Warren Ellis, �Transmetropolitan� Multiple Titles,
- Lust for Life (Started September 7 � Finished September 7, 2003; 208 pages)
- The New Scum (Started September 7 � Finished September 7, 2003; 144 pages)
I�ve been putting this off for a while now. I didn�t have time to write about it before I left, and now that I�m back I seem to be exceptionally busy as of late. Hell, I�m writing this right now at 11:30 at night, despite the fact I�ll be working 11 hours straight tomorrow morning. Now that�s dedication!
Or desperation. Whatever.
But I was also putting this off because I�ve reviewed several other collections of Transmetropolitan before, and what�s more to say about it? It�s great stuff and it�s brutally funny, but I�ve said that.
So I�ll talk about my graduation, as I haven�t begun to dig into that area. When I graduated from De Anza College, I originally planned to invite a shitload of people on one condition: when they called my name and I started to cross the stage, I wanted everybody I knew to boo as loud as they could, whereupon I would hold my fist up high in the black power salute.
But then my crazy girlfriend of the time got sick, and I cancelled. Unbeknownst to me, my pink sister snuck over to the band that was by the side of the stage, flashed some skin to the band dorks, and asked them to boo when my name was called.
I wasn�t expecting it, so when boos and catcalls came, I almost doubled up laughing. But I got my diploma, put my head down and raised my fist while I walked � and almost crashed into the chancellor.
San Jose State University has too many people to try an attempt to have a walk across the podium, so the departments each held their own private ceremony. The problem with my department, however, dealt with the fact that most of the people in the radio/television/film department are drama geeks, and so we were �treated� to numerous video shows and commercials, mixed in with live performances.
Then they started handing out awards, complete with tearful thanks by the recipients of one more piece of fucking paper. I even got an award for writing from my screenwriting professor, the one who I had so many problems with last year.
I didn�t get to make a speech however. But if I did, I probably would have quoted that great orator, Ronald Reagan, by saying, �The bombing begins in five minutes.� So it�s probably best I didn�t get to go to the lecturn.
Yet.
Before we had taken our seats we were asked to fill out a form spelling out our names phonetically. Underneath our name we were supposed to write in anything we would like said when we collected our diploma: projects worked on, schools which had accepted you, personal achievements, that sort of thing.
That Reagan quote kept coming back into my head, but it would only work if I said it. I kept thinking of something appropriate for my personality, but nixed most ideas because they dealt in a lot of profanities. I started to write, �Once shot a man for snoring too loud,� but erased it.
What I didn�t know was that Hot Professor was the master of ceremonies. She smiled as she saw me approach. Then she looked on the paper, probably expecting something witty.
My page was blank.
She froze, staring at me with wide eyes. �You didn�t write anything?� she asked, holding her hand over the microphone.
�Nope,� I said.
�Do you want to say anything?� she asked, eyebrows raised.
�Nope.�
She returned to the mike. �We�ll I�m going to say something,� she said to the crowd. �Dean is one of the best...�
I reached forward slowly and pulled the microphone away from her. She shot me a look and you could see her mouth, What the hell?
I shrugged and swung the microphone back. She talked about a half dozen things that I did over my tenure at SJSU while I stood there under the hot lights in a stuffy tie and jacket. Finally she stopped and reached over to give me a hug.
Taking a cue from Adrien Brody, my new hero after last year�s Oscar ceremony, I dipped her low. I did not plant one on her kisser, though I would have if I thought she wouldn�t get in trouble. The crowd cheered, and many of the drama geeks slapped their heads since they hadn�t thought of it, as I�m sure most wanted to.
This was also the last night Katee Bloom�s, the local bar, would be open after being forced out by the city. My buddy, Sexy Bartender was working, and I drank a lot that evening, still wearing that fucking suit. The next morning, the day of the actual graduation, my mom called at 7:30.
�It turns out,� she said, �that my foot is broken, so I can�t go to your graduation. You should still go though.�
�What the hell?� I asked.
�I was hobbling around last night,� she said patiently, �and I went to the hospital, and it turns out my foot is broken. So I can�t go to your graduation.�
�Is anybody coming?� I asked, my head pounding.
�No, but you should still go.�
NOTE: Don�t try to tell me that you would have come if I had asked, because the ceremony started at 9 a.m. on a Saturday. You would not have come. Hell, I didn�t want to go.
But for some reason, I thought I should. After all, nobody expected me to get this far. Hell, I didn�t expect me to get this far. Corny as it sounds, I always felt bad that I didn�t do a walk at high school, since I got kicked out during my sophomore year.
So I hopped on my bike, my graduation robe billowing behind me as I rode to the football stadium.
An hour and a half of standing in the hot sun followed by two hours of sitting directly under the rays killed any romanticized thoughts I had about the ceremony. As a matter of fact, all I felt was feeling very nauseous, hungover, and very, very woozy.
The Chancellor, who was smart enough to take a job elsewhere and was only fulfilling the last of his duties, gave the same speech he did when I received the Dean�s List award two months prior (which was easy for me to get, seeing how I�m Dean, and all...).
�It�s obvious that these students have worked hard,� he said into a microphone that kept feeding back, making my head pound worse, �but there�s some people they would have never made it this far without, and that�s all of you sitting in the stands right now. The family, the relatives, the friends, the husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends, and the roommates. And so, I want everybody in the seats to take a stand, so our students can acknowledge your effort which undoubtedly helped them to succeed.�
People surrounding me searched frantically for their significant others, looking to wave and smile and cheer. I stared at the grass of the football field, knowing there was nobody to acknowledge but myself.
And somehow, that felt appropriate. Besides, I was trying concentrate on keeping myself from vomiting.
Rating: Both are worth new!
