The Graduate

Knickers, Dad and I attended my graduation ceremony at the Festival Theatre yesterday, an event eight years in the making.
Really glad I went. Made me feel like I had a future. I know, I know, a BA and $5 will get you a cup of coffee. And I have not been deafened by the sound of the career doors opening for me - but I did get to wear a gown, in public.

The guest speaker was Doctor Pamela Ryan, founder of Psychology Beyond Borders (How did it make you feel when the Janjaweed murdered your parents in front of you?) and, despite the fact that she was as mad as a meat-axe and clearly wearing a black tennis dress beneath her academic finery, she was a very inspiring speaker.

One point marred it for me though. Some arse-clown - insecure and desperate for attention because of distant daddy, smothering mummy, chronic bed wetting or just good old fashioned only one testicle - made a dog and pony show of dropping his degree, bending over and slapping his bum, veering over to leer at the good Doctor Ryan then exiting stage right.

There are dozens of reality tv shows all vying to pay people to showcase just how vapid, narcissistic, self-centered and ultimately pointless they truly are. Seriously boyo, go and audition for Australia's Next Corey; you're a shoe in.

Don't people realise that the ability to queue in an orderly fashion while not making a fuss is the keystone of civilization?

Had lunch with the family after. Ben gave me a copy of The Choirboys and Margy gave me a pop-up book of Moby Dick for reasons she explained but are not yet clear to me. Knickers and the Noodle, out of sync with the unrelated present giving, gave me a well-wicked briefcase.

God family are great.