All right, so this is a year too late, but I figure that some recognition of my giant debt should be cited on this, my most public of spaces. It was a nice day and these are nice pictures of our family. There was also a Mariachi band, which delighted all. Father Higgins couldn't be here, but he saw the ceremony on video tape.I think Dad was particularly impressed with the part on the video when I got up during Richard Ford's key note address and started playing one of the Mariachi's guitars. I'd been drinking brandy since dawn, so it was to no one's surprise when I smashed the guitar on the back of the Dean's neck while barfing all down my front. Security was too dumb and slow to catch me, plus I used a hand gun to keep them from getting any funny ideas. I used their cowardice as an opportunity to walk around the stage and let the audience of MFA Graduates know what I thought art was all about--violence and substance abuse. Eventually, a lot of other people barfed, too, because the smell was pretty bad. I didn't mind, of course, because it was my own, but the floor got pretty slippery after awhile and I soon fell down the stage stairs and cracked open my skull. Dad would have been really proud that all my years of education and finishing had finally paid off as I ended up in a puddle of my own vomit and blood. There's a moral tale in here somewhere. Or a screenplay. Yeah, someone should write my story.
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