Graduating and becoming an adult isn’t all too different from making a hideous transformation into a werewolf.  In both cases there’s a certain date on the calendar you come to dread, you fear what’s going to happen after you make the change and, suddenly, your night life becomes a lot less enjoyable.

At present, my soon-to-be-lycanthropic brethren, i.e. the class of 2010, can try to deal with this in two different ways:  they can either hide from that full moon using graduate school as a shield, or they can bite the silver bullet and somehow land a job before dusk falls. Make no mistake though, the transformation will happen to some degree regardless. Your athletics t-shirt will slowly start to morph into an interview suit, your hair will transmogrify from the unkempt status it’s presently in to something more conservative and your Facebook page will distort and mangle itself until it has become your LinkedIn account.  It’s already happened to me, and you can find the damning proof here at http://www.linkedin.com/in/jackrmcnamara.

What I just did there was an attempt at networking. Before we move on, I just want to point out before anyone else does that, professionally, it is oh so unscrupulous to use student-funded newspaper space to plug one’s self (That link again, readers, is http://www.linkedin.com/in/jackrmcnamara).  This being said, it’s a good thing I am not, in fact, a professional (And I never will be unless you go to http://www.linkedin.com/in/jackrmcnamara TODAY), and am, in fact, just some schmo who writes werewolf metaphors and managed to trick the Mirror into giving him some print space, those FOOLS!  MUAHAHAHAHAHA!! I LAUGH AT YOU, EXECUTIVE EDITOR LILY NORTON!  I LAUGH AT YOU! BAWOOOOOOOOO!

Sorry, I seem to howl a lot more than I used to.  In truth, professional conduct will become more imperative than it ever had been in the past; we’re not going to be able to get away with as much out there as we can get away with in here. I fondly remember one review I had published as a freshman, wonderfully titled “Theater Fairfield Improv, Bitches,” and getting chewed out for giving it that headline.  While I had help with actually getting it into print, it didn’t change the objections of the Mirror’s then-faculty advisor.

“Jack, you can’t have your name associated with this,” she said. “You don’t want to be that kind of writer,” she said. “You’ll become one of those weirdos who writes bizarre humor columns with references to werewolves that only 10% of the readers will appreciate,” she said.

Guess I showed her, huh?  Bawoooo.

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