Tuesday, 21st August '07
Just Call Me Little Miss Chuckles
First off, a small apology to anyone who's been waiting for the entry that's taken a long time to come. I have to admit, the recent onset of pupillage and PLC (the postgraduate Practical Law Course) has taken its toll. It's a matter that has both made me feel better about myself and worse - on one hand, I can now claim to be one of those snobby elitist sorts that brush off the blogging phenomenon with condescending remarks like "oh, I'm too busy to waste my time on that stupid fad". Don't get me wrong, it's nice to think that having less time for frivolous pursuits makes me a little more adult-like. You know, as if having to sacrifice a pleasure of childhood / studenthood somehow makes me more mature. A push in the direction of grown-up nobility, if you will. Plus, there's that little problem of confidentiality and lawyer-client privilege that started to pervade my day to day encounters.
On the other hand, I lament the fact that I no longer have the energy to find the humour (read: blogworthiness) in daily life. It's like a sort of dreary bumbling along that I'm terrified will rob me of what youthful spirit I have left even before age numerically catches up with me.
Of the two schools of thought, the latter scares me more. So here I am blogging away again with a vengeance. Or trying to, anyway.
So here are some thoughts on a few things:
I really don't like to be one to criticise destructively, but I can't help feeling something needs to be done about the abysmal way this course is administered. Of course, this could well be the griping of another lazy student, who's too narrowminded to see how them leaving us to flounder along like little flummoxed fishies is supposed to make me a better lawyer. But somehow I doubt it.
The sheer lack of coherence in many aspects of instruction leave me so confused. Ok, forget confused - I get angry. I get the feeling the whole sorry affair lacks some understanding of the rule of law - you can't go around penalising people for not giving you things you don't tell them to give you. You can't set deadlines to be met, when meeting those deadlines is contingent on the student receiving certain information that you don't give them until after the deadline has passed. It's just not done, and it saddens me to think that this is the way the controlling exam to the admission of our bar is administered. Passing the bar is supposed to be this emotional, prestigious thing; something to take pride in. But if and when I pass this, I will probably only feel that I did it by sheer luck. If I don't pass, also a luck problem. I could only feel proud of passing it if I know what's expected of me and feel like I used my intellect to achieve the result. There's no way I could ever get that here. It's all so arbitrary. Depressing, really.
And I make a half-resolution to myself: if I ever stick it out long enough in this profession, my first act of community service will be to get involved in revamping the administration of this course. In a way, it's little wonder the course is such a mess if the practitioners don't take it seriously enough to get involved and "change the world", as it were.
The silver lining in this dark cloud, however, is that it gives me inspiration for some good MSN nicknames. Thanks Han, for your "best MSN nicks" award
The Next Wave
Another matter of *sarcastic smile* "the chuckles". I love the cast in my item, and the genre is an exciting new one. But this process choreography is unsettling for everyone, and if left uncontrolled is going to lead to the dancers being antsy and having little faith in the person in charge. I don't know enough to say more, suffice to say that as someone who's been in an administrative position in a production, I'm guessing the vibe the cast is giving off is a dangerous one. A choreographer can't afford to lose the cast's confidence like this.
Feelings on this topic come in a mixed bag. On one hand this is the most terribly exciting (and expensive) thing that's happened in my life in at least the last decade. Looking at blueprints and strolling around furniture shops, all manner of ambitious decorating plans spring to mind. Yet Mum and I are THIS close to losing confidence in the designer. She expresses herself poorly, has a really warped sense of measurement - terrifying if you consider that she's the one making all those scale drawings - and seriously seems to like the colour beige. Beige, by the way, is a colour I have very little respect for, seeing that it's potentially the most cop-out colour there is. It doesn't dare to be white or brown or anything strong and assertive. It's just there, the colour of stale oatmeal, forming an insipid backdrop that I will not have in my house. The designer also tends to like to tell me how to think, or to try to pit Mum against me, which is never a wise choice. Plus, she makes changes without informing us, presents us with a moronically drafted contract that looks like something they would give us to correct in drafting class, and is all 'round annoying. Urgh. Tensions run high.
Ok. Venting over. The upside is that in the last two months I've discovered great new music, books and movies. Mammoth review to come in an entry soon enough. And there you will see me as my usual, bubbling over with enthusiasm self. I hope. For tonight, despondent grumpiness is all I can muster.
[2 photographs developed.]
Hello... I hope your venting was therapeutic! You do seem to have disappeared somewhat under a load of stress and cynical chuckling -- try to see the funny side again ok? I miss the old you! Also see you in September!
hoho.. back again with a vengeance i cant believe ur designer likes beige..what self respecting designer likes a colour like beige??? *shakes head* cant wait to paint ur room.. if u want me to design something u know my style lah haha or u can commission something up to u