Bullshit

Your slightly balding, severely malnourished professor, henceforth referred to as Johannes von Kuhdunger the Fifth, is giving a riposte on the motivations of Achilles. Your newfound friend, Frankie Fobabee, is next to you and he was the only one smart enough to bring a laptop. "Great", you think. Just what you need to concentrate on the motivations of a three thousand year old fictional Greek spoiled brat.

Apparently, Frankie agrees. When Prof. Kuhdunger calls on him (presumably to make an example of those who dareth ignore him in class) Frank proceeds to beautifully dissect Achilles as someone spoiled--no, not just spoiled, but raised in a household that reveres him, that thinks that because gods intersect with the human world then people can be like gods and therefore he's arrogant and thinks he's more important and ultimately how his motivations are internal and un influenced by externalities and how---

It is at this point you begin to die a little on the inside. You feel that part of you--fun--seeping away as you realize that, to your horror, this is what you'll learn at Chicago--the ability to bullshit, and not just bullshit, but do it beautifully, spontaneously--so well that fully half of each graduating class ends up going into consulting or investment banking.

Vita excolatur. Life of the mind, enriched by the finest mental fertilizer not on the East Coast.