4 posts tagged “high school”
So I'd been holding off joining Facebook for a number of reasons, none of them particularly clear. But they all boiled down to: It's so popular and popular doesn't mean it's cool, right? (see MySpace) and I'm late to the party, so should I bother coming?
When I finally did join, and got in contact with a whole bunch of high school and band friends, I realized my real apprehension was about network-socializing as myself, and not behind some username. Being behind a username gives you certain space, of course, which includes distance and a position of non-commitment. But the f-ing ironic thing is, after living behind usernames for so long, I started to worrying about others' perceptions of those usernames!
And how much of a waste of energy is that? It's like wearing a Zorro mask, thinking it's cool and effective. And then you start thinking, is it cool enough? You start doubting yourself and worrying about if other people think it's dumb and pretentious and overly stylized and didn't you know that black was so last season?
Add the fact that I don't write a whole lot and I have about 3 readers, I trapped myself in my own anxiety.
With Facebook, I am myself for the first time and strangely all worry is elsewhere. All that anxiety has for now dropped off because I am in direct (electronic) contact with people. And when you're that immediate and dare-I-say that intimate, you're doing what you are supposed to: which is giving your attention to your friends. And not, let it be said, worrying about what dozens of anonymous surfers might be thinking of your comments.
So anyway, I'm enjoying Facebook for now. The downside is I am spending all my precious Me Time on it and then some. A perfect example of how the internet is bad for addiction-prone people like myself.
There's something about this inter-freckin'-net that is exaggerating all my idiosyncrysies. You'd think a series of tubes would be harmless.
The Fremont High School class of 1986 20-year reunion took place at the Hilton hotel in Santa Clara, California last night. Judging from the group picture, about 60 of the total 400+ students showed up.
Although the pool was small, our predictions fell in line:
- About 70% of the people looked pretty much the same, given the years
- About 25% looked very different, and
- About 5% looked like total strangers.
And of course there was a few ka-ciao moments when I laid my eyes on a girl, and thought, "Oh my lord, that's her!"
Before coming, I was nervous about my inability to recognize people. Turns out, we all did a little of the: look at the person's face, half-recognize it, half-smile, look at the name tag, complete the smile, and go "Hey!!"
And the catch-up questions kind of ran together: What're you up to? Where are you living? Where are you working? Husband/wife/kids? Keep in touch with anyone? But thankfully I think I've kept all the answers straight and aligned with the right person.
The evening officially began with the group photo (do it before we all get trashed), then dinner, then hanging out. Our Emcee - who resembled M.C. Hammer, down to the high-top fade and gold accessories - spun some uninspired music, which kept people off the dancefloor and in the bar. ("Another Stoli and soda with lime, please.")
All throughout, we were all extra nice to each other. Though one guy, after socializing, quipped with bitterness, "Me and [So-and-so] are best buds now. Back in high school, he wouldn't have given me the time of day."
Some of my friends were nice enough to say that I look pretty much the same and firmly took the runner-up to the "Who has changed the least" award.
Relatedly, there was one exceptionally funny moment. A gorgeous classmate of mine [T] married an equally gorgeous guy [M] from a different school, and at the beginning of the evening, there were multiple people pointing at [M], saying, "Hey, there's [BossaNova]! And look, he married [T]!" Even my ex-girlfriend thought this.
I had a lot of fun embarrassing the people who made the mistake. Plus, I didn't mind in the least because [M] was the best-looking guy in the room (which says something about our class), and a lucky one to boot.
With great fortune, I was able to meet up with some very old friends and came to realize just how beautiful, inside and out, these people are. I haven't seen them in nearly 20 years, and the tie between us was something invisible yet tangible and somehow in tact.
And equally important, I got to satisfy my secret agendas for the evening, which were: 1) make one overdue apology for flaking on a friendship, and 2) express gratitude for a small social gesture that today still means the world to me.
On a music note, M.C. Hammer did spin some Eighties classics, including the English Beat's "Ackee 1-2-3," which fulfills the Grosse Point Blank moment.
All in all, even after mentioning all these good points, I'm still left feeling a little disappointed. Maybe it's from the low turnout. There were a few surprises, but there certainly could have been 10 times that. But maybe my feeling is just of let down. For what, I don't know. I'm just left wanting more.
And there are a couple of regrets: There are some people that I neglected to say hello to for no good reason. There were a few social gaffes. And I may be thought of as the one who made an inappropriate joke (wrong place, wrong time, wrong facial expression).
Things to correct for next time. But hopefully sooner.
Oh, and first things last. The suit, the shirt and the shoes played together like a symphony. And the hair held up. What a little lacquer and black paint will do.
It’s T-minus 2 days till my 20th year high school
reunion. If Saturday night doesn’t fulfill the high expectations I’ve heaped on
it, I’m going to be, well, highly disappointed. I’m dragging Verbal along as my
virtual date.
Did I mention that they are putting our yearbook photos on
our name badges? (Anyone remember Nik Kershaw?)
Things to do:
Fix the hair. In line with projections, I still have enough of it to confidently accompany me when I stroll into the hotel. If my hair doesn’t behave in the next 48 hours, I’m going to leave it at home.
Miraculously, the rate of loss seems to have leveled off. There’s no reason for it. I’m certainly not eating better, or getting more sleep. Additionally, I’m able to sweep it back with large amounts of hair products without embarrassment. So no combforward is planned. I put so much hype on that style, and then I switch to plan B – I’m maddening, even to myself.
Press the shirt. I splurged on a powder blue handmade shirt. A very rare occurrence. I didn’t buy it just for the reunion, for that would be sick. Instead, I’m just ill. Saying “my” and “handmade shirt” together fills me with glee. I’m such a consumer.
Shine the shoes. I have so many damn shoes to choose from. And I’m just talking the black ones.
Brush the suit. I have so few occasions to wear my black suit. There’s a reason why Quentin Tarantino dresses his characters in black suits.
Verbal joked that I should wear an all-adidas track suit to the reunion, complete with shoes of course. (I have so many damn trainers to chose from.) That would be phat. And funny for all of 5 minutes.
Get the business cards. I have a feeling there will be lots of card exchanges, sort of like a Japanese business meeting. It’d be better than writing on flowered napkins.
And if no one shows up and the party bombs, Verbal and I can always bail and hit the local record store. They are open late.
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* Bibliography. Top 100 Hits of 1986 / Top 100 Songs of 1986
My 20-year high school reunion is coming next month, and I don’t like the sound of it. Twenty years is a long stretch, and what have I learned, what have I done, in this time? I feel like I’ve spent the first 17 years fooling myself and the last 3 of it in major upheaval, waking up to the fact. It’s like a slow jolt – a brown-out at first, with the lightbulb finally, tentatively catching light. I may have done some things that I’m proud of, but they are few, and many of them were accomplished by luck, rather than by hard work or discipline.
Everyone may feel a bit unsure about themselves going into a milestone reunion like this. But I always thought that when I finally attended one (I purposefully missed my 10-year reunion), I would feel pretty sure about myself, no matter how short my list of achievements, because I’d be happy I had two feet firmly planted on the ground.
Now, I feel like one of my Achilles tendons has snapped, and I’m going to have to wobble onto the gym floor.
Looking back, my high school experience was pretty typical. I had long periods of anxiety, lonesomeness, and overwhelm, sparked by some flashes of recognition and acceptance. My stock started on the low end, and remained low throughout my middle years, then saw a meteoric rise of a bull market, peaking just at my senior year, and on through to graduation.
All throughout, I found my identity through music. This gave me comfort through the lows. I was a member of the marching band, which sounds downright geeky. But our high school had a tradition of fielding top-notch marching bands, which were more about musicianship and precision, than high-stepping show-off moves and pom-pom pep rallies. Through discipline and execution, we found self-esteem and respect.
And then there was the music of the times. The Eighties were rich with all types of music, and you could immerse yourself into any of these upstart genres if you had the inkling. I couldn’t decide who I wanted to be: Sting of the Police, Stewart Copeland of the Police, Stuart Adamson of Big Country, a skinny-tied and penny-loafered “Rudy” Ska-boy, or “Jimmy” on his Vespa from Quadrophenia. And surprisingly, I knew what I didn’t want to be: David Lee Roth of Van Halen, Martin Gore of Depeche Mode, or Prince – all of whom were a force to be respected, but were aesthetically not to my liking. (But all of whom I deeply love now; well, maybe love is too strong a word for “Diamond Dave.”) But having heroes gave me a goal, and in a strange, self-deluding way, gave me a background, an instant family, something to prop up against.
So with all that, I made it through. And since high school is my current obsession and since I’m prone to redrawing history – prettying up the rough spots, and making extra shiny the high points – I in some ways feel like I peaked, back then.
I was on a trajectory that should have shot to the moon, but instead landed me squarely in the town I grew up in.
When we all congregate on reunion night, I think of the movie Capricorn One (with the infamous O.J. Simpson) where the space team is forced – by some government conspiracy – to fake a Mars landing, by filming it in a warehouse. Won’t we all be putting on airs a bit, filling ourselves with a little more bluster and swagger, trying to fake out the room with our hi-tech makeovers? It’s going to be like a Silicon Valley recruiting conference.
(And on the Mars front, I happened to be watching a NOVA series on the Mars Rovers, and it was fascinating to see all these smart people at the top of their game, under the gun, facing all these wildly unpredictable challenges, stressed out, unsure, and downright humble. Made me think – damn, these people are brilliant… Couldn’t I have been one of them?)
Anyhow, I’m just feeling squirrelly about the whole reunion, when I really should be worrying about something else.
