First of all my (AAAAKKKK) 20-year high school reunion is coming up next week. Yeeesh. Well! Actually my 20-year reunion was last year, but that's only 'cause I skipped a grade. The class all my chums are in is this year's big Two Oh, so hence I go, and yes, I am going to this year's reunion.
An old high school gal pal of mine hooked me up with the reunion web site, and as soon as I added my name to the RSVP list another old, blast from the past e-d me up.
Suddenly I'm hearing names I haven't heard in 20 years, some of them single moms, some of 'em single dads, two of 'em suddenly dead, some of them rich, some of them poor, some of 'em coming to the reunion to brag about their lack of body fat, some of 'em not going because of a severe lack of things to brag about, and then there's me.
I'm going for the most noble of reasons: revenge.
Yep, you see, chitlins, while I did fairly well in high school when it came to having friends, fun and mayhem, I also just hated to my very soul the homophobia, racism, anti-Semitism and general uptight, uptown cunty-ness that went on in my school.
So I'm going ... with my girlfriend.
Yep should make for an interesting evening. I'm trying to find someone with a video camera to film a few of the not so young babes going into cardiac arrest the first time Miss Thing and I slow dance.
My old pal L is coming with us; she says she doesn't need revenge. Her life is revenge. You see, L took a certain amount of shit in high school for being different, and now she's turned out to be what all those uptight bitches dream of being; successful, glamorous and young looking without Botox.
I'm looking forward to watching her strut to the buffet in her size 6 leisurewear.
I'm told 20 years can make people more progressive, but the first thing I received after I RSVP'd was a phone call inviting me to a pre-reunion keg party.
A keg party??? Who has keg parties after the age of 21??
So as if there wasn't enough nostalgia floating through my vents, I wound up taking my goddaughter to Sandy Hook, New Jersey, for a day at the beach. Sandy Hook, FYI, is my old teen-age (wasteland) stomping ground. Suuuurrree, it's all cutesy, cuddly kiddy park now, but when I used to hang at Sandy Hook, we called it double vision beach ... for ... um ... well, obvious reasons.
I kept expecting to look up and see one of the rockers I used to date, or shall I say tease, sitting on a rock banging on a guitar, joint hanging out of his furry face, but nope it was like the rated G beach, and I don't mean G for gay. Not a single bong, guitar or long-haired freak in sight. Even the lifeguards were clean shaven and polite.
So as if I haven't been in retro over-kill this past week, I’ll go one further, Kathleen (of downstairs-neighbor fame) took me to a concert in Madison Square Garden. It was The Who with Robert Plant opening for them.
20 years later, we've got money, so Kathleen got us seats about 50 feet from the stage, best seats I ever had in a rock concert. The first sign that I was truly in a rock fest for the over 35, under 55 crowd was the waiters. ...WAITERS??? ... walking around selling plastic cups of champagne with strawberries floating in them.
WTF man! Champagne and berries at a rock concert??
But this was a champagne and berries crowd.
So what's a girl to do? We had three glasses each.
Anyway, while Robert Plant looked like he really needed to stay out of the sun and stop perming his hair and get a new wardrobe and maybe just stick to the Led Zeppelin tunes, the Who were amazing. Roger Daltrey's voice was strong and gutsy. Pete Townsend still did his wild-ass guitar thing, and if it weren't for the pictures of John Entwhistle projected next to the stage, I might never have known he was dead.
Really the band sounded great. There was one moment when Roger Daltrey's hearing aid fell out, but other than I totally forgot these boys were pushing 60.
The best part of the concert was the audience; thousands of middle-aged men trying to dance and playing air guitar, women with bleached blonde hair and retro '70s were screaming and swaying. It was tacky and kitschy and passe and all of that, but it was just plain fun.
I'm proud to be a '70's rock babe, and I don't care who knows it.
"Finally!!!" Kathleen screamed through much of the concert as she ogled Daltrey, "A sexy middle-aged man!!"
She was right, really. Daltrey looked good, grandpa-elf ears, hearing aid and some sort of hernia scare aside, the man really did pull it off.
So I shook and shimmied and hooted with the rest of the mostly suburban crowd and almost choked on the damn strawberry, too, but I had a blast.
Oh, and by the way, I had a birthday, thru all of this ... yep turned 38. I'm an old bird now what can I say. But you know all this retro, reunion, '70s rock, tie-dye and keg party stuff Is reminding me of one thing: You're only as old as you dress.
That's right, baby, and you can ask anyone who knows me -- I dress like a 16-year-old boy.
Talking about my generationnnnnnnn ... my generation babyyyyy ,,,
My generationnnnnnnnnnnn. (always loved that song). ...
