Tidying Up Unfinished Business

I've been to three graduation ceremonies this spring/summer, and I've enjoyed everything about them except the uncomfortable seating, the life threatening length of the alphabetized parade to procure parchment, and the spooky costumes. Everything seems to remind me of my early days as a student at Hogwart's.

Our next graduate is from the Village of Muggleswick...Ian Varty (cheers).

Our next graduate is little Jimmy Voldemort from Minto (boos).

Last evening, at Saint Thomas University, two good friends received honorary doctorates. In June, my son graduated from Oromocto High School, and in May a spirited amigo received her doctorate in psychology from UNB. I love to hang out with talented people...contrast is good in one's life. I'm sure they feel the same way.

I have a funny history with graduation ceremonies, and perhaps it serves as foreshadowing into my life as a leisurologist. It would appear that I'm reluctant to graduate and get on with my life as a working drone. I didn't bother going to my own high school graduation because I felt like a number. There was something ridiculous like seven hundred and fifty seven graduates in my high school class, and with a last name starting with the letter 'V', I figured the kids before me would have already gone off and taken all the good jobs, so why bother?

Good jobs...now that's a funny concept!

I took a two year technician's diploma program at the Nova Scotia Agricultural College (NSAC) in Truro. If you want to be a stickler for details, NSAC is located in Bible Hill, inappropriately named given what I saw. The parties there were of biblical proportions, though clearly lacking in Christian content, morality and utterly devoid of any kind of worship beyond the mighty Lord Moosehead. I stayed at NSAC for the full two year term, though I dropped three classes and never officially graduated.

It wasn't like I was going to starve to death because I didn't get my diploma...I went to NSAC to learn how to grow food, which I did. From 1984 until 1987, I operated one of the world's most unheralded agricultural operations, just slightly lesser known than my sharecropping cohorts, the McCains. During my time as a farmer, I also managed to start a degree at UNB, find a wife and fire my mother. It's a long story, but in a nutshell, mom was short selling my greenhouse tomatoes to her friends. Oh how my sporran wept.

Despite beginning my business degree (BBA) at UNB in 1985, I didn't actually graduate until the year 2000. I managed to graduate from the University of Toronto with an arts degree (BA). It's a convoluted story involving murder plots, espionage and a thumb sucking, third year classmate. Please, don't ask.

I seem to specialize in unfinished business but I'd like to take a moment to tidy up a couple of loose ends now.

First of all, from my badminton posting of the other day, my father purchased the so-called 'feather' shuttlecocks just last month, meaning that the Cooper corporation are a bunch of deceitful scumbags. Shame on you Cooper for selling plastic badminton birdies labelled feather and depicted feathers on the packaging. A lifetime fatwa has now been brought upon your business...everybody, feel free to join in.

My second piece of unfinished business involves tailgaters. In the past two weeks I've used the 'methanol shower' defence twice. In both cases I caused the gator the clean their own windshield, but in no way did it deter their bumper nibbling. Despite its ineffectiveness, there was some comic satisfaction in watching the jackasses clean their windshields.

It would be much simpler if I could just whip out my magic wand and make evil tailgaters disappear forever or, at least, ship them off to a holding tank in Minto. I'd like to do the same to the wicked Cooper company. After all, birds of a feather stick together.