So, here I am, real-life professor having endured real-life grad school, and I decide to watch “Alias” on Netflix. Because 2001 seems like it must have been awesome. And so I learn that the main character is attending grad school.
“Grad school” is a cavernous, wondrous library with an old guy chattering up at the front.
Sydney attends “grad school” with a little notebook and two other students who listen as the old guy rambles about… I’m not even sure what she’s studying. Books. I’ll make a guess. She’s studying books at grad school.
And she is a spy. She has time to be a spy, by the way.
While studying books.
That is how I remember it: whilst I was an international spy, I learned about books and subsequently became a professor. A spy-professor. Obviously.
Graduate school was not a high-pressure, neurotic universe of overachieving in arcane knowledge that would see me enter a precarious job market. No: graduate school was sprinting through underground laboratories with sarcastic quips firing from my lips as I shot at enemies with my semi-automatic watch-machette-shotgun.
And, if I may add other movies and TV shows to my resources for understanding, I believe that what grad school has done is arm me to make wild symbolic connections to uncover nefarious plots, unveil treasures forgotten by history, and also time-travel. Yes. I time-traveled.
I read a few French articles, too.
And I acquired the most amazing fashion sense while accomplishing said amazements.
Because all spies are beautiful. And all graduate students are…
I studied books, friend. That takes some serious brains and well-chosen clothing that accentuates my natural joie de vivre.
That was French again. Just so you know. And I know Latin. They’re, like, the same. Almost. Except not. But similar.
My detailed knowledge of living and long-dead Western languages helped me considerably when I dismantled various Asiatic-Russian secret alliances. (The Cold War lives forever! So does Byzantium! Why not?!)
It’s not that grad school crippled my ability to make any conclusion without vociferous fact-checking and reflection. It’s that I punched the facts in the face. After reading my books. Because I studied books in a gorgeous library. At college. Where I learned advanced books.
Or was it fact-punching?
I am not sure there is a difference. I stopped listening to the old guy yammering in front of the large stone fireplace in the amazing library with the rare books (which I studied, advanced-studied). I am too busy successfully saving the world with my learning.
That I got at grad school.