This is nearly a week late, but since I actually got a request for a rundown of the reunion, I figured I'd at least post something about this past weekend to placate Luna Black. (Make me work, girl! Actually, I appreciate the fact that there is such an incentive to record the event in writing. I generally enjoy going back and reading through my old posts. So, thanks again, Luna.)

The drive down to Georgia last Friday, the 24th, was long and we were doing fine (all the way through NC and SC) until we hit the Atlanta perimeter. It was about 6:30 when we hit sluggish traffic, and then we began to crawl. Steffi was driving at the time, not enjoying being behind the wheel, and I was snapping off pictures of Spaghetti Junction (the infamous concrete tentacled overpasses noodling above one particular section of I-85), the Atlanta skyline, and other urban scenes with the new camera. I don't think the fact that I was actualy having a good time went over well with my hungry (and therefore dangerous) wife behind the wheel.

We finally pulled into the folks driveway around 8:00. Finding the house dark and empty and not knowing when to expect Mom and Dad back, Steffi and I walked to, San Marcos, the local Chinese restaurant, where we ordered a large margarita, burritos, and some vegetarian enchiladas. The parents showed up about the same time as the huge, big-as-my-head salted-rimmed glass of green did. (Used to Chapel Hill prices, I had assumed that the $7.50 would go to a slightly larger than normal sized margarita glass.) The drink, again, was gargantuan, and afterwards - the next morning in particular - I was surprised that my head didn't feel as big as that mixed drink. That was a really nice evening and dinner, getting to sit down with my parents for the first time in several month, and would have been just as nice had there been no alcohol involved. (Still, after the 7 hours in the car, we were ready for a different kind of "numb-i-fication.")

The next day, around noon, we drove to the farm where the reunion committe was holding a barbecue picnic. The site for the event was in fact quite pretty, and there was a barn with stables for the two horses grazing lazily in the nearby pasture. Angela and Lori recognized me immediately, distributed a couple of hugs, and basically made us feel welcome from the get-go. Angela, who is raising her daughter vegetarian, had already prepared alternatives to the bbq sandwiches and hotdogs and made sure to point Steffi to it as soon as they'd been introduced. (I had sent off a warning letter, asking that some provisions be made for Steffi.)

We sat down at picnic tables with K., the 1989 senior class president, who now has a couple of kids and is a stay-at-home mom. She really hadn't changed much, but for some reason reminded me a bit of my sister. I'm pleased to say that while we were asked a couple of times whether we had kids, no one was nonplussed by our response. In fact, there were two other couples attending who didn't have kids, and I don't think any of us were pressured to explain why.

Like most of the reunion, the picnic was pretty uneventful, but there were two conversations that I would just as soon NOT forget. R., whom I vaguely remember from high school, was certainly one of the most colorful folks in attendance. He had let his hair grow to just above shoulder length and it was a sort of greasy, wavy mess, bowl-framing the scraggly beard he had grown. He's definitely a different personality because he explained to K. that he didn't believe in doctors and refused to go to them because he didn't trust them. K., whose husband is a doctor, said that was fine by her, just as long as there were other people who thought differently about MDs. Shortly after this little "discussion" R. turns to someone else at the table and talks about how he had a friend who was paid $40,000 by the government to NOT GROW carrots on his field. R. was thinking about "not growing" carrots on his field as well, hoping to cash in on the government's generosity. Not that it's indicative of anything, but R.'s personal transportation is a taxi cab, which I assume is also his source of income. All I'm saying is that the picnic was not without texture...

The evening dinner was semi-formal, and since I'm an uncouth, uninformed, low-society type I had no idea that the event's "required" attire was actually more formal than one's "Sunday best." So, while there were a few women strutting around wearing cocktail dresses (to show that they "still got it," I think), Steffi felt a little out of place at first with her modest - well - "churchy" burgundy dress. (She was about the only woman wearing any color besides black!) It wasn't really a big deal, though, and we both felt comfortable, especially sitting at the same table with two other couples who had "grown up" since high school.

There were, however, a couple of the old school "hooligans" -- the self-styled cool people -- who clearly had decided that maintaining their aura of coolness over the last 15 years was more important than growing up. They were the rowdy table, and from them came a number of sexual jokes, a deragatory reference or two to homosexuality, and a general aloofness suggesting that they were "too cool" for the rest of the reunion crowd. Seems a shame that a decade and a half hasn't brought much change in their thinking...

***

OK, I'm running out of steam and trying to watch the first Presidential debate as I write this. Hard to stay focused on what I'm writing while Kerry is so thoroughly kicking George W.'s ignorant ass all over the debate room floor. I'm sure there'll be a number of political mavens saying Bush held his own, but if you ask me (and I know I'm partisan) ol' George ain't looking so well-informed or well-spoken. He's flustered, often incoherent and tongue-tied, and looks downright imbecilic compared to John Kerry. Again, though, we're living in a nation of sheep who are "too cool to be smart" so maybe Bush is actually winning...