Graduation + Outside + Heat = Fail

The day of my college graduation, May 27, was the first hottest day to arrive this year. 93 degrees outside, 130 degrees measured on the blacktop. And it was held out on a lacrosse field, with no shade whatsoever (oh, except for the tent under which the professors sat). We wore black, plastic gowns. At least three kids that I know of passed out, and I'm sure some of those poor grandmas and grandpas almost died. My parents left two hours early--they were literally like, fuck this shit. President Ron Daniels, please, did you not see all the old folks sitting on the metal bleachers (yes, fucking bleachers) who paid $200,000 for their child to stagger across in the sweltering sun to shake your hand? Next time, buy a fucking tarp to cover the field, or better yet, have it at the Convention Center like you guys were planning to do, but mysteriously gave up on. I say, cut back on the free booze for the faculty and all the obsessive-compulsive gardening, and make graduation day a little less like hell. V.v.V