(Josie
Sayz: Okay, so I know that my last post wasn’t exactly in the gonzo style, like
I had hoped (Last post: JL Mystery Interview: https://josiesayz.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/jl-mystery-interview.html
). I also realised that gonzo might need explaining, but in the way of Eliza
Doolittle, rather than tell you, I decided to show you… well, it’s not perfect,
but it was a rather rushed, random attempt.)
Having
been let inside my Journalism classroom late, I took my seat on the far side of
the classroom and powered up the computer. “Did you notice what just happened?”
my lecturer, Jackie, asked.
Staring ahead I, like many, awaited the question’s explanation. “Did you not notice what just happened?” she asked again, more enthusiastically than before. Confused, faces glanced around the room.
Did I miss something?
Did we all miss something?
What did we miss?
“You mean you missed it?!” Jackie exclaimed.
“The man had shoes with curled up toes and probably had a horse and carriage waiting outside for him,” said Candi.
Honestly, what had I missed?
Had the world gone mad?
“Candi tried pushing the two men out the room,” Jackie told us.
“They looked at me like I was a fly they wanted to swat out of the way.”
I wanted to laugh. Why was any of this relevant? What did any of this have to do with our journalism lecture? So what, someone was in the room before us – they always were.
Looking around the room, I noticed various people mumbling away their confusion. “It’s gonzo,” Jackie exclaims.
Gonzo? What’s gonzo? Who’s Gonzo? ‘Is that Gonzo?’ I wondered as Jackie stood whispering to some guy sat on a stool at the front of the room, wearing a weird t-shirt with a huge face of someone asking us to vote for ‘miles.’ Miles? How many miles are we expected to walk? I did twelve on Tuesday – is that enough?
“Here’s Tom Perry,” Jackie announced, pointing at the guy sat before us. He was running for Vice-President of Activities for the Student Union. We had to interview him. He made his speech about why we should vote for him:
He was working to boost societies;
Publicise ‘Cry-Wolf’,
And trying to create a greater link between academic work and societies.
“What’s your view on handbags?” Candi shouted out.
Handbags? What, seriously, has that got to do with his campaign speech?
“What’s your favourite colour?” Jackie asked him.
After many outrageous questions, it turns out that Tom Perry, candidate for Vice-President of Activities for the Student Union’s, favourite colour is green – dark green that is; if he was a girl, he would own a small, simple handbag (that can fit his laptop in) which is black (“because black goes with anything,”) would be happy to hold weddings in the Student Union Bar, is a member of the fetish society and in his spare time finds himself eating cake, whilst watching magic tricks.
Next, Jackie introduced us Daniel Batchelor, who was running for President of the Student Union. We had to interview him too. Like Tom, Daniel introduced us to his campaign of involving students more with the university newspaper and radio station, as well as informing students about other students’ achievements.
“Where do you come from?” Candi asked abruptly.
“Wolverhampton.”
Apparently his accent didn’t show it.
“Favourite colour?” – Sea blue.
“Who should be the next England manager?” – Harry Redknapp.
“What type of handbag would you have?” Someone shouted out, wanting a comparison for their article, which we would no doubt have to write up afterwards. To this, Dan’s answer was surprisingly detailed:
“A small brown leather handbag, with tassels and sequins and it would have my name engraved on the front.” I have a strange feeling that Dan had thought about this before.
Just as the interviewing appeared to be over, Jonathan (my classmate) added an interesting point. The night before, we had all received an email regarding Dan’s campaign. It revealed that Dan wasn’t backing Tom for Vice-President of Activities.
“What aren’t you backing Tom?”
“What?”
Jonathan relayed the information in the email. “Your email says you want Joanna as Vice-President of Activities.”
“Well…” Dan stuttered. “I do back Tom…”
Again he stutters…
Again he contradicts himself…
“But you said in the email that you don’t,” Jonathan pointed out. It was all there in black and white.
“I don’t mind… if Tom wins, I’d still back him…” Dan informed us, placing his hand firmly on Tom’s shoulder. He gave out a nervous laugh. “I’m digging myself into a hole.”
Stepping in to save the day, Jackie thanked both of them for assisting us with our interviewing. Making a dive for the door, Dan was first to exit, without even turning back. “Thanks boys!” Jackie called out as Tom caught the door, before it swung too in his face. Lifting his hat in reply, Tom nodded, before leaving.
“So…gonzo…”
There was that word again… gonzo… gonzo… gonzo… I thought he was one of the Muppets – no, I’m certain he is.
The PowerPoint then appeared on the wall and the day’s lecture began.
So it turns out that gonzo is a type of journalism, which came from the movement of American New Journalism. I’m sure they named it after the Muppets’ Gonzo really…
After reading, ‘The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved’, it all started making sense… well at least I thought it did, until Jackie returned our attention to the PowerPoint.
“Gonzo has no rules,” she said explaining the main functions of a gonzo article. “But,” she added, “Gonzo has two rules.”
What? Like, that makes no sense! Contradictory? – I think so!
How can something have no rules, yet two rules at the same time? I don’t think Maths was ever Jackie’s strongest subject – oh well, I’d better not embarrass her.
“Now it’s your turn,” Jackie told us, “using your interviews with Tom and Daniel from earlier.”
“If only you’d asked them more unusual questions,” Candi sighed.
If only we’d known what we were supposed to be doing.
Immediately, everyone began typing away. I hate spontaneous typing. I have the tendency to delete what I wrote and start again. And delete what I wrote and start again. And delete what I wrote and start again. So I began hand writing mine – you can’t delete it then. You have to stick with it.
After staring down at my page for a few minutes it hit me – I’ll start my article from the very beginning – from entering the classroom, like what Hunter S. Thompson did in ‘The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved’. Satisfied that my idea resembles the gonzo example, and isn’t just about interviewing Tom and Dan, I began writing as fast my hand would let me.
Jackie began circling the classroom, having noticed some confused faces. “Why don’t you start your article from the moment you walked into the classroom,” she suggested.
Dagger eyes.
How dare she? – that was my idea. I thought of it first!
“How dare you?” I objected. “That was my idea.”
“You’ll put a different angle on it,” she told me. “You’re a girl.”
But now I think I have a problem. Because I’m currently reading Dave Eggers’ ‘A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius’ I have a strange feeling that I’m starting to write like him. No I’m not! Yes I am! No I’m not! Yes I am! No I’m not! – great now I’m even arguing with myself. I’m sure all great writers argue with themselves every now and again, don’t they? Don’t they? Possibly… maybe… who knows…?
After class, I left the room and thought nothing more of gonzo for the rest of the afternoon. I was too busy worrying over my doctor’s appointment. It turns out I have Laryngitis. Five hours later I finally arrived home, tossed my coat onto my bed and slumped into my chair at my desk. Pulling my netbook out of my desk I powered it up, ready to type up and finish my gonzo article. I got out my notebook and pen and began rummaging around in my bag.
It’s not there!
It’s not there!
It has to be there!
Clambering out of my chair, I cleared the floor of my bedroom and sprawled the contents of my bag over the floor.
Scrambling through everything, I realised it wasn’t there. My USB stick.
I’d left it in the computer at uni. I must have done. I was so worried about my doctor’s appointment that I’d forgotten to take it out of the computer after class. Frustrated with my idiocy, I hit my head off the wall. How could I have been so stupid? I never lose things! I never lose anything!
Running down the stairs I announced dramatically that my life was over. I was officially the stupidest person who had ever lived.
“Why don’t you phone up the university?” my mom suggested. “Someone might have handed it in.”
My stomach spiralled.
The one thing worse than losing my USB stick (that currently contained my life), was using the telephone. I have Telephonophobia (amongst many other phobias).
Knowing that I would probably have to kill myself if I could not find my USB stick (I was never going to be able to re-write my 6,000 words of my writer’s-logs for my Life-Writing portfolio), I had to overcome one of my worst fears.
My stomach became lava as I dialled the number for the Harrison Learning Centre.
“Harrison Learning Centre, how can I help you?”
“Erm… I had a lecture in MD212b at twelve o’clock today, and I think I left my USB stick in the computer. Do you know if it’s been handed in?” I read out my rehearsed speech.
“I’ll see… what does it look like?”
Oh no! I haven’t written anymore script down. I expected a simple yes or no answer. I began to sweat; the bubbles of lava inside of me began to burst at regular intervals.
“It’s black,” I blurted out. “It’s a Mikomi.”
“Okay… sorry can’t help you.”
Phone goes dead.
“I’ll drive you there,” offered my dad.
“What?” I laughed hysterically. “You wouldn’t drive to Wolverhampton, it’s miles away. You don’t know the way. You’ll get lost. You’ll get angry. I don’t have the money to pay you. But it’s bed time! What if it’s not there? The room won’t even be open!”
“Don’t say that. You won’t know unless you try.”
On the way to Wolverhampton we stopped at all, but one, set of traffic lights. Seriously, how do the traffic lights know when you’re in a hurry?
After taking forever to actually find the university (how many wrong turns onto one-way streets can one person make in one night?), I ran to the MD building, swiped into the library and raced to the stairs. I didn’t bother asking at the help desk – the dopey man on duty was probably the same guy who answered the telephone an hour earlier.
Reaching the second floor, I swept through the door leading onto library’s rows of books and made my way to my Journalism classroom.
My heart drummed louder and louder.
I could feel the pressure on my chest.
Invisible hands clasped themselves around my throat.
I couldn’t breathe – my inhaler in the car.
Gripping my throat I stopped dead at the door. I gave a look around. There were too many people in the library for nine o’clock on a Friday night. Were they looking at me? They knew what I was doing, didn’t they? They were laughing at me. The door was locked, I’d come all this way for nothing and they knew it. What if they had my USB stick? What if they had it and were laughing at me? Turning back to face the door, I looked at the lock. There was still a gap between the door and the wooden panel. Was the lock still open?
With my finger I prodded the door.
It opened. I felt the lava in my stomach swirl around. A whirlpool had arrived and the lava was not going to be able to resist being flung around inside me.
I had one more door to go.
I race to it. Peered inside.
It was empty. The lights were still on.
The drum inside me beat louder. I was so close. Checking behind me, I gave the door a shove.
It opened.
I crept across the classroom, praying. Praying for my USB stick to be there, but fearing for the worst.
Was it there?
Was it gone?
It would be gone. Surely, someone would have found it, wiped it and taken it for themselves. It wasn’t going to be there and my life would be over.
I would have to kill myself.
There was no possible way to re-write my 6,000 word writer’s log for Life-Writing, or my Enlightenment assignment or what about my stories – my future.
My life was over!
Everything wouldn’t be totally lost. I always back my USB stick up on the first Sunday of every month, but that was this weekend. I had a whole months’ worth of work on that USB stick that hadn’t been backed up. And I had all of my stories on there.
What if someone read them?
What if they read them and laughed at my rubbish creativity?
The desk was within inches of sight. I peered around it.
It was there! My USB stick was still sitting inside the computer where I had left it!
Swiping it from the computer, I ran out of the classroom and back into the library.
I breathed out deeply as I returned to the library. I headed back up between the rows of books and began walking back to the staircase. As I did, something caught my eye.
Passing one of the bookcase’s isles, I spotted a man in jeans and lumberjack jacket strolling at a pace in the direction that I had just come from. Checking that no one could see me, I crept back down the corridor and followed the man.
Peeping around the door I gasped. I was just in time. He was locking the door.
On the car ride home, I closed my eyes and sighed in disbelief. After today, gonzo was not something that I was going to forget in a hurry.
Staring ahead I, like many, awaited the question’s explanation. “Did you not notice what just happened?” she asked again, more enthusiastically than before. Confused, faces glanced around the room.
Did I miss something?
Did we all miss something?
What did we miss?
“You mean you missed it?!” Jackie exclaimed.
“The man had shoes with curled up toes and probably had a horse and carriage waiting outside for him,” said Candi.
Honestly, what had I missed?
Had the world gone mad?
“Candi tried pushing the two men out the room,” Jackie told us.
“They looked at me like I was a fly they wanted to swat out of the way.”
I wanted to laugh. Why was any of this relevant? What did any of this have to do with our journalism lecture? So what, someone was in the room before us – they always were.
Looking around the room, I noticed various people mumbling away their confusion. “It’s gonzo,” Jackie exclaims.
Gonzo? What’s gonzo? Who’s Gonzo? ‘Is that Gonzo?’ I wondered as Jackie stood whispering to some guy sat on a stool at the front of the room, wearing a weird t-shirt with a huge face of someone asking us to vote for ‘miles.’ Miles? How many miles are we expected to walk? I did twelve on Tuesday – is that enough?
“Here’s Tom Perry,” Jackie announced, pointing at the guy sat before us. He was running for Vice-President of Activities for the Student Union. We had to interview him. He made his speech about why we should vote for him:
He was working to boost societies;
Publicise ‘Cry-Wolf’,
And trying to create a greater link between academic work and societies.
“What’s your view on handbags?” Candi shouted out.
Handbags? What, seriously, has that got to do with his campaign speech?
“What’s your favourite colour?” Jackie asked him.
After many outrageous questions, it turns out that Tom Perry, candidate for Vice-President of Activities for the Student Union’s, favourite colour is green – dark green that is; if he was a girl, he would own a small, simple handbag (that can fit his laptop in) which is black (“because black goes with anything,”) would be happy to hold weddings in the Student Union Bar, is a member of the fetish society and in his spare time finds himself eating cake, whilst watching magic tricks.
Next, Jackie introduced us Daniel Batchelor, who was running for President of the Student Union. We had to interview him too. Like Tom, Daniel introduced us to his campaign of involving students more with the university newspaper and radio station, as well as informing students about other students’ achievements.
“Where do you come from?” Candi asked abruptly.
“Wolverhampton.”
Apparently his accent didn’t show it.
“Favourite colour?” – Sea blue.
“Who should be the next England manager?” – Harry Redknapp.
“What type of handbag would you have?” Someone shouted out, wanting a comparison for their article, which we would no doubt have to write up afterwards. To this, Dan’s answer was surprisingly detailed:
“A small brown leather handbag, with tassels and sequins and it would have my name engraved on the front.” I have a strange feeling that Dan had thought about this before.
Just as the interviewing appeared to be over, Jonathan (my classmate) added an interesting point. The night before, we had all received an email regarding Dan’s campaign. It revealed that Dan wasn’t backing Tom for Vice-President of Activities.
“What aren’t you backing Tom?”
“What?”
Jonathan relayed the information in the email. “Your email says you want Joanna as Vice-President of Activities.”
“Well…” Dan stuttered. “I do back Tom…”
Again he stutters…
Again he contradicts himself…
“But you said in the email that you don’t,” Jonathan pointed out. It was all there in black and white.
“I don’t mind… if Tom wins, I’d still back him…” Dan informed us, placing his hand firmly on Tom’s shoulder. He gave out a nervous laugh. “I’m digging myself into a hole.”
Stepping in to save the day, Jackie thanked both of them for assisting us with our interviewing. Making a dive for the door, Dan was first to exit, without even turning back. “Thanks boys!” Jackie called out as Tom caught the door, before it swung too in his face. Lifting his hat in reply, Tom nodded, before leaving.
“So…gonzo…”
There was that word again… gonzo… gonzo… gonzo… I thought he was one of the Muppets – no, I’m certain he is.
The PowerPoint then appeared on the wall and the day’s lecture began.
So it turns out that gonzo is a type of journalism, which came from the movement of American New Journalism. I’m sure they named it after the Muppets’ Gonzo really…
After reading, ‘The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved’, it all started making sense… well at least I thought it did, until Jackie returned our attention to the PowerPoint.
“Gonzo has no rules,” she said explaining the main functions of a gonzo article. “But,” she added, “Gonzo has two rules.”
What? Like, that makes no sense! Contradictory? – I think so!
How can something have no rules, yet two rules at the same time? I don’t think Maths was ever Jackie’s strongest subject – oh well, I’d better not embarrass her.
“Now it’s your turn,” Jackie told us, “using your interviews with Tom and Daniel from earlier.”
“If only you’d asked them more unusual questions,” Candi sighed.
If only we’d known what we were supposed to be doing.
Immediately, everyone began typing away. I hate spontaneous typing. I have the tendency to delete what I wrote and start again. And delete what I wrote and start again. And delete what I wrote and start again. So I began hand writing mine – you can’t delete it then. You have to stick with it.
After staring down at my page for a few minutes it hit me – I’ll start my article from the very beginning – from entering the classroom, like what Hunter S. Thompson did in ‘The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved’. Satisfied that my idea resembles the gonzo example, and isn’t just about interviewing Tom and Dan, I began writing as fast my hand would let me.
Jackie began circling the classroom, having noticed some confused faces. “Why don’t you start your article from the moment you walked into the classroom,” she suggested.
Dagger eyes.
How dare she? – that was my idea. I thought of it first!
“How dare you?” I objected. “That was my idea.”
“You’ll put a different angle on it,” she told me. “You’re a girl.”
But now I think I have a problem. Because I’m currently reading Dave Eggers’ ‘A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius’ I have a strange feeling that I’m starting to write like him. No I’m not! Yes I am! No I’m not! Yes I am! No I’m not! – great now I’m even arguing with myself. I’m sure all great writers argue with themselves every now and again, don’t they? Don’t they? Possibly… maybe… who knows…?
After class, I left the room and thought nothing more of gonzo for the rest of the afternoon. I was too busy worrying over my doctor’s appointment. It turns out I have Laryngitis. Five hours later I finally arrived home, tossed my coat onto my bed and slumped into my chair at my desk. Pulling my netbook out of my desk I powered it up, ready to type up and finish my gonzo article. I got out my notebook and pen and began rummaging around in my bag.
It’s not there!
It’s not there!
It has to be there!
Clambering out of my chair, I cleared the floor of my bedroom and sprawled the contents of my bag over the floor.
Scrambling through everything, I realised it wasn’t there. My USB stick.
I’d left it in the computer at uni. I must have done. I was so worried about my doctor’s appointment that I’d forgotten to take it out of the computer after class. Frustrated with my idiocy, I hit my head off the wall. How could I have been so stupid? I never lose things! I never lose anything!
Running down the stairs I announced dramatically that my life was over. I was officially the stupidest person who had ever lived.
“Why don’t you phone up the university?” my mom suggested. “Someone might have handed it in.”
My stomach spiralled.
The one thing worse than losing my USB stick (that currently contained my life), was using the telephone. I have Telephonophobia (amongst many other phobias).
Knowing that I would probably have to kill myself if I could not find my USB stick (I was never going to be able to re-write my 6,000 words of my writer’s-logs for my Life-Writing portfolio), I had to overcome one of my worst fears.
My stomach became lava as I dialled the number for the Harrison Learning Centre.
“Harrison Learning Centre, how can I help you?”
“Erm… I had a lecture in MD212b at twelve o’clock today, and I think I left my USB stick in the computer. Do you know if it’s been handed in?” I read out my rehearsed speech.
“I’ll see… what does it look like?”
Oh no! I haven’t written anymore script down. I expected a simple yes or no answer. I began to sweat; the bubbles of lava inside of me began to burst at regular intervals.
“It’s black,” I blurted out. “It’s a Mikomi.”
“Okay… sorry can’t help you.”
Phone goes dead.
“I’ll drive you there,” offered my dad.
“What?” I laughed hysterically. “You wouldn’t drive to Wolverhampton, it’s miles away. You don’t know the way. You’ll get lost. You’ll get angry. I don’t have the money to pay you. But it’s bed time! What if it’s not there? The room won’t even be open!”
“Don’t say that. You won’t know unless you try.”
On the way to Wolverhampton we stopped at all, but one, set of traffic lights. Seriously, how do the traffic lights know when you’re in a hurry?
After taking forever to actually find the university (how many wrong turns onto one-way streets can one person make in one night?), I ran to the MD building, swiped into the library and raced to the stairs. I didn’t bother asking at the help desk – the dopey man on duty was probably the same guy who answered the telephone an hour earlier.
Reaching the second floor, I swept through the door leading onto library’s rows of books and made my way to my Journalism classroom.
My heart drummed louder and louder.
I could feel the pressure on my chest.
Invisible hands clasped themselves around my throat.
I couldn’t breathe – my inhaler in the car.
Gripping my throat I stopped dead at the door. I gave a look around. There were too many people in the library for nine o’clock on a Friday night. Were they looking at me? They knew what I was doing, didn’t they? They were laughing at me. The door was locked, I’d come all this way for nothing and they knew it. What if they had my USB stick? What if they had it and were laughing at me? Turning back to face the door, I looked at the lock. There was still a gap between the door and the wooden panel. Was the lock still open?
With my finger I prodded the door.
It opened. I felt the lava in my stomach swirl around. A whirlpool had arrived and the lava was not going to be able to resist being flung around inside me.
I had one more door to go.
I race to it. Peered inside.
It was empty. The lights were still on.
The drum inside me beat louder. I was so close. Checking behind me, I gave the door a shove.
It opened.
I crept across the classroom, praying. Praying for my USB stick to be there, but fearing for the worst.
Was it there?
Was it gone?
It would be gone. Surely, someone would have found it, wiped it and taken it for themselves. It wasn’t going to be there and my life would be over.
I would have to kill myself.
There was no possible way to re-write my 6,000 word writer’s log for Life-Writing, or my Enlightenment assignment or what about my stories – my future.
My life was over!
Everything wouldn’t be totally lost. I always back my USB stick up on the first Sunday of every month, but that was this weekend. I had a whole months’ worth of work on that USB stick that hadn’t been backed up. And I had all of my stories on there.
What if someone read them?
What if they read them and laughed at my rubbish creativity?
The desk was within inches of sight. I peered around it.
It was there! My USB stick was still sitting inside the computer where I had left it!
Swiping it from the computer, I ran out of the classroom and back into the library.
I breathed out deeply as I returned to the library. I headed back up between the rows of books and began walking back to the staircase. As I did, something caught my eye.
Passing one of the bookcase’s isles, I spotted a man in jeans and lumberjack jacket strolling at a pace in the direction that I had just come from. Checking that no one could see me, I crept back down the corridor and followed the man.
Peeping around the door I gasped. I was just in time. He was locking the door.
On the car ride home, I closed my eyes and sighed in disbelief. After today, gonzo was not something that I was going to forget in a hurry.
- Josie -
No comments:
Post a Comment