Prostitution

Last Friday I unexpectedly ended up at my institute's graduation ceremony. I had left work much later than planed and wanted to go read and think in the OSI library for my written exam next week. When I stepped into the OSI hall, I noticed that Things Were Different. There were high round tables set up, larger ones with glasses and bottles at the back, and, most disturbingly, two orderly and virtuous looking girls standing on each side of the entrance holding a stack of programmes. The blond one on my left handed me a programme and asked if I intended to go to the graduation ceremony. I opened the programme with surprise and muttered that I hadn't planned to. Before I could glance inside the flyer, the blond stopped smiling, her mouth violently moving downwards with spite, and she grabbed the paper back, adding as if I'd wronged her, that this was only for graduates and guests. I said "Ooooh but I understand", put on my best Hurt Face and headed for the library as planned. An unusually high ratio of people wearing suits and/or their best clothes gradually started appearing.
I was focused and concentrated and managed to do what I'd planned more quickly than expected. Which was just as good, because eventually the institute's director started his Pointless Boring Speech which carried all the way into the library.
It sounded so absurdly boring and pointless, thanking as he was the family of the graduates for enabling them their studies (by bearing them?), that I thought I should go and listen. The programme was a long list of the worst speech-makers available that day, including the stuttering university vice-president and a union-woman who teaches at the institute this semester and held an affirmative speech validating her experience, choices and path as the best example, in twenty chapters with footnotes, digressions and annexes. She interpreted every bold collective attempt at bringing her to an end by clapping on those rare occasions when she needed to breathe as signs of enthusiasm.
I looked at the students. A large number of them was wearing expensive, well ironed, clean and tidy suits. They exchanged self-satisfied looked, and I could feel a lot of them felt united in the identity of the Young, Beaming, Successful Urban European Academic. A guy arrived behind me. Thick black suit, red tie, brand new leather shoes, fancy mobile phone - and besides him his mother, out of place, with tacky clothes, an imitation jaguar-skin top. He had climbed up the social ladder, was obviously proud of having reached a better social status than his parents. He was showing off. I disliked him on the spot.
As I continued to look around the room, I spotted well-read L., whom I'd last seen in the U-Bahn a few weeks ago, and next to her Little Creative Genius D., who had been in the same seminar where I got to know L. and made me even more shy than Well-Read L. L. waved and I went over. She greeted me as a strengthening element for the Undisciplined Fraction they were trying to build.
Eventually the buffet was opened and there was wine galore. We ended up outside in the snow drinking, and Mister Social Status unexpectedly walked up to L. "Didn't we do our Abi [A Levels] together?"
L. accepted to engage in a communication process with the man, although every remark we could catch was disturbing. Eventually he said he was now working. Lobbying. He wouldn't say for whom when I asked, but turned round to me and said "Well, you would also open your legs for those who pay, wouldn't you?" I think we all looked at one another in shock and horror.

"And what would YOU like to do later?"

Today in my colloquium one of our profs gave us a small presentation of the options chosen by my institute's graduates to finance their living. The list of sectors and jobs compared numbers put together in 1994 with a new study presently under work. It contained a few surprises, 4 politologues being listed as taxi drivers in 1994 while one was a Life Artist and another a vicar. Still, for the most part, all was expected: a large part go into research and remain in academia, a large part work in journalism, and the rest is scattered between political parties, trade unions, political education, industry and lobbying.
After we'd gone through this list, the professor giving the presentation asked us what ideas we had for our career. I looked at my neighbour anxiously and whispered "but I don't want a career!". She laughed. As my turn came, I quickly said that I didn't want to have a job and was thus passing over my turn to my neighbour. The other students looked at me with a mixture of confusion and amusement.

frustration & overstimulation

The presentation went fine, but I was left with a certain sense of frustration after the discussion, first because of the arguments some of the students had, but mainly because I didn't feel capable to react articulately and quickly enough, so I didn't try to change the course of the conversation.
Walked with lovely M with whom I will visit a commune on the first December weekend for a common project, and with one of my presentation partner, a sweet mousy blond girl whom I told all about the communes. I saw psychology student C in the large central campus building whom I know from the students working group environment. Our bond is a general anti-absolutist constructivist perspective, and I enjoy talking with her. We made an appointment to eat together after the seminar she was rushing to.
The weather was beautiful and I needed to walk to get rid of the thought surplus and intellectual overstimulation that wouldn't let me in peace. Sat in the sun, took some notes, tried to empty my brain. I eventually walked back into the large building to find C. While we were getting our food, she said she'd just seen the flatmate of a common aquaintance of ours, and suggested waiting for her too, describing her as "very nice, in spite of her christianity." In between paying and getting cutlery, I would tell C about my presentation, and generally had the feeling I was becoming more articulate that I used to be, more able to talk about theories and ideas.
After lunch, I spent a few hours in the library, reading for my next presentation. They have fancy retro arm chairs on the top floor, and people use them for a combination of comfortable reading and napping. As I sat down, the girl in the armchair next to me was loving herself in a comfortable position for a sleeping break. I did the same an hour later. It was a strange nap - I felt conscious the whole time, and there were thoughts crossing my brain constantly. But when I woke up, I realised that I must have been asleep after all.
Mr Big&Important is coming on Friday. I have a lot of work to get done before that. Heehee.