(no subject)
The Intermedia undergraduate open house was interesting. I stuck my hand in a giant bowl of Jello, washed it with slime from a giant cube of soap, watched the spin-the-wheel girl eat two spoonfuls of horseradish (her least favorite food in the world), and wrote "Peak Oil" on my slip of paper that went in the Fear Box. Some random girl stuck an "Andy Warhol was an idiot" label on me as I climbed the stairs. I got a token from the Great Complimenter by praising his vein structure and soothing voice, but the open house ended before I got around to visiting the Great Insulter, so I didn't get to see the secret room.
Much of the art was very, very undergraduate. (Ooh, look, two naked girls [halfheartedly] making out with each other! How very Transgressive, and therefore how very Artistic!) Although I got into it as the evening went on, the whole atmosphere initially reminded me of my undergraduate theatre days: the blithe pleasures of marinating in your own creative impulses and ignoring practical matters; of success based on looks and verve and audacity, rather than necessarily on hard work or insight; of beautiful and fascinating people who, too often, are also frustratingly self-fascinated; of the weird incubator atmosphere which can encourage brooding, preoccupation, and hiding your true self behind impenetrable walls of flamboyance.
Of course, none of what I've just said takes anything away from all the genuinely good experiences I had during that period, and all the cool people I met (hi, Mark; hi, Nick; hi, James). In some ways, it was probably exactly what I needed at that time in my life...but in other ways, it was the last thing I needed. I can't distance myself from it fast enough, yet I still miss it enormously. Then again, perhaps lots of things in one's youth are like that.
The intermedia building is itself a fascinating warren of winding halls and crumbling fixtures, even when it's not done up as a postmodern funhouse. Apparently they're tearing it down soon, which is a crime.
Much of the art was very, very undergraduate. (Ooh, look, two naked girls [halfheartedly] making out with each other! How very Transgressive, and therefore how very Artistic!) Although I got into it as the evening went on, the whole atmosphere initially reminded me of my undergraduate theatre days: the blithe pleasures of marinating in your own creative impulses and ignoring practical matters; of success based on looks and verve and audacity, rather than necessarily on hard work or insight; of beautiful and fascinating people who, too often, are also frustratingly self-fascinated; of the weird incubator atmosphere which can encourage brooding, preoccupation, and hiding your true self behind impenetrable walls of flamboyance.
Of course, none of what I've just said takes anything away from all the genuinely good experiences I had during that period, and all the cool people I met (hi, Mark; hi, Nick; hi, James). In some ways, it was probably exactly what I needed at that time in my life...but in other ways, it was the last thing I needed. I can't distance myself from it fast enough, yet I still miss it enormously. Then again, perhaps lots of things in one's youth are like that.
The intermedia building is itself a fascinating warren of winding halls and crumbling fixtures, even when it's not done up as a postmodern funhouse. Apparently they're tearing it down soon, which is a crime.