Ep. 11: You're a Star!

Notes from the 28th of March - 9th of April

And with that, I was into the final month at Purdue. March 31st and April 1st are, for all intents and purposes, the same distance away from D-Day (May 7th), however something about the new month brought with it a greater intensity and voracity of reflection on leaving. But, there are still so many days to enjoy, so many more memories to be made - and of the kind that I would never have been able to predict.

So totally vintage

It would be hard for me to obfuscate the fact that I am someone that likes using old stuff. I have a record player and a growing vinyl collection. I don't like e-books. I write with a fountain pen¹. I like watching black and white films and listening to jazz music. And so it seems only natural that with my foray this year into photography it would only be a matter of time before I got myself an SLR (film) camera. And yes, there are arguments to be made about why film cameras are better in certain contexts. There are cases to be made as to why using a film camera will make you a better photographer. And those all have merit. But let's face facts. The majority of people my age using film cameras do so for the vintage/nostalgic/retro appeal. Plain and simple. Of course, that DEFINITELY DOESN'T apply to me.

I spent a fair while researching the various different models² that were within my budget and well-received by those who understand these things better than I do. I finally settled on the Nikon FE2 and picked one up at a reasonable price from eBay. Getting used to it was challenging - I perhaps did not appreciate that, given its analogue nature, you can't just go around pressing random buttons and seeing what happens. You can legitimately break something and it is a pain to repair.

But after a few days, with the sun out and the warmth of Spring now very really coming to the fore, I ventured out down to the main junction and took my very first exposure³.

It's safe to say I really took to the medium from that moment onwards. Something about the process of manually setting all the details of the photo - focus, aperture, shutter-speed, ISO - was very appealing. And (months) later, when I finally saw these first pictures, that grainy quality really did transport me back to those moments in a way that digital perhaps never could.

¿Qué pasó?

This semester I have increasingly been coming into contact with Latin culture. First, it was the salsa and bachata classes. Then it was playing intramural basketball for the Purdue Latinos. Globally, this has been one of the happier coincidences of my time at Purdue.

This week, two further additions to the list.

First was a house party I went to with some friends after going to see a one-night showing of Jesus Christ Superstar⁴.

It was something that we had been invited to by friends of friends, meaning we had no idea who the host was. We therefore had the great pleasure of being the first to arrive and awkwardly meeting said host. Not that they cared we were there.

It is however, a very interesting place to find oneself in, at a party where essentially everyone else speaks Spanish and you don't. I can't recall feeling more culturally out of place before in some while. What did amuse me though was that for many of them, I was the first Australian they had met. And it's safe to say I perhaps did not live up to the mental conjurings they had of how an Australian should be - rough and tumble, and very, very loose at parties. Their loss, not mine.

The next Saturday night, I had planned with a group to go out to Neon Cactus, which is likely a close second to Harry's (see below) for "iconic" night-out locations at Purdue. It's certainly the biggest nightclub for a long way. Anyway, a few members bailed when their fake licenses got rejected, and since the rest of the group I was with were Colombians, they favoured heading off to a bar called The G.O.A.T. - where Saturday nights were Latin nights.

This turned out to be a really, really fun night. I must confess: I knew none of the songs, didn't really know what I was doing. In fact, a girl from Bolivia came up to me at one point and jokingly ripped me for not knowing any of the lyrics to any of the songs. But as the night drew on, I settled in pretty well and enjoyed what was a terrific atmosphere. There was that semester a group of Spaniards at Purdue whom I knew quite well and they were all there; and they lived up to the notion that Spaniards know how to party hard. The way people dance in these settings is very different to the vanilla club-dancing I am used to in Melbourne, but it grew on me rapidly.

We emerged out into the cold Indiana morning at 2 AM - hot and bothered but very, very content.

April Sun in ...

The following day was one of the most splendid days I can remember having for some time.

I was surprised at my energy levels given the overall lack of sleep, but with the weather being so very stunning, there was perhaps no excuse for lethargy. One of the nice things about being on exchange is that I have often felt entirely comfortable spending the weekend doing effectively no studying whatsoever, and today was no exception.

I spent some of the morning organising some tentative dates with people that I might wish to visit in Europe over the Summer (more on that in future articles), and then rolled out for a run around the campus to fully take in the morning sun. Whilst the same is true of Melbourne to a lesser degree, being in a place like Indiana for the back half of Winter and the front half of Spring reveals two almost irreconcilably differing colourscapes. The former: bleak, muted and funereal. The latter: vibrant, almost effervescent.

This was one of the first truly "warm" days of the semester, and so it was only fitting that I spent the afternoon lounging around on 3rd street on a deck chair, listening to some podcasts and fading intermittently in and out of sleep. Glorious stuff.

It was a source of great joy to see so many people out and about doing the same. In fact, on the way back to my apartment, I chanced upon a sight I had ruled out as an impossibility in the land of the free: a game of cricket. Yes, the players were all from India and Pakistan (that is, not America), but I thought it would be remiss of me to not sit and watch for a while, if not to actually participate. They got a real kick out of having an Australian around I think, even if my aptitude for the sport has not advanced past my days of Milo cricket.

Come a bit earlier next time

I have spoken in previous articles about Harry's Chocolate Shop and their notoriously befuddling slogan "Go Ugly Early". As stated, it is the bar in West Lafayette, regardless of what anyone else might claim. This doesn't necessarily mean it is the best, mind you. What belies a modest exterior is a claustrophobic two-level bar packed with wooden tables and yet paradoxically never is an empty seat to be found.

But what Harry's has going for it is the atmosphere. And you can't say you went to Purdue if you didn't go to Harry's at least once. So it was that on a (not unbearably) cold Friday evening I got in line for my chance to drink from the cultural watering hole that sells no chocolate. I was fully aware that it was going to be pretty busy - I just underestimated how busy. We waited in line for some 90 minutes, watching the queue slowly, almost imperceptibly so, advance person by person. Excruciating stuff. Thankfully there was no shortage of slightly drunk people around who were very eager to chat with me and a few other international students⁵. And there was music playing, and plenty of free drinks being passed around. So no worries. But my, how the anticipation grew. And grew. Until finally we were first in line and...

...we were turned aside because we didn't have our passports with us. What?! Perhaps I should have known better, but this was my introduction to the fact that the US does not accept international driver's licenses - no passport, no entry. Which is ridiculous, mind you, since having such an important document tucked in a pant pocket or handbag just screams a bad time waiting to happen. But so be it. For me, it wasn't a biggie. I could just run back to my apartment 5 minutes away and skip the queue. But the others I was with...they lived much further afield. And so, dejectedly, we shuffled off elsewhere, ruing a missed opportunity and an evening wasted.

But fear not, we would be back! Eventually.

On turning into a gym bro

Yes, it's true. I'm bulking. Or, at least I am trying to. This was in part "accidental". I stepped on the scales for the first time this week since arriving and noticed, to my bemusement, that I'd put on about 3 kg. That's not surprising, given the type and volume of food I was consuming. Admittedly, I was doing a better job than most - I saw far too many guys at food courts escorting around plates stacked high only with breaded chicken fillets, or pork ribs, or whatever the red-blooded protein source for the day was. Lovely. Below shows the sort of variety that I was at least aiming for.

This was some sort of enchiladas I think. And don't worry Mum and Dad, you can clearly see I was eating vegetables. But imagine knocking back 2-3 plates like this twice a day and no kidding I had bulked a bit⁶.

It's been a fairly clean bulk, though. I've been going to the gym damn-near every morning. And like every good gym bro, I have been diligently taking creatine before workouts and guzzling protein shakes afterwards like they are going out of fashion.

Speaking of the gym. Firstly, I am impressed by the number of people that are there at 6:30 AM, and more impressed by the number that are leaving at that time. I never knew so many Gen-Z'ers could be so motivated. Secondly, some of the "fashion" is rather remarkable. Perhaps I cannot knock it until I have tried it, but every second person seems to have rolled straight out of bed in their winter pyjamas to go and toss around some iron. Each to their own I guess.

Footnotes