¶ A young scribe with better credentials beat me to the wire on an expose of lax college grading standards. I had that one on the back burner for a couple years, but things got in the way. You know how it goes.
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¶ Said piece appears in the latest Atlantic Monthly on p. 95 (frequent readers of this page might think I subscribe to the A.M., but it's really the only thing kicking around the office on a slow day). The article targets no less a vaunted institution than Harvard University.
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¶ Now, I'm always sure visitors to our home pass my wall of diplomas with the gold leif parchment from good ol' MIDWEST U displayed prominently. I feel this gives an appearance of intellectual effort I would like people associating with my name.
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¶ But to pop the head off this _ to say it was all EASY, a breeze _ would cause terrible damage. Right? Well, not necessarily. In light of this article, it appears every college degree earned by our generation is a bit of a joke. Even a Harvard B.A.
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¶ Take out that piece of paper and look at it. In the bright reflection of its plastic sheath you might see yourself and remember that paper in 200-level poetry class, "Whitman's Transcendentalism Echoed in Punk" OR "Gender Confusion and Cosmo Magazine." Tracts inspired not so much by research, but by the contents of a dorm room. I wrote my share of those.
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¶ That paper doesn't shine the same now, does it? I've given away my secret, but I feel a weight of dishonesty has been lifted. If you visit our apartment in a few months, you might see a new diploma on my wall _ from Clark's Barber College.
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¶ Finally, an honest job.
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