Miraculously, in early February I eagerly awoke to the daunting 7.50 alarm to confront the RMIT student timetabling system, in doing so, I secured myself a lovely long weekend, every weekend.
Thus, Friday afternoon I was fortunate enough to venture down to an incredible property in Red Hill where I would spend too much time eating, laughing and drinking Red Wine, brewed on the property itself. This however is not an egotistical blog about how fabulous my weekend was, but a realisation intrinsically apparent to last weeks media lecture.
As we lazed on the couch Sunday night; ready to indulge in another film after two days of straight leisure, we were startled to hear the news of Cyclone Pam, a category six disaster off the coast of Vanuatu.
Indulging in only the company we kept and seldom screening our mobiles for messages, we realised how oblivious we had been to the outside world. Our tranquil property in Red Hill was immune to the fast paced world of Media we so often indulge in. The town is devoid of billboards, protesters, men asking you to sign up to their gym, thus it formally solidified in my head, Media is a practice. A practice, not practiced by all.
Living in such a fast paced sub culture, the lines become blurred. I wake to my phone, read the MX on the way to uni, am greeted by various sales people and protestors in the city; It is hard to envisage a life lacking such seemingly normal occurrences.
Naturally, this prompted the question of what defines normal? The quaint town of Red Hill seemed perversely quiet in contrast to my normal setting, the roads are dead, the shops are small, people are lovely without the aim of getting you to sign something in return. I absolutely loved the serenity. Returning to Melbourne after three days of bliss was a dismal prospect, yet I was eager to update myself on the happenings of the world.
And so forth I will continue to search for a balance to the overwhelming level of media I indulge in, with a fresh perspective on the choice I truly have.