WHAT? ME GIVE ADVICE TO THE COMING GENERATIONS?

Summary: Someone who dated a guy with no floorboard on the passenger side of his car isn't qualified to teach anything.

The statement "I'm a journalist" sounds much more glamorous than it is.

When you say it, people think of Bob Woodward breaking open the Watergate scandal. Barbara Walters asking Bette Midler what kind of tree she'd be. Pulitzer Prize winner Rick Bragg artfully describing the Oklahoma City bombing.

In most mid-sized communities, journalism is much more about charting day-to-day life than exposing wrongdoing and covering huge events. Planes only go down so many times, you know. And Cape Girardeau public officials all are out for the common good, right? Right? Can I get a witness?

Just kidding.

As a result, I've done way more stories on city budgets than on serial killers. That doesn't seem to deter teachers looking for "Career Day" speakers.

I'm back in Southeast Missouri for my semi-annual visit. It was scheduled in October so I could watch the leaves change color and feel the crisp fall air nipping at my nose. Hah!

I walked from my friend Brian's place on Spanish Street up to the Southeast Missourian to write this and arrived absolutely dripping in sweat. I soaked TWO PAPER TOWELS trying to dry off my face and make myself presentable to my coworkers.

No such luck.

"Hey! Come to get your new column picture taken?" Fred Lynch asked.

As if the current one isn't bad enough.

Fortunately, Brian drove me to his mass communications class at Southeast Missouri State on Monday, where I discussed my career as a newspaper reporter.

It was a necessary evil -- he needed a speaker for his syllabus and I needed to get positive notations in my personnel file for "community service" every time I influence young minds.

But am I really doing a community service to advise young people about their futures? Take a look at my life. I left a job at a 2,000 watt radio station in Piedmont to sell vacuum cleaners. That's not the kind of thing you mention on your resume.

Not that many of the students paid attention. They're apparently learning the three Rs in college: reading, writing and rigor mortis.

It was so pitiful. I'd get into my little speech, talk for a while and then ask, "Any questions?" They just looked at me as though I was a hair in the salad of life.

Two students asked questions. TWO! I wanted to kiss them, but it would violate my parole.

Maybe I'll change my speech. From here on out, I'll walk up to the podium and scream: "Run! Run for your lives! Switch to accounting while there's still time, or you'll spend countless hours in city council budget meetings!"

Of course, I'd have to sacrifice those notes in my personnel file, but sometimes you just gotta make a stand.