(no subject)
Graduation was fun. Lots of really stupid things done in the name of tradition and ritual - you wouldn't think there would be so much pomp and ceremony simply to award BA degrees, would you? My day started at 8.30 in the morning (and I was in a perfectly decent mood for four hours' sleep, thank you very much) with the collecting of gown and hood.
Next on the list was the always entertaining see how much difficulty a room full of Cambridge graduands can get into with gowns, hoods and safety pins. Almost as much fun as the popluar sport of find the Cambridge student by forcing him/her through the halls of New Hall - guaranteed to be the one who pushes the doors marked pull and vice versa.
So, yes, lots of fun and games with the donning of the truly uncomfortable robes and hoods, added to the really annoying full academic dress they make us wear. I get the impression that graduation days are actually the University's last way of saying "If you haven't suffered before this point, we'll make it all up to you now, because we're evil like that." I might be prejudiced - my shoes were torturous in the extreme and I had bloody heels ten minutes after I first put them on. Since I also had to be out of my college room by that evening, all my other - more comfortable and still acceptable - shoes were already packed away. Grr, say I. The rehearsal and photo weren't so bad, I guess, though I never appreciate being surrounded by lots and lots of people when I'm nervous. And yes, there is a photo of me on graduation day, sitting in my room, reading a book. Like anybody expected me to be sociable?
The procession was... painful. 120 girls wandering down the Backs via Lady Margaret Road and across several streets on a Saturday afternoon - when I say we stopped traffic, I don't mean it in the good way. Le sigh. The Senate House involved more fussing, with several women going through the ranks fixing gowns and making sure hoods were at the correct angle, and that we were all in straight lines.
The ceremony itself involves the Fellows and Professors and Vice Chancellor entering with much cap waving (highly amusing, I'm told, though I could not see, as I'm shorter than those who were in front of me). The MC states something in Latin along the order of "Here are the students and they are all to be presented for their degrees today". Or at least, so I believe. He could have been saying that we were all chimpanzees and completely inadequate but that they would humour us anyway, and I wouldn't have known. Not only because hey, not a Latin speaker, but also because by that stage, I was terribly interested in how very much my heels hurt and how nice it was that I would soon be allowed to sit down.
No such luck. The Pralector made a speech, then the first four people got to each grab one of his fingers as he presented them to the Vice Chancellor (lucky git - she was sitting down!), - "These women are being presented for such-and-such a degree, and I certify that they are all of good character and learning and are fit to be admitted to this new status", supposedly - then the first stepped forward, kneeled down and clasped her hands together, to be spoken over by the Vice Chancellor in - what's that? Greek, you say? No, no, it was Latin, too. Up, one step back, bow, exit right with a piece of paper clenched tight. 120 times. Man, I feel for the poor Praelector!
Of course, I couldn't be normal - I had to be lead to the Chancellor by the Praelector and held while I sank to my knees, as I couldn't get up without help on the slippery marble floor - or not with any degree of grace. I would also like to take this opportunity to grouse about the white fur lining the hoods of BAs - it sheds hair everywhere! Again, le sigh.
The dance in the evening was the important thing, anwyay - a contra in St Albans with Fiddlin' Around and Cis Hinckle. If you don't know either, don't worry, just take it from me that that is a guaranteed brilliant time right there.
More later, as I'm being called by the parentals to watch violence and gore on television in the form of Denzel Washington...
Next on the list was the always entertaining see how much difficulty a room full of Cambridge graduands can get into with gowns, hoods and safety pins. Almost as much fun as the popluar sport of find the Cambridge student by forcing him/her through the halls of New Hall - guaranteed to be the one who pushes the doors marked pull and vice versa.
So, yes, lots of fun and games with the donning of the truly uncomfortable robes and hoods, added to the really annoying full academic dress they make us wear. I get the impression that graduation days are actually the University's last way of saying "If you haven't suffered before this point, we'll make it all up to you now, because we're evil like that." I might be prejudiced - my shoes were torturous in the extreme and I had bloody heels ten minutes after I first put them on. Since I also had to be out of my college room by that evening, all my other - more comfortable and still acceptable - shoes were already packed away. Grr, say I. The rehearsal and photo weren't so bad, I guess, though I never appreciate being surrounded by lots and lots of people when I'm nervous. And yes, there is a photo of me on graduation day, sitting in my room, reading a book. Like anybody expected me to be sociable?
The procession was... painful. 120 girls wandering down the Backs via Lady Margaret Road and across several streets on a Saturday afternoon - when I say we stopped traffic, I don't mean it in the good way. Le sigh. The Senate House involved more fussing, with several women going through the ranks fixing gowns and making sure hoods were at the correct angle, and that we were all in straight lines.
The ceremony itself involves the Fellows and Professors and Vice Chancellor entering with much cap waving (highly amusing, I'm told, though I could not see, as I'm shorter than those who were in front of me). The MC states something in Latin along the order of "Here are the students and they are all to be presented for their degrees today". Or at least, so I believe. He could have been saying that we were all chimpanzees and completely inadequate but that they would humour us anyway, and I wouldn't have known. Not only because hey, not a Latin speaker, but also because by that stage, I was terribly interested in how very much my heels hurt and how nice it was that I would soon be allowed to sit down.
No such luck. The Pralector made a speech, then the first four people got to each grab one of his fingers as he presented them to the Vice Chancellor (lucky git - she was sitting down!), - "These women are being presented for such-and-such a degree, and I certify that they are all of good character and learning and are fit to be admitted to this new status", supposedly - then the first stepped forward, kneeled down and clasped her hands together, to be spoken over by the Vice Chancellor in - what's that? Greek, you say? No, no, it was Latin, too. Up, one step back, bow, exit right with a piece of paper clenched tight. 120 times. Man, I feel for the poor Praelector!
Of course, I couldn't be normal - I had to be lead to the Chancellor by the Praelector and held while I sank to my knees, as I couldn't get up without help on the slippery marble floor - or not with any degree of grace. I would also like to take this opportunity to grouse about the white fur lining the hoods of BAs - it sheds hair everywhere! Again, le sigh.
The dance in the evening was the important thing, anwyay - a contra in St Albans with Fiddlin' Around and Cis Hinckle. If you don't know either, don't worry, just take it from me that that is a guaranteed brilliant time right there.
More later, as I'm being called by the parentals to watch violence and gore on television in the form of Denzel Washington...