Ladies and gentlemen of the class of 99

Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen
would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved
by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more
reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this
advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You
will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until
they’ve faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you’ll look back at
photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much
possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You
are not as fat as you imagine.

Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying
is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing
bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things
that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you
at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts. Don’t put up with
people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don’t waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you’re ahead,
sometimes you’re behind. The race is long and, in the end, it’s
only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you
succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank
statements.

Stretch.

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with
your life. The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22
what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most
interesting 40-year-olds I know still don’t.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You’ll miss them
when they’re gone.

Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll have children,
maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the
funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do,
don’t congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either.

Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else’s.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don’t be afraid of it
or of what other people think of it. It’s the greatest instrument
you’ll ever own.

Dance… even if you have nowhere to do it but your living
room.

Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel
ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they’ll be gone
for good. Be nice to your siblings. They’re your best link to your
past and the people most likely to stick with you in the
future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you
should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and
lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people
who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard.
Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you
soft. Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians
will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you’ll
fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable,
politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust
fund. Maybe you’ll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when
either one might run out.

Don’t mess too much with your hair or by the time you’re 40 it
will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who
supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of
fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over
the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

Originally by Mary Schmich

song by Baz Luhrmann

Now this is a funny word!

Main Entry: hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia
Part of Speech: noun
Definition: fear of long words

Main Entry: irony
Part of Speech: noun
Definition: the use of words to convey a meaning that is the opposite of its literal meaning. (See hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia)

When shall I marry?

This year, next year, sometime, never.

What will my husband be?

Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich-man, poor-man, beggar-man, thief.

What will I be?

Lady, baby, gypsy, queen.

What shall I wear?

Silk, satin, cotton, rags, velvet or lace)

How shall I get it?

Given, borrowed, bought, stolen.

How shall I get to church?

Coach, carriage, wheelbarrow, cart.

Where shall I live?

Big house, little house, pig-sty, barn.

A. A. Milne’s (yes, the English author, best known for his books about the teddy bear Winnie-the-Pooh) Now We are Six (1927) had the following version of “Cherry stones”:

Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief,

Or what about a cowboy, policeman, jailer, engine driver, or a pirate chief?

Or what about a ploughman or a keeper at the zoo,

Or what about a circus man who lets the people through?

Or the man who takes the pennies on the roundabouts and swings,

Or the man who plays the organ or the other man who sings?

Or What about the rabbit man with rabbits in his pockets

And what about a rocket man who’s always making rockets?

Oh it’s such a lot of things there are and such a lot to be

That there’s always lots of cherries on my little cherry tree.