And I’m never going back / to my old school [except maybe this once]
I won’t tell you which high school reunion this is for me — instead, let’s just say that if you like Loverboy you’d be right at home there — but what I will tell you is this: I’m going, for the first time in a long time. Back to Baltimore. And I plan on making it a blast.
And here’s how: A few months ago when I got the first notice for the reunion, I decided I’d try to grow my hair out to the same cut I kept in high school, the same cut so many of my post-Rockford Files / pre-Breakfast Club high school generation wore: the man Farrah. The Marrah. Or maybe the Mennah. Whatever you want to call it. It had no official name that I know of; rather, it just luxuriated in all its feathery hipness. Behold!
By the end of my senior year, I’d moved on (I was at the forefront of the new-wave / Billy Squier mashup, sporting zippered parachute pants and Valley Girl Chams shirts) — the style I wore was what we called a bi-level (shown here with the band members of Fiction Bridge, several of who went on to very successful musical careers with Orangutan and the Blue Man Group, and another who became a critically acclaimed novelist)….
…which is NOT the same as a mullet, so shut up, wife — but for the vast majority of high school, I sported the Marrah. So that’s what I’m taking with me to the reunion — not only because I think it’s kinda awesome (which it is); but because I can.
And yeah, I’m gonna rub it in the faces of some of the bald dudes there who, last I saw them, were sporting Izros or Marrahs or body waves or perms. Because that’s what reunions are for, I’m pretty sure. That, and breaking out the chain wallets and the Adidas shirts, then getting drunk and confessing to certain crushes you’d never made public.
At any rate, I thought I’d give you all a heads up, because between Satch’s wrestling camp (which ends tomorrow; I’m going for the evening session today), the reunion, and my wife’s mom’s coming into town to watch the kids while we’re away — coupled with the inspections of the insulation for the new house and today, the sheetrock going in — I don’t have any time to wax political. I’ve got a girdle to buy and some Supertramp lyrics to brush up on. So forgive me.
The reunion is Saturday night, but I’m meeting a bunch of high school friends who aren’t going to the reunion proper — along with some college buddies — on Friday for drinks. So if you have a chance this weekend, think of me and say a short prayer: because if there are prizes for “Best Alumni Imitation of Peggy Sue Got Married,” I’d damn well better win one.