My Speech to the Graduating Class of [Prestigious Institution]
The other day, I woke up with a start. You know the feeling - when you're sure you've slept through some exam that will determine your entire future, even if you've been out of school for years. I woke up and realized I forgot to Do Something With My Life.
I think it has to do with graduation season. From time to time, on the bus or what-not, I start writing the imaginary address that I will someday deliver at one of the Ivy Leauge universities where, had I applied, the admissions officers would have ruptured their sphincters from laughing (at, not with me, I don't care what my mom says) before putting my application on the "Hells NO" pile.
Below is a rough transcript of my address:
(ahem) Mr./Ms. [College President], distingished guests. It is an honor to be here today. I never would have thought, that day I was sitting on the M4 bus going up Madison Avenue, wondering why the traffic is so bad and if I'm going to get home in time to watch Top Model, that I would one day be here, at [Prestigious Institution] delivering the Commencement Address. However, I suppose it's not that shocking in light of my recent breakaway success as a ["Pimp My Ride" Winner/Best-selling Novelist/Triple-Crown Jockey]. However, you may be surprised to learn that this improbable victory only came after years of a 99.9% accomplishment-free life.
My advice to you, the graduating class of [fades off...], is simple. Carpe Diem. Which, I believe is from the Aztec, meaning, "seize the Charmin." Or, depending on the declination of the verb and gender of the interlocutors, "seize the day." If you figure out how to seize the day, let me know. Days don't like to be seized. Or grabbed, or licked. Trust me - they tend to take offense. It's like trying to pinch the ass of a glass of water. It just doesn't work, and someone could get hurt.
This is the part where I'm supposed to tell you to set your goals high, and then make a plan, and work diligently to make it all happen. Why, just look at my own life, which as you know is a story of unbridled - albeit very recent - success. Do you think this all happend overnight? When people ask me how I got where I am today, I tell them - a dream, a little luck, and a lot of sexual favors.
By which I mean, working hard is entirely overrated. Much like soberiety, diligence, and paying taxes. (short pause, for effect.) You may be waiting for a "but..." But there isn't one, except for one at the beginning of this sentence. Fortunately, you can avoid all of these evils through the judicious use of legal and moral loopholes. Loopholes, if you will, make up the crocheted fabric of our great society. Loopholes are what will allow people like you and me - the ruling elite - to use corporate subsidies to pay for a party on Santorini featuring an ice sculpture pissing vodka straight into a hooker's mouth, while writing off on your personal taxes the c-note you put in her g-string. Avoiding work, taxes, and soberiety isn't just the civic responsibility of the very rich. It's an art.
No, hard work isn't what will take you far in life. Look at me. I was once labeled an "underachiever" by my high school guidence couselor. And yet, here I am, delivering the commencement address at [Prestigious Institution], far from sitting on the M4 bus, wondering why it's taking so long, or if that skanky chick is going to get booted off of "Top Model"?
As you go forth, I would advise you to take a series of random, soul-sucking jobs with little relevance to whatever you studied at [Prestigious Institution]. This shouldn't be too hard, considering your degree is probably in the History of Cross-Gender Dance Studies, or something else that you will resent knowing so much about as you make front-and-back color photocopies of a press release for a new treatment for Irritable Bowel Syndrome, even though your title is supposedly a "Junior Account Executive."
As you head out into the world, whatever you do - don't have a "career path." Career paths are for Loo-sers (here, I make the "L" sign on my forehead). Ditto for "savings accounts." And - most of all - don't go to graduate school. That includes law school, med school, all of it (again, making the "L" sign, with a shrug that suggests the obviousness of this statement) .
But if you do decide to go for your M.B.A., thus giving up your music and your dreams of becoming the next "Death Cab for Cutie" - well, you're probably doing the world a huge favor. But please. Don't call it "B-school." If you ever say that, please - slap yourself. Hard. No, I'm serious. Are you really so busy that you can't spit out the other syllables? It doesn't sound hip. It sounds retarded.
Just kind of let things happen, and when a talking Volkswagen suggests that you should move to another country, for god's sake, take its advice.
Don't look for a career, let one find you. Enjoy exaggerated fantasies of your own talents. It helps to not explore your talents, and that way, you don't have to realize they aren't all they're cracked up to be.
Here you are, about to go out into life, which is like a box of chocolates. Mmmm. Be sure to mash them all on top to see what flavor is inside. That way, you'll avoid the ones with the gross neon-pink filling, and nobody else will want to take any because you've already put your germs all over them. But to you, they'll taste just as good, because, after all - they're your germs.
I think that's the heart of what I'm trying to say to you tonight. They're your germs. Spread them wisely. And never loose sight of who you really are. Whatever the hell that means.
Before you go forth, into the keg party at the Women's Studies building, I would like to leave you with some final words of advice. I've long been a seeker of the Truth, and several years ago I realized that it is the following: there's no such thing as a good perm. Had I known that when I was your age, I might have spared myself several months of agony.
Congratulations, and good luck.
I think it has to do with graduation season. From time to time, on the bus or what-not, I start writing the imaginary address that I will someday deliver at one of the Ivy Leauge universities where, had I applied, the admissions officers would have ruptured their sphincters from laughing (at, not with me, I don't care what my mom says) before putting my application on the "Hells NO" pile.
Below is a rough transcript of my address:
(ahem) Mr./Ms. [College President], distingished guests. It is an honor to be here today. I never would have thought, that day I was sitting on the M4 bus going up Madison Avenue, wondering why the traffic is so bad and if I'm going to get home in time to watch Top Model, that I would one day be here, at [Prestigious Institution] delivering the Commencement Address. However, I suppose it's not that shocking in light of my recent breakaway success as a ["Pimp My Ride" Winner/Best-selling Novelist/Triple-Crown Jockey]. However, you may be surprised to learn that this improbable victory only came after years of a 99.9% accomplishment-free life.
My advice to you, the graduating class of [fades off...], is simple. Carpe Diem. Which, I believe is from the Aztec, meaning, "seize the Charmin." Or, depending on the declination of the verb and gender of the interlocutors, "seize the day." If you figure out how to seize the day, let me know. Days don't like to be seized. Or grabbed, or licked. Trust me - they tend to take offense. It's like trying to pinch the ass of a glass of water. It just doesn't work, and someone could get hurt.
This is the part where I'm supposed to tell you to set your goals high, and then make a plan, and work diligently to make it all happen. Why, just look at my own life, which as you know is a story of unbridled - albeit very recent - success. Do you think this all happend overnight? When people ask me how I got where I am today, I tell them - a dream, a little luck, and a lot of sexual favors.
By which I mean, working hard is entirely overrated. Much like soberiety, diligence, and paying taxes. (short pause, for effect.) You may be waiting for a "but..." But there isn't one, except for one at the beginning of this sentence. Fortunately, you can avoid all of these evils through the judicious use of legal and moral loopholes. Loopholes, if you will, make up the crocheted fabric of our great society. Loopholes are what will allow people like you and me - the ruling elite - to use corporate subsidies to pay for a party on Santorini featuring an ice sculpture pissing vodka straight into a hooker's mouth, while writing off on your personal taxes the c-note you put in her g-string. Avoiding work, taxes, and soberiety isn't just the civic responsibility of the very rich. It's an art.
No, hard work isn't what will take you far in life. Look at me. I was once labeled an "underachiever" by my high school guidence couselor. And yet, here I am, delivering the commencement address at [Prestigious Institution], far from sitting on the M4 bus, wondering why it's taking so long, or if that skanky chick is going to get booted off of "Top Model"?
As you go forth, I would advise you to take a series of random, soul-sucking jobs with little relevance to whatever you studied at [Prestigious Institution]. This shouldn't be too hard, considering your degree is probably in the History of Cross-Gender Dance Studies, or something else that you will resent knowing so much about as you make front-and-back color photocopies of a press release for a new treatment for Irritable Bowel Syndrome, even though your title is supposedly a "Junior Account Executive."
As you head out into the world, whatever you do - don't have a "career path." Career paths are for Loo-sers (here, I make the "L" sign on my forehead). Ditto for "savings accounts." And - most of all - don't go to graduate school. That includes law school, med school, all of it (again, making the "L" sign, with a shrug that suggests the obviousness of this statement) .
But if you do decide to go for your M.B.A., thus giving up your music and your dreams of becoming the next "Death Cab for Cutie" - well, you're probably doing the world a huge favor. But please. Don't call it "B-school." If you ever say that, please - slap yourself. Hard. No, I'm serious. Are you really so busy that you can't spit out the other syllables? It doesn't sound hip. It sounds retarded.
Just kind of let things happen, and when a talking Volkswagen suggests that you should move to another country, for god's sake, take its advice.
Don't look for a career, let one find you. Enjoy exaggerated fantasies of your own talents. It helps to not explore your talents, and that way, you don't have to realize they aren't all they're cracked up to be.
Here you are, about to go out into life, which is like a box of chocolates. Mmmm. Be sure to mash them all on top to see what flavor is inside. That way, you'll avoid the ones with the gross neon-pink filling, and nobody else will want to take any because you've already put your germs all over them. But to you, they'll taste just as good, because, after all - they're your germs.
I think that's the heart of what I'm trying to say to you tonight. They're your germs. Spread them wisely. And never loose sight of who you really are. Whatever the hell that means.
Before you go forth, into the keg party at the Women's Studies building, I would like to leave you with some final words of advice. I've long been a seeker of the Truth, and several years ago I realized that it is the following: there's no such thing as a good perm. Had I known that when I was your age, I might have spared myself several months of agony.
Congratulations, and good luck.
posted by Marguerite at 8:59 AM
3 Comments:
I love your blog. You always make me smile. Except the fact that you reminded me what a dork I am for not pursuing my master's and trying to do something great, like make a lot of money. Thanks! :)
awesome.
Thanks, y'all. Yeah, advanced degrees are SO overrated. At least, that's what those of us who dropped out of CL-school (Comparative Lit school, that is) like to think ... If I'd finished, I might be making at least $10 more per year.
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