It is not without an uncertain amount of trepidation that I write this last Headcheese column of the year. As I say farewell (for now) to the Voice, I am also saying farewell (for now) to this glorious and somewhat stinky institution.

Several years ago, college graduation seemed like the highlight of life: young, fresh minds being unleashed on the world, ready to revamp, rediscover, recover and reinvent all the good things in life that previous generations seem to have forgotten. But my perspective has changed somewhat in the time that I've been at the UW. Finally, after five long years, I'm getting out, graduating, kaputski and I can look forward to a lifetime of real work at low-income McJobs and the feeling that I never should have graduated at all.

It's not entirely without optimism that I look out onto my future. In fact, I look forward with a great deal of amusement to the actual graduation ceremony that will thrust me unawares into the world like a newborn in a shark tank. Maybe amusement is a strong word, how about irony.

It's amazing how little people within the system actually care about graduation. I don't really know of any of my fellow seniors who are actually looking forward to the ceremony. In fact, I think most of us are looking at is as a waste of a saturday morning's sleep.

The University doesn't seem to place very much importance on it either. I think they're looking forward to the day when they can relieve me of my computer accounts and fill my place with an incoming freshman who'll be suckered into living in the dorms (and from the amount of mail I've been getting, the UW alumni association can't wait to get their teeth into my wallet). Although, I must say, to the University's benefit, I did get a personally photocopied form letter congratulating me on my upcoming graduation.

To be honest, my parents are more excited about the ceremony than I am. In their day, I think graduation was a big deal, a sign of accomplishment, an indication to the rest of the world to look out, because they were gonna change that world.

That's fine. They can be excited about it. I like my parents and I look forward to spending the weekend with them. What I don't look forward to is two or three hours of drudgery as we sit inside Hec Ed Pacilion listening to the droning of men who aren't important to us, probably never have been, and most likely never will be unless we end up working for them.

It might be different if there was a little more personal attention paid to us during this last year. There are two graduation ceremonies on that saturday: the purple ceremony and the gold ceremony. The gold is for Masters, Doctorates and people who got degrees in economically viable fields. The purple ceremony is for all the rest of us peons who get lumped under the heading "Liberal Arts."

The way I hear it, they don't actually mention your name. They barely even acknowledge your particular school. What they do do is allow you to walk up to a podium, get a container which will later hold your degree (apparently they'll be available to pick up sometime in September), shake hands with somebody like Gerberding (if only we could be so lucky as to have the Ding shake our hands), and file back to our seats to listen to more boring speeches about how hopeless the future is unless we work to correct the mistakes of the previous generations.

The one highlight I've found out of all this is the large amount of unusual mail I've received since applying to graduate. First there was the form letter inviting me to commencement excercises, which I will print for you at the risk of being flogged to death by some very enraged copyright lawers:

"Dear Student:

I would like to invite you to the 1994 Commencement Exercise to celebrate your academic accomplishments. I realize this may not be your first or last degree, but I hope you will join us in this festive celebration of your achievements.

The enclosed material provides information and instruction which you will need if you wish to participate. Please read the material and follow the instructions carefully.

Best Wishes."

Wow. Wasn't that exciting. Five years and I get less personal care than the placement of a mint on my pillow by a hotel maid.

But that's not all. They mentioned enclosed information. Most important of these was the invitiation to join the UW Alumni Association. "Now that you don't have to pay tuition anymore, why not just donate that money to your former University!"

The other enclosure was a card telling me to go to the U Bookstore and pay stinking $20 for renting a stinking gown. For the price of 4 filling meals I rented a cheap, flimsy gown that ensures that I won't stand out or express any individuality as I'm herded like a cow to the slaughter through my graduation ceremony.

Isn't my tuition sufficient? Did they blow so much on Gerberding's new rug that they can't shell out the 20 bucks for me? Ok, fine, I'll probably only have one college graduation ceremony this year, so I can fork over the loot.

The next little expenditure associated with graduation was really an investment, so it sort of justifies itself. I'm talking about graduation announcements of course. These serve a dual purpose. One, they tell all your family and friends that you're not a deadbeat and are actually capable of getting a degree in something somewhere. Two, they send a clear message to said friends and relatives that now is a prime time to express their appreciation in the form of large monetary gifts.

But you'd be amazed at how expensive it is to express a little individuality in these announcements, though (then again, you've all been students for a while, maybe you wouldn't be surprised). I went the cheapo route for the actual announcements, got them for $.50 apiece. But I splurged a little on the cards to put inside the announcements. Instead of having them say the usual boring thing, I had mine printed to say the marginally less boring thing:

"Robert Todd Bakie

Broadcast Journalist

Hopeless Dreamer"

Of course, I had to spend the extra bucks to do that. I ended up spending as much for 25 little cards on parchment as it would cost to get 500 business cards printed up (and on the business cards I could have at least gotten an exciting squiggle or something). But I decided heck with it, it's my graduation, I can be a little weird and spend a little more money if I want to (and where was I gonna find a use for 500 business cards with that printed on them).

And if I wasn't discouraged enough about the field I'm going into (I can count on getting badly paid, having to move to Yakima to find work, being forced to listen to every person at a party who likes to complain about how awful the media is, and just look at those julienne fries), the card printer sends back a happy little note saying, "Good luck from a '57 communications grad - 25 years as a broadcaster - happier as a printer."

The wierdest blow was struck this very day, I must admit. Today I received an invitation to participate in a psychological study. I graduate and somebody decides they wanna stick electrodes into my brain (alright, they just want me to fill out a questionnaire or three, but I might prefer the electrodes). They're offering up to $115 over the course of 3 years to find out if I turn into a raging alcoholic or something. Sneer if you want, but after three years in the real world, I'm thinking that $115 is going to come in handy. And they wanna see if I become a raging alcoholic? Check me out about two hours after sitting through graduation.

Copyright © 1994 by Robert T. Bakie