Crotchety, Thanks, and How Are You?

Yesterday, in the midst of the first half of an all-day back-to-school session—reminiscent of the assemblies we had back in high school—I sent the following text message to Zach:

"Can the adults PLEASE smoke?!?!"

If you are not a fan of "A Chorus Line," my apologies. That's the classic line uttered by Sheila, the been-there, done-that dancer who is beyond over the protracted audition process and the naiveté of her more youthful competition.

I don't have the demographics on this year's class at the J-school, but they definitely seem markedly younger than the class before, the ones with whom I started this masochistic odyssey.

And that's fine, really, except for when the school's administrators talk to all of us as a monolithic group, because that's when my patience evaporates and I'm suddenly overtaken by an incessant urge to go out and do something really mature, like my taxes.

Some of things I did not feel the need to be lectured on yesterday:

• That when graduation rolls around, I should be sure to tell my family where to meet me after the ceremony. Because, you know, all those graduates in identical caps and gowns are really hard to tell apart.


• That I should—today—well, yesterday—make lunch reservations for my family for graduation, because lots of other people will also be graduating—not only from the J-school, but from the rest of the university, and from other universities throughout New York City—and the really good restaurants are going to fill up.


• That I should strongly consider a first post-graduate job in a place like Oklahoma City or Birmingham, AL, because that's where some really cool jobs happen to be right now.

And this is why, when asked whether I'm excited to finally be back in school, I may inexplicably begin humming the overture from "A Chorus Line."