Saturday, June 07, 2003

We're about two-thirds of the way through the reunion now, and it's been fun so far; the only disappointment is that the sizeable contingent from my old dorm has not been able to incite a good water fight yet. I have high hopes for the Sunday morning brunch, though. Maybe we can find some alums from the fraternity house across the alley who will help us out with that little matter. I can recall some escalating incidents, two and a half decades back, that began with an exchange of funnelator volleys, dispatched the -- er, ornamental Cannabis sativa sitting in the open (!) window of a fifth-floor dorm triple to contraband-dicot heaven, and ended with an entire outer wall of a brick building becoming mysteriously splattered with bite-sized portions of stale cream cheese. With chives. (This is why most of my classmates are a bit afraid of me. I remember stories like that one for much too long and in entirely too much detail. Maybe if I threatened to regale a few of their offspring with these stories between play sessions at Camp Tech, I could pick up a bit of mad money for my efforts, if you get my drift.)

We're relaxing now, having punted Tech Night at the Pops and the associated class dinner, and having gone to our favorite Indian restaurant instead. The Pops are something of an institution here, but I don't share the enthusiasm that most of my friends feel for them. I've learned to like symphonic music in mid-life as well as retaining my lifelong fondness for good rock and pop, and I'm by no means a snob or a musical purist, but when the Pops launches into the oldies-top-40 stuff, it always seems like a waste of good rock and roll to me. After 15 years, I still remember the Tech Night when they closed their program with La Bamba. I still cringe on behalf of the Class of 1958.


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