2ndclepunkbuddha

The day had finally arrived.  I spent the required so many hours making sure I was prepped and ready physically so as not a hair was out of place and I was as neat as a pin.  I knew I had scrubbed up nicely when some woman at the gas station at the pump across from me said that I was looking like a queen.  I told her I only dress up in order to do so.  C and I met at a Starbucks on Chagrin Boulevard, left his car there, and carpooled over a few blocks as parking was going to be a bitch.  And, there we were.  I gave him full props for dressing to the nines, and he did not wear the tie dyed T shirts and silver pants he would usually wear at Nelson's Ledges as his usual garb. With 48 hours and counting, something went down.  When I got my invite in the mail several months ago, there was to be a playdate at someone's house earlier that morning so that those in their classes could bring their kids.  Truth be told, this was what I was looking for...

We are now upon the eve of the reunion.  There are/were some events going on today but I opted to bow out of them, because I wouldn't be bothered with some of it.  I was never one for bowling and a happy hour could be found at any other bar I could attend.  I saw a lot of posts on Facebook from those who are there, and I am rather surprised by the amount of people that showed up.  Quite honestly, I had no idea who would or would not be showing up other than the usual suspects.  Earlier this week I ran into a gal who I attended (two years younger than me) with who also lives in Tremont at the coffee shop, I said I was going to it that weekend.  J said to me that she felt like she never belonged there, as she spent much of her time away doing other things, I said I felt the same.  She asked why I was going, I said I wasn't sure.  I've had much time to think about it, truth be told I still don't know.  The food?  Who knows.  J sai...

Just recently, another movie has been released of The Great Gatsby , a 1925 novel by F. Scott Fitzgerald.  While most artists do not enjoy success in their lifetimes, in stereotypical fashion, one has to die before their work is appreciated for its themes and depth of scope.  This novel (and subsequent film adaptations) deals with the themes of idealism, resistance to change, social class, decadence, and excess which takes place in the Jazz Age (the 1920s in America between World War I and World War II).  Of course just such things can be applied to any decade or social changes; and, in the great tradition of nostalgic twenty year cycles, Fitzgerald's novel was rediscovered in the 1940s for just such accomplishment and has since been applied to every high school English class and has been read by millions since. For the sake of redundancy the plot is as such : The narrator is a guy named Nick who has moved to New York for a job to work as a bond salesman.  While re...

As my 20th high school reunion draws closer, I have had much time to reflect upon it.  Part of me is terrified of it.  Many in my class were updating one another on a Facebook thread as to what they have been doing, in general it's good news.  There are/were a few that have fallen by the wayside, you wonder what they are hiding.  Other than the one who is serving time for Arson 1 and Murder 2 in a maximum security prison in Oregon (or was, I hear she's out now and the other inmates didn't kill her, much to my chagrin), and a few others whose fates were not as dubious but equally as tragic, all seem to be rather healthy and respectable.  I am getting ready for the event with near excessive moisturizing, hair washing, working out and having my handsome fake trophy husband C on my arm, I think I'm ready by all appearances.  Some have asked how and why it is that I came to the conclusion to bring a handsome fake trophy husband to this event.  Here is the...

At long last the Practicum experience came to an end as of last Thursday.  There have been many bumps in the road, much craziness, much drama, but what can one expect out of being with a bunch of 6th and 7th graders?  To say that I learned a lot is an understatement.  For one, I was placed in a city school on Fleet Avenue, on the edge of Slavic Village, in the hood, in a charter school.  This place is unique because of their approach to learning and discipline.  What they say GOES.  Iron fist.  I am the KING OF THE CASTLE as the adult in charge.  In the Elyria school, kids were obnoxious and trashy, the inmates had taken control of the asylum.  Here, the kids were disciplined and cooperative, who could ask for anything more?  One kid noticed my ID badge around my neck and asked of my first name.  I confirmed that it was, in fact, my first name.  He quickly said back "Oh, I would never call you by your first name! Respect."...

An example of what he could do. 

Eclipsed by my jaunt to Detroit this weekend, I wanted to say a few words about a rare gem that we lost a few days ago, Ted Flynn.  Ted was known among the scene for his eccentricities in a scene full of eccentric people.  His sense of humor was beyond anything I had ever encountered, and could turn even the most angry or depressed into fits of laughter.  He played in many an independent project in the Speak In Tongues days as one of the primary members of the collective.  Never a two were the same, the only one who was able to pull of an electric jug band and still smile while doing it.  He lived among the clutter, quite literally.  Most of the stuff he owned he pulled out of the garbage.  On one's luckiest day they were not able to find some of the rarities that he found, from an obscure 45 to a perfectly functional computer to most of his wardrobe.  It was during the early 2000s that he and I were closest.  Many a time he would call in t...