wait for the breakdown at about 2:09

and pretentious too!

Stunning gracious beauty. line up ladies

I am a MASTER of architecture

It is important to preface this post with my mental state, tentatively titled in the literature as ‘crisis point apathy’, so that you, dear reader, know that I had buried my Legally Blonde-esque Harvard law graduation experience fantasy under a dumpster load of diagrammatic interpretations of pedestrian movement. UTS is a little off colour as it is – you can pay/sleep with the lecturers for credit, and if your willing to do neither you merely have to produce work that is underpinned by neither sense or logic. The latter strategy worked best for me, as the emperor-has-no-clothes syndrome kicks in around the thirty second mark and propels you to the top of the bell curve. Thus I got through my masters of architecture with minimal fuss (lies! It was horrible) and in two for one providence ensured that come graduation time I was a creature of low expectations.

My mood was less dark than this would suggest, however, as I approached the glorious UTS tower to receive my testamur. It is a rare occasion when I admit pleasure or satisfaction in anything, but I was feeling pretty pleased with myself for somehow managing to get through it all and be, basically, an architect. (though not legally, for those inclined towards cease and desist’s) The graduation was held in the tower building, which is a bit of a shocker, apparently there are two other examples of its type, both in the ex soviet union, and one of them has fallen down. The grim efficiency in the aesthetic did not match the character of the event though; chaos was the order of the day. A rather unhappy looking woman was telling everyone that they had sold too many tickets to the ceremony, so peoples nearest and dearest would not be allowed in. The lady offering up this information had a physical presence that showed neither a commitment to the pleasures of fatty food or the endorphin rush of regular exercise, and was coping with the abject fury of yours truly with a retreat into bureaucracy and the Nuremberg defence. Nonetheless, a furious challenge to forcible ejection allowed my folks in, and the passive victim of the machine was unwilling to take any proactive steps such as to get security to drag them out.

What followed was depressing, I got to put on a polyester graduate gown that smelt of bleach and seemed to bestow on me the same gravitas as a kid in a spiderman outfit, and then sit through the ceremony that was run as though they had four more to get through by five. Oh gross, I’m over it, here are some pretty pictures to get us all through the day.