Holy shitfuck, I'm exhausted. Sorry about that random audio post -- we had just walked in the door after our drive from Chicago and the kids were driving me fucking bonkers. I was trying to unpack, so I dialed Audioblogger, handed them the phone and, well, there you go. Wacky kid audio! Look Out!!!
I don't know where to start after MY JOURNEY BACK IN TIME-IME-IME-ime-ime! I'm a complete physical and mildly emotional wreck after the trip. Reunions are a mindfuck. I'm having a hard time wrapping everything that happened into a coherent umbrella thought, so maybe I'll just type and see what I remember...
First off, you'd think that a college with the highest endowment per student in the country could pony up for some goddamn air-conditioning in the dorm rooms. Holy shit, it was hot as fuck. And they had these prison mattresses and burlap sheets -- it was so hot that one night, when I thought I was pulling my sheet up over me, it was actually my scrotum. 'Cuz, you know, the heat often times makes one's scrotum more pliable... and maybe even 'sheet-like'... so you can see how my comparison might... um...
It was hot.
There was a big picnic thing on Friday night -- shitty potato salad, overcooked beans and veiny fried chicken. Again, a billion dollar endowment? Let's step it up a bit folks, huh? Why not go all out and add in some overcooked ears of corn, or something.
The old lady, who was a couple of years behind me, hooked up with her little group of friends, so I had to fend for myself. No buffer conversation with the wife. Just had to dive right in and start the chitty-chatty. Luckily, I located some key members of the old posse and sat with them.
I ended up having this long conversation with this intense dude who lived in my freshman dorm. He was a couple of years ahead of me and used to spend all of his time in the student union playing video games. He had mastered "Dragon's Lair" and the other games there and could pretty much play them until the machines turned off. I think he used to compete in video game tournaments and shit. Oh, and he was a manualist, too -- he could make WACKY fart noises using his hands. And he also traded stocks from his dorm room.
Anywhich, now he's got a shaved head, is obscenely buff (in that weird, Carrot-Top steroidy way) and he trades stocks out of his house all day. And he wears flourescent shoes. And listens to German trance music. And owns the complete Frank Zappa catalog on CD. You get the idea. He was telling stories about watching live sex shows in Hamburg and taking his kids to a nude beach in the Caribbean. All while I was eating veiny chicken.
It was at that point that I decided to start drinking heavily.
I also talked to the former lead singer of my punk band "Caesarean Sexion." Correction, I saw a giant man who had apparently eaten the former lead singer of my punk band. It was so fucking bizarre. In college, he was this wan, sinewy little fellow who wore eyeliner and had all kinds of women eating out of his shaky, long-fingernailed hands. And, while completely tone-deaf, he was a great front man. Now, he is this thick, bald-headed [yet still sideburn wearing?!], alterna-chunk with a King Tut beard and eyebrows that made Frida Kahlo look like she had alopecia totalis. His voice was exactly the same but there was such a disconnect between it and his appearance that I kept re-losing my shit every five seconds. Wacky.
There were a lot of people there who brought their kids. I'm really glad we didn't bring Mr. Z or Miss O along, because it would've put a serious damper on the "having fun" part of the experience, but it was great to see all these hippie-kids running around over the weekend. I kind of bonded with the sons of a couple of old friends of mine, and I ended up hanging out with them almost as much as I did with the adults. They were like the perfect 'get-out-of-jail-free' card. If I happened to be talking to someone and gotten to that four minute mark, where you run out of benign shit to say and start saying things like, "... so, yep... that's pretty much what I'm doing now... yeah... good times...," then I'd look for the kids and yell, "Hey! Who wants to play some soccer?!!!" Worked like a fucking charm.
There was a great moment when some of us were walking across campus and a group of about seven kids walked by and said, "Hey [Crabbydad], what's up?" and I replied "Hey guys!" Everyone looked at me like, "What the shit?! How do you know all those kids?" And I just kinda gave them that look like, "Hey, kids dig me. What can I say?"
I don't know -- I'm really glad I went. It was good seeing some of the old gang and it was great just hanging around the campus. I had such an intense four years at that place -- I was able to completely be myself there and I didn't have to worry about any real-world bullshit. I realize it was kind of an artificial existence and I'll never be able to recreate that experience of inventing myself in a completely protective bubble again. I guess I just came away from the weekend feeling that I've sort of been coasting for awhile -- like if I don't do anything radical in the near future, I'll eventually just die doing what I'm doing right now. Except I'll be Crabbygrandad and I'll be typing about how pissed I get when my colostomy bag freezes during the winters I spend in the basement.
I guess I've got to shake some shit up. Fuck, I met an old friend there who was an insurance agent or something for years and years and then he just decided to move to Florida and go to grad school to study wading birds in the Everglades. I mean, that's hardcore change. Insurance to wading birds. Fuck.
I've just got to find out what my 'wading birds' is.