The shadow of the day will embrace the world in grey, because someone just got validated as a teacher. Good song, but probably awkward, since I’m considering pledging my allegiance to the Seattle Sounders FC and changing my official color from “lime green” to “Rave Green”.
Wait…the hell? Me? Who in their right minds would authorize this? Gandhi?
While working today at the university, I got bored from the usual grind and decided to do a bit of research. Sure enough, my research led me to my school portal, where my status had been upgraded from student to faculty. This was a welcome development, since it could only mean one thing: A.T. Guy will be teaching this fall. I checked the school’s schedule of classes, and there I am, slotted next to three courses of Interpersonal Communication. Officially, I have arrived, and there’s not a damned thing anyone can do about it…until I do something unethical, of course.
Sunday, the Triumvirate officially closed eight years of camaraderie by celebrating Jordan’s graduation…at the Afrikan Student Graduation. You know, the premise is fishy at best, but that’s where we excel. We had no business at a black graduation, because I think we passed up having “black cards” years ago. Jordan may be the closest one to the culture, but do recall we all met in El Segundo, not exactly known for its diversity. On second thought, Brandon told me there are more black people there than we last knew. I promptly scratched the city off my list of places to attend after hearing that disconcerting news. Back to Royce Hall for our previously scheduled program in about…yes, Royce Hall. I must say that there were plenty of things that represented the culture “admirably” in retrospect. It started late…surprise. The African drummers that preceded the march included one white person, who kept the beat better than the coloreds…classic. There was a Mexican cop at the door armed…necessary. I wore a Celtics jersey out of support, while Brandon wore a Kobe Bryant shirt…conflict. Jordan’s cousin joined me in representing Boston, so all was…controversial. There was texting the whole time, because we could not believe the inanity of the ceremony. Everything was laughable, because it was one hell of a mixture between education and ignorance. First off, black people majoring in Black Studies should be outlawed, but I feel the same way about anybody specializing in a person’s native culture, or cultural department. Nothing, however, prepared us for the keynote speaker who decried the very platform upon which he spoke. You can’t reasonably talk about the ills of the white man at UCLA. You also can’t ask black people to get back to their roots and praise the One God when African roots generally leans towards polytheism. I had no intention on turning the graduation into a textual analysis, but there were certain shenanigans that led Brandon and me to call bullshit, as well as any other educated person in the audience. Luckily, Jordan’s family has plenty of smarties on call, because we all laughed at certain tidbits that craved laughter. The crown jewel of the event would have been the boos that cascaded Jordan’s entourage due to the Celtics swag in attendance, but there were a few “moments” that should be mentioned. A guy brought his skateboard on stage. A guy had his daughter on his shoulders and proceeded to “stomp the yard” without removing her. Numerous people declined to shake the officiating professor’s hand upon recognition. Some people “minored” in football. The Alpha Phi Alpha fraternity would not stop chanting and dancing. Some names were hard to pronounce, even at a black graduation. The students who majored in serious subjects, such as biology, did not make asses out of themselves as they accepted awards. The students who majored in joke subjects acted like jokes. Through this all, the Triumvirate laughed and praised the stars we hailed from El Segundo, alma mater dear.
Afterwards, the Triumvirate (with our new sister-in-law, Brittany) enjoyed repast at the Cheesecake Factory. Note, they don’t sell apple cider, just apple juice. However, their jambalaya is spectacular. I was reminded that I should seek out a significant other instead of feasting on cider. Funny, the people in the know laughed at how my luck was consistently the worst out of my friends in the romance department. Yes, it was that bad. However, my name does appear on the schedule of classes for the fall. Maybe that’ll turn into leverage with a girl. Or maybe in two years, we’ll be at the Cheesecake Factory discussing the situation when I finally say “screw it, it’s time for that rampage I’ve been planning.” Skibbedebebop. Much later.
Current Track – Linkin Park “Shadow of the Day”