I’s wickid edumacated

I opened up my email yesterday to find this message:

registrar

My first thought: Wow, that was quick.

My second: Man, you’re 50 freaking years old. What the hell are you doing in school?

Actually, it’s been a pretty enjoyable experience. Well, except for the time a classmate came up to me to apologize for missing the first day of class. Yeah, I ain’t the professor, hun. I don’t give a rat’s ass that you weren’t here last week.

Come May I’ll have my master’s degree in Media Innovation, a new concentration in Northeastern’s School of Journalism. I was one of the first five students in the program, which, in addition to honing your writing and storytelling chops, helps ensure you become “digitally fluent, from web design, data mining and visualization to knowing how to shoot and edit video.”

Three of the five of us have more than 50 years of combined journalism experience. It’s that whole old dog, new tricks thing.

What am I going to do with my degree once I complete the program? Who knows?

Many people quell the pangs of midlife crisis by purchasing a fancy new car or traveling around the world. I, apparently, just needed something to hang on my wall.

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