An Open Commencement Address to the Class of 2007

Distinguished faculty, honored guests, friends, countrymen, liberal elitists, Boggle club members and the graduating class of 2007: It is with humble zeal I address you all today in a rayon gown.

I like gowns. And I love pomp. I love circumstance.

Today, we stand at the horizon of infinite tomorrows. Looking back on this day, from the future, we will look much smaller and — quite likely — thinner. But this will mostly be an optical illusion caused by our rearview time mirrors. And also, maybe something to do with years of eating lots of lasagna. The point is, stuff is changing.

When you arrived here four years ago, fresh-faced and full of vim, our governor was still a closeted gay American. The Concorde made its final commercial flight. Britney Spears had a number one album on the Billboard 200. And hair.

In 2003, America ended major combat operations in a freshly liberated, candy-littered Iraq. Louisiana had a dirty but vibrant city at the mouth of the Mississippi River. Ruben Studdard was your American Idol. Times were good.

Now, only four years later, Detroit has hosted WrestleMania 23. It's International Heliophysical Year, and we know how crazy that can get. DNA tests have revealed photographer Larry Birkhead to be the father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby. The House of Representatives has elected its first-ever woman speaker. Courteous terrorists are waiting for us to leave Iraq before attacking us here. The Mega Millions jackpot reached $370 million. What could possibly be next?

But it is not your job to tell the future. It is your job to go and get a job. And sure, if you really want to, you could get a job as a psychic who predicts the future. Or even work for Bill Kristol at the Project for the New American Century. Think tanks are fun. In case you're wondering, think tanks are similar to battle tanks, but they don't get targeted with improvised explosive devices.

You should not be cowed by the ferocious job market. Some economists will tell you that graduates today risk being the first in decades to earn a standard of living inferior to their parents. But why listen to economists? If they're so smart, wouldn't they be Wall Street investment bankers, cashing in on the bulls and bubbles while lounging in goat cheese baths and stroking their pet llamas? I know I would.

But no. I chose to become a reporter. And not just any kind of reporter, but a newspaper reporter. In a time of unprecedented wealth tempered by international uncertainty, I joined a distrusted industry that's in an unprecedented panic stoked by alleged doom. Why?

Well why not? Doom can set you free. Whenever I interview people who almost died or lived through some horrible loss, they almost always embrace the precious time they have been allotted. So should you, though I know life can seem endless when you are young and wearing a flat, tassled hat.

If you're anything like the graduates now running our country, you likely won't heed good advice anyway. But there are two things I know for sure, and I will leave them with you to do with as you wish.

First: Never play leap-frog with a unicorn.

And most importantly — the easiest to remember, but for some dang reason the hardest to follow: Clean your belly button. Oh. And be good to one another.