My Moral High Ground

I drink too much. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no alcoholic, but nearing the end of my first year at Uni, my liver has definitely taken a beating. It would be easy to look on my constantly inebriated friends and think “hey I’m not doing so bad” but the truth is I’ve had too many hazy mornings to ignore, and quite frankly its just not good for me

Alright, alright, I know I’m a student and that’s what students do but is drinking the ‘best’ years of my life away really that much fun? Do I really want to be piecing my memories together with unattractive facebook evidence?

Last night I decided to go ‘cold turkey’. It was a friends 21st, a Cowboys and Indians themed party and I was going to remain stone cold sober. It’s not that I always drink at parties, but at this one I knew everyone would be trashed. Appropriately dressed as an Indian squaw and armed with two bottles of elderflower presse (pretty hardcore i know) we headed to the gathering. On entering, dubious looking concoctions were immediately thrust in hand and as the latest arrivals played catch up I quickly passed mine on and cracked open the presse, it was going to be a long night.

As expected, within the hour everyone else was pretty trashed and I was struggling to stay awake. The trouble was that there was nothing to do except drink, and whilst watching my wonderful friends falling over themselves was mildly amusing, after a while I just wanted my bed. Determined not to be killjoy, I stuck around till midnight trying to keep myself awake by flailing my arms about to cheesy music, but when one of my fellow indians could no longer stand unassisted, I made my excuses and agreed to walk her home.

Twenty minutes later I was tucked up in bed with a good book and the smug assurance of someone who won’t be reaching for the paracetamol in the morning. What I didn’t account for was the severe bloating all that presse caused.

Inspired by a fellow blogger’s attempt to deny himself of music for 3 weeks, I decided it was time I considered what effect my CD collection was having on my life. Despite the obvious time I waste perusing the virtual aisles of play.com, this is not my primary concern, it is the content of the drivel I listen to that worries me.

Do not fret music lovers I’m not about wield my big Christian axe down on all bar Matt Redman. Though I have had friends who in moments of ’spiritual cleansing’ have destroyed their entire music collection (usually later regretted), this is not what I am suggesting, mainly because of the deep selfish pride I take in seeing my neatly arranged shiny plastic cases climbing my bedroom wall. Neither am I saying that Christian music is the only thing worth listening to, however it doesn’t take a genius to realise that at some points in your life Radiohead are only ever going to depress you no matter how musically talented they may be.

Take for example my friend ‘Dave’, Dave has been the worry of all his friends and family over the past few months, as he’s struggled to find his meaning and purpose at uni and in life. Though my big evangelist siren screams the obvious solution, I know now is not the time tell him to ‘get religion’, instead I enquire what his most played albums are at the moment. It comes as no suprise when he admits that Bright Eyes have been a constant on his Ipod. With lyrics like…

I listened to a lecture of nonsense till dawn
By a plagiary poet with dark glasses on
He said, How did you ever dream up that song,
The one where the baby dies?
I said, I’ll tell you a secret, which one’s your good ear?
See people are made up of water and fear

…from the track Cartoon Blues, you I imagine Dave’s soul retreating into the depths of depression as he hums along and I ask myself whether he would be feeling quite so low had his choice of company been some cheerful pop artist.

As survey my own itunes library I recall some of my darkest days when I was consumed with the melancholy words of Damien Rice though at the time my foolish teenage brain believed we were grieving together, the truth is his beautiful tales of pain were merely chaining me to mine, prolonging my own misery. In fact it soon divulges that a great deal of my music is fairly soul wrenching and is little wonder I become easily disheartened with life.

Time for a change I reckon. From now on, (ah this sounds like many a broken resolution) I shall make an effort to fill my plays lists with only the enriching, the encouraging and the motivating. Starting with this old corker from The Source ft. Candi Staton.

In the beginning was the Web, and the Web was with Blog, and the Web was Blog. This adaptation of John 1:1, best describes my current academic focus. Let it be known that I’m studying to be a journalist, perhaps the modern day equivalent of the bibles wretched tax collector, the most loathed of trades and my pending assignment is to blog my way to internet stardom.

How can this be? A Christian and a journalist? Surely that stretches even God’s infinite imagination.

Though I write this in jest, you’d be suprised just how many times I’ve encountered such a reaction, and before anyones begins spouting about judgmental bible-bashers, it is not only the church goers who think of this career choice as demonic.

When people ask what I study, I have begun to articulate the word “Journalism” as an apology rather than a statement. The disappointment is tangible as the ‘asker’ tries to hide their disgust and inaudibly mumbles something vaguely positive about some broadsheet or another. To admit such an ambition is apparently a serious social faux pas.

The truth is I actually enjoy my course and though I would never claim that the media is undeserving of its despised reputation, I still believe that something can be salvaged from its current miserable state. Our world is headed down the road to self destruction and drastically needs to change. Carefully wielded, the media is a revolutionary weapon, but the key is not to abuse its power.

This my friends is why I study journalism, not to promote the media, but to change it.