Hats: People Aren't Wearing Enough Of Them

At 9 this morning we the seniors were uncerimoniously herded into the cafetorium for a tiresome presentation about how terrific Gradblast will be. I plan to go, pick up my diploma, eat some free food, stick myself to a velcro wall, then escape via grappling hook through the A-Commons skylight.

After the Gradblast coordinators had unsuccesfully attempted to shout out all their information over the ruckus we were causing, Megan "Current Occupant" Augustinak stepped up to the microphone and announced that because no one had signed up for the senior banquet, our senior poll results would be announced today. Sam won Always Late To Class--his gag gift was an unforgiveably girly little ring/wrist watch, but he partially made up for its lameness by pretending that by twisting it, he could use it to shatter a glass window via some sort of resonance-inducing mechanism. I, on the other hand, took home the big prize, Most Likely To Succeed, and the real hardware, a fistful of classy plastic medals, each one proclaiming me a "WINNER." Sam subsequently connected these together to form a sort of medal shash, or, as I like to think of it, a medal bandelier.

Eric "Cheshire Cat" Heise then got on the mic and explained that he's been unable to come to any sort of decision about graduation because he's an ineffectual pantywaist. He conducted a series of extremely informal polls, consisting of asking a question, making a ballpark estimate of the number of people who raised their hands, then assuming that everyone who didn't raise their hands was an ardent supporter of the opposing viewpoint, even if they were ignoring him completely.

Long story short, looks like I won't be speaking at gradiation this year. Too bad, too; I had a sweet opener all set up:

"As I look out on this sea of smiling faces, I am reminded of the conversation held between Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and Gandalf Greyhem, in the great mead-hall of Theodan, King of Rohan, during the celebration of the victory over the forces of Saruman at Helm's Deep. Gandalf wondered aloud if Frodo Baggins, the little Hobbit who carried all their hopes with him in his lonely quest for the crack of Doom, was still alive. Aragorn gripped the wizard's shoulder and asked him, "What does your heart tell you?" Gandalf saw the truth of it, and realized that Frodo, and their hopes for peace in Middle Earth, were very much alive.

You may all feel that perhaps your hopes and dreams, like those embodied by Frodo of the Nine Fingers, are in danger now, wandering alone over uncharted ground, but you must remember Aragorn's advice and ask yourself: "What does your heart tell you?" If you look deep enough within yourself, you will find that like Frodo, your dreams are not alone in their journey: they are accompanied by faithful friend and family, as Frodo was accompanied by the stalwart Samwise Gamgee, and they are guided by the watchful eye of God, just as Frodo was guided into the bowels of Mordor by the gangle creature Gollum."

Also, a closing line:

"In conclusion, may your dreams fly as high as your hats!"

Or, alternately:

"Warrior Football!
Crowd: YES
Warror Football!
Crowd: YES
One, More, TIME
Crowd: YES
(dramatic pause)
Aaaaaahhhh!
crowd: AAAAHHHH!!!"

In spite of this letdown, I've had an inexplicable bubble of happiness in my belly today. Perhaps I'm in love. Or I have a tapeworm.

P.S.: Synchornisity update: On Saturday evening, a stiff white cowboy hat was found. It's size seemed unusual enough to be remarked upon: 7 and 1/8.

On Sunday afternoon, I sat in the little theater and watched You Can't Take It With You. It was a fine play, and I was delighted to find that at one point, a hat size is mentioned. You guessed it: 7 and 1/8.