Me (in pink flip flops), Jeff (behind me) and the gang at our 5 year reunion at Wesleyan in 2007.
I remember very little of my graduation from college, except that, in our bright red robes, we looked like a giant blood clot streaming down onto the football field, where we finally pooled, nervous and confused, at the feet of our proud relatives and stoic professors. I was marching behind a huge, stumbling sorority girl who said nothing but “Oh, shit. Oh shit!” under her breath as we waded into our seats. And then, as if we weren’t all edgy enough, someone had a seizure as the President made his opening remarks. She had to be carried away on a stretcher, restrained by paramedics, as we got to our feet to accept our diplomas. We watched as a piece of our clot was gingerly loaded - gown shining, tassle in-tact - into an ambulance, and then we graduated. Immediately after the ceremony I threw my gown away and climbed to the top of the psychology building. I stood on the roof, the toes of my sneakers stuffed into a crack in the ledge, and smoked a cigarette as I watched the last of the red dots disappear from the field. I stayed up there for over an hour, sucking down nicotine and contemplating the ramifications of ending college with an epileptic fit. It seemed to me to be a very bad sign.
To be continued...
But wait! There's more! Psych out!
30 is the minimum age for United States senators. (Watch yo'self, Kirsten Gillibrand!)
According to Matthew 26:15, Judas Iscariot betrayed Jesus for 30 pieces of silver. (Is that, like, a lot?)
30 is also the code for international direct dials to Greece AND slang for pornography, since its roman numeral is XXX! (Those two facts are not related, that I know of. But I hear those Greeks are a kinky bunch.)