This book we call Face
Every mention of Ceara Sturgis got taken out of her high school yearbook for wearing a tux and man’s haircut. She’s a confirmed LES-BI-AN which terrifies a lot of people in the enlightened state of Mississipi. These are the same people who put on an entire fake prom for another couple because you know there might be a kid who lives in a cave who hasn’t seen girl on girl action on the XXX-net. A kid like that might get traumatized and stop secretly wishing black people were sold on the Home Shopping Network. Face it people from Mississipi a Queer Cookout involves BBQ not putting Queers on the fire. All this is meandering anyway. I wish my high school had excised me from the yearbook. That hair, the Buddy-Holly glasses long before they were cool, I only thank god I wasn’t in the chess club or my reputation would be ruined forever.
CWT is undoubtedly disappointed that I’m not going to post a yearbook photo. The truth is that I have no idea where my Exeter yearbooks are. Kimball Union Academy sends me an alumni magazine four times a year with updates but Exeter forgot me and the feeling was mutual. When Springsteen sings of Glory Days it doesn’t bring back toasty memories of high school but chilling on the roof of Slocum Hall listening to the Springsteen show at the Carrier Dome for free. Truth is my Glory Days involved snapping my knee like a twig and a social retardation that borders on the truly epic. No way am I remembering my high school days without incentive.
All this nostalgia is due to that insidious internet application Facebook. Pay attention to the chain folks: Vicki, who was one of the cheerleader captains, friended just about the whole class and Brian saw that and Judy posted a photo of her wedding to Frank which had Brian and Steve in it and when I couldn’t remember Steve’s last name I looked up the class where I saw Juliet who I always think of when I load paper into a typewriter and she is friends with Julie who had a locker near mine who I gave a unicorn drawing once and she explained that Laura is not Lori who is just as fun to talk to as she ever was and then Linda with the great legs popped up and finally Marti who got a *hugs* because I had this huge fond rush of memory when I saw the name and face. By this time I’m drowning in nostalgia which I guess what Facebook is all about when you’re not trying to boost your readership in some insane PR campaign.
All of this of course involved flirting outrageously. I make no bones about loving women and almost all my friends fall into the uppity, smart and female category. It’s a long way from being so tongue tied that I blew a debate with a girl because I thought she was pretty. Facebook just hasn’t caught up to the rest of the crew yet. There’s that Mistress of Pain from Seattle who bakes oatmeal cookies for friends that come to visit and is perfectly normal if you can ignore the sissy maid. Heck I had an entire lesbian fan club at one time for some little drawings I did. They’re not on Facebook but one of them reads Superficial Gallery when I post here. She’s the one that wanted to set me up with a nice studio in San Diego till I broke it gently that I didn’t have the right equipment to be the femme girly of her dreams. Trig, who is on Facebook and terrifies the state of Mississippi, just laughs at me when I tell that story. It’s been a long wild ride that’s for sure and I’ve made a lot of friends which makes the rest of the Dark Ride worthwhile.
Oh yeah, Vange I told my San Diego friend that you were a beefy guy named Phil when she asked if you were “dateable” after I did that drawing of you and Acadia as superheroes. It’s where the whole joke started. She might have figured out that you’re not a Phil about a minute ago. She’s really sweet and the deal comes with an art studio.