When I graduated from high school, my parents gave me a Smith Corona typewriter with extra ribbons and a box of onion skin paper.

I threw that sucker in the back seat of my MG next to the jar of peanut butter and my bouffant hair dryer. I tortured myself and my professors for four long years with the output . . . from the typewriter, not the peanut butter or the hair dryer. That's another column.

Graduations prompt great reflection, vigorous gifting and dreadful speeches dripping with unimaginative drivel as tasteless as Cheez Whiz on an aluminum Christmas tree.

'Tis the season of Styrofoam commencement addresses packed with pathetic platitudes that would never have been tolerated in Mrs. Bowerman's senior English class. Yet they flow madly like the waters of the Mississippi after a spring thaw at this time of year.

About 36 years ago, the speeches at my college graduation were as bland as Elmer's glue, riding on that ridiculous stairway to the stars like Bette Midler swinging from a flying buttress attached to Venus.

We would have paid more attention if she or Venus had given the address.

Seated among thousands of graduates, the inspiring words of the day made me ponder not "Whither shall I go?" but instead "When do I get out of this dreadful polyester robe and what will my hair look like after being mortar-boarded for the longest four hours of my life?"

But it's not so awful for all. Conan O'Brien took the high road. Urging his audience of graduating seniors to keep trying despite the obstacles in their way, he said, "When all else fails, there's always delusion."

Works for me, since my feet are firmly planted in midair. Nothing like a good romp with delusion to lighten the load dropped by life's rude rotten apples with no taste, no respect and no dignity.

At Tulane University, Ellen DeGeneres characterized the moment: "For many of you," she said, "today, success is being able to hold down 20 shots of tequila. For me, the most important thing . . . is to live your life with integrity."

Whether living a life filled with delusion or integrity, I've learned that it seems we are always becoming. We are always graduating to new chapters in life.

My thoughts of finding meaning, of finding substance, of finding grit are greater now than ever. Must be the hormones or the lack thereof. I realize I'm still becoming even though that Smith Corona typewriter is a relic in the Smithsonian and I no longer inflate myself under a bouffant hair dryer.

My idea of success is different today, with challenges neverending. For example, I have grandsons who need to learn that a cantata is not dessert at Luigi's.

A vegetable garden with burgeoning tomatoes causes more obsession with Grumps and me than any old purse or Botox treatment. I have a stack of blank canvases languishing in my studio, complaining that they are over the white thing.

I'm constantly turning the page and yearning to get back on the tennis court to be reminded why Martina Navratilova never asked me to be her tennis partner.

Graduation never ends. Just the bad speeches and the weird hats. Thankfully.

You can reach Elizabeth Kirby at kirby@theacorn.com.