54
R. Linda:
Och, must I relive this? I guess I must. As I mentioned, one of me purposes for flying to Colorado, was to attend Weasil's graduation. He has a BS in photography to add to his other degrees in Pharmacology and Pathology. Where photography is related to the other two, I have not a clue, but that they all start with the letter P.
P also stands for perpetual like in perpetual college student, which I be finding is Weasil's profession. This was pointed out to me by a mutual friend. I must say when I was looking to attended university, I did not see study for that profession listed. Had I, you can be quite sure I would have majored in that and not journalism. Be quite a bit easier, I could be taking any classes in any subject I wanted, attending any university and travelling the world with such a major like that, virtually forever!
Alas, we aren't all as observant of our education as one Chris Weasil. Let me describe this person to you. Besides being a bloody genius, he's a wit cracker of much renown. The wit borders on the quick and sarcastic and it is hard to best him. He is a lad of Scottish heritage, born there, but raised and educated in London, England. His mother is a theatre director in Glasgow, Scotland, divorced from his father who is an editor of fine books in London. Both parents are Scots and I have met them. The father is a highbrow scholarly type, who when he speaks, sends a body scrambling for a Collins to keep up with him, or better, to try to interpret the English language as spoken by people like the Royals. The mother is a curly haired Emma Thompson type, knows great theatre stories, is an artistically dressed woman, with a no-nonsense aura about her. How these two overachievers in their respective fields, produced a son such as Weasil, boggles the mind.
The young lad looks noting like either his dark haired mother, or his auburn haired father. He is blond, blue-eyed, tall, and somewhat buff. Me friend suggests perhaps the lad is adopted. He attracts young women like he's Orlando Bloom on holiday. I don't understand the attraction because while a young lady might ooh and ahh his good looks, as soon as he opens his mouth, watch out, the barbs fly and one needs a thick skin not to get upset. Yet, he attracts a good following of admirers who think he's the best thing to hit Glenwood Springs since the invention of Tequila lollipops with worms inside.
Mr. Weasil has a knack when online to out play, out last and out wit many of his circle. He'd be a fine candidate for the telly programme, SURVIVOR. Pit him with Johnny Fairplay, and you'd have a lethal duo. Dead grandma indeed, Mr. Weasil would have half the west coast gone, if a million dollars was the prize.
Mr. W is one for sending self made questionnaires around the net, and should have majored in surveys. He is quite good at it and the questions and results I find informative. Especially on subjects like these: How good a Brit are you? (This sent to everyone who wasn't British). Then there was: How good are you at pleasing your woman? (This sent to all his women friends.) How knowledgeable are you on LOTR? (No, not Lord of the Rings as one might popularly think, but Lost on the Run - this starts out as you are in a boggy place, there are two people with you, one is your best friend and the other is the hairless person you don't trust, etc., of course I was thinking I was Frodo, the best friend was Sam Wise and the hairless person was Golum. NOT TO BE. I found I had hypothetically robbed a bank, took off on the run with a friend assigned to me, and the hairless butch driver of the car we had stolen. Oi!) The mind of the Weasil is diabolically insane and clever to the extreme. He's a dangerous sort I tell ya -- this last said in Weasilese to give you a little Weasil flavour.
Somehow, I got into a friendship with him that was born online. I met the 24 year old master of the quick quip in a chat room. He knew who I was, I had no idea who he was though. Right there he had the advantage and he gave me a hard time. I was in Anglo chat chatting to the ladies who treat me like their son mostly (except for an adventurous few), and in comes the Weasil. I was weasiled to death I might add. I kept IMing the people I did know asking who this wise arse was. One or two knew he was the bane of Born in the UK chat. He was distracting, baiting, funny and an overall pain in the arse.
When I learned he was me blond haired travelling companion from me trip to London and Edinburgh I was gobsmacked. He thought it was great fun to not tell me who he was and to have fun with me. This went on for a while. Once I learned his identity, things got easier, but he still would trip me up every opportunity he got. This rocky relationship had me up nights trying to figure out a way to best his arse in a chat room. That's sad, but true and to this day I still haven't accomplished it.
To cut to the chase, I ran into this bugger in Boston. He was visiting a friend and made some sarcastic remark online that he'd drop in on yours truly while there. I took up his dare because that was what it was. Little did I know that the Weasil's tongue is hard as his online bite. Being a humourous fellow meself, we struck up a lopsided friendship. I had bonded well with him and the former BBC reporter on our trip abroad, three diverse personalities, but we had a solid friendship, if not a humourous one.
Out of this Boston visit, I got an invitation to Mr. W's graduation. This too was a dare of sorts, because when first rendered, I said i didn't think I could get the time off. After that remark, I received travel brochures in me email on getting away to Colorado, premium payment plans for those who can't afford to fly much, budget motels featuring call girl services, skinny wallet car rentals, (bang em' ups with dents for rent), and the topping on the cake, a blow-up-doll party after the graduation ceremony, WITH the idea you can take your personal blow-up dolly home with you. How could I resist THAT?
Off I took me to me editor asking for an assignment to Colorado, to study the political system there in comparison to the political system here in Boston. The man looked at me like I was out of me mind and gently informed me that Colorado was a part of the United States of America, and by-crackie, they too employed the same system of government out there that we do in the great state of Massachusetts. Now that wasn't what I meant and he knew it, he was messing with me. If I needed a working holiday he said, why didn't I just say so? I gulped and piped up that I had this invite and thought I could do some good with an article on something out west. Being a free spirit of sorts himself, me editor was a big fan of Wyatt Earp and Doc Holiday. This I did not know. He glorified these two villains to me and suggested I go in quest of just where old Doc ended up (dead by his cure in of all places, the place I was invited to). Had he been in the chat room watching Weasil verbally dissect me? Did he somehow know what me sad life consisted of? Work, chat room, sleep? Whatever it was I was thrilled. Off I went with me coach tickets in hand, a decent room slotted for the Comfort Inn right across the street from Mr. W's pad and travel expenses. Do I have a good editor in chief or what?
I flew into Denver where I shuttled out to the Dollar Rental Car Service. There I beat two old ladies inside. They were going to the wrong door, I knew this, but like Mr. W taught me, do not help them, go get in line first! I did this as they slowly shuffled the other way.
They gave me dirty looks as I was existing with me car contract and they were only just finding the correct door to enter. I couldn't help meself, I laughed all the way to Vail, Colorado. When in Weasil-land, do as the Weasil does. I did. The laughing stopped when I found meself slowly crawling along in 6 inches of heavy snow without a shovel or civilsation anywhere to be found. I didn't have a coat because when I left Boston, Mr. W said not to worry, wear what I would normally at this time of year. So there I sat with snow coming down in a short sleeved shirt, cargo shorts, and sandals. Add to this, me heater didn't work!
By the time I got to Glenwood Springs, I was a frozen block of ice. I checked into me room, and then walked across the street to Weasil's place, trying to thaw meself out. A permanent chill set in me poor cold body and I realised not only was I cold, but the air was so thin, I couldn't breathe either!
Weasil must have been looking for me because suddenly this blond lad comes flying out the door and gets me round the waist hoisting me in the air like a rag doll. I be yelling for him to put me down, but he was whirling me around to where me empty stomach, oxygen deprived brain, and cold limbs started experiencing extreme dizziness. Finally, he placed me on the ground and slapped me back in friendly greeting, near about knocking me over and out. I felt as though I had been beset by a large playful dog.
We got inside Weasil's abode and I must say it was a classy setup. He had a lovely view of Mt. Sopris (all snow covered), and the one thing I noticed was his extensive collection of lava lamps in every colour imaginable. The girlfriend (you remember Mathilda of marble fame), was a rather attractive blond girl who reminded me of Kate Hudson. Only problem, she was totally smitten with Mr. W and every time he addressed her or even looked at her, her brain melted to mush and nothing remotely intelligible came forth.
Let me cut to the quick, the graduation came. Me and Mathilda took off early because Mr. W told us we needed to get there at 8:30 a.m. for a good seat. The ceremony was to start at 10:30 mind you. I pleaded we go around 9 a.m. instead. You know right away we got the best seats in the house don't you? Think about why.
We were then subject to a professor with a penchant for John Denver songs. One right after the other of these sappy old tunes and I was ready to cry. It was just the two of us for two hours and this guy just loved singing those songs. I hadn't had breakfast, I was sitting on a hard chair and Mathilda was busy (after the first hour of just her and meself) jumping up to greet friends who were graduating. Still no audience members, just me being entertained all by meself by this singing professor. Linda, I tried, I really did, to look entertained and like I was enjoying the songfest (which was being sung directly AT me) but soon, me demeanor was starting to change, if he didn't stop soon, I was going to commit murder. How horrible is that?
Finally, thank the good Lord, PEOPLE started coming in to SIT DOWN. This was around 10 a.m. and let me tell you, I knew Country Roads by heart by then, and found meself actually singing along! It won't be soon enough I ever hear that sogn again. I did think to meself, if this guy sings that bleeding song one more time, I'm going to get out of this chair and break his guitar!
The Weasil appeared with Mathilda and a host of admireres before me. It took me a few minutes to come out of the John Denver funk to notice all the neon blue gowned people looking at me as if I were a novelty. I blinked me eyes at the colour glare and was introduced to them all and as quickly they disappeared for the Pomp and Circumstance, or so I thought, but it wasn't Pomp and Circumstance blaring over the loud speaker. It was the guitar twanging of COUNTRY ROADS! Yes, the John Denver wannabe was the musician for the entire ceremony.
The Dean spoke and then four others of a 14 strong faculty, and it was all about acid rain, save the environment, keep the trees from loggers, and ski till you freak. I realised every single one of them was trapped in the 70s. The long grey streaked hair worn in pony tails professors in sandals, the women in long hippy dresses, ringlets free to frizz and "Peace man," coming forth from toking lips. Then it happened, the professor with the guitar started singing Rocky Mountain High as the interlude between the Dean's speech and the handing out of diplomas. Me eyes started to water, not because it was moving, but because the anger of hearing just one more John Denver song was starting to really get to me.
I looked around to find meself the only man in a suit. Everyone else was in shorts and sandals. I was the odd duck and it was strange and I suddenly realised why Weasil's friends had viewed me as a curiosity. I wanted to cover me ears, but resisted the temptation. Finally the song ended and the Dean got up. I noticed over the long hippy dresses, the hairy legs of the faculty in shorts (that includes the women), was an array of faculty graduation gowns like no other. Seems there were no gowns for the faculty, so some enterprising individual got a whole bunch of mixed gowns from the Salvation Army and there they sat, each one different. A rainbow, oh how appropriate.
The Dean informed us that each grad was going to get a chance to say whatever they pleased after receiving their diploma. OH MY GOD, I was going to be in the gym forever. I be all for free speech, but did we have to?
I took a good look at the grads. I must admit I sat with me mouth agape. The veterinary students had cute little doggy paws on their gowns, the photography grads had rolls of exposed film hanging from their hats, and each group had something to distinguish their particular study. Never in me life had I been subject so such casual ceremony. The saving grace was that there were 30 grads in total. About two decided not to give a speech after receiving their diploma.
The Valedictorian got up first.
"I want to say what a proud day this is for all of us. We put our butts to the grindstone and achieved the impossible. All our dreams are now reality for the class of, what year is this? Oh yeah, 2004. Some of us have been at this for more years than we can count, but all our journeys are about to begin. I see the professors are all wearing silly outfits like mine, and it is nice we up here all look like idiots, but fashion isn't a statement today, education is. For those of us continuing our education, see you at Johnson and Wales U. to those of us who actually think they have a job in their chosen profession, carpe diem sucker! Continuing education is the only way to go unless the family fortune runs out, then God forbid we might all have to actually find a job. Naw, let's party instead!"
Oh my was all I could think. Me brain was in shock that everyone behind me was applauding this. I was still trying to get passed, "put our butts to the grindstone," let alone the Valedictorian not remembering what year it was. I tried to brace meself for the next bunch of graduates. What did issue forth were platitudes like these:
"Ha ha ha, mom and dad, I did it! You didn't think I would, but after ten years I'm graduating!" This said by a 35 year old man with two kids in tow.
"Hey man, Fred, Jasper, Donnie, Karen, Laura, Mindy (I love ya man)."
I had to turn around to see who Mindy was, and for sure I couldn't tell if Mindy was male or female, the hair covered the face and the unisex clothing did nothing to distinguish if Mindy was a he or a she.
"People, this is it! It's over, I'm otta here, was great Professor Witney, hated you at first, but man you are the man now!"
I was rolling me eyes in me head, but Pro. Witney looked pleased. OK.
"I wanna thank my mom and dad, my sister Alissssssssson, my grandparents for hanging in therrrrrrrre, and now I'm going to the State University of Kentuckyyyyyyyyy for my mastrs in bio techonologggggggy."
I was glad this person's grandparents hung around and didn't drop dead to hear that tribute. The drawing out of the words was too blond for me taste, and kept ringing around me brain for a long time after.
"Peace guys. I am now a vet and I got a job in Golden. I wanna thank my parents for putting up with me all these years and Professor Lidhal for being there (thank you man), and well . . . see ya in Golden!"
Professor Lidhal looked like a woman to me, but well she could have been a man dressed as one because several students thanked her with "Thank you man," and I was hard pressed to understand why, but for that possible explanation.
Mr. Weasil's name was called and oh the hoots and cheers for the lad. You'd have thought he was the cat's pjamas. I braced meself for his speech. None of his family was attending because they had attended all his previous graduations and were probably graduationed out and felt this graduating business was getting out of hand. I mean how many graduation presents should one person be entitled to? Anyway, he got up there, shook hands with everyone and then adjusted the mic.
"In the words of the great Dr. Seuss, "be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind."" (Applause) "We know that graduation is an event where the commencement speaker tells students dressed in idential caps and gowns that individuality is the key to success. That is why none of us are dressed the same, including our professors. This college encourages self expression and that is what you see before you. The many who have acquired knowledge from this institution stand before you, and the professors who have encouraged we take that knowledge and use it as individuals can rest pleased with their labours. Thank you wise men and women," (Gestures towards professors), "and thank you kind audience for witnessing our success." (Thunderous applause.)
I was finding meself amazed that no quips and hippy expressions permeated the Weas's lips. He should have been the one to make the commencement speech. I found meself sitting there almost teary eyed over the possibilities, but then I knew he's done this before, he's experienced. I be impressed though, I be, but then I thought, Nah! Because as he exited I noticed he had successfully given the teaching staff the finger. He was holding his diploma up as he was walking off stage in a strange way. His middle finger was prominent as he held the diploma up. I should have known he could not pull off sentimentality without some hidden quip or in his case, not so hidden if you were looking at that shite eating grin on his face. But you know Linda, I couldn't be sure he did it on purpose or not. I had many moments of wrestling with that image whether he gave the finger knowingly or not. I be still not certain.
After grad speeches peppered with hippy sayings and such, a reception was had and I will say that it was a sumptuous feast. Me empty stomach was ever so happy. Pictures were taken outside, inside, in classrooms, friends cried at the coming parting, others were high fiving they even graduated, while still others were talking about partying. That was next, the great blow-up doll party that I thought was a joke but turned out to be a reality. Begorrah me!
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Och, must I relive this? I guess I must. As I mentioned, one of me purposes for flying to Colorado, was to attend Weasil's graduation. He has a BS in photography to add to his other degrees in Pharmacology and Pathology. Where photography is related to the other two, I have not a clue, but that they all start with the letter P.
P also stands for perpetual like in perpetual college student, which I be finding is Weasil's profession. This was pointed out to me by a mutual friend. I must say when I was looking to attended university, I did not see study for that profession listed. Had I, you can be quite sure I would have majored in that and not journalism. Be quite a bit easier, I could be taking any classes in any subject I wanted, attending any university and travelling the world with such a major like that, virtually forever!
Alas, we aren't all as observant of our education as one Chris Weasil. Let me describe this person to you. Besides being a bloody genius, he's a wit cracker of much renown. The wit borders on the quick and sarcastic and it is hard to best him. He is a lad of Scottish heritage, born there, but raised and educated in London, England. His mother is a theatre director in Glasgow, Scotland, divorced from his father who is an editor of fine books in London. Both parents are Scots and I have met them. The father is a highbrow scholarly type, who when he speaks, sends a body scrambling for a Collins to keep up with him, or better, to try to interpret the English language as spoken by people like the Royals. The mother is a curly haired Emma Thompson type, knows great theatre stories, is an artistically dressed woman, with a no-nonsense aura about her. How these two overachievers in their respective fields, produced a son such as Weasil, boggles the mind.
The young lad looks noting like either his dark haired mother, or his auburn haired father. He is blond, blue-eyed, tall, and somewhat buff. Me friend suggests perhaps the lad is adopted. He attracts young women like he's Orlando Bloom on holiday. I don't understand the attraction because while a young lady might ooh and ahh his good looks, as soon as he opens his mouth, watch out, the barbs fly and one needs a thick skin not to get upset. Yet, he attracts a good following of admirers who think he's the best thing to hit Glenwood Springs since the invention of Tequila lollipops with worms inside.
Mr. Weasil has a knack when online to out play, out last and out wit many of his circle. He'd be a fine candidate for the telly programme, SURVIVOR. Pit him with Johnny Fairplay, and you'd have a lethal duo. Dead grandma indeed, Mr. Weasil would have half the west coast gone, if a million dollars was the prize.
Mr. W is one for sending self made questionnaires around the net, and should have majored in surveys. He is quite good at it and the questions and results I find informative. Especially on subjects like these: How good a Brit are you? (This sent to everyone who wasn't British). Then there was: How good are you at pleasing your woman? (This sent to all his women friends.) How knowledgeable are you on LOTR? (No, not Lord of the Rings as one might popularly think, but Lost on the Run - this starts out as you are in a boggy place, there are two people with you, one is your best friend and the other is the hairless person you don't trust, etc., of course I was thinking I was Frodo, the best friend was Sam Wise and the hairless person was Golum. NOT TO BE. I found I had hypothetically robbed a bank, took off on the run with a friend assigned to me, and the hairless butch driver of the car we had stolen. Oi!) The mind of the Weasil is diabolically insane and clever to the extreme. He's a dangerous sort I tell ya -- this last said in Weasilese to give you a little Weasil flavour.
Somehow, I got into a friendship with him that was born online. I met the 24 year old master of the quick quip in a chat room. He knew who I was, I had no idea who he was though. Right there he had the advantage and he gave me a hard time. I was in Anglo chat chatting to the ladies who treat me like their son mostly (except for an adventurous few), and in comes the Weasil. I was weasiled to death I might add. I kept IMing the people I did know asking who this wise arse was. One or two knew he was the bane of Born in the UK chat. He was distracting, baiting, funny and an overall pain in the arse.
When I learned he was me blond haired travelling companion from me trip to London and Edinburgh I was gobsmacked. He thought it was great fun to not tell me who he was and to have fun with me. This went on for a while. Once I learned his identity, things got easier, but he still would trip me up every opportunity he got. This rocky relationship had me up nights trying to figure out a way to best his arse in a chat room. That's sad, but true and to this day I still haven't accomplished it.
To cut to the chase, I ran into this bugger in Boston. He was visiting a friend and made some sarcastic remark online that he'd drop in on yours truly while there. I took up his dare because that was what it was. Little did I know that the Weasil's tongue is hard as his online bite. Being a humourous fellow meself, we struck up a lopsided friendship. I had bonded well with him and the former BBC reporter on our trip abroad, three diverse personalities, but we had a solid friendship, if not a humourous one.
Out of this Boston visit, I got an invitation to Mr. W's graduation. This too was a dare of sorts, because when first rendered, I said i didn't think I could get the time off. After that remark, I received travel brochures in me email on getting away to Colorado, premium payment plans for those who can't afford to fly much, budget motels featuring call girl services, skinny wallet car rentals, (bang em' ups with dents for rent), and the topping on the cake, a blow-up-doll party after the graduation ceremony, WITH the idea you can take your personal blow-up dolly home with you. How could I resist THAT?
Off I took me to me editor asking for an assignment to Colorado, to study the political system there in comparison to the political system here in Boston. The man looked at me like I was out of me mind and gently informed me that Colorado was a part of the United States of America, and by-crackie, they too employed the same system of government out there that we do in the great state of Massachusetts. Now that wasn't what I meant and he knew it, he was messing with me. If I needed a working holiday he said, why didn't I just say so? I gulped and piped up that I had this invite and thought I could do some good with an article on something out west. Being a free spirit of sorts himself, me editor was a big fan of Wyatt Earp and Doc Holiday. This I did not know. He glorified these two villains to me and suggested I go in quest of just where old Doc ended up (dead by his cure in of all places, the place I was invited to). Had he been in the chat room watching Weasil verbally dissect me? Did he somehow know what me sad life consisted of? Work, chat room, sleep? Whatever it was I was thrilled. Off I went with me coach tickets in hand, a decent room slotted for the Comfort Inn right across the street from Mr. W's pad and travel expenses. Do I have a good editor in chief or what?
I flew into Denver where I shuttled out to the Dollar Rental Car Service. There I beat two old ladies inside. They were going to the wrong door, I knew this, but like Mr. W taught me, do not help them, go get in line first! I did this as they slowly shuffled the other way.
They gave me dirty looks as I was existing with me car contract and they were only just finding the correct door to enter. I couldn't help meself, I laughed all the way to Vail, Colorado. When in Weasil-land, do as the Weasil does. I did. The laughing stopped when I found meself slowly crawling along in 6 inches of heavy snow without a shovel or civilsation anywhere to be found. I didn't have a coat because when I left Boston, Mr. W said not to worry, wear what I would normally at this time of year. So there I sat with snow coming down in a short sleeved shirt, cargo shorts, and sandals. Add to this, me heater didn't work!
By the time I got to Glenwood Springs, I was a frozen block of ice. I checked into me room, and then walked across the street to Weasil's place, trying to thaw meself out. A permanent chill set in me poor cold body and I realised not only was I cold, but the air was so thin, I couldn't breathe either!
Weasil must have been looking for me because suddenly this blond lad comes flying out the door and gets me round the waist hoisting me in the air like a rag doll. I be yelling for him to put me down, but he was whirling me around to where me empty stomach, oxygen deprived brain, and cold limbs started experiencing extreme dizziness. Finally, he placed me on the ground and slapped me back in friendly greeting, near about knocking me over and out. I felt as though I had been beset by a large playful dog.
We got inside Weasil's abode and I must say it was a classy setup. He had a lovely view of Mt. Sopris (all snow covered), and the one thing I noticed was his extensive collection of lava lamps in every colour imaginable. The girlfriend (you remember Mathilda of marble fame), was a rather attractive blond girl who reminded me of Kate Hudson. Only problem, she was totally smitten with Mr. W and every time he addressed her or even looked at her, her brain melted to mush and nothing remotely intelligible came forth.
Let me cut to the quick, the graduation came. Me and Mathilda took off early because Mr. W told us we needed to get there at 8:30 a.m. for a good seat. The ceremony was to start at 10:30 mind you. I pleaded we go around 9 a.m. instead. You know right away we got the best seats in the house don't you? Think about why.
We were then subject to a professor with a penchant for John Denver songs. One right after the other of these sappy old tunes and I was ready to cry. It was just the two of us for two hours and this guy just loved singing those songs. I hadn't had breakfast, I was sitting on a hard chair and Mathilda was busy (after the first hour of just her and meself) jumping up to greet friends who were graduating. Still no audience members, just me being entertained all by meself by this singing professor. Linda, I tried, I really did, to look entertained and like I was enjoying the songfest (which was being sung directly AT me) but soon, me demeanor was starting to change, if he didn't stop soon, I was going to commit murder. How horrible is that?
Finally, thank the good Lord, PEOPLE started coming in to SIT DOWN. This was around 10 a.m. and let me tell you, I knew Country Roads by heart by then, and found meself actually singing along! It won't be soon enough I ever hear that sogn again. I did think to meself, if this guy sings that bleeding song one more time, I'm going to get out of this chair and break his guitar!
The Weasil appeared with Mathilda and a host of admireres before me. It took me a few minutes to come out of the John Denver funk to notice all the neon blue gowned people looking at me as if I were a novelty. I blinked me eyes at the colour glare and was introduced to them all and as quickly they disappeared for the Pomp and Circumstance, or so I thought, but it wasn't Pomp and Circumstance blaring over the loud speaker. It was the guitar twanging of COUNTRY ROADS! Yes, the John Denver wannabe was the musician for the entire ceremony.
The Dean spoke and then four others of a 14 strong faculty, and it was all about acid rain, save the environment, keep the trees from loggers, and ski till you freak. I realised every single one of them was trapped in the 70s. The long grey streaked hair worn in pony tails professors in sandals, the women in long hippy dresses, ringlets free to frizz and "Peace man," coming forth from toking lips. Then it happened, the professor with the guitar started singing Rocky Mountain High as the interlude between the Dean's speech and the handing out of diplomas. Me eyes started to water, not because it was moving, but because the anger of hearing just one more John Denver song was starting to really get to me.
I looked around to find meself the only man in a suit. Everyone else was in shorts and sandals. I was the odd duck and it was strange and I suddenly realised why Weasil's friends had viewed me as a curiosity. I wanted to cover me ears, but resisted the temptation. Finally the song ended and the Dean got up. I noticed over the long hippy dresses, the hairy legs of the faculty in shorts (that includes the women), was an array of faculty graduation gowns like no other. Seems there were no gowns for the faculty, so some enterprising individual got a whole bunch of mixed gowns from the Salvation Army and there they sat, each one different. A rainbow, oh how appropriate.
The Dean informed us that each grad was going to get a chance to say whatever they pleased after receiving their diploma. OH MY GOD, I was going to be in the gym forever. I be all for free speech, but did we have to?
I took a good look at the grads. I must admit I sat with me mouth agape. The veterinary students had cute little doggy paws on their gowns, the photography grads had rolls of exposed film hanging from their hats, and each group had something to distinguish their particular study. Never in me life had I been subject so such casual ceremony. The saving grace was that there were 30 grads in total. About two decided not to give a speech after receiving their diploma.
The Valedictorian got up first.
"I want to say what a proud day this is for all of us. We put our butts to the grindstone and achieved the impossible. All our dreams are now reality for the class of, what year is this? Oh yeah, 2004. Some of us have been at this for more years than we can count, but all our journeys are about to begin. I see the professors are all wearing silly outfits like mine, and it is nice we up here all look like idiots, but fashion isn't a statement today, education is. For those of us continuing our education, see you at Johnson and Wales U. to those of us who actually think they have a job in their chosen profession, carpe diem sucker! Continuing education is the only way to go unless the family fortune runs out, then God forbid we might all have to actually find a job. Naw, let's party instead!"
Oh my was all I could think. Me brain was in shock that everyone behind me was applauding this. I was still trying to get passed, "put our butts to the grindstone," let alone the Valedictorian not remembering what year it was. I tried to brace meself for the next bunch of graduates. What did issue forth were platitudes like these:
"Ha ha ha, mom and dad, I did it! You didn't think I would, but after ten years I'm graduating!" This said by a 35 year old man with two kids in tow.
"Hey man, Fred, Jasper, Donnie, Karen, Laura, Mindy (I love ya man)."
I had to turn around to see who Mindy was, and for sure I couldn't tell if Mindy was male or female, the hair covered the face and the unisex clothing did nothing to distinguish if Mindy was a he or a she.
"People, this is it! It's over, I'm otta here, was great Professor Witney, hated you at first, but man you are the man now!"
I was rolling me eyes in me head, but Pro. Witney looked pleased. OK.
"I wanna thank my mom and dad, my sister Alissssssssson, my grandparents for hanging in therrrrrrrre, and now I'm going to the State University of Kentuckyyyyyyyyy for my mastrs in bio techonologggggggy."
I was glad this person's grandparents hung around and didn't drop dead to hear that tribute. The drawing out of the words was too blond for me taste, and kept ringing around me brain for a long time after.
"Peace guys. I am now a vet and I got a job in Golden. I wanna thank my parents for putting up with me all these years and Professor Lidhal for being there (thank you man), and well . . . see ya in Golden!"
Professor Lidhal looked like a woman to me, but well she could have been a man dressed as one because several students thanked her with "Thank you man," and I was hard pressed to understand why, but for that possible explanation.
Mr. Weasil's name was called and oh the hoots and cheers for the lad. You'd have thought he was the cat's pjamas. I braced meself for his speech. None of his family was attending because they had attended all his previous graduations and were probably graduationed out and felt this graduating business was getting out of hand. I mean how many graduation presents should one person be entitled to? Anyway, he got up there, shook hands with everyone and then adjusted the mic.
"In the words of the great Dr. Seuss, "be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind."" (Applause) "We know that graduation is an event where the commencement speaker tells students dressed in idential caps and gowns that individuality is the key to success. That is why none of us are dressed the same, including our professors. This college encourages self expression and that is what you see before you. The many who have acquired knowledge from this institution stand before you, and the professors who have encouraged we take that knowledge and use it as individuals can rest pleased with their labours. Thank you wise men and women," (Gestures towards professors), "and thank you kind audience for witnessing our success." (Thunderous applause.)
I was finding meself amazed that no quips and hippy expressions permeated the Weas's lips. He should have been the one to make the commencement speech. I found meself sitting there almost teary eyed over the possibilities, but then I knew he's done this before, he's experienced. I be impressed though, I be, but then I thought, Nah! Because as he exited I noticed he had successfully given the teaching staff the finger. He was holding his diploma up as he was walking off stage in a strange way. His middle finger was prominent as he held the diploma up. I should have known he could not pull off sentimentality without some hidden quip or in his case, not so hidden if you were looking at that shite eating grin on his face. But you know Linda, I couldn't be sure he did it on purpose or not. I had many moments of wrestling with that image whether he gave the finger knowingly or not. I be still not certain.
After grad speeches peppered with hippy sayings and such, a reception was had and I will say that it was a sumptuous feast. Me empty stomach was ever so happy. Pictures were taken outside, inside, in classrooms, friends cried at the coming parting, others were high fiving they even graduated, while still others were talking about partying. That was next, the great blow-up doll party that I thought was a joke but turned out to be a reality. Begorrah me!
Gabe
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