I Have Nothing to Tell You About the Future

The bar for a successful graduation speech is so, so low.

You don't have to unfurl a timeless piece of rhetoric. No one expects you to!

There are only maybe five timeless speeches ever given, and you're not going to deliver the sixth to a bunch of hungover twentysomethings baking in the sun at a football stadium. And–despite what you might think as you're drafting your remarks–you don't even need to inspire those gathered masses. They just accomplished something that required a lot of inspiration in the first place.

Well maybe I'll remind them that the road might be bumpy sometimes, and–

Those graduates have lived through the 2020s. They are well aware.

Your bar isn't The Words That Send Them Off Into The World; it's something closer to the bar for a Best Man/Maid of Honor toast at a wedding. That is: you should be brief, maybe a little funny, inoffensive, but most of all brief. As Brad Pitt's Rusty instructs Matt Damon's Linus at one point in Ocean's Eleven:

"Be specific but not memorable. Be funny, but don't make him laugh. He's gotta like you, and then forget you the moment you've left his side."

And yet, so many people fail to grasp this.

The most recent example of failing to understand the assignment came at the University of Central Florida last weekend, when real estate executive Gloria Caulfield inspired a rain of boos for her praise of AI during an address to graduates:

My disdain for AI and its backers is well-documented by now, and I'm staggered by Caulfield's apparent inability to read a room–this was a room full of humanities grads, for crying out loud–but this kind of gross misread isn't unique to tech shills.

It's folly for anyone to stand in front of a room of young people and tell them what their future is going to be. I don't know what it's going to be! I'm already the past! Anyone who claims to have a clear vision of the future is really just trying to get others to buy into their dreams, and hearing those lusty boos raining down gave me faith that this next generation isn't in a buying mood.

If I had to give a commencement speech tomorrow, here's all I'd say:

Don't believe in any future that you don't want to be a part of, and don't believe anyone who tells you the one you want isn't possible.

Oh, and wear sunscreen. (That was a good speech.)

Friends, it's Friday once again at The Action Cookbook Newsletter.

The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and the Friday newsletter is full of late-spring goodness this week, including:

• A salad that celebrates spring without the use of any actual vegetables!
• A roundabout path to a delicious cocktail!
• Great music, a fun new book, a few more anti-AI screeds, pets, and more!

Toss those caps in the air. It's Friday.

In which I embrace the Midwestern urge to make a salad without vegetables

This past weekend was gorgeous here in Louisville. More importantly, it was free; after a few straight jam-packed weekends, I seized on the opportunity to do some real cooking. On Mother's Day, I sous-chef'd for my son as he spearheaded a breakfast-in-bed effort of Belgian waffles, then I took the lead on grilling steaks that evening. The day before presented a nice opportunity for an outdoor meal, and I'd just seen an Instagram reel for a melon-and-prosciutto panzanella; I loved the idea, but opted to change a few things in the execution.

Melon Panzanella

(makes 2 large dinner portions)