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That Lame Commencement Address

To say that commencement talks are clichéd is to engage in cliché itself; it is as profound an understatement as "Jessica Alba would prefer that Mr. Long not call her anymore." The feculent commencement talk is so undeniable that biologists may one day discover it is autonomic; it is as certain a rite of spring as allergies, Ivy League rejection letters, and the June discovery that your car's air conditioner needs repair priced somewhere north of extortion. The sanguine setups and panacean payoffs of the springtime address come as naturally to an American speaker of English as rabid animosity to a DMV clerk, and in a vocabulary as finite, cramped, and predictable as a linguist might collect from a schoolyard.

Show me a commencement address containing an original idea. Can’t be done. These vapid, molasses-speed addresses are so limited in scope and narrow in style that the canon may be completely categorized: 

Then there are the speaker types, from the senior-citizen-as-novelty-because-the-audience-is-young to the 20-something millionaire who thinks flip-flops on the dais make him cool. Not to mention the professionally lateral friends of those on the selection committee–hey, it's a free trip and a check! Also illiterate athletes and celebrity stunt-casting. That’s about it.

 
As filling as a cracker; as memorable as a sneeze. Death to the commencement address. Let’s start hiring DJs.

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