It’s awful hot at these dark wizards’ conventions (graduation ceremony dress rehearsal). And when they seal the doors on Sunday, the gym will become a pressure cooker, especially when filled with 1000 violently sobbing mothers. So far the ceremony feels like a lot of standing in the right place and the right order, walking (with dignity) at the same speed as other people in the right order and sitting for an hour while the speakers struggle with ethnic names. And this highest honors scarf/sash/giant novelty tie is a real hazard to drink in, or wash my hands in, and especially to go the bathroom in.
Mr. Huber, who has never met me before, is announcing names from the last quarter of the alphabet. He keeps pronouncing my name “Tron” like the movie, even though he pronounces “Trandel” right. Whenever people do this I tell them to remember my Siberian Orchestra, but I don’t think he gets it.
Well, that summarizes the graduation practice. Now I’m all gussied up and off to prom.