In Which I Attempt To Turn My Bizarre Dream Into The Plot Of A Bizarre Story

"Well, I'm afraid that only members of the Philosophical Society are allowed in."  The doorman smiled at me apologetically, and lowered his voice.  "Honestly, Paul, I don't think you'd really want in, anyway, unless you were already a member of their fruity club.  The stuff they talk about is pretty... uh, strange."

"Well, maybe," I replied.  "But I was actually invited as an interdepartmental guest from the Chemistry department.  See, my work is on the relationship between retro Diels-Alder reactions and Foucalt's literary theories.  It's interesting, because..."  Seeing the doorman start to get that stoned-monkey look I too-often found on my own students, I cut off my impromptu soon-to-be lecture and gestured toward the door.  "Can I go in now?  I don't want to miss the opening speaker-- I heard Doctor Vincent Polycarp is giving a talk in ten minutes."

The doorman frowned.  "That's as may be.  But I don't--"

A cheerful-looking man waved from inside the lobby.  "Don't worry about it, Bob!  I know him.  You're that Diels-Alder guy, right?"

I grinned.  "Yep, that'd be me."

"Great, great!  We're having a quick dinner before Polycarp's lecture, and you're just in time to catch the appetizers. I'm Johann, by the way."

He ushered me in, and after about two minutes of walking through the corridors of the Philosophy Department, we arrived at the dining room, filled with tables with about five or six people each.  "You know," Johann told me confidentially as we walked, "the normal setup for this room used to be with long, square tables, but one of the professors proved that conversation is 40% less efficient with that setup than with a large number of round tables.  And rationality has always been our watchword!"  Johann showed me to a seat, and gestured to a mid-20's girl who occupied the table with a pair of older, sour-looking gentlemen.  "This is Adelaid.  She's a new assistant professor in our department.  Adelaid, tell him about your work!  I've got to greet some more guests, I'll be talking to you both later."

The girl seated to the right of me smiled.  "Hey, new guy!  Have you ever been to our Society before?"  She laughed.  "Wait, no, stupid question.  Obviously you haven't.  Because you're not in the department!  Anyway, we're all Poststructural Neo-hedonists here.  Are you familiar with that philosophy?"

I shook my head.

"Well, basically, the deal is that we're launching off the works of Eco, which is based on a theme of the common ground between class and culture. See, Lyotard (you know him from his Discourses, right?) suggests the use of textual neodialectic theory to attack capitalism. However, the premise of textual discourse holds that narrativity is capable of truth, but only if Derrida’s essay on conceptualist subpatriarchial theory is invalid; otherwise, art is used to reinforce sexist perceptions of class.  Therefore, to eat man is to become man, and--"  I held up my hand.

"Wait, I'm sorry, what was that last bit? I think I didn't hear you right."

Adelaid waved the question aside.  "That's not important now.  The important thing is, you'll get to hear what we're all about in like five minutes!  Doctor Polycarp is speaking, and he's a really great lecturer; I think you'll really like him."  Her face brightened as a waiter arrived, with several well-garnished plates of what looked like roast beef.  "Oh!  The food's arrived!  Paul, you really must have some."  She giggled, as though at some private joke.  "It's like nothing you've eaten before, trust me."