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Frenchie Time
May. 30th, 2003 08:29 pmAfter high school, I decided my Bad Attitude needed some time away from the formal educational process, so I got myself a full time job.
Six months later, I had decided my Bad Attitude had had enough of a break and that full time work sucked. So, back to school it was.
Unfortunately, there was a little matter of prep work that needed to be done. SATs, applications, deciding where to go. Things like that. Deciding where to go was the easy part -- no money meant the local community college (whose Claim to Fame was that it once held the World's Record for the longest continual Frisbee toss. I don't remember how long it was, but it was a few days’ worth.). The application wasn't too much of a problem, either. SATs were a bear; mostly because I wasn't too into studying the way the SATs want you to spit back information. Financial aide wasn't necessary -- a semester was cheap enough to actually be affordable.
That was all accomplished and I did a year at the local community college. Only one class was worthwhile, a great honor's English class (that deserves a blog of it's own for one particular story) After a year there I decided I needed to go somewhere else.
The U of Md was the logical choice. It was relatively inexpensive since I was an in-state resident and it even had a film studies program. The only problem was that it was so expected. I had grown up in the shadow of the U of Md all of my life. It was the place most people in my area attended college and I just didn't want to do something that almost seemed to be an educational cliché.
Stephe had found a great school in New York City called The New School for Social Research. It seemed like a very cool, very progressive school with an extensive listing of courses for film studies. His grandparents had offered to pay for his college tuition if he wanted to go there, so he took them up on it. After hearing nothing but good things about it, I decided to apply myself.
I filled out the forms for financial aide and various government grants and had them send that information to The New School for Social Research in New York City and mailed it off.
When I received their reply, they happily told me that, as I had requested, they had mailed off my financial aide information to Frenchies College of Cosmetology in Dothan, Alabama. Frenchies College of Cosmetology in Dothan, Alabama.
I hit the roof. I ranted and raved to anyone who would listen. Then I wrote up a nasty, sarcastic letter to the financial aide people. Stephe read it and suggested that I rewrite it. These were, after all, the people I was going to be asking for a lot of money over the coming years. Angering them probably wasn't such a good idea.
Besides, he pointed out, I could always go to Frenchies, move out to Hollywood and make a living for myself by doing hair and nails for one of the major studios.
Try as he might, he didn't manage to get the line out with a straight face.
(Now, however, whenever the cats are brushed out we refer to it as Frenchie's Time. It's an homage to another lifetime that could've been, but wasn't [thank God])
(And, no, Frenchie's doesn't exist any longer -- I checked. Heck, I'm still blown away by the fact that it was even listed in the government's official listing of schools for financial aide)
...
Six months later, I had decided my Bad Attitude had had enough of a break and that full time work sucked. So, back to school it was.
Unfortunately, there was a little matter of prep work that needed to be done. SATs, applications, deciding where to go. Things like that. Deciding where to go was the easy part -- no money meant the local community college (whose Claim to Fame was that it once held the World's Record for the longest continual Frisbee toss. I don't remember how long it was, but it was a few days’ worth.). The application wasn't too much of a problem, either. SATs were a bear; mostly because I wasn't too into studying the way the SATs want you to spit back information. Financial aide wasn't necessary -- a semester was cheap enough to actually be affordable.
That was all accomplished and I did a year at the local community college. Only one class was worthwhile, a great honor's English class (that deserves a blog of it's own for one particular story) After a year there I decided I needed to go somewhere else.
The U of Md was the logical choice. It was relatively inexpensive since I was an in-state resident and it even had a film studies program. The only problem was that it was so expected. I had grown up in the shadow of the U of Md all of my life. It was the place most people in my area attended college and I just didn't want to do something that almost seemed to be an educational cliché.
Stephe had found a great school in New York City called The New School for Social Research. It seemed like a very cool, very progressive school with an extensive listing of courses for film studies. His grandparents had offered to pay for his college tuition if he wanted to go there, so he took them up on it. After hearing nothing but good things about it, I decided to apply myself.
I filled out the forms for financial aide and various government grants and had them send that information to The New School for Social Research in New York City and mailed it off.
When I received their reply, they happily told me that, as I had requested, they had mailed off my financial aide information to Frenchies College of Cosmetology in Dothan, Alabama. Frenchies College of Cosmetology in Dothan, Alabama.
I hit the roof. I ranted and raved to anyone who would listen. Then I wrote up a nasty, sarcastic letter to the financial aide people. Stephe read it and suggested that I rewrite it. These were, after all, the people I was going to be asking for a lot of money over the coming years. Angering them probably wasn't such a good idea.
Besides, he pointed out, I could always go to Frenchies, move out to Hollywood and make a living for myself by doing hair and nails for one of the major studios.
Try as he might, he didn't manage to get the line out with a straight face.
(Now, however, whenever the cats are brushed out we refer to it as Frenchie's Time. It's an homage to another lifetime that could've been, but wasn't [thank God])
(And, no, Frenchie's doesn't exist any longer -- I checked. Heck, I'm still blown away by the fact that it was even listed in the government's official listing of schools for financial aide)
...
