High School Reunion

 

   I know quite a few folks that are pretty pumped-up about going to their high-school reunion.  For those non-Americans it's pretty much a small gathering of a graduating class of 12th grade which is the last federally required grade to complete as education (unless a trade-school is attended).  Often, students go on to learn a trade or college from that point on.  The end of grade 12 is punctuated with a "prom" (oddly short for "promenade") dance and a graduation ceremony a few weeks afterwards.  The film Grease (1978) focuses a good part on the 12th grade of a standard American high-school in the 1950s.  When I graduated in 1987 it was somewhat similar, and honestly the basic themes are still in-tact on a rudimentary level.  I was more the bad-guy from the gang The Scorpions though, played by under-rated Dennis Stewart.  I think it's time for that movie to be made from their point-of-view.
 

Arch-enemy to John Travolta, "Craterface" from Grease (1978)

  

     The High School Reunion is a gathering of that graduating class, usually performed at 5-year intervals (for some reason).  My graduating class was over 670 students.  I believe the attendees of my 20th reunion was about 30 or so, judging by some photos.  I've never gone, though I did go to my prom, and it was storybook perfect, and my graduation, complete with square-cap toss, freeze-frame at the end.. paused panned-shot and music from Tears for Fears, "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" with scrolling credits, straight out of the epic cult-film of the time, Real Genius (1985).


                                                         
    

I feel bad for girls in the '80s.  Time to do hair: 784 hours and 2 cans of Aquanet.

   I can see the lure in some ways.  The same students went to each of the same classes for 4 years running, give-or-take.  Some cliques were formed, of course.  When you think about it, however, 4 years really isn't that much of a time, and honestly there were so many classes one could take, literally over 100 possibilities per-year, that conjunction of fellow students of your same graduating year were fairly rare.  If you consider class time-off that existed as holiday-time, such as spring and summer break, winter break, snow days (for us in the Northern climates), national holidays, I worked out that the average number of 8-hour days at school was about 170 days or so. 



When rappers sang, "Be cool, stay in school!" and weren't about killing cops.

    Do the math and you get 1.8 years total time you actually see these people at school.  I've worked part-time jobs longer than that.  Not even 2 years!  I look back at my USAF time, or even the job I'm at now with a rather gigantic monolith of a space-systems mega-corporation and I've been at my current job since 2009, and the USAF as a whole since 1993!  Looking at 1.8 years it seems rather pathetic an amount of time.
 


 

Tango and Cash (1989)

     Now in the "Reunion" defense, sure, those days are rather jarring.  There's a lot of "growing up" in various ways, social interaction, etc.  I bet some of you readers can remember specifics here and there, I'm sure, but in the end, that time was fairly inconsequential.  There are elements that stick with us, that defined us a bit during that time, and I'd hazard more so than the number of years at your current job.  Still, looking at it pragmatically, it makes no sense to even value a reunion.  I mean, who were these kids?  Heck, they themselves were still trying to figure themselves out.

Aww.. ching CHOW!

    
  One fun thing is the curiosity of how they actually developed.  Often, most people are not at all the same as they were when they were seventeen, or at least I hope not, lest we all have Asperger's in some derelict Mirror Universe world (though I might know a fellow or two that act that way a bit).
 

     We see the cliche examples of people living their heyday from high school, peaking there.  It's classic.  Hollywood gives us Al Bundy from Married..With Children of course, Rob Lowe cleverly acts it in a current commercial.  When I was younger and saw that, I could understand it a bit.  I saw some folks who actually did peak there, such as the quarterback guy, or some other jock or bookworm.  I could get it in the sense that, "Yeah, those guys did peak then.  Huh.  Ah well." and move-on.  At age 45 now, there are those who are still there though, and it's horrifying to me like in Stephen King's Needful Things the guy with the letterman jacket.  I'm sure there are some who actually still have theirs, holding on desperately to it for some sentimental value.  They haven't moved-on.  They can't.

80's Robot from The Muppets offering a crisp, cool Tab cola.

    Ultimately, I bet a lot of guys who go are trying to one-up everyone else though.  Sure, they'll find the "peaked in high school" fellows wearing their letterman jackets but not in an ironic way but as a badge of honor somehow.  Instead, guys will braggart houses, cars, jobs, wives, wealth, fame, etc.  Perhaps public-office holdings, meager as it stands, or perhaps something like a sports-hero.  Me, I don't really need that.  In the end, I would only disappoint those trying to play this trump-card one-uppance.  I could lie, and say I don't work for a major space conglomerate, or that I help keep World War 3 at-bay, or on and on and on.  I've had a very rich life and I'm proud of it, better than most, worse than some in a few aspects perhaps, maybe (doubtful). 

Lord Mastermind's world domination eminent, using.. THE COMPUTER!

    Hungry wolves desperate for respect in an easy field of sheep, really.  I don't need to earn strangers' respect.  I happily stand with dignity, though not smugly.  I stand humbly and content.  I don't brag about my military time.  I could, and that fruit is tempting.  I've mentioned it to a scant few, but a lot of my endeavors were a bit classified, but good things were done and I got to be an angel on occasion (as well as Becky, and the East Coast down to Florida can thank her for that Soviet ruse in 2006 and I need not say more about that). 

 


You like what ya see, baby?

   I find those who go on and on about their military past often were administration or did other bland paperwork or were support in some way, though not all the time.  Some have humility on the matter regardless.  I met a guy who I met who was going on and on about how he used to be in Space Command, just like me, and I had asked what squadron he was in as a frame of reference.  He eventually admitted he was in an odd one I had never heard of.  Turns out he paved roads for a space base by tapping-down asphalt like a construction worker for the DOT. 

Standard '80s high-school fashion.  When in Rome!

  Now there's absolutely nothing wrong with that, but why put on airs trying to say he's a space-command'er when he never wore the space-jammies (flight suit)?  He was a civil engineer and should be proud about that instead of dressing it up to everyone.

Uncle Rico as King Vidiot in Joysticks



Alyssa Milano in Teen Steam (1988)

  Whatever we do in life, be it a cook, an astronaut, or a gaylord, just be the best that you can be at it.  Be proud of your efforts, and the only respect you have to earn is that inside yourself!  Man, this is coming-off like a Public Service Announcement.. and that's one to grow on!


Out.







Oh, a little eye-candy then... '80s style...

Her daddy ain't home.

 

And for the ladies, The HOFF!

When in Rome!

Postcards from the Past

 

"Having a great time here, being the king.  Jenny got a rash on the beach.  Tim got stung by a bee.  Wish you were here!"

 

  A few readers are wondering, "Hey, why hasn't Mike made a blog in a freakin' month?"  Some suspect I was on vacation, or that William Blake's Urizen had taken me to the Elysium Fields.  Fear not, I'm not dead, though I have no excuses except the Muse, "Calliope" has not visited me recently.  I must have insulted her in some way.  Perhaps I should make an alter and offer her chocolates?  Muses love chocolates.

 

Serendipity is actually not a Muse"d".  Sorry, Selma.  You are pretty hot though.

 

  I recently went with a colleague to see Billy Idol in Denver a few weeks ago.  Quite a satisfactory performance, especially considering his age and the altitude. 

 

The couple, no idea who they were, but they didn't have tickets to the sold-out concert, later mugged by a gay poodle.

 

 

  Ate across the way at 5280 Burger Bar on 16th Street (known in Denver as an outdoor city-mall area where cars are not permitted).  Burger looked okay but again, like many things in Colorado, bland.  I find the blandness disappointing here.  One could argue the lack of air causes less taste for those scientistific readers here, but I can surely detect an amount of such rare spices as "salt" pretty easily, or especially it's lack. 

 

 

 

  I gave them a mediocre review on Yelp which devolved into a "tip" because I was fairly speechless on it's boringness.  Meat quality was fair to above-average though.  Flavor was void.  Literally, you could taste the element of "void" in it.  Some would say the fifth-element is "love" so I'll say it's the 6th.  I could go on and on about void is love etc. but that's too philosophical and silly, so I'll not go there except to say that love is not tangible so therefore a void, and yet it's the most tangible thing.  Discuss amongst yourselves, I'm feeling verklempt.

 

5280 Burger Bar is pretty fail.

 

  Back to Billy Idol... the only low-light was the drum solo.  I'm a bit spoiled with Rush's drummer Neil Peart playing a very entertaining drum solo that might last 20 weeks to Erik Eldenius' effort.  He's only been with the band for 2 years to Neil's 40 years so...  In a surprise-move, Billy Idol's guitarist Steve Stevens played a flamenco guitar solo.  Not expecting that.  Brilliant work throughout and the concert fully enjoyable. 

 

 

 My colleague and his wife waited in the parking garage for an hour or so and got to have both Billy and Steve sign their shirts, which is impressive.  Upon his wife's commenting that she was wearing a shirt from his '80s concert, he remarked in full Idol accent, "A classic!"  Nice.

 

                                                                                  

 

 

  Lately, I've been going back to Denver quite a bit on business, in-particular, a place I used to work when I was in the USAF.  That place is what made me retire from active duty a little early.  There's a lot of memories there, mostly bad ones.  I had tyrannical leaders that did things like take away chairs to which we had to type and stand for 12 hours at-a-time, take away meals, talking, etc.  When you're 38 years old you're pretty much done with being treated like a dog.  It wasn't just me, it was all of us, and it wasn't my fault. Corporal punishment from another section. We were working 29 out of 30 days at-a-time for months on-end out of mere spite and lack of planning.  Those good at their job were "rewarded" with more shift work, those bad at it got the day off more often than not. 

 

 

                                                                                                   

 

  It sounds unreal but it happened and I have witnesses of the inhuman atrocities that occurred.  I can only hope that karma gets back at them.  If it had been a necessity, a war-fighting situation, I could understand it.  Instead it was just per-whim, and I call that a foul.  During this period I had a hard time getting my run-standard up to-par as the USAF required a certain time-limit to complete it, but going for a run after no food and standing all day in silence, typing hunched made for a difficult go.  Our squadron leader at the time wouldn't allow us to practice during work, a mandate from higher headquarters.  I'm not saying we were set-up for failure but... a lot of us weren't doing so great, and then we were threatened discharge if we did not succeed.  I was able to meet the standard and exceed it out of sheer gusto. 

 

 

 

  I remember thinking during my very last run, "Well, if I die of a heart-attack, it'll be their fault."  We were required to have a 32-inch waist at the time as well, and perform 60 push-ups and sit-ups, each of those within 1 minute for a male age 38.  I did all of that.  Out of spite, I did 68 of both.  The evaluator looked horrified, "Mike.. um.. Mike you only have to do.."  I growled at him and kept going, then when I was done it all, I resigned from the USAF.  I played their game, beat it, and left on my own terms.  I am not a number!  I am a free man!  My life is my own!  A lot of guys stay in for various reasons, family, a pension, etc.  I took all of that and gave it back.  Too many guys staying in the last bit are effectless, just laying low until the 20 is up, not doing the work needed at their rank, just skating-by.  I would not.  Did I surrender?  Not really.  I got employed fairly quickly as a contractor for a reputable company under the DoD doing about the same work at higher pay, so I get to still harass the Russians, and really, that's all that matters.  You may have noticed Putin hasn't quite taken Ukraine yet.  Heh.  I'd like to think I'm a part of that failure.  Just a cog, sure, but a part of it.

 

 

 

When I got back to the same location I used to work for some software concerns, it was like walking back to a nuclear crater.  I had gone back 5 years ago but the real issue was in 2007 when I was dealing with things.  It's been 8 years.  After 3 years, there was still some memory of it, some lingering evil of my own demise.  This time it was different.  Though the images flashed back some memories, like sunken ghost-ship, the evil that existed there, even the afterimage ghosts were long-gone.  The spirits had moved-on, maybe in myself, maybe there. 

 

 

 

  If you've ever been to a place of a great atrocity, such as Hiroshima & Nagasaki, or the Sand Creek Massacre of Colorado, or a place where a loved-one had died, if it's within a few months or even a few years, the violence there, the pain still lingers.  Ghosts haunt the place.  I'd like to think I'm sensitive to those ethereal elements a bit, those intangible "Postcards from the Past".  When I walked that land again this time, however, there was nothing.  Time had erased it like surf over a beach.  It was peaceful and changed and different.  Billy's new song, nothing is more apt...

 

 

                                                                                 

 

 

  Like a ghost-ship sunk, coral had taken-over.  Tropical marine fish had made it their home, and in the end, it was just a thing, a place submerged.  Plankton and sea-greens had encased it in a living-organism tomb, all the evil had fled and been banished elsewhere.  Sand Creek is now just a meadow with a plaque.  There's no haunting there, not any longer.  Even the most sensitive of paranormal who can detect violent ends cannot scry any strings from the skein that is events of time.  No heartstrings left.  The beach of Time has altered it, changed it, cleansed it.  Even these things move on.  A stranger could advance upon it and there would only be a quiet still, a hush, a nod from Nature, a sad smile and a tear that the visitor would not understand but wonder.

 

 

 

I strode the area silent to myself, searching my own memory banks for completion, but it was not even there now.  Gone.  Like as in the end of Blade Runner, lost like tears in the rain.

 

 

                                                                                          

 

Out.

 

 

 

 

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  Oh, a lot of you just like to see the "pictures", because I have a fan-base that just likes that I guess.  Time and time again I get, "Where do you get those pictures?!"  Sigh.  Okay.  Like a band who has to play their one radio hit from 45 years ago forever like some Sisyphus, here you go kiddies... as a master-bard I bow to your requests... 

 

First some eye-candy...

 

Sasha Grey embodies my feeling of "Postcards from the Past"

 

and for the ladies of course...

 

Dude looks like he works-out.

 Now for the rest..