They call it Commencement because they say it's the first day of the rest of our lives. I call that the ultimate in hokey. I'll concede that it sort of makes sense that the past two decades of non-stop schooling have been something like practice, but it's totally cheesy nonetheless.
We celebrate today as a crowning achievement, and rightly so. It's a day that most of us will remember for the rest of our lives, or at least be reminded of on a regular basis when we see the hundreds of pictures that our parents and relatives are going to take and then — even in this digital age — get developed (or, you know, printed) and proudly keep on their mantles, desks, refrigerators and credenzas until they are so yellowed and caked with dust that they'll seem like someone else's proud day.
And we're allowed to celebrate once in a while. So many of us have spent so much time over the past few years stressing and whining and worrying about so many things, from work to world peace, that it's only fair for us to remember this "first day" as something special. I mean, it even happens in hip-hop.
In 1993, at the height of his violent gangster-rap days, Ice Cube released a song called "It Was a Good Day." The track is a four-and-a-half minute ode to a pretty boring, normal day. There's some strange stuff that happens, like Ice Cube randomly seeing his name on a blimp, but for the most part it's things like playing some basketball, watching MTV and going on a date (with the woman he would later marry).
Most people probably think of Ice Cube as that angry guy from N.W.A. who would later sell out and star in children's movies, but he's actually he's just like us.
Only better at rapping.
Nearly every rapper has at least one song that's totally, for want of a better word, adorable: songs about mothers, partying, having good, clean fun, anxiety or otherwise un-gangster activities. On his breakout album, "Doggystyle" (1993), Snoop Dogg, for example, has "Gin and Juice," which is about chilling out and having a drink. A few songs later on the album there is a track called "Serial Killa" that starts with the line "six million ways to die, choose one." It's a weird juxtaposition.
Similarly, 50 Cent, a rapper who might be famous precisely because he is a tough guy — he was, if you haven't heard, shot nine times — skyrocketed to popularity based on a song that's basically a rap version of "Happy Birthday to You," and Kanye West has too many songs about his mother to count (including the too-creepy, unreleased "Mamma's Boyfriend" (2010) (Google it, but don't say I didn't warn you).
The ultimate in not-gangster, however, is Dr. Dre. The good doctor pioneered the "huh?" rap song with his N.W.A. hit "Express Yourself" (1989), a song about positivity and good, clean living that appeared on the same album as a song called "F--- tha Police," but surpassed it in every way with the pathetic "Forgot About Dre" (2000), a song about remembering and reminding.
None of us should ever have to release a song to remind people who we are and what we've done, metaphorically speaking.
Or not, you know, literally — commencement, new beginnings, we can do anything, etc. So as my fellow Jumbos and I accept our diplomas and wander, shell-shocked, into that great big world, forced to face the fact that we need real jobs because, as the Wu Tang Clan has been warning us for so long, "cash rules everything around me, C.R.E.A.M.," it's OK if we celebrate our accomplishments today.
I've written this column for a full year now and it feels just as odd for me to be signing off with no snark or irony as it does to hear Ice Cube talk about the delicious breakfast his mother made for him. But,after all, today is a good day.
