Dear Class of '86:
First of all, let's set the tone right with some great 1986 music, namely Apollonia Six's "Sex Shooter". There's really no better way to set the tone of this letter than this, our prom theme. (Okay, sure, it was really Bryan Adams' "Heaven", but if you all remember we wanted "Giving All My Love To You" which was refused by the PTA wenches (or the school board or whatever) Whitney Houston's ditty was "too sexual" in nature.)
So this is the weekend of the twenty-year class reunion. The ten-year seemed too soon and the fifteen-year was inconvenient. Despite my promises to Lisa, Lee Ann, Kristin, Steve and some others, yet again I won't be attending. Not that there is any reason not to do so, but the flight home for a weekend is, well, sort of long. Too be honest, what I sort of am avoiding by not going is, well, my biggest weakness.
And my big weakness is small talk. Really, I'm the worst at it. Talk to me on some retarded / metaphysical level and I'm the bomb. But hearing about the whats and whens and wheres of a person's life isn't really my strength. Granted, yes, there is this site which does include such crucial minutia as the art hanging on my walls, but even here, there is an avoidance of things like where I work and my upbringing and my friends. No this is the place where I have my dream conversations about critical things like how the word "freak" when used in pop songs is code for anal sex.
In lieu of my attendance, please accept the following as general answers to the questions that I would anticipate answering repeatedly:
- Yeah, I've been in the city since '92.
- Yes, 9/11 pretty much sucked.
- No, I'm divorced.
- What? Oh, no, divorced from another dude.
- Yes, I am.
- Yes, everyone seems to have known except me.
- Well sure, I was checking out guys, but I didn't really know it was an available option.
- No, I don't think you were one of them.
- So, anyway, where's that wife of yours?
- About ten pounds more than when I graduated.
- This little secret I call "eat less and exercise more".
- Oh, I don't know, maybe five or six scotches.
- Yes, as a matter of fact I do realize what a total ass I'm making of myself.
Best wishes for a warm and happy reunion! And be sure to send me all the dirt, gossip and scandals.
Rod
