find out what happens after death, and (C) learn the meaning of life.” With that kind of luggage, what was the chance of having a good time on the road?

In order to survive, all the bars boasted wildly themed, raucous cheap student nights during the week, where only criminals and debauchers went crazy.

One such event, and the most important, was the Ball of the Vicar and Tarts. The best thing about being at Badock Hall was that we could plan our girl strategy in advance as we saw all the girls at their best before going out. They loved any excuse to get into the cage and line up in front of us at the bar. And some boys were more imaginative than girls. We pile into taxis looking like actors “The Rocky Horror Show” the first big gay musical. Every time we come downtown, we feel like we own it.

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