05. Honour Box

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The campus seems designed to split the entire university into tribes: each of the programs has its own building, and despite the presence of one or more in-between spaces (study spots, the campus bar and coffee shop, the library), they have very little reason to ever venture outside their little domain and interact with the others. Each of the subdivisions on campus (arts, science, education, music, and health) seem to exist in their own pocket worlds, with their own concerns, their own social networks, and even their own subgroups, and if it weren’t for the fact that I was a part of the newspaper and had to report on different issues for all the programs, I might have never even seen the inside of any of the other buildings and knowing any of that. Our campus was not particularly large by any means, by it’s still possible to underestimate its size just because you spend so much time in a select few locations; in service to the entire student body (including ones who seem even less responsive to us than the students we saw in the student union building, the designated neutral zone), we had to get to know the true scope and diversity of the school.

Especially me, because it was usually up to me to deliver the papers to all the stands around campus.

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04. Lorem Ipsum

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It’s funny: for as much as I loved working at the newspaper, my eventual ascent to the top position was not planned or possibly even considered. I, the same as many, was working on a thee-year bachelor’s degree, and spent one year as a contributor and two as the news editor; I feel that I must have been content with that at the time, because I didn’t make any immediate moves towards coming back, and was in fact preparing for a post-bachelor’s future (which was to involve a graduate program at some point, but I hadn’t made any firm decisions on that, either.) It didn’t take long, though, before I was hit with the realization that I had no idea what my next move actually was, and when offered a position back at the paper (somewhere around the time of our end-of-the-year party), I jumped right back in, back to the place I knew with most of the people I had been working with that previous year. Thanks to one of the first changes to the staffing structure that I would be part of, I ended up sharing editor-in-chief duties with one of my friends, and though I technically wasn’t the big boss at that point, I was still put into a position of power and responsibility, which I took as seriously as I did my old position of just gathering the news.

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03. Bleed-Through

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Working at the student newspaper is not a career (no student positions are), it’s something that lasts only about as long as you’re still studying there, but it has to come to an end at some point. The thing is institutionalized transience, a place where you’re guaranteed to see people come and go; if you’re lucky (or unlucky) you’ll be working with the same group of people all throughout your time, or at least some of the same people, but there’s a pretty good chance you’ll start with the haggard veterans just getting ready to run out the door and end your own time there with fresh-faced newbies who don’t know nothing about anything. If you end up anything like me, you’ll have the opportunity to feel like the kid trying to barge in on the adults’ conversation and then the wrinkly elder yelling at clouds all within a few years time, a hyper-compressed version of the kind of career you supposedly will have once you graduate. That is, if you stick around the whole time, which is also never a guarantee.

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02. Inverted Pyramid

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I decided to become a writer on a whim in the eighth grade, and I’m pretty sure I decided to get into journalism on a whim while I was in the early days of university. That’s not to say that I had no interest in it before—I read plenty of journalistic and otherwise non-fiction writing—but it never crystallized into a possible career path in my mind before I was actually placed in a journalistic position. I was already there, I reasoned, why not go all the way with it? So, all things considered, when I was handed the news editor position, I decided to take it very seriously—although that didn’t necessarily mean I did the best job, either, but I tried at least. Still, let’s just say that as much effort as I brought to the position, I really shouldn’t have been surprised when my journalism career didn’t take off later (still, I can at least be satisfied that some of the reporters I worked with did go on to respectable journalism careers.)

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01. Bulldog Edition

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If nothing else, I know my name will live on in one capacity: my seven-year stint at the student newspaper of my alma mater, which officially began ten years ago. It was one of the only times in my life where I could feel that I was contributing to and building on something greater than myself and my own short-term concerns, although I don’t think that really sunk in until about halfway through, when the sheer history of a hundred-plus-year-old institution cascaded over me. To be sure, though, the feeling of linking yourself to hundreds of other people and decades of history could easily be undercut by the everyday conditions of a university extracurricular activity, which feels intentionally ephemeral and obviously has a high turnover rate by their very nature; that I ended up as the veteran, the source of “institutional knowledge”, was due to circumstance, but also my determination to make that seemingly disposable and unstable product into something to be preserved and cherished.

But I had to get to that point first.

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Starlog Log #9

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I chose not to read the Starlog archives in any particular order—I thought it’d be more interesting to jump around to different years and understand the changes to the magazine and the fandom more gradually. I generally use the default option of ordering the individual files by views, which also gives me insight into which issues people reading the archives are interested in. Of course, early issues and especially early coverage of The Big Stuff dominate the early goings, with special anniversary issues (at one point a yearly thing for the magazine, which must have been exhausting) and the odd entry from later in the run (the second most-viewed has The Mask and The Shadow share a cover, the first and last time those two movies will ever be spoken of in the same breath) dropping in between, which only means that my fellow archive diggers are interested in the older historical artifacts, especially when they’re about things they know (not as many people reading when its Nightflyer or Brainstorm on the cover—or Suburban Commando, or Time Trax…) When it was an era of big movies (like Star Wars or Alien) or big TV shows (like Star Trek: The Next Generation), it’s pretty understandable that many are interested in seeing just how people reacted to those things when they were entirely new.

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Starlog Log #8

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Success came to SF when it broadened itself—or, to be more accurate, when SF ideas were being draped over more broad-minded formulas, high adventures and comedies and horror stories. These combinations (and many others) had existed for as long as SF has, of course, but for whatever reason they didn’t really become the centre of the whole enterprise until the beginning of the blockbuster film era, when Star Wars, Alien, Superman and the like came and made space stuff mainstream in a way it never had been before. With a ton of money to throw around, you can have all the crazy stuff onscreen you could ever want, married to plots and characters that a general audience can get a grip on—compared to earlier of the seventies, when SF was mostly inscrutable, heady enterprises where action and romance were a rarity, and what was there was usually delivered in way that was either cheap or bizarre and off-putting. All those things made those movies feel closer to actual SF literature (although they still ended up being more clumsy than profound, generally), but maybe that was the lesson the movie business had to learn—the key to making SF a financial viability is to make it look as little like established SF as possible. In the following decades, most, if not all, of the most films that made it big that were “SF” were usually followed by a hyphen—Back to the Future is mostly a comedy, after all, as is Ghostbusters, and something like Robocop is primarily an action movie (although it’s also a comedy…man, is there anything Robocop CAN’T do?) Spielberg didn’t even want to call Close Encounters of the Third Kind SF, and in the case of E.T this may have played a part in the decision to focus the movie’s publicity entirely on mainstream media while leaving genre publications like Starlog out (which led to month after month of consternation in Starlog’s editorials in 1982.)

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