Graduation

I've long realized that I don't have the proper attitude toward graduation ceremonies. I just always thought that I would eventually be converted to the correct perspective. And yet it still hasn't happened.

When I graduated with my Ph.D. from San Diego State University, there were at least ten beach balls bouncing throughout the auditorium at any one particular moment. No one paid attention to the speakers, and often there was so much cheering that you couldn't understand what was being said. Clearly everyone was excited about being there, but there also seemed to be some concern by the administration that the excitement not be allowed to grow too long before letting everyone out. Consequently, every part of the ceremony was kept short and simple. After it was all over, friends and relatives commented that it was the shortest, most unruly graduation they had ever attended. There was nothing reverent or dignified about it. And that's why I absolutely loved it.

Since then I've attended several graduation ceremonies at my school. Every time we enter the giant auditorium, we walk under a big sign that says, "Maintain the dignity of the ceremony." And then we quietly file in, cram ourselves into chairs spaced for 10 year olds, and try to stay awake for the 1 1/2 to 2 1/2 hour ceremony. We listen to grand talks about proud morals and high ideals. We clap politely after stuffy musical numbers. We are reminded that we should give back to the university, and are assured that both large and small checks are welcome. Finally, after the row of speakers has been exhausted and our perspiration has soaked through our clothes and caused our robes to cling wetly to our bodies, we stumble out. I swear these ceremonies are more like a funeral than a graduation.

I'm not sure how much longer I can "maintain the dignity of the ceremony" without going insane. Every time I walk under the sign, I have a new idea for what would really spice up the ceremony. One year it was to attach pipe cleaner antennas to my graduation cap. Last year it was to hide a squirt gun in my sleeves and squirt graduates as they marched in. This year I was wishing that I had a package of balloons that I could blow up and then let go of in the middle of a particularly boring talk. The thought of a deflating balloon spinning spasmodically through the air and letting out a loud raspberry as it deflated was so delicious that I actually snorted during the President's address. I covered it up by pretending I had a cold and regularly sniffing for the next five minutes. I think it worked, because the people sitting on either side of me starting leaning away from me.

For all of you out there who have a difficult time controlling your exuberance at graduation ceremonies, I salute you. Thank you for your cat calls, air horns, inflated surgical gloves, and irreverent signs. You inspire me.

New funny blog

A good friend of mine has started blogging, and her stuff is very funny. Check it out on notthemotheroftheyear.blogspot.com.

And here's today's lineup...

I went to a wedding reception on Thursday evening. Steverino's oldest daughter got hitched. Considering that Steverino is one of my closest friends, and that I know all of his family fairly well, walking through the reception line should have been a breeze. After all, Steverino and I have been in so many different situations together, and I have never once been at a loss for words. In fact, some of my best lines have come from those situations, including my online persona of Splinger Moosebutt. But stick him in a tuxedo and place him in a wedding reception line and all of a sudden I don't know what to say.

As I approached him, my mind was racing for just the right line. I kept drawing a blank, so in desperation I went with something like, "Lookin' good." How lame is that? Guys who are close show that closeness by always leading off with a jab, like, "Wow, did your mother dress you for this?" or "I've seen two-month old corpses that looked better in a tux than you, and they only had half their teeth." Then he'd say something like, "Not even my mom would have dressed you in what you're wearing," or "Keep it up and you'll have similar dental problems as your two-month old corpses." And then we'd chuckle, each knowing that our friendship was solid.

But lead with a line like, "Lookin' good," and what's he supposed to say? "You, too"? And pretty soon we'd be sounding like two women at a Relief Society function. Oh, the shame, the absolute humiliation! Nothing can ruin a friendship between guys faster than civility.

In my opinion, wedding lines may be the biggest reason why guys dislike wedding receptions. Once the guy is through the line, he can dig into food and ditch his date for the companionship of other like-minded guys who are either "fixing up" the married couple's car or planning how to slip the groom an extra-large, glow-in-the-dark con...uh...condominium just before he cuts the wedding cake. Now there are some great ways to strengthen guy relationships.

Personally, I think that guys should be exempt from the wedding line if small talk is expected. If we could go through the wedding line and just high-five everyone, or perhaps act like our favorite animal and then have a competition between the bride and groom to guess what the animal was, the wedding line would be a lot less traumatic. Guys might begin to have a whole different perspective toward weddings and marriage in general. At the very least, the groom's father should provide a bowl with slips of paper in it containing suitable statements to say as the guy goes through the line. As the guy approached the line, he could just grab one of those slips of paper and go with whatever it said, knowing fully well that everyone in the line would not blame him for whatever came out of his mouth, because it wouldn't be his fault. It would the groom's father's fault! And nobody really likes him, anyway, because he doesn't really even do much for the wedding. A perfect solution.

So Steverino, now you know what to do for the next wedding reception. Or you could just have someone waiting at the entrance to direct me straight to the cake. That's probably your safest bet, anyway.

Preparing against the day

I've recently become addicted to Trolli sour brite crawlers. It would be a bad thing, except now I get my daily recommended values of Yellow 5, Red 40, and Blue 1. Everyone knows that it's hard to find a reliable source of Blue 1. Now I have one.

I became addicted to TSBCs on my trip to California to attend my grandfather's funeral. Before then, my traditional travel candy was good and plenty. But on this trip, I found myself devouring pack after pack of these little goodies. I couldn't help myself. The Blue 1 had me hooked. And I am still craving them, even though the road trip has long been over.

Now I'm constantly seeking a cheap source of my drug of choice. I went to Wal-mart two weekends ago and found them on sale for 79 cents a pack. I grabbed every pack they had. It wasn't rational. I just had to have them all. And when I was about to run out of them, J-Girl bought five more packs from Smith's. She had to pay 99 cents a pack, but she had no choice—Wal-mart has been out of TSBCs every time we've gone there since I last cleaned them out. I'm beginning to suspect that there might be other addicts out there. Or maybe there is some cartel at work trying to artificially jack up the prices, like OPEC. Or it could be the wheat shortage. After all, the bag contains the warning, "Packaged on equipment that also packages products containing traces of milk, egg, wheat, peanuts, tree nuts, and/or soy products." As wheat prices soar, it can no longer be cheap to find wheat tainted packaging equipment, with or without the appropriate "and/or."

I interpret all of this as a sure sign that I need to stock up on TSBCs so that when famines and pestilences come, me and my family will be fine. I'm going to start building a TSBC storehouse. I think I'll put some malt balls away, too. And maybe even some "and/or" wheat tainted packaging equipment.

Questions in the bathroom

Being male, I am no stranger to men's restrooms. I understand a lot of the unwritten rules. I know not to talk to people who are peeing next to me. I try to leave an open urinal between me and the next guy whenever possible. I don't assume a wide stance in a stall. And I recognize that even if me and a friend should enter a restroom at the same time, we are nonetheless doing so as separate individuals and not as a group. Going to the restroom is considered a solitary activity by men.

Despite my deep understanding of the social practices involved in using a men's restroom, I have lately experienced restroom behaviors that I think fall into the gray area. For example, on several occasions I have been minding my own business, focusing my attention completely on the tiles directly above the urinal I'm using when the guy next to me rips one loud enough to rattle the light fixtures. Admittedly, the bathroom is the appropriate place for such behavior. But shouldn't you take a stall if you're intent on blowing a hole in your shorts? At the very least you should give some warning that an explosion is coming, such as coughing, shuffling your feet, or yelling, "Fire in the hole!" I wish those guys had.

And then a couple of weeks ago, I was washing my hands when the guy in the corner stall got a phone call. To my surprise, he answered it, which didn’t technically violate the no talking rule since the other party wasn’t in that particular bathroom. However, when he had to ask that person to repeat him- or herself each time a toilet flushed, I got a little creeped out. It felt so dirty.

Perhaps the most startling behavior, though, happened a few days ago when the guy in the stall next to me suddenly started whistling the theme song from Star Wars. What’s up with that? What's he doing that made him think of that particular song? Destroying a planet with his deathstar? I quickly finished my business before I had to witness the destruction. He was still whistling it when I left.

All of these recent experiences have made me realize that bathroom etiquette for the male is not as clear cut as I originally thought. Someone needs to come forward and address these issues, setting the record straight for the rest of us. Until then, however, please keep your movie theme music to yourself. And if you hear flushing on the other side of a phone conversation, be sure to wash your hands after you hang up.