Sage Advice, Anyone?

It’s advising time at UP (University of the Prairie), that twice-yearly time for faculty to advise students about classes they should enroll in for next semester, any gaps in their degree programs, and how best to accomplish their academic goals. I always feel a little pschizo during these times: part teacher, part counselor, part mother, part aimless sojourner myself. I sometimes want to blurt out advice that would be totally inappropriate. Shhh...don’t tell...I’m letting you in on some of this alternate advice—stuff that swirls around in my addled brain while students sit in my office considering their course options...

· Slow down. It only FEELS like you’re sick of all this. Trust me, after ten years on the job, any job, you’ll be desperately scheming to come BACK…a new major…another degree…philosophy maybe, bat husbandry, intramural sports administration…anything.

· I know you THINK those double-knit yellow hotpants are stunning with your Ugg boots and red UP hoodie, but trust me, the outfit isn’t as sharp as you imagine.

· Get your hair out of your eyes.

· You might have better luck raising your GPA if you go to class occasionally and stay awake while you’re there.

· Go back to your dorm, and don’t return until you’ve slept, put on clean clothes, and brushed your teeth.

· Employers won’t really look at that double French and Bio major or your Honor’s thesis on rural solid waste management and the life cycle of the aporrectodea turgida; they’ll be checking out your outfit. Maybe double-knit yellow hot pants and a pair of Uggs…

· Don’t let anyone kid you; fast food service is a noble profession.

· “Who’s on the train?” and “Where did Katie get those stilettos?” will never be correct answers for math story problems.

· Sit up straight.

· Quit school NOW. Party for a year or two. Hitch to Oregon with your boy/girlfriend and live on love for year until s/he leaves you for a forest ranger. Write poetry on the Greyhound as you make your way back home. Work like a dog for the next five or ten years at a job you despise. Marry an insurance agent. Have a couple of kids. Pay a mortgage. Don’t come back until you want a college degree more than anything else on the planet, and you’ll do whatever it takes to get it.

· Call your mother.