Since it's the heart of the graduation season, and Lucy just posted Blogstream's graduating class a few nights ago, I thought I'd chime in with a little commencement address from a member of the Geritol generation. But at least I am not bitter. Folks from other areas will please excuse the New Jersey slant, but you can't make up the stuff that goes on here.

It's time once again to offer a few words to this year's class of high school and college graduates. You know, we almost didn't make it to the ceremony today. The combination of your I-pods and cell phones along with the hearing aids of myself and your parents caused a massive blackout across three states earlier this morning.

Anyway, we know the youth of America is strong. You're young and you're healthy. Years ago we were young. What we have now are commercials which tell us to ask our doctors about things.

That's all we get. I've never had any particular desire to throw a football through an inner tube, and I'm not about to start now. My sex life hasn't slowed down in the slightest, even though I'm older than the entire front row of students. Actually, it's hard for something to slow down when it barely registered in the first place. It can never be a good sign when blind dates suggest to me that we start seeing other people.

And I don't know what Lunesta is, or what it does. Students need to understand now that respect for your parents doesn't involve commercials for acid reflux disease. Maybe a few of us could stand a little help with acid flashback disease.

But that's not why you're here. I'm here to tell you today that as you are about to enter the working world, you will be faced with more than a few issues this year. Your future is not as bright as we would like it to be, unless you've recently come in contact with a Nigerian banker.

What I mean is, New Jersey is broke. Flat busted. But I can explain, I swear. We've got a problem. My name is Bob, and I'm addicted to oil. We've got a grease monkey on our back. Back in the day we all graduated with honors from Quaker State.

It wasn't our fault. Like many of you, we suffered from overcrowded classrooms when we were going to school. In many cases they combined totally unrelated classes. We learned our mathematics and our philosophy lessons at the same time from our professors Aristotle and J.D. Clampett.

Clampett was one of the original oil men who ran Halliburton back in the 1960s. He's kind of like Larry the Cable Guy with black gold, Texas tea, and a fancy eatin' table.

Anyway, they taught us that money cannot buy happiness, yet money is the root of all evil. So we came to the obvious conclusion that all rich people are politicians. And money may not buy happiness, but it does buy friends and an awful lot of political influence.

While we were growing up, many of us still dreamed about becoming one of the leaders of the free world. We wanted to be important, and to make a difference.

Security in Trenton was always tight for our leaders, even in the days before 9/11. You were not permitted to enter the capital building without a thorough security check. If you were found with any lighters, metal objects, or ethics on your person it became immediate grounds for termination.

We slowly soured on the leader idea, because our next lesson explained what ever became of the middle class worker. A fool and his money are soon parted. Most of us go through our paychecks quickly, because money doesn't buy happiness, but it sure puts a nice down payment on some of our finest misery.

Outside of the classroom, we learned many financial lessons during careful home study beer bong experiments from musicians like Paul McCartney, who said, "Money Can't Buy Me Love." Fortunately money can still pay for a fleet of U-Hauls which hold all of your possessions when you park right next to it.

And the last time I checked, McCartney owned the approximate one-third of the planet not currently possessed by Oprah or Donald Trump. Our favorite musical lesson was, Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes-Benz.

When we considered our state's financial problems, we asked all of you to write a final paper on ways to raise revenue for New Jersey. One student thought it would be a good idea to fine people for cell phone conversations in the produce aisles of a supermarket. He suggested a fifty percent off three day only sale on common sense, conscience, and morals at Trenton since no one there was using any.

Another idea was to enter into a deal with Pennsylvania Governor Ed Rendell to sell the empty seats at Phillies games to use for meetings by New Jersey's excessive government members, saving on Trenton office costs.

I thought your ideas were useful until I got to the one wise kid. He said that members of my age group who can only afford Ambien for sleep aid on our prescription plans should be hired as short-order cooks, with working hours coming during our bedtime.

Putting such ideas into practice will help to insure your financial security. Besides, in our local area, state law requires at least one Dunkin' Donuts-Baskin-Robbins for every two city blocks, so exciting employment opportunities are virtually endless. And remember, like that old philosopher Ken Lay once said, A penny saved is all that's left of your 401k plan. Thank you.

Bob H

According to Ananova:

Today is the happiest day of the year.

Experts found that people were more happy on May 18 because it is spring, the days are sunnier and longer and there is a Bank Holiday soon.

The most miserable day of the year is January 3 when thousands of people return to work after the Christmas break.

According to The Sun Skills minister Phil Hope said: "Spring is all about new beginnings. This time of year can give us all a renewed enthusiasm."

If you don't know, Ananova is a respected news source which is nearly as reliable as the Weekly World News. I hope you followed their orders today. Anything less than unrestrained frivolity is strictly verboten! Why in the world would someone be happy about a bank holiday?

Bob H

Today I was able to work with an intern down at my job. I work at a Sony DADC ( Don't Ask, Don't Care ) plant in South Jersey. I work with reach forks occasionally, and have to do a lot of inventory. The intern seemed like a nice guy, but at what point in your Penn State time do you decide, "This is what I want as a career. I want to work in a factory." This is the type of decision I would make in school after conducting numerous beer bong experiments.

Don't get me wrong. I'm happy to have a job and a paycheck. But I believe people look at the name "Sony" and are impressed with the overall organization. You need all of your operations working together in the body of a corporation in order to be successful. I believe our plant makes up the kidneys.

It's a good thing I supplement my income with freelance writing. I'll always have that. The last time I was paid by a newspaper was for a column about buzzards. It's always so nice to know that you're making a difference.

Bob H

When we write, sometimes we receive our inspirations from many different sources. A gentleman named Joel Achenbach from the Washington Post recently expounded on a quite worthwhile lifestyle change.

Since rededicating myself to a life of leisure I have been vexed by the many different options for serious inactivity. Naively I thought I could begin the day by vowing to be unproductive, and then just let things happen from there. I would just "putter around." I've known world-class putterers and have been in awe of their ability, while puttering, to downshift further, to the point that they cease all discernible physical or even metabolic activity. But that takes practice. Those of us still in our puttering apprenticeship have to be disciplined and careful. If you don't have a strategy for sloth, and the iron will to stick to your plan, you'll get pulled in every direction and suddenly find yourself on the verge of achieving something.

At one point I was watching a baseball game AND playing minesweeper on the laptop, a clear violation of the No Multitasking rule. I fielded two phone calls, conversed with someone passing on the street, and made a variety of exhausting mental plans for the weekend, including trips to the wine store and the coffee shop and multiple naps. It's like I'm a whirling dervish, incapable of relaxing. What's next, I'll write a novel? Cure the common cold? Someone, hose me down!

We live in a society so obsessed with money and power and influence and social status and material objects and big houses and shiny cars, that we often fail to appreciate the simple pleasures, such as waking in the morning to the realization that you've never amounted to anything and never will. Failure is something that few of us have ever learned to savor.

A key to disciplined sloth is to refuse to park more than a block from the intended destination. There ought to be a parking spot closer, and if there's not, you might as well go home and forget about it. People will say, "Why didn't you go to that thing?" and you'll have to tell them, "No parking." This applies even if you're trying to attend your own wedding.

I hope this has been inspiring on this Friday morning, as you make plans for the weekend, unwisely.

At this point, I guess you're wondering why I've gathered you all here. So am I, because in general, I have little to offer. I don't dance, I don't sing, I'm not a musician, and I'm not a poet. I've heard you should do what you like best. I like to bitch a lot.

I call this little forum "Unskilled and Mediocre" because that's basically what I am. I like to rant about anything and everything, much of it middle class, and I hope you do, too.

I believe that one of the things they want here at Blogstream is to tell 100 facts about yourself. I hope you read this before bedtime, because my life will cut down anyone's need for Ambien.

Anyway, I am a freelance writer from southern New Jersey who has been published in a few local newspapers on slow news days. I deal in what I call "attempted humor" because I get sick of all the bad news these days. I realize that we all deal with it the best we can, but I subscribe to the theory of that old philosopher Dogbert, who once said, "People are all idiots who deserve to be mocked." I try to base my life around the words of another wise man(or guy) George Costanza, who once said, "It's not a lie if YOU believe it."

Also, I have never seen American Idol. I'm rooting for the naked fat guy to win. I saw 20 minutes of the first Survivor, became bored, and never watched it again. And I haven't read The DaVinci Code.

I need to provide a blatant plug for a good friend of mine who introduced me to Blogstream. Her name is Debbie, or deeej, and her blog is called "Deb's Diddies: A Wandering Mind." Debbie is a gifted and incredibly talented writer who has a collection of poetry and memoirs available called "This Ain't Shakespeare: But It Sure Is Real." This would be the perfect stocking stuffer for Mother's Day, if you're into that kind of thing. Debbie is as good as it gets as a mother and a person, despite constantly fighting to overcome a serious shoe obsession. Her book is a purchase you won't regret.

As for me, I'll figure out what I'm doing here in time. We'll try a few things and try to make this fun. Please feel free to comment, make suggestions, bitch, moan, complain, etc. I mean no harm, and hope to meet a lot of you. Unless the authorities step in.

Bob H