When Bono Comes to Town
Well here it is. I've spent the last four years of my life writing that same A-/B+ paper over and over again to finally obtain that coveted Ivy League diploma, or what my therapist calls a "passport." These four boring years of exploiting our society's legitimate (and very expensive) means of social uplift have been at a considerable cost to my ego and my erstwhile career as a teenage pop idol back in Baltimore. But I stuck it out, because my grandpa told me to put away those foolish dreams of superstardom and study biochemistry to learn how the world really works. And so, I learned and I learned, joined two fraternities, drank and I drank, forgot most of what I learned and went to CAPS. And now that I have returned from "Best Spring Break Ever, Cancun 2004," I am facing the final stretch of my undergraduate studies, looking forward with nervous anticipation to our glorious cap and gowned graduation festivities. Will my parents throw me a party? Will my grandparents make me a banner? Will my favorite Aunt Kirsten cook me up some of her delicious Cornflake Tuna Cheese Chicken casserole? And who will speak at commencement?