Friday, June 20, 2003

I write to you, gentle reader, even while embroiled in a whirlwind of family, graduation, and other odds and ends. That’s how much I value your company; aren’t you flattered? Good. Now get your feet off of my fine Persian couches.

In a few days, the comforting, blanket-like embrace of normalcy will return, and things will tick the way they’ve always tocked.

“Having wealth does not mean that one has class.”

I went to an unequivocally embarrassing dinner with family at Phoenix Inn. For the most part, however, familial minutes were well spent.

“Maybe the parking lot is better than the stadium.”

Cap and gown, Ryan Field, clear Evanstonian sky, 145th Commencement, et al. The speakers were horrific, the 2.5 hours would’ve been better spent on 1.66 viewings of Zoolander, and the President forgot–perhaps it would’ve been better if he simply omitted–a student speech.

My favorite portion of commencement was the ostensibly gutsy benediction delivered by a Lutheran minister. It came off far better than the watered down, please-all-parties shit that the University Chaplain tried to pawn off on an already apathetic audience.

“Those people? They’re anchor and prow to what matters.”

And at the end of the day, I was chipper (or as chipper as I can appear to be) because of the people. I would’ve given a left limb to skip the commencement proper and skim it down to the people, to the parking lot rush. Indulge me, dear reader, as I engage in a bit of Vanilla Skyesque reverie. To that curious “friendquaintance” amalgam of BrandoSusanJanetTimCarlEstherGeorgeIntanPatrickCarolDiWailinLindaWaiken whom I’ve recently seen: I will miss you, and you have whatever I can offer.

“I admit you,” or so they say, to my own private commencement. Refreshments, by the way, are nonexistent. I have a sudden hankering for Zoolander and Vanilla Sky.