Mike Doonesbury said it best: "Ever feel like you were perfectly educated for the Bronze Age?" More than one Harvard senior has looked into the future recently and understood. It does sometimes seem like Harvard gives scant preparation for the Real World. Expos, the Core, the QRR--these have little relevance to your average senior in search of some direction.

Seniors begin the year with only a dim idea of what they want to do with their theses, much less the rest of their lives. As the year progresses, the realization sinks in that membership in "the fellowship of educated men and women" doesn't pay the rent or buy food. Panic sets in. Former hippies interview with investment banks; dedicated New Yorkers consider job opportunities in Montana.

Yet it would be wrong to assume that Harvard has no interest in its students' futures--even those of us who don't contribute to the fellowship statistics. As seniors we are all about to become something Harvard likes a lot: alumni.

Harvard depends on its alumni like a leech depends on blood. Harvard grads give the money to buy books, support research, create professorships, buy athletic equipment, landscape the Yard, supply ice cream at the Union and fund a host of other miscellaneous line items in the University's budget. Most importantly, it is alumni giving that supports Harvard's need-blind admissions policy and doles out colossal amounts of financial aid to students each year (including a hefty chunk of cash to this writer).

The one future role Harvard makes an effort to prepare us for, therefore, is that of thankful alumni. Sure, none of us may have jobs next year but eventually, many of us will have charitable deductions on our mind. And the University wants to make sure we remember our alma mater. In our wills, if need be.

It is not a coincidence that the first official senior year milestone for the Class of '93 was a mailing notifying us of our duty to the Class Gift. Barely a month into the actual year of 1993, we all discovered that Harvard wants our money for something other than library fines. This "gift," we learned, is not something tangible. No, Harvard just wants the cash.

The letter, written by Sameer A. Chishty '93, former business manager of The Crimson and one of the Class Gift organizers, notes that seniors can direct their checks toward financial aid only, but suggests that "an unrestricted gift" gives Harvard the most flexibility. And, the letter stresses, the gift's size is less important than the full participation of the class.

In other words, get in the habit now. Later, when you have all that capitalist lucre, you'll know where to add the zeroes. This is a classic fundraising technique, practiced by everyone from Harvard to the drug pushers who offer ten year olds free first highs.

Ironically, most seniors will write Harvard a check from money their parents gave them. Students who depend on their own resources are far less likely to have the extra cash on hand. These seniors may well decide to contribute a modest (but hard-earned) sum. Habit-forming purpose aside, it is slightly incongruous to write a twenty dollar check to an institution that has given you thousands in financial aid. The "success" of the Class Gift drive may depend on everyone's participation, but its effective influence on Harvard's finances will be determined by how many seniors have rich parents.

Radcliffe knows where its bread is buttered, too. Witness two of the most popular events of senior year--the Senior Soiree and the Strawberry Tea. Both are financed by the Radcliffe College Alumnae Association. Both annually attract hundreds of senior women who have never before set foot in Radcliffe Yard.

Two nights ago, Agassiz House was packed with seniors celebrating the closest thing Harvard has to a prom. A few of us feminist types enjoyed the irony that after four years of final club hegemony, senior males could only go the Soiree if they were asked by Radcliffe seniors.

This wasn't, of course, a feminist event. Most people were just there to have a good time. Everywhere we heard cries of "Wow, I haven't seen you in ages." First-year nicknames were revived, old grudges remembered, career plans discussed. If this sounds like a college reunion, you're getting the idea.

Seniors roamed in packs through Agassiz's many rooms. The Lyman Common Room--Radcliffe's own Women's Center--was the hit of the event. More female seniors discovered the room last Saturday night than have wandered into it throughout the last four years.

The Soiree was highly successful, and most senior women walked away with a snazzy key chain to remind them of the event for the rest of their lives. All thanks to Radcliffe Alumnae. Hint, hint.