Hello, my name's Jorik and I'm a se... No, Jorik. No, wait, Jo... That's J-O-R-...
One of the best ways of procrastination (and you can tell this is an expert speaking) is watching factual/educational tv (or, in my case: iPlayer). BBC Four is a beautiful thing, making one feel like one has learned, has become deeper aware of one's own, deepest, most true, err, truths, yes, truths. I'm sorry, did I just momentarily turn into Virginia Woolf? I'm sorry, this happens. I do apologise.
As a way of passing time before/between/after reading for classes, I watched a documentary on Cosmology, a walky talky lectury type program based on the living cell and a David Attenborough special on the world's dwindling fish stock. By the way; I luv Attenborough. His is a fine line between the erudite and hopeful and the crushingly depressive through his righteous fury that because I'm watching this program now, a penguin will die. And it's all my fault. Ah well. Next program!
But this is the crux of the matter. After an hour's worth watching stuff about art, science, history or the animal kingdom (stuff about literature is a bit too close to work during term time, to be honest), I don't feel stupid. I don't get angry at myself like I do for watching some kind of panel show or a film or a comedy show which fiercely misses the mark and the excitement of live stand-up (it's starts with an -M-, and the colour is Bland. Guess who!). I feel a bit intellectually nourished, convincing myself that I might use this one day, in a sketch, for some stand-up or some other kind of writing. I know I won't, it's ultimately just another waste of valuable living hours. I'll either forget this interllectual hoo-ha or it'll turn up in the trivia-bit of my brain which can regurgitate random facts for all it's worth. I once won a backpack filled with a blue, plastic bucket and spade at a camp with a very shortlived journalism study in 2006.
The problem is; they're just incredibly well made, especially the BBC ones. The exciting camera-movements, the over-exited (and probably coked-up) presenters, the shifts in perspectives and camera angles (which mean that sometimes you can see so far up the presenter's noses that it's like watching a snow globe through a lock (that was a cocaine joke. Not a very good one. But it still counts!). Unless of course it's Andrew Marr. One of few British celebreties I can imitate with relative easy, because his voice is mainly produced through the vibration of his lower jowls, much like a pelican. Yet I love those shots of brainy looking people, walking around staircases and staring awkwardly at the railing above while trying to say something relevant about Henry VIII.
By the way, fact fans: Aristotle, the loony mother's only child's favourite beardy faced dead Greek guy (who lived in the 4th Century BC) liked giving lectures whilst walking around. That's why his followers soon became known as the peripatetics (from the Greek for wandering around. Not to be confused with peripeteia, which is something alltogether different). There, you can't say I didn't teach you anything today.
But for all their obvious merits and my great love for them; I know I am just wasting my time watching educational TV. It a waste of time. It'll never lead to anything. And most importantly it's just a cunning way my procrastination-gland wants to bypass my significant self-criticism gland. And it works. Unfortunately, my obsession with edu-tv has already led to this blog. Why God, will you never let me win?!
P.S: Sorry for being a bit rubbish yesterday. I was literally falling asleep when I was writing. Still, I was angry at myself for two hours afterwards for writing such a rubbish blog. You happy now, internet monkeys? (GRUMBLES AND STRIKES FIERCE DUKE NUKEM LIKE POSE WITH A SUPERSOAKER FILLED WITH THE ELEMENTAL SQUASH OF WISDOM). Oh, yeah.
P.S.S: Reading: I'm currently in an Ibsen-based wonder of a first week at uni. Just read An Enemy of the People and I'm working through A Doll's House. As funny as they are engaging, dramatic (in the best possible sense) and punching you in the brain with their density and complexity at every corner. I luv Ibsen. I luv him. Yeah, I'm into dead Norwegians, and what? You just can't handle the truth, can you? You can't handle the truth! ..Sorry did I just turn into Jack Nicholson there? No I didn't; I couldn't if I tried.
See ya! Bye!
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