High School Reunion Pt 1

I wanna go back/And do it all over, but I can’t go back I know
I wanna go back/Because I’m feeling so much bolder
But I can’t go back I know


Am I really starting a Klog by quoting an Eddie Money song? Man, o man, I really need to work on my openings. I have found myself in a weird state of mind lately. The fact of the matter, that never in a million years would I ever want to go back. It was such an awkward time for me in so many ways. There are stretches-very long stretches-where I cannot recall a thing. Maybe it’s some sort of deep psychological defense, maybe it’s the passage of time, maybe it’s from all the drinking. I still have almost nightmare like dreams every September. I cringe at some of those times. I hated so much of my time there.


Because it wasn’t me.


I mean, sure, I was there those four years. I did experience a lot; learn a lot, too, I guess. But it just wasn’t me. I never looked at it like the golden time so many others do. I blended in, but never stood out. I just made my way through. The few friendships I did make there pretty much ended soon afterwards. I hated those days, and I hated me those days. I was never comfortable in my geek skin. I had no confidence, surely no sense of style, no luck with the women folk. So why the hell would I want to go back? Why would I want to spend a night with these people? Simple.




Because it wasn’t me.


In case you haven’t figured it out yet; or stopped reading after the Eddie Money reference, I am talking about high school. It was 20 years ago for me. Exactly 20 years. As in the reunion is this Friday 20 years. So what has happened these last 20 years for me to want to see these people? Well, I think I have some answers. I don’t have all the answers, but maybe by writing it out, I will discover them.




High school is a wealth of stereotypes and storylines. While we all went to different schools, with different people, I assure you, some things are exactly the same. Every school has it’s jocks, its nerds, it’s smart kids, popular girls, etc. I’m willing to bet some of the situations you found yourself in are no different than any other kid. I am sure you had an ‘impossible class’ with a ‘dickhead teacher.’ I am sure you failed tests, fought with friends, had awkward social situations, came of age, even had a crush on someone for the whole 4 years and never told them.


I’m sure we all had the same stereotypical teachers; the easy ones, the funny ones, the strict ones, the yellers, the eccentrics etc. For example, our eccentric was our chem teacher who didn’t wear deodorant because he thought there was some sort of foreign chemical in it. Chem was never fun when it was spring, because my HS was so ghetto, we didn’t have AC or even fans. I remember after I handed in one lab report, he wrote ‘see me’ on it. I was so chickenshit, I never did. This went on for months.




A lot of it-not so surprisingly-has to do with me. I know I have grown so much (I won’t say matured, per se) since then. The Kev 20 years ago was shy, nervous, unconfident, quiet, unsure…geez, as I go on, I can understand why I never had a date in high school.


And to be honest, I still possess some of those traits to this day. I am still shy, a bit quiet at times. Ultimately, I think the biggest difference is I am now more confident in myself these days. Sure the last 2 years of being relatively jobless can wreck serious havoc, but I feel that will be resolved very soon. Notwithstanding, I am very comfortable in my skin. I know my weaknesses and shortcomings. And while I may never beat them, I have learned to live with them and manage them.


I say it took me years to grow into my coolness; to be OK with who I am. I am still a nerd and a geek, but the difference is I now accept it. I don’t fight things like this anymore. I think we probably all harbor some sort of perfect image of who we can be one day. All kinds of “One day I will…” scenarios. I am convinced everybody thinks this way. Few of us ever realize that vision, and you know what? That’s OK. Sometimes there are just things you can’t ever change about yourself. But if you can step back and realize it, man, I’m tellin’ ya, that’s half the battle. For example, I find fart jokes eternally funny; like laugh out loud funny. Most other ‘people my age’ probably got over that years ago. OK, so that’s a bad example. But, tough, I yam what I yam a sailor once told me.


And let’s face it. I am sure there is a big element of “look at me” at these things. I get that. I am sure all the girls that were hot back in the day, still want to be thought of as that way. Even if their picture regularly appears on PeopleOfWalmart.com. I am vain enough-and confident enough- to say we all secretly hope everyone else looks like shit while we don’t. It’s not coincidence that I am posting old pics of me with rock stars on FB this week. Ha, take that anonymous internet stalker. Jealous much?


I’ve grown a few inches (that’s what she said), and have spent some time in the gym the last nine years. So I reckon to say that I will be in better shape than most of the jocks. Yea, bench pressing 120 POUNDS OF IRON, with no spotter I might add, really piles the muscle on. Not that I am going to get too caught up in the image thing. But for the rest of the week, I will be popping runway model strength fat burners and WWE level steroids. Just don’t tell any of them that.




I’ve often joked that I would go to the 20 if my hair was still long and my girl was smoking hot. Well, my hair isn’t as long as it used to be, but my wife is smoking hot. And I would still say that, even if I didn’t think she read these Klogs. And she’s going to be even hotter in the little number I picked up for her to wear at Fredericks. Fringe and animal print never go out of style. Giggity.




Speaking of the wife, checking out who married who will be another spectator sport. To wit, I am sure many are expecting my wife to have one eye bigger than the other, have a humpback, walk with a pronounced limp and only know rudimentary English. The assumption is fair, as I, myself, can’t wait to see what some of these spouses look like. O what sweet revenge it would be to see the former hot chick with her third husband, who speaks fluent Klingon and has pre-existing mustard stains on his shirt. I would really hope to see one of the nerds marrying outside his league. But, , c’mon, that shit only happens in the movies, right?


I am sure we will be in the minority. I am sure most of my classmates are married with kids. Perusing the profile shots on the guestlist, I am shocked at who had offspring. I guess we will be the odd ones as others blather on about how many books Madison reads and how young Logan is the smartest non Asian kid in class. Aside from that, hearing that these now adults-who for years had been filed away in my mind frozen as ‘18 year old dipshit’-will most likely be fine upstanding members of society. Well, that, and hearing how all these people have 2-4 kids in their midteens-almost the same age as when I knew their parents-will make me feel interminably OLD. And while I may feel old, I assure you those same little angels have aged their loving parents exponentially. Game, set, match-us.



Bonus Material

Commentary

Since I believe long posts turn people off, I have chopped up this post to be in 3 Klogs. Look for Pt 2 in a day or two.

Heroes part 2

Disclaimer; perhaps before reading this, you might want to read this:http://kevolutiontheory.blogspot.com/2009/01/heroes.html And yes, you would be correct to say that most great writers never write sequels. And while that may be true-there was never Catcher in the Rye 2: Electric Bugaloo, I am not that ‘great writer’. Yet. So maybe consider this an occasional series-like Harry Potter or Chicken Soup.

Being chronically unemployed, I pass my days doing one of three things. 1) Looking for jobs. 2) Crashing the local VFW where I pretend to be a vet in order to drink quarter beers. 3) Walking the dog. You can guess which activity usually wins out. Today, #3 wins out. So I put the lead on Bauer, and out we traipse to a nice fall day.

I have my iPod on-Bauer’s iPod battery is home getting charged-and we walk to the top of the street and start our walk. Now this is a pretty busy street here in Theoryville. We’re on the sidewalk on the right side of the road. Ironically enough, we’re right across the street from the aforementioned VFW. From my left I hear a panicked, “Hey! Come back here! Stop! Come back!” I look to my left. Running down from the top of the hill is a Jack Russell terrier. Clearly, he is running to see Bauer.

Shit, this is not good. This is a major street, and there is almost always traffic on it. Deep down I feel some immediate responsibility as the Jack is running because he (for the sake of the story, we will assume it is a he and he is in fact named Jack, as most JR terriers seem to be.) sees Bauer across the street. Not that it would be ‘my fault’ in any way, but just the common bond dog owners have. I quick check both directions, and miraculously no traffic is coming.

We go out in the middle of the street. I want to take every chance to at least grab Jack at the earliest possible chance and get him-and us-out of the street. For those of you who don’t know, Jacks are known for being fast, elusive and have almost squirrel like reflexes. In fact, the original plan in Rocky was to have him chase a Jack, but that plan was abandoned for later use in my next BS Facts klog.

We get to Jack, and he has a collar on. His owner is still running down the hill to him. Bau and Jack sniff around a bit as I get ready to make an attempt. They keep nosing around each other, but Bau always seems to be between me and Jack. I wait to make a snag, knowing it will surely be seconds before we all get run over by some dickwad who was too busy texting to see us in the middle of the damn street. At least Bauer is keeping Jack close to us so he won’t dart off anywhere else.

The owner makes it to the street and grabs Jack up. We quickly get out of the street. Clearly, the owner was worried and relieved at the same time. I was just glad that nothing happened to Jack or us. She was very appreciative to us as she held Jack in her arms. I sat Bauer, fervently petting him, and telling him what a brave boy he was. And maybe it’s just the dog owner in me. Or maybe it’s just the human in me. I looked into Bauer’s brown eyes. I could see it. I could tell it, as I was showering him with praise. The look told me-

“What did I do?”

Ok, so obviously Bau didn’t know I risked our lives to help another dog. Had he even had known, he might not have approved of such a thing. But I’m proud of him nonetheless. It may not seem like that big of a deal to you, but it is to me, and just you wait to hear how much I embellish the story when my wife comes home. “Honey, you should have seen it. This poor dog-I think he was blind, too-comes barreling down the hill into the street. I see a 2 ton semi bearing down on him. I think the driver was texting. Me and Bauer run out into the street just as a telephone pole starts to fall in the dog’s direction…”

Bauer got a few ‘bonus blocks’ in on the way back. When we got back, I gave him a big ol’ treat that he promptly devoured faster than any dog should be capable of. Right now, my little hero is happily sleeping on the floor next to me as I am on the couch relaying the event. There will be no news coverage of this event. No “And the big story at 4 is hero man and dog save the life of another dog.” Instead, the lead story will no doubt be something negative and depressing, probably with many fatalities. But just know, everyday you are among heroes; you just might not know it.

Now how do I put this shit on my resume?

Dr. Kev

On the whole, sure, the Internet has given us many great things. But like most good things, there is a dark side as well. With the rise of the internet has also come with things such as identity theft, cyber stalking, Carpal Tunnel, eye strain and wasting huge amounts of company time. I have recently found a new downfall.

It allows me to become a doctor.

Over the years, I have generally been lucky when it comes to getting hurt. Which isn’t to say that I haven’t gotten hurt, I surely have. It’s like my mom says; generally I am too dumb to get hurt. The times I have been hurt have suspiciously almost always been on my left side. Broke my ankle and wrist. I was taking a boxing class and pretty sure I cracked a rib. Gallantly, I returned the next week, where my biggest struggle was to not squeal like a girl every time I got hit on my left side. I tore the ACL in my left knee. I think over 38 years, that list doesn’t seem so bad. Except for that ACL business.

Aches and pains-what I like to call dings-are inevitable as you get older, especially if you are active. For example, I play street hockey on Mondays, and it’s not unusual to be sore for most of Tuesday. It’s nothing a handful of Advil and a swig of Jack can’t handle. OK, that’s a lie, I don’t take Advil. I try to hit the gym 4-5 times a week, and again it’s not odd to pick up the occasional ding. Apparently, you can add extra weight on the bars, who knew?

Another example, one morning I woke up with a sore neck. I wish it could have attributed it to something more manly like saving an orphan from a fire my using my neck muscles or something like that. It was really because I fell asleep on the floor with Bauer the night before. See, I told you I lead an active life.

Lately, I have had a ding in my right arm. It feels like it is at the bottom of my triceps. I believe the proper medical term in an “owie” on my arm. I’ve had it for a few weeks. While there has been no real pain, I can’t lift as much weight in the gym. When you can’t even lift the normal amount in the gym, it’s always a source of frustration. If I get much weaker, I’ll be forced to use the 5 pound pink dumbbells. Today I was on this wondrous thing called the Internet. In between sessions of Facebook and LinkedIn, I decided to put the ol’ stethoscope on and see just what the dealio is. Switch the shingle on the front of my house to say ‘doctor is in.’

You would think such things would be easy to research on WebMD. Alas, apparently not. Maybe I shouldn’t use the term “ouchie” in my search. I finally find the info I am searching for. Speaking as Dr. Kevie, I can now resoundly say it doesn’t appear I tore anything. The pain I’ve been feeling doesn’t correlate with a torn muscle. Thusly, I can now declare myself to be “healed” and go to the gym tomorrow confident that I can hoist massive weights over my chest with no fear of pain or failure. That’s the power of the Net my friends.

I can hear the worrywarts out there saying, “Well, don’t you still have pain?” To which I reply, “Step back, dipshit, didn’t you just read the Net says I’m fine?” OK, maybe that should be a cause for slight concern. Further searching didn’t yield any results. I don’t need the Net to tell me my job here is done.

Since I’ve officially become a writer this year –OK, so it’s for free, but it’s online, so again, the Net tells me I am a writer-I’ve become accustomed to doing reams of research. Because surely all the information on the Net must be true. So I look for a second opinion.

I Google terms that fit my malady. For as focused WebMD can be, Google is just various crap. After clicking the first 5 links (they must be the closest match because they are the top 5, right?) I again find nothing that matches what I’m feeling. Just to be sure, I Google pictures of “hot chicks”. Because I am right handed.

I am left with only one conclusion; I am being a big pansy. I believe the term is psychosomatic. Yes, I learned that term from previous WebMD searches. I am secure in the knowledge that I can go big in the gym tomorrow (or maybe Saturday…or Sunday) with no fear of making my situation any worse. The Net is awesome.

Tomorrow I will search rampant ignorance, gross indifference, disillusionment, severe internal injuries and alcoholism.

The Halloween That Hallowasn't

There is no guarantee in life, they say. You can plan, hope, dream and scheme, but sometimes, it is just not in the cards for you. I suppose my unemployed ass could somehow come up with the next brilliant idea to prevent such a fiasco, but I just can’t figure a way. Somehow arrange some sort of rebate, a do-over or mulligan of some sort. But I just don’t know how I could do it.

It rained on Halloween.

I mean, it’s bound to happen sometimes. And for the life of me, I cannot remember the last time Halloween got rained out. Shouldn’t the township have some sort of back-up plan? Every year when they send out their calendars, there should be some sort of notice if Hween gets rained out. I really don’t need a township calendar to tell me when the next school budget meeting is, or that the storm water committee meets every third Wednesday. There should be a clear and concise backup plan in case Hween gets rained out.

Which reminds me of a story from my childhood, about a neighbor kid named Dave. I swear this is a true story. It was the day after Hween, early evening while the sun was still out. There was a knock from our front door. We opened it up to see a costumed little cowboy. “Trick or treat,” Dave said. “But Hween was yesterday,” my mom said. “I know,” Dave piped up, “but today is the day after Hween!” Of course, we still had the candy bowl nearby. I watched as my mom was in some sort of trance, and gave him some candy. Then he left, off to another house. Damn, what ingenuity from a little kid. I am sure he made out that day. I still remember, because he had on the freakiest cowboy mask I have ever seen. It still haunts me in my dreams. And then some blue Russian unicorn reciting Tolstoy comes by to save me.

The signs were there. The weekend before was going to be my town’s Hween celebration. They do it up right. They close down the main road for a few hours, and most of the merchants give out treats. Tons of kids come out, and parents come in costume as well. We take Bau and have a grand old time. For the last two years, it has rained furiously on this day.

The week leading up to Hween was fun. I never watch AMC or TCM except for this week. Both show cool old B&W horror movies. I listened to the Halloween channel on Sirius all week. There were all kinds of spooky sounds coming out of my office; screaming, yelling, howling, chains rattling, crying, etc. And then I turned the radio on. (Rimshot, thank you very much.)

Maybe I should have known when last Hween fell on a Friday. We should have had a ton more kids for me to scare the bejesus out of. But no, the GD Phils have to have their victory parade that night. Baseball again conspired against me, as this year there was a home Phils game on at 8. Why does baseball hate Hween so? Plus, there damn near was a full moon, too. Should have known.

This year, Mischief Night fell on a Friday. The neighborhood tradition is for a small group of kids to TP the houses of people they know. It’s all in good fun, and no one gets pissed. The kids usually don’t start till 8, so I was downstairs, looking for a mask I could throw on so I could scare the kids. Last year, I put on a wolf mask, and ran out screaming from the back yard. That scared the hell out of them, and got an inordinate amount of jollies off for me. There was a knock on the door. I open the door up to see the kids had already “gotten” us. Damn it. I see the lone tree in our front yard awash in Charmin. It took 4 kids and just one roll to be Ninja quiet and get the tree. They looked so proud, “Yea, we did all this with only one roll!” They did so good, how could I not encourage their malfeasance? I got them 3 more rolls and told them to go to town. Soon, our bushes were covered, and I encouraged them to hit the house across the street. Ah yes, Hween is just a night away.

I woke up Saturday morning with visions of Sugar Daddies dancing in my head, and what to my wandering eyes should appear, but an overcast sky; the day, it was not clear. My otherwise blackened and dead heart sunk. Yes, I had known the forecast wasn’t good, but surely the weather gods would not take away my Hween, right? Man this is suckage with a capital SUCK. I didn’t set the yard up for my usual night of scares. If it’s drizzling now, with almost 100% chance of rain come darkness, I have to make a decision. This is a night I look forward to every year, much like motards look forward to Xmas morning. This is my Xmas, my 4th of July. Hell, it’e even my Arbor Day and President’s Day. If I was going to do it, I need to start setting up now.

After much inner turmoil and debate, somehow the rational side won out. I know, I know, it’s so rare for that to happen. In the end, I decided it was too much of a risk to spend hours setting up. A lot of my props are cheap and made of paper. The electrical props I have were wired in some 4th world country, so there’s no point in risking a fire. Crestfallen, I give up the ghost. Which seems apropos this time of year.

But all is not lost, as we head to another nearby town for their Hween celebration. They have a cool little dog place that we always take Bauer to. They do a first Friday type thing there, and always do a different scene for you to get your pic taken with your dog. (Yes, this is where all the profile pics come from). It was a cool scene, and kinda made up for the previous week’s rainout. I did get in a Hween mood (finally) and got the general feeling that Hween wouldn’t suck this year.

Finally, dusk came. I plugged in what Hween lights I already had up. And just about right on cue, it started drizzling. The kids, well, they came, much like the rain. I saw some really good costumes, but no really killer ideas. I did see a kid come as Jigsaw, which was cool. Always gotta wonder about parents who let their kids dress up like butchering bad guys from movies they are technically too young to have seen. Shit, you should have seen the kid that came as Dirk Diggler…

Kids could come to our house and get free candy with no worry of being scared. I reckon the feeling I had to the same one Superman had when he gave up his super powers. I don’t like to ‘blend’ in on Hween; I want to have the whole production happening. We would watch packs of kids come down the street, hit our neighbor right across from us, then totally blow us off! WTF! Just because I’m not doing the whole production this year? You spoiled little bastards. We literally watched kids go to our neighbors, look at our house and just keep walking. I am the only one I know who can feel cheap, used and tawdry on Hween, and not in just the sexual way I am already accustomed to. I even went over to my neighbor’s house to see if she was giving away quarters, or at the very least better candy than us. She wasn’t, same crap we’re giving out. So apparently now my candy is only good when I do the whole presentation, THEN my house is only good enough for you little snots to get free candy from?

Man, how can I love Hween so much and get so worked up?

I was a good boy, and held off from eating any of the candy, lest we run out. The same can’t be said for coconut rum and coke, but, hey, we all got our flaws. Around 8 o’clock-still prime trick or treating time-lights started to get turned off. Huh? O right, damn Phillies game. My neighbor asked me if we were going to watch the game. “No way,” I said “Night of the Living Dead is on all night.” “What? You’re going to watch Night of the Living Dead instead of the Phillies game?” Sheesh, it’s not my fault you don’t get how great of a movie it is, and perfect for Hween night viewing. If you’ve never seen it, you’re really missing out, pansy.

Odds are now, we won’t have another Hween rainout for many years. And hopefully, all those unappreciative little snots will forget about my Hween production; all the places I hide. O, they will pay. They will pay.