Manolo says, here is the Manolo’s latest column for the Express of the Washington Post.
I’m going to a graduate school holiday potluck with my boyfriend. I have never been to the school and I am not sure what to wear. My style is pretty conservative. What do you recommend?
Manolo says, Ayyy! Merry Nonspecific Period of Non-Oppressive Festivities to all!
Let the Tofurkey and Macrobiotic, Bargain-Priced Sprouts flow like organic wine!
And now, let the Manolo stipulate that if the phrase “graduate school potluck” does not strike dread into your heart, you are not the feeling person. The very words alone conjure up the sort of lugubrious hilarity and culinary achievement one associates with Moldovan politburo lunches, sans the lubricating effects of vodka.
It is the little known fact that graduate students are among the most miserable peoples in the world.
Yes, the first year begins in high spirits, but then gradually, inch by inch, the lonely misanthropic gloom settles in, brought on by the low pay, the low status, the low self-esteem, and above all the low muffled beating of the unfinished dissertation, which, like the tell-tale heart, lies insistently beneath the floorboards of the mind.
Of the course, no reason you, the non-grad student, should not be cheery. Here is the Laugh from Franco Sarto, the perfectly partylicious affordable black ankle bootie.