Tag Archives: UK

DUSA Media: A Legacy


Craig, Felix, Myself, and Doug at The Presidents Dinner


Was it just the tiny office with no windows that made us crack? Or was there some bit of us, however small, that would have been friends regardless? We four were of the most peculiar creatures with naught in common. Craig was posh, Felix, gay, and Doug, nice. As for me? Well, I was American.

Twelve months gone, and we couldn’t be closer. That being said, two and a half square meters isn’t a lot of space. Just enough to accurately shoot a rubber band and hit target every time.

It was Presidents Dinner, one of those many end of year balls where they stuff you in suits, force feed you food and wash it down with a bath of free wine. Paid for by the tuition fees of yours truly. When I realized this was very nearly it. This was the beginning of the end of us, but less beginning and more end.

They’re an odd bunch. To be patronized is to meet Craig. Craig’s the type of guy you can’t say everything to all the time; however he can say anything he wants whenever he wants. But that might be on account of his first class degree, and how he’s already secured a job teaching physics in Edinburgh. Also, I’m sort of skating on thin ice after the mince pie incident. It’s nothing big, just that I lobbed a mince pie across the office at Craig for some reason or another, and it hit him in the eye. Anyone else would have probably just eaten the mince pie, Craig went to see a doctor, and later informed me that I’d scratched his cornea. I felt kind of bad about the cornea, but now he’s got moaning rights that he takes complete and utter advantage of to this day.

My own boyfriend has taken to calling Felix my “gay boyfriend,” not without a twinge of jealousy. Felix took me along shopping to find a suit for graduation, we were both standing in the aisles clueless staring at one another when he exclaims, “You’re a girl, you’re supposed to know all about this stuff!” to which I responded, “You’re gay, this is like your thing!” With the help of Mr. Sales Man, Felix got sorted with the smallest shirt they had, that ended up being only two sizes to big for him. A complication I quickly solved with a handful of safety pins and a precautionary advisement to keep his jacket on all evening. I remember the first time Felix called me one of his best friends, I was shocked- I’d thought he hated me. I think it’s that cool and collected German affection I’m still figuring out. It’s a bit different from my instinctive zealous excitement of OHMYGOD WE ARE GOING TO BE BEST FRIENDS FOR LIFE!!!!! That I tend to demonstrate. To everyone. Janitors included. Felix is a bit more, selective, with his friendship.

And Doug. Well, Doug’s just nice. That’s about it. This is Doug’s second degree, his father’s studying for a degree at Dundee University as well. They frequently meet up for coffee breaks, and study sessions. Because that’s the kind thing that nice people like Doug do. Doug also has a fierce ginger beard, and is more of a pushover than not. He’s a great person to be around when you’re fifty pence shy of a coffee.

Our office is decorated only with the momentous Wall of Fail. A tribute to each and every time we gaffed this year. Needless to say, it’s pretty crammed. There’s articles that sent an entire school of the university in uproar, denied permission to content references or images, our dissertations, our social lives, a picture of the union president wrapped only in cling film, numerous rubber ducks, and Campbell’s license plate fallen from the car he totaled from crashing into a bollard out front the union.

Hours, days, months, and innumerable chunks of time spend stuffed between those four walls. The afternoon Felix wanted us to come up with a new DUSA Media slogan was a particularly grueling one. He locked the office door and naught was allowed in or out until we came up with our slogan- marketing had made us posters that looked literally like black holes, so Felix took it upon his own small shoulders to sort out the world, or at least to get us better posters. Things got messy. I was a personal advocate for, ‘DUSA Media, better than Facebook, bigger than Jesus,’ but things don’t always go my way. Two hours later we were let out for a coffee break, and I made a run for it. We still don’t have a slogan to this day.

Come Dine With Media was our collaborated genius- a four night dinner party hosted amongst ourselves. Initially I was certain it’d be a continuous buffet of dry cereal and burnt water, but come mealtime I was shocked at how a little competitive spirit brings out the Jamie Oliver in us. From spaghetti bolognese, to a gooey ratatouille, and some (STORE BOUGHT) pigs in blanket -CRAIG. The episodes consisted of under-the-bed snooping, and behind the back bitching. Precisely what we do best. Ah right, forgot to mention that yours truly cooked up the winning feast (bacon cheeseburgers, fries, and chocolate brownies -it’s all about knowing your audience) and we left Doug with the wooden spoon.

And that’s a long story kept short with so much kept out (mostly for the sake of my own dignity). Four unconventional best friends. One uncomfortable office. And some pretty top-notch banter.



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Across The World Again.

In times of either peace or war have you, ever been involved in, or suspected of involvement in, war crimes, crimes against humanity, or genocide?

Have you ever supported or encouraged terrorist activities?

Have you engaged in any other activities that might indicate that you may not be considered a person of good character?

Wavering on this last question, I wondered how detrimental ditching fourth period to suntan in the quad during the last week of school senior year, would be for my record.

Gently bubbling in the blanks on my accusatory visa forms, I couldn’t help but wonder about all this prosecution aimed at my application, clearly the UK government harbored some secret grudge against philosophy majors. Then again, even Thoreau had to spend a night in jail.

My oldest brother calls it, “The fog.” It’s that patch of unknown, just over the hill that you’re about to reach. But still haven’t the slightest as to what lies beyond.

Just a bit of hazy expectation, built of photos ripped from magazines, and a folded corner in a guide book. 

So uncertain.

But more certain most of all, that it’s making sense.

Because when you lay on the ground, inspecting the details, it’s easier to get caught in the trap of practicalities.

 The trap of practicalities is a scary place to be tangled up in.

Although it likes to hide itself behind the pretenses of sensibility and rationality.

It really just trips on its own tail worrying about things like finances, and the potential career options accompanying a degree in philosophy, or, lack thereof. 

The trap of practicalities shot dangerous daggers of doubt at me, like wondering if I was ready for the commitment of college, of a degree, of a permanent location. I couldn’t hardly commit to my cereal for eight minutes after pouring the milk on it, how was I to commit to the rest of my life? 

But that’s just it.

Because I realized something beautiful. And that’s that I want this to be the rest of my life. 

Because the rest of my life, includes me, alive at this moment, and  insert your cliche of choice here, that was how I’d decided to spend my existence. 

Brian Andreas says it best, “There are things you do in life, and they may make no sense, and they may make no money and it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other and to eat each other’s cooking, and say it was good.”

I like their accents…so passport in hand, and plane ticket an arms reach away, I’m folding my favorite pair of cut-offs into my incessantly overstuffed suitcase and salivating over the journey to come in nine days time. 


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