Pimp and Circumstances

Last week was graduation. I looked damn fine in my Doctoral Cap and Gown. As always.

For those who don't know, Doctoral robes are a lot fancy than the plain black you wore for your graduation ceremony. Velvet highlights, puffy hats, metallic "gold" tassels. The works. The school I received my PhD from goes even further and rocks the alternate color robe. Regal purple. Did I mention I looked damn fine?

I have two theories on the color. First is that it is a safety feature. That part of the country is known for heavy snow. You go down in a snow bank in that purple and rescuers will have an easier time finding you. The other is a message to other schools. And that message is, "Our degree costs more."

While sweating out the ceremony in the poorly ventilated gym (it holds more people than the auditorium but is hotter then hell inside) I kept myself awake by jotting down some notes that should prove useful if you ever find yourself being asked to be the Commencement speaker at a graduation. Commencement speakers seem to think that what they have to say is important and everyone is excited to hear their words of wisdom. I've done several of these now. I've heard one good speaker in all the ones I've attended.

So with that in mind, here is what you need to think about when you compose your speech. You may want to write these down for future reference.

• Be brief. Even if you haven't started writing yet, it is already five minutes too long.
• Only try to be funny if you are genuinely funny. Be honest about this. Are the only laughs you get pity laughs or from terrified underlings?
• Don't be in love with the sound of your own voice.
• Dramatic pauses are not dramatic at 8 in the morning. They're annoying at best, invitations to fall asleep at worse.
• Avoid cliches. I hate the part where you tell us all about what it was like for you when you sat "right where these graduates are sitting right now."
• Avoid "In conclusion..." If it really is your conclusion it should be obvious. If it isn't then you've given us all hope and then destroyed it.
• Nobody but your family and the trustees care that you are here (Note, trustees only care if you are donating money, are a golf buddy, or will attract attention with your fame). Parents just want to hear their child's name announced and you are holding up the show*. Professors just want to go home or go eat (or go drinking depending on the Professor). Students just want to party.

By the time you speak, the crowd is already growing restless. You are not why they are here. Of course if you are a celebrity, none of these rules apply.

As for the alumni speaker, if you go longer than 2 minutes to make your asinine "join the alumni association and give us money" pitch then you are a douche bag. Yes, please, tell us the joke about how you are older than the students but not as old as their parents. That one is hilarious. Or the story about how much (or little) things have changed on campus since last you were there, especially if it involves cafeteria food. Never gets old.

And I care about how much our school still touches your life. Truly.

I need one of those wrap it up signs from the Chapelle show for next year. Or to start sneaking in my ipod. Because I've got decades more of these to sit through.



*My own Father however, enjoyed the speaker for my undergraduate degree immensely. When you know that, you know I had no chance but to be weird.

I didn't mean to do it

I finished the grading I was going to do last night. Dog sat next to me looking sad since I was ignoring her to get work done. So I said to myself,

"Self, we'll just watch a little TV and give Dog some attention."

TMC was showing The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3. Next thing I realize it's 3:30 in the morning. Yay, 4 and a half hours of sleep.

But how can you say no to the combination of Dog hugs and Robert Shaw?

You don't. Robert Shaw will hurt you if you do.

Just letting you know

Classes start tomorrow. I don't have any wacky stories or snarky comments to make yet. Just letting you know that those sort of things will be coming soon. Because it is just a matter or time till some student says or does something too amusing or shocking to not share.

In other news, Wife goes in for another surgery on her ankle tomorrow bright and early. So I have to have her there about 4 hours before my classes start. Thank goodness first day is mostly about reading the syllabus and setting the ground floor for what comes in the next class. Because I will NOT be at my best tomorrow. Let's just hope that this surgery finally finishes the work on her ankle. Now they think she might have a cyst where she just had surgery. It will be nice to see what goes wrong next.

I also have a long post about buying and selling scooters this summer. It was a saga and deserves full treatment.

So provided Hannah doesn't wash us away, (or Ike. Or Josephine.) then there should be some level of increase in my posting. Hopefully. Got to love those news reports though. "This storm could kill everyone, including the unborn. Or maybe it will miss us. Or maybe just rain overnight. But if this storm doesn't kill you, the next one will. Or your neighbors."

The Turning Point

I have a few ideas for blogs in the pipeline so those of you still reading have that to look forward to.

But how about a traumatizing story from my childhood in light of the holiday season?

The other day I realized just when I lost my chance to be cool as a child. In sixth grade I sat in the back of the bus. There were three of us who sat back there, Dean, Robbie, and myself. And those of you who rode buses to school understand the importance of the back seat. For those of you who don't, the back seat was reserved for the coolest kids on your bus route. Nobody messed with them, nobody bullied them. It was the top of the pecking order and those below you had to move up if they tried to take your place. All this despite transferring to my grade school from Catholic school and being a relative nerd (I was in my schools enrichment program for example). I had managed to work my way to the back. I can't recall even particularly liking Robbie and Dean.

Our next door neighbors at that time had two children, Jeff and Michelle. Jeff was three years younger than me. Michelle was about two years older. Jeff and I had been friends but the age difference was becoming pronounced. One day while walking home from the bus, Jeff started making fun of my younger sister who was the same age as Jeff. Now to be honest, I often participated in this activity. I'm her older brother, not a saint.

But today it was really hurting her feelings and something familial stirred in me. I told him to stop. He didn't. So I hit him in the arm. Yet he kept it up. So I punched him in the stomach. Not surprisingly he stopped. And I realized what I had done, basically beat up a little kid. So I did the only thing a big brother does when he has heroically stood up for his little sister. I ran home and started crying to my mother.

Guess who she was sitting around having coffee with. Yep, Jeff's mom. I have no idea what affect this had on their relationship but at least I was crying about it, not bragging. I don't recall being punished by adults over this. My sister was quick to confirm that Jeff had been rather mean to her and all. But the real impact on me was yet to come. Remember what I said about Jeff having an older sister? Well, by this point she was a burner in training. And Robbie and Dean were burner hopefuls. It wasn't long before word was out among the burner grapevine that I was to be shunned by them. And if the burners reject you and you aren't sporty or rich enough, it isn't long before the "cool" kids reject you as well. And that was it, my fate was sealed. No more back of the bus. No more in crowd. Heck, younger kids started realizing my new status in the pecking order and even some of them started hassling me. Especially the ones bigger than me.

Jeff, Michelle, and their family moved away not too long after the punching incident. But the damage would follow me for years. Eventually I managed to get ignored most of the time. I found social circles of similar damaged goods. And the bus became a place to nap if I wasn't stuck sitting in front of someone who might try to hassle or bully me. My senior year I had a car, though I drove to school alone. And by that time I found punk rock and freaked out the cliques by not caring that I wasn't in a clique. And escaping to college. Ahh, college. Maybe that's part of the reason I became a professor. My life was reborn there.

Not surprisingly I haven't made it to any of my high school reunions. Class of 1988 Moon Senior High. Let's see if they somehow track me down through this.