It's Not Yale, but It's Something
The other day I was in an interview for what would be a high-profile, lucrative gig, and it was going swimmingly. My interviewer was commenting on how well-traveled I was and then got down to the line on my resume about my education, and all she could think of to say was, "And for some reason, you went to the University of Nebraska...." and sort of trailed off.
I know, I know, I've heard it all before. How did a little corn-gobbling cowpoke from the wilds of the Great Plains end up here in this big ol' sophisticated city, hobnobbing about with all the Yalies and Harvard grads? How did I manage to dislodge the corn-cob pipe from my piehole long enough to charm my way from Cornhusker U to the hallowed and moneyed halls of The Wall Street Journal? And for God's sake how could I possibly hold my own at cocktail parties given my limited knowledge of Geoffrey Chaucer? What, was he a halfback or something?
I really don't have an inferiority complex about it -- I figured I made it here just as well, if not better, than my lovely Ivy League pals, and certainly not because of my pedigree. Being hot shit in South Dakota, obviously, doesn't translate too well to the East Coast, and to be entirely honest, I wasn't even hot shit there. I do think I missed out on some of the finer points of the liberal arts at the University of Nebraska, but state school is what you make of it, and I think it turned out all right. I was so isolated in South Dakota the thought never even crossed my *mind* to apply to a "good" school, and for the record, I was the only person in my graduating class of 69 people to leave the state for undergrad.
ANYWAY, despite my lowly state-school education, I really, really loved going to college in Nebraska. And today, on my friend Todd's site, you can get a sense of why I loved it there so much. Thanks for the time travel back to 1997, Todd. I nearly cried -- I could literally feel myself stumbling down O Street, sucking down a fishbowl, and landing in the soft grass near the Union.
I know, I know, I've heard it all before. How did a little corn-gobbling cowpoke from the wilds of the Great Plains end up here in this big ol' sophisticated city, hobnobbing about with all the Yalies and Harvard grads? How did I manage to dislodge the corn-cob pipe from my piehole long enough to charm my way from Cornhusker U to the hallowed and moneyed halls of The Wall Street Journal? And for God's sake how could I possibly hold my own at cocktail parties given my limited knowledge of Geoffrey Chaucer? What, was he a halfback or something?
I really don't have an inferiority complex about it -- I figured I made it here just as well, if not better, than my lovely Ivy League pals, and certainly not because of my pedigree. Being hot shit in South Dakota, obviously, doesn't translate too well to the East Coast, and to be entirely honest, I wasn't even hot shit there. I do think I missed out on some of the finer points of the liberal arts at the University of Nebraska, but state school is what you make of it, and I think it turned out all right. I was so isolated in South Dakota the thought never even crossed my *mind* to apply to a "good" school, and for the record, I was the only person in my graduating class of 69 people to leave the state for undergrad.
ANYWAY, despite my lowly state-school education, I really, really loved going to college in Nebraska. And today, on my friend Todd's site, you can get a sense of why I loved it there so much. Thanks for the time travel back to 1997, Todd. I nearly cried -- I could literally feel myself stumbling down O Street, sucking down a fishbowl, and landing in the soft grass near the Union.
posted by Had To Move at 6:01 PM
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