the morning after pill
Full disclosure. I waited a few days before starting this sequel to my pre-reunion musings. If it were a real “morning after” situation, I might be more nervous. Especially at my age. But thanks to a couple precision snips and what I like to imagine as a soldering gun for doctors, that hasn’t been a concern since before there was a real “morning after pill.”
This was simply a case of having to beat the sun to an upright position on Sunday after our 30-year reunion. We had a hard deadline to drop Jake at the airport and then speed back home to Nashville. Not that I would ever speed. That’s against the law in every state. If you get caught, it can seriously raise your insurance rates. But that’s another story for another time—right, Emily?
Then I got tied up in my personal 80s marathon, starting with Coming to America on Sunday night. I got weird and a little sciency on Monday, and then hit the Ryman for Violent Femmes and Echo & The Bunnymen Tuesday before finishing my mini gauntlet with Bush, The Cult, and STP at Nashville Municipal Auditorium (home of the roller derby).
Now that I’ve had a chance to saturate my brain with the greatest decade ever (I’ll forgive Bush and STP for being late to the party and not releasing anything until the 90s) and reflect on our reunion weekend, I’m ready to share my usual array of scattered thoughts, littered with pop culture references, New York words, and the occasional song lyric. Speaking of song lyrics, let’s start with this one:
And I hope when I get old I don’t sit around thinking about it.
But I probably will.
Yeah, just sitting back trying to recapture
a little of the glory of…
Well time slips away
and leaves you with nothing mister but
boring stories of glory days.
“Glory Days,” Bruce Springsteen (1984)
I like The Boss as much as the next guy. Not the current version who’s aged into a marginally cleaner, slightly better-sounding-but-still-garbled-and-largely-incoherent version of Bob Dylan. I like the old Bruce. The guy who was “born to run.” He had balls. He had energy. And he had Clarence Clemons (R.I.P., Big Man).
While I do enjoy “Glory Days” the song, I was thrilled that of all the conversations I had with our classmates, none were about the past. I wanted to hear about people’s lives here in 2018 because 1988 may have been what originally connected us, but 2018 and beyond is what will keep us in touch. Proof has already arrived, courtesy of the Mayor of the Class of ’88—Todd Richards—when he scheduled another class get-together. Not ten years from now. Next year. Thanks, Mayor Todd.
So, with all due respect, Mr. Springsteen-Dylan, time does slip away, but we have much more than boring stories of glory days. We have the common foundation of being told we sucked for three years at LSHS (thank you, administration) and we used that—consciously or not—to drive us forward. We became fully-functioning adults. We got jobs. We found partners. We found pets (and some pets found us). We made kids who will be even better humans than we turned out to be.
In fairness to the LSHS administration, I know they wanted us to succeed. They just didn’t know what to do with us. We were—are—different than any class they had ever seen. That’s why the great namers-of-things called us Generation X—they couldn’t put their fingers on what to call us. But I kind of like that. We’re not mutants in an X-Men sort of way, but we do have a certain mystery about us. Let’s say we’re cagey. Cagey people had lots of fun over the weekend. It’s right there in these pictures I pilfered from our class Facebook page. Take a look… and then keep reading:
If you read my preview piece, you know I had mixed feelings about our reunion. Truth be told, I was a little anxious about it. But when I read some of the comments and realized how many of us were on the fence, it somehow made me more comfortable. I’m truly honored that some of you said my blog was part of your decision to be there. The irony is that your comments are what got my ass off the fence. And talking to you Friday is what made me come back on Saturday.
I know I’m not the only person who didn’t recognize everyone. I’m much better with names than faces. My memory tends to kick in only after name and face are joined. Or—in the case of Angelo—when similar mannerisms trigger fond, yet frightening flashbacks. I love you Ang, but you scared the shit out of me in high school! In a good way.
Looking back, I wasn’t exactly a beacon of positivity in high school. And Ang had enough energy and enthusiasm to share. He always was and still is a terrific guy.
Funny aside… many, many years ago I thought I saw Angelo at the NYS Thruway stop in LeRoy. Survival instincts kicked in. Rib guards went down. And I hid in the men’s room for what seemed like days. I only came out when I became concerned about being labeled as the guy who hangs out in the rest stop bathroom and then carted off to highway jail. Anyway, I didn’t hide because I didn’t want to see Ang. Truth be told, I would have loved to talk to him then, just like I loved talking to him this past weekend. I was just afraid he’d give me one of those running bear hugs where he lifts me off the ground and then bodyslams me onto a table in front of all the people waiting to get their value meals. Opportunity missed on my part.
And end of tangent.
Both nights seemed like enough and—at the same time—not enough. I definitely had enough tropical IPA at NY Beer Project (maybe a bit more than enough), but I missed out on talking to a lot of our classmates. I caught up with a few more people on Saturday (admittedly, I kept it “dry” because of my impending 12-hour drive the next morning), and still feel like there are stories I want to hear. People I saw but didn’t get the chance to catch up with. People who couldn’t make the trip or—for one reason or another—landed on the other side of the fence and chose to skip it. People I would love to catch up with before another decade passes.
I guess that’s where Facebook can help, but I’m also a bit old-fashioned with a touch of the new. I like the phone. And I’m starting to enjoy Google Hangouts now that I’ve figured out how to use it. So, if we missed each other at the reunion, or you want to continue a conversation we started, just shout in my general direction. I’d love to hear your story! Until then…
… I raise a toast to all of us
who are breakin’ our backs every day.
If wantin’ the good life is such a crime,
Lord, then put me away.
Here’s to ya!
“Nothin’ But a Good Time,” Poison (1988)
