If I knew then what I do now... - Our Man in Amsterdam

Election day in Chicago aside, is there any event more anti-climactic than a university commencement? Four years are spent in eager anticipation of that glorious day, and when it finally comes, halfway through the interminable pomposity of it all, you find yourself praying for the end. Of the world, that is.

This year it won't be much different. Sure, there will be plenty of starpower and yours truly will be up there on the stage for all to admire. But, when you think about it, you'd probably be better off telling the 'rents to stay home.

Marinate on this. We'll get to hear Brokaw yammer for a while, which seems cool but after the fifth time he tells us to "stop bitching" because "Osama is a pansy compared to Hitler," I'll be ready to slap him. Brody will make his spiel, undoubtedly reminding us that if we don't donate half our earnings to the school, we won't get into heaven. Then Goutman and Mittal will bring it on home, in one final Duel of the Great Irrelevants. Sure to be more Strom Thurmond filibuster than Lincoln-Douglas debate, their words will bring the day to a most unspectacular end.

This brings me to a conclusion of my own. Man, they ought to let me speak. I'd shake some shit up, let me tell you.

First thing I'd do, I'd let everyone know that it's okay to be scared shitless. In fact, if you aren't just a bit nervous, there's probably something wrong with you.

I used to think graduation was just a bump in the road, something to be speeded through and forgotten. Now that it's my turn to ride off into the sunset, I can understand the need for nostalgia. May 23 looms very large on the horizon right about now. Not to mention the great unknown beyond.

Pretty fuckin' spooky is what it is. Dude, major case of nerves coming on. I think I'm gonna spew.

Please bear with me as I meander through my checkered past at this joint. Hold on to your hats, folks. It's time to reflect, maybe make a few final corrections before I'm done. Please, for the love of Pete, keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle.

This whole college thing has come to an absurd end. I spent the entire fall semester hoping and praying it would just hurry up and get over with already. Then, spring swings around and, much to my chagrin, I get just what I wished for. With only three classes to worry about and a thesis hanging over my head, the last few months melted like so much old snow.

Maybe we really are leaving something behind, cheesy as that sounds. What drove that home was visiting a handful of law schools over the last month. Grad school is just an entirely different show, my friends. Everyone's so darned serious, not to mention occasionally old as hell. As much as I complained about the workload at the ol' Johnny Hop, we didn't have it that bad.

This is the part where I'd throw in random shout-outs to my good buddies, in the hopes of buttering them up for a cool goodbye gift. If you don't know me, just skip down a few paragraphs.

To think, when I got here, I was pretty sure I already knew everything. A typical teenager, I was. But when my first roomie, Dave Yu, introduced me to the musical stylings of the Big Pun, I knew I was entering a different world. Thanks to Dave and a little program called Napster (do freshmen even remember this?), schooling only had a partial role in my education that year.

I can't recall much from those days, except that my neighbor stank of tandoori chicken. He's good people, though.

Then there was the time when I went to work for a mullet-wearing, closeted lesbian. Loved the work, loved my co-workers, but I couldn't stand her. She's definitely not good people.

The last couple of years remain all too clear. They've probably been the hardest of all. Thankfully, I've had a good group of friends who've kept me sane through it all. Thanks, Kathy and Marc, for keepin' it real. Ring me any time you're up for a Krispy Kreme run.

Of all the things I've done in the last four years, perhaps my work for this paper makes me proudest. It's also given me an insight into what's left to be done at this place.

A few weeks ago, my co-editor and I made the decision to print an anonymous column that outlined one undergraduate's four-year tale of cheating his way through Hopkins. While Jeremy and I could barely stomach this guy's deeds, we felt it was more important to focus on his misdeeds, rather than try to get him punished. Given the reaction that the column inspired and the campus-wide dialogue that's followed, I'm glad we made that call.

Hopefully, this will turn into something significant. I hope those motivated folks that turned up at the Deans' town-hall meeting last week will retain their fervor into the fall. It'll be up to them to affect permanent changes to the school's questionable, too-often competitive academic culture.

While I'm taking a look back, I'd be remiss if I didn't rectify probably the year's worst mistake. A few months ago, I wrote an article that painted an all-too-rosey portrait of diversity here at Hopkins. Out of a desire to lend a happy ending to the long, difficult journey of minorities at Hopkins, I completely, shamefully glossed over the work that's left to be done. Thanks to Ashley and Elizabeth for pointing out my error.

Indeed, as they accurately put it, there's quite a heavy workload. African-Americans and Latinos remain woefully underrepresented among the ranks of Hopkins graduates and undergraduates. While the Office of Multicultural Student Affairs (now operating under the auspices of Student Life) is staffed with some of the most hard-working, friendly administrators on campus, they've had to operate with too few resources for years.

At least students seem to care about promoting cultural diversity at Homewood. This year's wonderful Culturefest and the nascent movement to create an Afro-American studies department certainly indicate as much, anyway. One wonders when President Brody and his cronies will step up to the plate as well. What's the matter, Bill, not a fashionable enough issue for you?

But let's not turn this into a bitter polemic. In all fairness, this joint's gotten all the better during my time here. (Except for the E-Level thing, but that's what PJ's is for.) Certainly it's kept me as busy as ever. Definitely it's filled my brain with even more useless info. And, whatever my beef with Brody, I can't deny the man sure can tickle them ivories.

One parting word. Hard as we might've had it at times, things could've been much, much worse.

Whatever memories you have, whatever regrets loom over your head, I can't stress the importance of placing it all in the proper perspective. Think of this: You could've gone to Brown.

Let that be a consolation as you head out into the world. Now, go forth, my children. (Be fruitful if you like but most probably shouldn't multiply.)

If you're ever in Amsterdam, give a brother a ring.

A final prediction. Bring your raincoats this fall, because, apres moi, le deluge.

Au revoir, knuckleheads. I'll be missed.