HIGH SCHOOL REUNION: I Graduated With a Black Person

I think one of the reasons people think high school reunions are going to be awkward is because deep down a lot of people fear that their ex-classmates will remember all of the embarrassing moments from the past. While reunions are not awkward (THEY ARE NOT), that's not to say they don't have a few weird moments. It was weird to see Scott B's small children who looked exactly like miniature Scott Bs. If it was my nightmare instead of my reunion, I would have assumed the apocalypse started amidst an invasion of miniature Scott B people. Also, some people are bald now (me) and some people are fat now (not me!) and some people think jeans with big rips in the kneecaps are fashionable (Ian?). Ian, those jeans aren't fashionable. Lots of people have kids now too, but that's not really weird. People have been having kids since high school.

But the weirdest of all, the STRANGEST OF ALL, is that I graduated with a black guy I didn't know about. Let me be clear: my high school has a history of white-ocity (white-icity?). When I was in seventh, eighth, or ninth grade a black man who attended my future-at-the-time and past-in-the-now high school committed suicide. The incident briefly shone light upon the fact that Cedar Falls, IA (at least at the time) was almost entirely white. The mother of the student claimed the community was racist. I don't know about that, but high school can be difficult enough when you are "normal" and have a slight difference--you're an athlete who likes to read, you're a cheerleader who likes to read, you're a high school student who likes to read. I can't imagine how difficult high school would be if you had an obvious, visual difference...even if that difference really doesn't matter. Racism or not, being "different" is never easy.

Out of my class of 400+ people, I could have named four black people I graduated with before the reunion: Owannatu, Robert, Deondre (who is a great example of someone who tried to fit in by hiding his blackness: he refused to go by the name Deondre and instead requested to be called Jimmy because it sounded whiter), and Wendy.

HIGH SCHOOL REUNION: It's Not That Awkward

Leading up to my ten-year high school reunion, I heard a lot of people mention, "it will be awkward." No specific reasons were given for the potential awkardicity. I would even ask, "Why will it be akward?"  I wouldn't be given a clear answer. I would be told random musings about how it's always strange to run into people from high school.

Here's the thing though: it's not. It's not awkward if you're a well-adjusted, socially adept person (of which--SPOILER ALERT--I am). Why do people feel running into people from their past is such a bad thing? Is it because the people from their past knew them when they were an immature, irresponsible goon? Or maybe because we spent so much time with our high school classmates growing up that they've seen us at our worst and most of them departed our lives before seeing us at our best? Or maybe because you spent your childhood talking to your former classmates about your dreams and your hopes for the future and are secretly worried they'll judge you if your life turned out differently?

Look, I'm not a professional wrestler. I'll admit it. It turns out I'm not 300 pounds of solid muscle, nor do I like taking steel chair shots to the head. Sometimes it's okay when life turns out a little differently than how you thought it would when your biggest concerns were listening to Blink-182's latest CD and mastering your Knights of the Round materia in Final Fantasy VII (that was officially the nerdiest reference this blog has made).

It doesn't have to be awkward though. If you take all the thoughts, all the regrets you had from high school, guess what...the person from high school you are talking to probably has similar regrets and similar thoughts. It's called growing up. You do dumb things (like get pulled over by the cops for barking at police dogs--which is a crime). You do mean things (like having your kid sister tell Brad Johnson that no one is at your house even though there are thirty cars outside and a pile of shoes at the front door). But you do those dumb and mean things and learn from them. That way, when you see the people you grew up with in ten years, you aren't arrested and haven't become an asshole. People understand this.

It's not awkward. It's just sort of life.

HIGH SCHOOL REUNION: What I Learned About Lesbians

My ten-year high school reunion was this past weekend. I graduated with a class of four hundred plus people. I knew more than half of them and remember much less than half of the half plus I knew. I was excited for the reunion. I liked high school. Yes, it was shallow, it was vain, sometimes we all acted completely ridiculous, but it was fun. It wasn't the most fun in the world. No, the most fun in the world is having a good spouse, a good job, and some stability in your life. Duh. I'm the most fun in the world. But high school isn't bad.

I think this week I'm going to try to write a few short blogs reflecting on the reunion or parts of the reunion. I don't see much need to write one long blog that no one will read about the reunion or parts of the reunion.

But, before I do any reflecting or talking about real memories, I'd like to address lesbians. Last fall, while out for dinner my wife and another couple, I saw a bachelorette party being thrown for a lesbian. It was a unique bachelorette party to say the least: There was no penis stuff anywhere. Lesbians--not a fan of penises. I tried to determine while people-watching the party if both of the soon-to-be-married lesbians were there. I could not determine that. I wondered: When gay and/or lesbian couples get married do they have separate bachelor and bachelorette parties?

I'm not saying that both members of the relationship share all the same friends, but surely most of them feature some people who would be invited to both parties. This would lead to an interesting scenario where people could actually attend and compare both of the "pre-marriage" parties--generally people only attend one, aligned by gender.

Anyways, I have good news: On Saturday night, after my reunion, I ran into a very nice lesbian woman I know (she played softball with my wife). She was being pretty open with me about how girls are crazy (they are) and how we (people who like girls) put up with a lot (so much). She was basically an awesome and accurate lesbian, so I asked her my bachelorette party question. Here was her answer: "Obviously we'd have two separate parties. If we go somewhere and some woman wants to rub her shit all over my shit, I don't want my fiance there."

I've wanted this question answered for nine months, and that was easily the best answer I could have received. So, file that under mysteries solved.

I Certainly Like Rap More Than I Like Blind People

I’ve been listening to a lot of rap lately. I haven’t the faintest idea as to why. Usually I listen to what my wife calls, “suicide music.” My music generally consists of sad chords, depressing lyrics, and quality storytelling. Sure, Eli the Barrow Boy was killed while trying to earn enough money to buy his woman a coat, his woman who was also killed, but the song sure sounds pretty! Sometimes I think, “Hey I like this happy song,” only to find out later it’s ACTUALLY about suicide—like the Mighty Mighty Bosstones, “I Wrote It.” Here I thought a guy was writing a little love ditty to his lady cat whilst drinking in a Boston bar…nope, he’s writing a suicide note to no one particular because he alienated everyone he ever met. Those stories are so similar. I bet you easily see how I mixed up those two.

So yeah…I don’t know when I started listening to rap. I think part of it has to do with the 5:00am exercise class I take. Because we are exercising, we obviously need beats. Right? After six months straight of Lady Gaga every morning (confession: it took me two weeks to go gaga for Gaga—SUCH A GOOD JOKE), I’ve learned to really love me the beats and the synthesizers and the constant singing about doing it. It in this case being sex. Sex in this case being a non-marital encounter with anyone at a bar who will buy you a drink. A non-marital encounter with anyone at a bar who will buy you a drink in this case being Beyonce I guess? Are Gaga and Beyonce in love? Hip hop and rap are so confusing.

The beats got to me, that’s it. But being so hardcore, I couldn’t just listen to the “lovey dovey, hey let’s dance type” of beats. No. Of course not. I needed beats accompanied with mean-spirited lyrics and the constant rapping about doing it. It in this case being very naughty and disgusting and a little too detailed for my liking.

Also, rap is good to run to. It sure beats running to Beulah. Beulah is good to cry to in between rare bursts of happiness.

I do hope this doesn’t last though. Every time I pull up to a stop light I turn my music down and avoid eye contact with drivers from the other cars. I know they heard my mad beats approaching. I know they know I’m white. At least I hope they do. What I’m saying is I hope the drivers in the car next to me are not blind. If they are blind, and I knew that, I would keep my music turned up. BLIND DRIVERS: Please put stickers on your car alerting white people who listen to rap that they need not be embarrassed, you can’t see them.

When You're Here, You Have a Very Weird Family

It was a rough week. A bad thing happened. Luckily for me, I can always go to the nearby Olive Garden to cheer me up. Because when I’m there, I’m family. This is good, because when I’m with family I become an Olive Garden? Or are there more than two variables at work here? It’s only confusing if you think about it. So, America, DON’T THINK.

Olive Garden commercials are the best. They share similar themes: everyone smiles too much. Everyone laughs too much. Everyone says stuff that real humans don’t say. Everyone says stuff with giggly hiccups in their throat. Everything is generally interracial. Kids like their parents. Parents like their kids. The staff likes their customers. If you could pull Utopia out of my imagination, censor the nudity, add in my family, and place it in an Olive Garden, wah-la! Good advertising.

Dear The President, Mashed Potatoes

Dear The President,

I am an unemployed man who cannot afford education. I've been unemployed for a looooong time. So long. I really need money. It's too bad there aren't jobs for everybody, am I right? Yeah. Okay, but please could you make sure they don't put a mosque in the middle of where an accident once happened? That seems like something important we should talk about while the rest of the country falls apart.

I remember in eighth grade when my teacher Mr. Clark taught me about how statistics are funny. And they are so funny. He asked me if I knew that 100% of big-time serial killers have eaten mashed potatoes. Did you know that? Since that day I haven't had any mashed potatoes because ANYONE WHO EATS THEM WILL KILL SOMEONE SOMEDAY. I think that's what Mr. Clark meant. If Mr. Clark wanted to open a mashed potato store next to the house of someone who knew someone who onetime died, I bet they would say, "No way Mr. Clark, be respectful to the dead."

But here's the thing: I sort of like mashed potatoes. And just because some people who ate mashed potatoes went crazy and made some bad decisions, doesn't mean all the people who eat mashed potatoes will go that crazy and make the same bad decisions. I understand this. Fourth graders understand this. I also understand there are real issues in our country like joblessness, wars (both real and fake), declining work ethics, lack of passion for education, divisive and/or unproductive debates, glorification of teen pregnancy, parents who just want to be buddies instead of disciplinarians, child porn, and ETC ETC ETC. Really, we're worried about peaceful mashed potato eaters wanting to build mashed potato stores? LEAVE MR. CLARK ALONE YOU JERKS!

Love,

ME!