There's No Place Like Home

Well, I’m home. And, with my folks, there sure ain’t no place like it.  Have you ever heard those “Larry the Cable Guy” jokes?

“If you refer to the tent outside your short bus as ‘the guest bedroom’…”

“If you think a semi trailer in your backyard is the perfect location for your next business concept….”

“If your coffee is ground in a mill that does not have a plug…”

“If you and your sister consider Busch Light with a hunk of lime in it a ‘specialty beverage’…”

“If your idea of a great Saturday night involves the kind of stripper you buy at the hardware store…”

“If you’ve started thinking that your bare gums look kinda pretty…”

We just might be a bunch of rednecks. But, you know what? After enough time away, and for a millions reasons, right where I started feels like exactly where I ought to be right now.

I’m back in a kitchen at Schoolcraft College’s Baking and Pastry Arts program and learning some of the most valuable lessons of my life working my ass off on the line at the Morley & Sander’s Candy Factory to pay for it. I visit my old-friend-of-a restorative dentist bi-weekly to ratchet on my almost million-dollar smile and you bet you’re butt by the end of this that’s all you’ll be seeing…

…right outside of that sweet little semi-trailer of a manufactory.

As always, hope all is well at home, wherever home may be.

Love,

Alexandra

Holy Mackerel, This World is Dynamic!

My Dearest Friends and Family,

Today I called my Papa Art who was celebrating his birthday. He’s 85 years old, but last he remembers he was 23. I kind of get what he means. Last I remember, I think I was four. This world is certainly dynamic.

Proof-in-point: Last week I listed “farming” as one of my passions. Five years ago, I would have told you that same truth in an Alabaman accent just as seriously as I would tell you I was a Swedish Sepehr-moudehl while brushing my teeth. But now, I couldn’t be more sincere; I love farming. My happiest days in New Zealand have been spent in gumboots, and, when I found that weekends to “greener pastures” down south weren’t enough, I up and moved my city girl be-hind to work on my dentist’s olive farm where I am (lovingly) referred to as the “American girl who lives in the shed”.

Now, I ride my hap-hazardly Americana-themed retro “push bike” (a “Healing Skylark” – doesn’t that sound nice?) on the longer-than-I-like-to-pretend commute to campus along paddocks of varying stench, wondering.  I wonder a lot of things. I wonder what everyone I love back home is doing with their yesterday afternoon. I wonder what the bulls and dairy heifers think of my bicycle (Do they stare because it’s cool?).  I wonder if the hills in Palmy are big enough to count as mountains (if you’re from Michigan).  I wonder how much longer I will be in New Zealand. I wonder how much longer I would be in New Zealand if I bio-terrorized it with light-ten-ning bugs. I wonder what old buildings in Detroit would look like as wedding venues and gastro-pubs and chocolate factories and how fifty-cent packages of carrots and hummus could change the world. I wonder if there’s anything to that theory that not getting enough sun can make people strange (i.e. Trolls, Norwegians) because, quite frankly, I haven’t had a decent summer in nearly two years and, well, these are the sorts of things I’ve been thinking about.

Theory or not, I’m happy to be here resisting-sunburn over the holidays. With seemingly so much going on it is nice to stay in one place for a while, plus, Palmy’s community outdoor pool has a high-dive. I plan to spend informal days in the office thinking about chocolate until my head hurts enough to excuse a weekend of wine and wetsuits. Or, there’s always running. The greatest escape of late, actually, was all three: The Great Barrier grande finale of “Miss Jessica Alexandra”(as the announcer of the Taupo half mistook)’s off-road marathon series had entire-book-reading-ly long mornings, and evening crays with malt vinegar following arvos of sweet chilli cockles and oysters. We swam naked in waterfalls and otherwise were, more often than not, being guided around the island by an underwearmodelesque boy with a boat. Oh yeah, and did the marathon. It was beautiful.

Plus, I just topped up on family time with the Clark’s big little trip Down Under. Half of me feels like we did it all; We swam with dolphins, skiied in irrigation ponds, slept on boats, caved with glow worms, and filled up on local grub. I’m exhausted, and yet the other half of me feels like even a waterfall of baby seals doesn’t crack the surface of amazing things that oddly seem a bit normal when you live in New Zealand. I blinked, and they were gone!

Still, I wish I could be “home for Christmas”, especially for that 23-year-old grandpa of mine.  But, he’s quick to assure that he’s “Holy mackerel, just so darn proud” that I’m doing what I’m doing and so with that, and a heartbreakingly awesome army of uncle-angels lookin’ out, I can confidently carry on with this dynamo degree-turned adventure.  And, just so long as no one scrums up the cash to buy me a mountain full of persimmon trees and a big, mean-looking Angus stud, I’ll be back before we know it.

As always, I hope all is well at home, wherever home may be.

Love,

Alexandra

The Pictures Untaken

This day last year, I bought this “flash” camera (har har) with my birthday cash, aspiring to amply document all of the food, friends, flora and fauna that New Zealand would have to offer. However, in the last few months, mud-covered rugby games and lazy moments by the river, ashy orange sunsets and even my beloved Avocado plant, “Arnie” have gone [pause for emphasis] un-photographed. In a sub-par attempt to record now what neglected then- I bring you a literary compilation of memories entitled [National Geographic voice] “The Pictures Untaken”.

PICTURE NUMBER ONE

Title: “Lake Tekapo Sunrise”

Misty sunrise over Lake Tekapo, labrador, kiwi bloke in underpants

The decision was made for me at the fried food finale of our Easter camping trip at Lake Tekapo that the experience was worthy of its own paragraph in my next letter home- so here goes.

We voyaged the rough waters in a ski boat so “chocka” with “necessities” that Monty (the Labrador) would have had a seat on my lap even if he wasn’t afraid of the bumps! It was worth the ride for a lush long weekend of lakefront nothingness complements of good man planning: Not every campfire has a sea wall, every toilet a view, every morning bacon with chocolate eggs. We conquered an island, debated the cultural nuances of the ‘mallow, confirmed the vitality of the seaweed population with my keen fishing skills, took advantage of glacial waters for winter water skiing incentive and even managed to take care of some beers that needed drinking.

PICTURE NUMBER TWO

Title: “Running like the Wind”

Three happy bush-mangled girls in runners, arms out, wind blowing, run so fast they nearly fly, scaring the sheep, down the grassy side of the hill they ran & climbed up earlier that day.

PICTURE NUMBER THREE

Title: “Your First Duck! Your First Duck!”

A giggling Alexandra, face painted and shotgun in hand is swept off her gumboots in excitement just moments after shooting her first duck.

Seeing as that my birthday inconveniently (or, perhaps, oh-so-conveniently) coincided with “duck weekend”, my “kiwi-brother”-gone-kiwi-boyfriend (yikes!) decided that my shotgun performance and “birthday girl” status warranted a welcome to the (once men only) Maimai. As per usual, I had no clue what was going on but was pretty darn excited…more unusually, I was not nearly as excited as the men around me! Andy said he knew when I had shot a duck because he would hear one shot, a duck fall and then an enormous fit of giggles from across the irrigation pond. What he didn’t know was that I was most likely laughing at Thomas, who, when I had shot a duck, would smother me in a big farmy hug before I could get off a second and express his excitement in the same voice he uses to talk to his pups. Andy, James, Tom and I came home with 40 birds to breast and the happiest Labrador you’ve ever seen. We perfectly wasted the rest of the day on the farm and, as if I really was the luckiest girl in the world, I found my first five (yup, 5) leaf clover.

PICTURE NUMBER FOUR

Title: “Cake Stand”

Alexandra Clark, hands on the ground and feet held by her friends, enjoying the pleasantly difficult task of swallowing cheek-fulls of delicious yet notably viscous chocolate ganache, up-side down.

May was a constant celebration of international & domestic mail (thank you!), battered & crumbed fish n chips, red & white wine, long runs, short walks and the awkwardly amazing smothering of my naked body in Manuka honey. So I was naturally confused and “culinarally” gutted to hear that my friends had spent my weekend away struggling to recover from a “cake party.” “You don’t have those in the States?” Guan said, confused. “It’s where everyone gets together and you get a cake and you all hang out and do cake stands and stuff.” “CAKE STANDS?” This moment, the one when I realized that they were saying “KEG,” was the very same that they realized I was saying “cake.” So, after Americanadian Cinco de Mayo in New Zealand (how’s that for fusion cuisine?) I was not entirely un-surprised to find myself upside down over a massive (wheatless!) keg-shaped cake to chants of “cake stand, cake stand, cake stand.”

PICTURE NUMBER FIVE

Title: “Child Labor and the Global Cocoa Industry’s Adoption of Certification: A Comparative Institutional Analysis of Stakeholder Responses to Advocacy Attacks”
Alexandra Clark from the Centre for Agribusiness Policy and Strategy at Massey University presents her research at to a room of institutional economists at Stanford University

I have finished fall classes, am working on my thesis and write this “letter to the olds” from 63C en route to the “isnie” conference at Stanford University to present my research. Despite the success, I have decided to embark upon an agri-food tour of the world in lieu of my PhD- I’m simply not happy with this position anymore and so it is time to move on. That said, I have only six months left “down under” and a very small proportion of the pictures I had originally intended to take! With time rolling on and a massive list of things to do, places to go and people to play with I am armed with full battery and empty memory stick in hopes of doing this amazing experience justice. Hold me to it!

I hope all is well at home, wherever home may be!

Alexandra

xoxo

Lucky Me

Hello, Hello!

Some of you may (even fondly, perhaps) remember a chapter of my life when I oh-so confidently referred to myself as “The Luckiest Girl in the World” (I, personally, liked that chapter). You may also recall the nice, hefty whack to the face that knocked that “rad babe” right off of that pedestal she so foolishly danced upon.  Happily, I can now honestly report that (with the exception of a few minor shortfalls) my life has returned to its “ordinary” tendency of going extraordinarily well.

I have superstitious inklings that it has something to do with the Pilot Whale’s tooth I found in Ngawi at my “Until We Meet Again, New Zealand” mini-celebratory weekend of “Kiwiana”. I spent my time in that lobster-filled village of tractors decapitating and devouring Paua (Abalone) avec beurre, good wine and great girls.  There, a big chunk of tooth was just sunbathing in the sand we were strolling on before “tea”, and (as if life gets much better than this paragraph) that evening over a bowl of marshmallows I learned that this “find” was quite special- whale’s teeth are powerful talismans of ancient Polynesian culture! I believe that I am living verification of this; having “lost” so many teeth it simply MUST be good luck to have finally “found” one! Unfortunately my little amulet came a week to late to have “properly assessed” that theory at the sunny, drink-filled Christchurch Cup races!

Or, maybe sometime between my daily Pina Coladas, Thanksgiving-a-la-beach and jumping out of a plane from 14,000 feet above Ben’s new Hawaiian home, I picked up a little bit of his notoriously good “JuJu”. On second thought, while I was there I suffered a less-than-graceful blood-drenched freak boogie boarding accident that resulted in a broken nose. So, maybe I just needed another good smack across the face to turn things around.  

Then again, there’s always magic to soak up in a cup of Ghirardelli’s on the Chicago Christmas window display “audit” and shopping extravaganza my mom and I celebrate annually and, mornings that begin with a whiff of the blue-berry and blue-grassy wood-burnt smokey smell of Saturday that wafts up the stairs of my home-sweet-Detroit are eternally divine. There was even something undeniably “special” about the bubbly-inspired (yet whole-heated) rendition of “Party in the USA” with which my family of friends rang in 2011. Heck, living on the other side of the planet makes sleeping (terribly) in the same rugged-a-bump ski bunks with my sister seem “Heavenly”!

In the aftermath of the earthquakes, I certainly feel fortunate to have my health and happy-little-life here in New Zealand (and that of my friends and family here) and I am milking that one for all it’s worth! My good friend Caeley (the Canadian I met on the plane) and I ran and river-crossed (okay, avec a few “wee” berry-picking sojourns) the Mototapu Off-Road Marathon last month and I am officially registered for Ironaman New Zealand in March! I’ve shivered a swim in the glacial waters of Lake Tekapo (of which my “funny” American accent cannot accurately pronounce despite it’s status as my favourite lake in New Zealand!) snorkeled bare off the wetsuit-worthy beaches of Coromandel Peninsula and even learned to water ski in an irrigation pond! These sorts of mini-adventures have me convinced that words like “plenteous” and “copiousness” were created by the poor, poor people who were somehow damned with the daunting task of describing New Zealand. I certainly never under-appreciate a drinkably-clean stream on a good “tramp”, home-grown roast or my flatmates’ weekly farmers market habit that keeps our cozy retro home full of Fijoas, pumpkin cakes and borsch.

But, really, let’s face it, I live in New Zealand to study chocolate and that certainly doesn’t suck. So, I think I’ll stick around here for a while and add one more “tick” to the tally of Dr. Clark’s that my fam seems to be accumulating. It’s a big job but I found this book next to the office copier called, “How to write your doctoral dissertation in 15 minutes a day”, and doing as instructed (okay, a little bit more) is workin’ pretty good! In fact, my research has been accepted to conferences from Frankfurt to Stanford and even found five dollars when I presented at the Australian Agricultural and Resource Economics Symposium in February!

            So, yes, it may be a bit foolish and exclusive to go around calling oneself “The luckiest girl in the world” and, don’t you worry, God got that one through to me l-o-u-d & c-l-e-a-r. But (in accordance to Blerta’s Theory of Life Balance) I certainly do appreciate just how good these good times are and intend to celebrate just how lucky I actually am.

Hope all is well at home wherever home may be.

Love,

Alexandra

Time Flies When You're Having Fun

It's been a while since I've written, but as the saying goes, time flies when you're having fun. 

Now, I know I promised an adventure but I hesitate to say that I have had one. You see, once upon a time when we were particularly short on water during a kayaking trip in the Gulf, my good friend Mr. Cli"ph" Walls determined an undeniable truth of life, "It's not an adventure unless it gets f***ed up, then it's just a trip." With how swimmingly these past few months in New Zealand have gone, I'm pretty sure that all of this fun has actually amounted to a trip. 

For example, being the Pinot Noir-loving red meat-eating triathlete that I am, a wine tasting a la "push-bike" beach trip to Martinborough and Castle Point was pretty much the perfect use of a few days of my latest study break (after all, I am studying food...). Two of my "favourite" Canadians, Guan and Caeley picked me up (this time less creepily than that prior when I was literally abducted for a day of drinking at the Tui Factory) and we took the windy and windy road past the Schoc Chocolate Factory to the Martinborough Wine Region. Baskets and all, we rode our bikes from vineyard to vineyard inevitably employing increasingly interesting descriptors of our tasting experience as we went along: Winery #1= "mmmm," Winery #2= "it has a smoky nose to it, doesn't it Guan?" Winery #3= "This tastes like licking a barrel". Never-the-less we each befriended a bottle and enjoyed them consecutively over a Scotch Fillet (pronounce the T, not kidding), some veggies and ashy goat cheese at our little cabin at the holiday park. Guan scored some serious points when he pulled up the next morning with coffees for Caeley and I. Back to the car, we took even windier and windier roads out to a sandy seaweed covered beach where we climbed up cliffs to overlook the reef. Fortunately, despite the gusts, no one blew off of the bluff but unfortunately watching for "rogue waves" while being pelted by sand in ways that make you bleed creates less-than-ideal swimming conditions. The drive home had lollies, chips, rainbows and three smiling North Americans.

To be fair, I probably still had a big, fat, stupid smile on my face from my mid-semester break trip to the South Island. After a ferry ride across the Cook Strait and a story book train ride along the water through the   Marlborough wine region, I, by what perhaps most-closely can be described as "divine intervention," landed on the doorstep of the Macfarlane Family's picture-perfect dairy farm in Ashburton (Canterbury). I was completely spoiled. I did all of the things that most dairy farmers don't get to do like sleeping in and enjoying a nice breakfast and was still chasing cows out of paddocks, tubing calves, milking and all around enjoying being completely covered in poo. Intermittently Andy, Tricia, Thomas, Julia, James and Lauren showed me the more refined side of what they so lovingly, or perhaps more ironically, referred to as AshVegas. We shopped the little boutiques in town and in tiny Geraldine for chocolates, clothes and cooking wares, ate every strange kind of lolly the bulk bins held, went for walks and drives and mini-hikes by braided rivers. We ate quiche in cafes, drove on the "other side" of the road, had an absolutely epic day of baking, wine and cheese at night near the fireplace before dinner and even fit in a little trip to the "junque" shop. I laughed to tears over home-made dinners with family stories and "wee" bits of Kiwiana. I learned recipes for slices (think brownies not pizza), scones (say it like "john" not "own") and Banoffee Pie (Dear Lord Almighty) and even, in an awkward moment of confusion, learned my very favorite kiwi word: "Knackered" (it means 'tired' but when said correctly, sounds more like 'naked'). I left the Christchurch airport less than 12 hours before the earthquake- everyone was alright. 

The Macfarlane's oldest son, Tom has taken it upon himself to make sure I see a thing or two. As part of my "South Island Adventure" I stayed with him and his coffee-drinking character of a tractor-driving flatmate, Brak, at Raincliff Station; the bull beef, sheep and deer farm where they work. There certainly is something remote about being in the middle of nowhere on an island that is in the middle of nowhere. I felt virtually useless (especially compared to the dogs) but Thomas had a bit of a "throw-the-city-girl-in-there-she'll-have-to-get-it-eventually" approach that made my truck driving, mustering, calf rearing and even gate-opening good fun at the very least. Every night we ate food that Tom had killed and even got out for a bit of off-roading into Tahr (just say "Ta" or, really, just say "goat") country at Lake Tekapo which was divinely surreal. Maybe it was being in a place deserving of the name Godly Valley (with Paradise Ducks, may I add), or maybe one too many Speights on an old couch the wool shed or maybe it was just hangin' 'round someone for the first time since my accident who didn't need an explanation of what that experience is like, but that was refreshing. Still, all preconceived notions I once had about the ruggedly handsome, rough and tumble men-of-all men Kiwi male were thrown out of the window of a big (for NZ) pickup (say "ute") this weekend somewhere along highway 2 after a whole-hearted yet sub-par rendition of Taylor Swift's "Romeo and Juliet" by Tom and his friends Nigel and James.

My least favorite translation from US to NZ is the one that turned my "Finals Week" into an "Exam Month". One down and two to go, I am ready to finish my first semester of graduate school. That's right, this "fun size" Clark is growing up... I might not be gettin' married and makin' babies but I do listen to my my MSU football games drinking instant coffee instead of cheap vodka (GO GREEN! 8-0, baby!) and for some of us that is a big change. At the same time, it's the things that haven't changed that have so quickly made this country my new home. I will always be a loyal patron of any cinema's cheap-o movie night, adore spending hours in a kitchen with good friends and new recipes, going out with girlfriends for Thai food to laugh until noodles come out my nose and going to sleep wrapped up in a quilt my mama made me. I adore New Zealand and am passionate about the research I am doing and though  ultimately, I am not sure I can sit still long enough to have a future in academia I sure as hell am happy I am coming back here in the fall. After all, you just haven't lived until you've stuck money to a dancing Samoan virgin....and this year I missed my chance.

Hope all is well at home wherever home may be.  

Alexandra 

P.S. Yes, Daddy, I know that Kermit the frog says "Time's fun when you're having flies."

Kia Ora from New Zealand

Kia Ora from New Zealand- land of lollycakes, gumboots and mullets- where spaghetti is a breakfast food and shoes are optional! 

My time at Michigan State University and ended with a BANG- after a not-very-fun and very self-conscious year of toothless-ness following the taxi accident that I was in last May, I, smile (finally) intact, was the student commencement speaker (speech attached). The absolute hands-down biggest complement that I could ever receive in regards to my college experience was the unprecedented standing ovation I received- starting from my classmates and friends in The School of Hospitality Business- who (I didn’t know at the time) had nominated me “Outstanding Senior” just prior. It was a high that I could ride all the way to New Zealand... 

…with a little help from 3 planes, a van, a train a Ford and a Saturn… 

None the less I made it. 

By fluke and a bit of hard work I have found myself in an Agricommerce post-grad program at Massey University’s Turitea campus in Palmerston North on New Zealand’s north island. Campus resembles some sort of strikingly unkosher combo between MSU’s farm scene and UofM’s downtown. There is a great trail for running just 2 minutes from my dorm as well as botanical gardens, a big river and lots of cows and sheep. 

I share a lovely little office (with a window, might I add!) at 428 Social Sciences Tower with an outstanding hostess and all-together classically wonderful post-grad student from the South Island, Jess. Though our style for the time being might best be described as minimalist and our names are only on the door because we wrote them there on a white erase board we have tissues, candy and a tea corner for guests-it has really proven itself a lovely place to do some heavy reading as I have tried to narrow my thesis- something along the lines of an economic analysis of the impact of the value chains of alternative agricultural networks in cocoa. 

I live in a quaint 22 person “Hall of Residence” with 17 Chinese “flatmates” from Wuhan, a guy from Sri Lanka, Rosanna from Hong Kong who likes things so plain she doesn’t even put tea in her hot water, one Thai bloke and a Costa Rican who swears that everyone from Costa Rica has two belly buttons. I do not have any roommates- although roommate means something a little bit different here…I do not have any of “those kind” of roommates either. 

In fact, despite our best efforts to break up due to “logical reasons” and the generally dismal success rates of long-distance relationships, Ben and I are doing better than ever. Upon completion of a series of military schools as of April (or whenever the Army says so) Lieutenant Arbitter will be stationed on my neighboring Pacific Island, Hawaii. 

Though I haven’t gone for a proper tramp yet, I have gotten around quite a bit (… hmmm…please note that that sentence takes on a different meaning here, too). To Wellington with my friend and fellow North American, Caeley who likes trailmix as much if not more than I do (is that possible?) to watch the Allblacks defeat the Springbok’s in a cold and rainy testmatch. To Napier tagging along with my advisor, Hamish as he went off to a meeting and I did a little cappuchino-tourism through the art-deco town and black-stone beach. And around Palmy- where the birds make sure I don’t sleep in past 7:30 in order to spend some time at my favorite spots- the local library (coolest one I have ever been to), Café Cuba (where the largest coffee comes in a bowl) and the river trail where I have been training for the Manuatu Striders Half in a few weeks. 

That is the update for now- I am sure there are more adventurous adventures to come. Hope all is well at home- wherever home may be. 

Much love, 

Alexandra 

Commencement Address

Graduation Speech 

By: Alexandra Clark 

Eli Broad College of Business 

Michigan State University 

Class of 2010 


In 1905 my Great Grandfather was forcibly removed from Michigan Agricultural College. Having a mischievous way about himself, he had decided to interrupt a large assembly of academics on campus with the spray of a firehose- not only was he successful in drenching the audience but also entirely removing the plaster from the walls of Morril Hall. Twenty or so years later, my grandfather flunked out of Michigan State College and in 1974, my fathers graduation from Michigan State University was probably in peril when the MSU police called into question the rocket launching equipment that was mounted to the hood of the 1965 green fastback Mustang that he had parked in front of Abrams Planetarium.


Not everyone makes it to graduation. 


But we did. 


Not everyone gets that big envelope in the mail with the words, “Congratulations, You’re a Spartan”. Not everyone is accepted in to the Eli Broad College of Business, Not everyone can endure the 2 semesters of cafeteria flank steak, 4 years of Michigan Winters and 8+ weeks of finals it takes to become a Spartan. 


But we did. 


And we did not make it alone. We made it here on (one) the love of the people in the stands today, (two) the hard work of the people sitting in front of you and (three) the spirit of the people that we are sitting next to right now. 


We made it because of our families. We made it here one frozen, ziplock container of home-made minestrone soup at a time. We made it on Valentines Day cards with seemingly endless lines of X’s and O’s signed, “Love, Mom and Dad”. We made it on toilet paper rolls that went missing from home when we returned to school and on checks with the words “Tuition Payment”. We made it because our sisters answered the phone after one of those evenings that ended at Rick’s All-American Café and because our Grandma had an old Schwinn in her garage when we couldn’t afford a new bike. 


Families, your recipes fed our roommates, your couches have adorned our living rooms and porches. You taught us the kindness that keeps Willy the Can Man alive and gave us the smiles that walk this campus as our own. 


For the past four, or for some of us five years, the love and eclectic taste of our families has inspired us to dream of otherwise impossible journeys to amazing places, to fight unbeatable battles to balance budgets, to bear our most unbearable weeks on campus and the right the un-rightable wrongs of the world. 


Families, you have made us Spartans. 


Faculty and Staff: From N130 to Norway, from Lansing to Louisiana, from Eppley to Ethiopia, you have advanced our knowledge far beyond the confines of classroom and curriculum. You gave that thoughtful lecture that introduced us to our passions and that entertaining one that made those less interesting topics tolerable. Your advice made 21 credits in one semester possible and your smile with that bright, “good morning!” brought joy in the midst of chaos. With your introductions, letters of recommendation and stories- with your sticky notes of encouragement, papers full of red ink and early morning email correspondence- with your enthusiasm and dedication you have sincerely transformed our lives. 


You, faculty and staff, have made us Spartans. 


Yes, friends and fellow graduates, despite every library fine, parking ticket and bridgetask, we have made it here today. Through the week-long all-nighters, the loud piercing cries of pain and agony that echo through the campus the midnight before finals and those exams that left us dazed and hopeless- overwhelmed by the thought that perhaps we really were only learning more and more about less and less until eventually we may actually know everything about nothing at all. 


We may be exhausted, impoverished and potentially jobless. We may appear to be “just a bunch of broke college graduates” but when we account for the intangibles- for our roommates and Izzone campouts. For the days that we have spent on porches and patios, for consecutive final fours and the friends that we have met on campus and around the world. When we account for every crisp, fall Saturday morning that we spent eating brats for breakfast at the tennis courts and every picture we ever took with Sparty. When we account for every squirrel and duck. When we look beyond our degree to the place where it comes from where people nap by the river on sunny days and everyone has an angel to guide them- even if only online at angel.msu.edu. When we remember what we created together and what we, as Spartans have grown to become we would find that in reality we broke college graduates are much wealthier than we had ever thought. Because we will forever have this Spartan Spirit; this twinkle in our eye. We may be clueless as to our career path and yet, as Spartans, we are certain of our profession. We are (ready?) GO GREEN (GO WHITE) and let no one forget how menacing that can be. We have earned our place in a community of Magic, Zeek, Menna, Sparty, Johnny, Gumby and Izzo, a place that no one can ever take away and we owe it to the love of our sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, moms and dads, grandparents, friends, teachers, mentors, administrators, professors, to each other, ourselves and all of our loved ones who could not be here with us today. 


Not everyone makes it to graduation. 


But baccalaureate candidates of the class of 2010, we just did. 


Thank you. 


Graduates please rise and help in thanking those people who made this day, our graduation possible.