Robert Ast

I am (finally) graduating, which means that from now on I will be acting responsibly in bars in a different section of town, and that this is the last appearance of my column and horrible column photo—so it is time to clean up this mess.

It is a source of never-ending consolation that whenever I need proof of my own vast ignorance and extremely finite powers of imagination, I can think back to Columbia and 1968.

The idea of a college education for degree-seeking adults was revolutionary at its inception, and it remains so today. But the past dictates the present, at least in financial aid.

I am so very bored with the 1968 unpleasantness, which people have been talking about more or less incessantly for the last 40 years—but dues have to be paid. This week: praise. Next time: scorn.

It seems quaint from our debauched, instantly gratified vantage point of fast food, MTV, and Facebook mini-feeds, but once upon a time people believed in a biochemical anomaly called love. This “love” phenomenon may have given us the Trojan War and the Taj Mahal—but, with the help of Barnard student Linda LeClair, it almost brought about the end of the world.

My undergraduate career is winding down, and as I look back I find a depressing lack of hijinks (or so my official story goes). This is perhaps for the best, because a) at my age such things would be unseemly; b) the rational, open-minded, well-intentioned nuns I encountered in 13 years of Catholic school could reappear at any moment.

Anyone who has walked around Columbia in heels knows that women were not part of the equation when the Morningside campus was built. This is perhaps understandable. When planning began in the 1890s, the University had been exclusively male for almost 150 years, and the first agreement with Barnard was not signed until 1900.

It was thoughtfully suggested to me that my last column, which appeared on Veterans’ Day, should perhaps have had something to do with the on-again/off-again relationship between Columbia and the military.

Since I am (probably) going to graduate in May, I have been forced to think about finding a job, having a future, etc. In a moment of desperation I turned to the “After Columbia” section of the Web site for the Office of Undergraduate Admissions and Financial Aid, which consists, primarily, of a completely accurate list of “notable alumni.”

As a willing victim of both fine, fine institutions, I can say that the University of Chicago is creepier than Columbia—creepier in the sense of both “What is on that guy’s computer?” and the dim, uneasy, heimlich/unheimlich perception of being on the brink of some abyss or other.

On the Road is now 50 years old, so of course there are new editions and all sorts of critical reappraisals that tell us what everybody already knows: sometimes the Beats are good, and sometimes you’re better off watching the Simpsons episode with Ned Flanders’ parents. The real question is how we can cash in.

It was at about this point in my first year here that one of my discussion-section allies turned to me and said, “Dude, what’s with all the old people?”

TV quiz shows are neither very cool nor very difficult. I trust that, in the age of Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader?