Douchebaggery, Ivy-League Style
Mr. Gleemonex and I got our alumni magazine the other day, as we do every two months, and it was the usual collection of self-congratulatory silliness, historical interest, and legit college news. The best part, as always, was the "Class Notes" section, in which one looks up one's own class and the classes within three years of it in both directions, and busts on whatever these intellectual luminaries are up to. The section is, of course, self-reported -- you're supposed to send news to your class's representative, who writes it all up like the chatty motherfucker he or she undoubtedly is, bolds the names, and turns it in to the editors.
The funniest thing is how predictable it all is.
The most recent two or three classes are always chock-full of reports, almost entirely from this or that happy asshole who's one of the 70 percent of the class that's going to med school, B-school, L-school, or some sort of too-too international graduate program, plus global travelogues and the many immediately post-grad weddings of the Orthodox Jewish set.
At five or six years out, you get a few more weddings, coupla babies (usually the people who have those, like, made-up jobs you see in the NYT Sunday Styles wedding pages, whose own families are FILTHY rich so that's how they can afford to have babies at this age), and some silly-ass fantasy careers like "documentary filmmaking" and "private art gallery curator."
And by 11 or 12 years out -- i.e. my and Mr. G's classes -- you get lots more weddings and babies, plus things like tenured professors, persons of some seniority in various US Embassies around the world, the guy who is "an attending oculoplastic surgeon" and the Tooly Mc O'Tooligan fucktard of enormous familial wealth from your floor freshman year who's now living in London and has somehow managed to convince some woman to bear his child, despite his total lack of sexual or personal allure. These are the same people who've been reporting to the mag for all these years, so you're kind of familiar with their stories, and they are the main reasons why you skipped your 5- and 10-year reunions -- you already keep up with your actual friends, aka the other (relative) slackers and the networking-averse, so why go to hang out with a bunch of gladhanding numbnuts you barely even remember?
Ahh, the hate ... feel it, know it, live it, and fuckin blog about it.
The funniest thing is how predictable it all is.
The most recent two or three classes are always chock-full of reports, almost entirely from this or that happy asshole who's one of the 70 percent of the class that's going to med school, B-school, L-school, or some sort of too-too international graduate program, plus global travelogues and the many immediately post-grad weddings of the Orthodox Jewish set.
At five or six years out, you get a few more weddings, coupla babies (usually the people who have those, like, made-up jobs you see in the NYT Sunday Styles wedding pages, whose own families are FILTHY rich so that's how they can afford to have babies at this age), and some silly-ass fantasy careers like "documentary filmmaking" and "private art gallery curator."
And by 11 or 12 years out -- i.e. my and Mr. G's classes -- you get lots more weddings and babies, plus things like tenured professors, persons of some seniority in various US Embassies around the world, the guy who is "an attending oculoplastic surgeon" and the Tooly Mc O'Tooligan fucktard of enormous familial wealth from your floor freshman year who's now living in London and has somehow managed to convince some woman to bear his child, despite his total lack of sexual or personal allure. These are the same people who've been reporting to the mag for all these years, so you're kind of familiar with their stories, and they are the main reasons why you skipped your 5- and 10-year reunions -- you already keep up with your actual friends, aka the other (relative) slackers and the networking-averse, so why go to hang out with a bunch of gladhanding numbnuts you barely even remember?
Ahh, the hate ... feel it, know it, live it, and fuckin blog about it.
Labels: bitch, douchebaggery, I'd rather take a beating, please
posted by Gleemonex at 12:10 PM
3 Comments:
Guess who writes class notes for his alumni mag? That's right! MOI! And guess what else? They were due yesterday. I need to get writing...
Oh Panda!!! You slacker.
I went to a college reunion this weekend! It was pretty boring - weddings and babies and jobs and stuff.
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