I hope each one of you had a wonderful weekend, I certainly did. I am on such a post good time high that I even hope “Dickie” and Jan Boxill had wonderful weekends…. Whoa!
To explain today’s cryptic title, I hope all of us had REALLY GOOD weekends. I don’t need for mine to have been “better” or “the Best” compared to yours. The endless pursuit of personal superiority over our fellows is at the heart of our society’s insatiable pursuit of self-destruction.
Whether debating football stadiums, barbeque, Bond girls, ball teams, or quotes from The Godfather…. being REALLY GOOD is quite sufficient…. at least for me.
Before I launch into the specifics…. if you grew up in New Bern, Hickory, Valdosta, Owensboro, Cape Girardeau, Aiken, Casper, Kinston, Waynesboro, Kingsport or any place “like those”…. and you are old enough to recall the name of The Cartwrights’ ranch, you should find some tangential connection to today’s comments. Otherwise you can go back to standing vigil waiting for UNC’s response to the NCAA NOA; or for Roy’s memory to reboot. Good luck with that Roy memory thing.
As noted last week, this weekend was the 50th Anniversary gathering of my high school class. Of roughly 250-ish of us, some 55-ish have moved on to their eternal post-life destiny. That leaves 200-ish of whom over 100-ish qualified as “people who want to attend a reunion”. The remaining 100-ish had various valid (!!) reasons for not wanting to do so.
Without a doubt, the most creative “can’t come” was the guy who “had to be in Paris to interview Olivia DeHavilland”.
I’m entering him in a national competition for “creative excuses for not coming back to a reunion”. I think he has a darn good chance to win that competition, don’t you? Really….. Olivia DeHavilland.
I prefer my food well-seasoned. Likewise, I prefer my reunions well-seasoned with card-carrying colorful characters. Three or four/per 100 attendees will do if they agree to stay in character for the duration. Regardless, someone needs to be at the ready with a crossbow w/ a tranquilizer dart. The bulk of the attendees should be good salt-of-the-earth God-fearin’ Americans armed with the barest minimum smartphone pictures of grandchildren, pets or recent vacation highlights. God in His wisdom invented Facebook, nor reunions, for such overt displays of personal pride.
By one’s 50th, one has hopefully moved beyond (1) renting a fancy convertible or (2) hiring a “hot but not slutty” escort to pose as one’s wife/date. Women hire swarthy Euro-trash guys with names like Raoul and Vincenzo who can tango. Bet you thought no one knew about that, huh?
On-site discussions of recent medical procedures should not exceed 30 seconds in length….. unless Jaime Pressley’s Uncle Tommy is describing the procedure in which case a 10-minute stand-up routine is expected because Uncle Tommy can make a school board fistfight sound funny. I can do that too but Tommy’s stagecraft is much better than mine.
Our folks are wily veterans of reunion-planning having close to a dozen to their credit. They are so good at it that a US Guvmint military logistics expert’s assistance was not needed.
FYI: In that group picture above, all us cool BMOC-types are hidden up on the top rows except for Ed and Wayne over there on the right.
Our crew has finally learned that a “Really Good Reunion” – (RGR) is defined as 2-4 loosely organized events over a 36 hour period each of which offers (1) standard buffet finger food….. (2) a cash bar…. (3) sufficient tables and chairs for informal conversational groupings and….. THAT’S IT. You can add (4) a comfortable climate controlled environment. Our RGR had all those essentials.
The 8th Deadly Sin of Mankind is “we must have skits” and/or the use of an amplified microphone for any purpose other than “the driver of a gray Lexus crossover with a Virginia license plate, your lights are on and your doors are locked.” Live microphone usage is Reunion Russian Roulette – (RRR).
Our Really Good Reunion did, of course, like yours, play Reunion Russian Roulette. No one was injured or driven to Ferguson-esque mob violence by the “live mic / skits” Saturday night. I was in the backroom bar grilling an environmental lawyer from New Bern whether the bear above the New Bern fire station is actually named “Kennel”. It is.
Enjoying a reunion, as with most elements in one’s life, is each attendee’s personal responsibility. The organizing committee can only provide the opportunity. Seizing it is up to you, me, us. Our folks seem to have learned that over the years.
With 1-2 exceptions, everyone I really wanted to see was there. These several dozen old acquaintances accept me for who I am, or do a great job of pretending to, which is really all that matters.
The 50th is the jumping-off point for most reunions. Between The Grim Reaper and joint replacements, anything beyond The 50th is playing with house money. To quote Texas Ranger Capt. Gus McCrae to his BFF Capt. Woodrow Call: “It’s been a helluva party Woodrow.”
To the best of my knowledge, no one “got drunk” or pretended to “got drunk”. I never understood why anyone would do either especially pretend to “got drunk”. ??
I’m willing for your reunions to have been “better” or, if you insist, “the Best”. Mine have all been Really Good and this one was REALLY Really Good. I’m just fine with that. 100 or so classmates plus spouses will agree with me.
You DO know that there is a special place in God’s Heaven for spouses who attend their spouses’ reunions. A very special place indeed.
….. oh, did I mention “Ruth” whose life journey has led her from Eastern NC to Casper Wyoming where she actually knows C.J. Box. C.J. Box is, of course, my Alltime Alltime Favorite Fiction Author. To know “a friend of C.J. “ is almost “knowing Nate Romonowski – The Master Falconer” who is the best stone-cold spec ops killer one could ever have as a BFF. …… Olivia DeHavilland? Really???
….. oh, did I mention the couple that “reportedly” arrived by helicopter landing on the country club’s 18th green….. serenaded off the chopper by two kilted bag pipers playing Danny Boy? OK, that one is a “reportedly” !!! Even Jaime’s Uncle Tommy will be hard-pressed to exaggerate that one in the retelling.
That whooosing sound you hear is all the breath exhalings of people who were afraid I was going to mention them specifically by name in the above narrative. “Mention them” in some fashion that they would perceive as unpraise-worthy.
Now they will all be pissed that they were NOT featured. The plight of a Reunion Historian is a lonely one.