I


t's raining again today. I wonder why the autumn has been so abnormally, depressingly rainy. Perhaps El Niño is to blame.

Nathan VanHooser forwarded me some email last night that he'd received from our high school classmate Kirk Swortzel.

The rest of us (in our elite group of a dozen or so good students) knew how to have fun and when not to take matters too seriously. It was, after all, a backwater rural public school that we were attending.

K


irk was the closest thing our high school had to a nerd, which was odd because he did not have the usual refinements that come with growing up in an intellectual family. His Appalachian accent was so thick that it was reason enough for people to mock him even in his rural high school. Aside from that single splash of local colour, his drab dorkiness was complete: he usually wore a necktie, his hair and clothes were from the height of 50s fashion, he had a persistent acne and dandruff problem, and he never overtly expressed any interest in the things that fascinate most teenagers: cars, sex, beer, and rock & roll. His painful-to-observe obsessive seriousness about classes set him far apart from the others. The rest of us (in our elite group of a dozen or so good students) knew how to have fun and when not to take matters too seriously. It was, after all, a backwater rural public school that we were attending. But Kirk was forever thinking about scholastic matters. What's going to be on the test? What did you get on the test? How long did you spend on your homework last night?

So great was Kirk's obsession with matters academic, it was difficult for his peers to regard him as fully human. Whenever his academic achievements were great, he'd crow about them and we'd hate it. But when his academic achievements were miserable, he'd whine about them, and we'd relish his suffering.

All the same, those of us regarded as good students constituted a community, and we saw a lot of each other every day. Kirk was frequently the butt of our jokes, but we had a certain fondness for him anyway. You see, despite our obnoxiousness, it was only on rare occasions that he ever reacted to any of our teasing. He had a coolness about him, and lots of stuff simply rolled off his back.

My sociology teacher, a Miss Evans, told me that it was a mean-spirited thing to write. But I learned later it spawned much laughter in the teachers' lounge.

As you might imagine, Kirk's character frequently clashed with mine. None of this scholastic crap was ever of any interest to me. I barely studied for any of my classes, and I often composed important papers during the long morning bus ride. I copied the solutions to most of my math homework from my good buddy David Hanger. I was a chaotic, disorganized freak, living in my own world, intent on my personal projects, barely socializing with anyone, involved only in extracurricular activities for which I'd been relentlessly recruited. I didn't really understand popularity politics and chose mostly not to play. No one caused me much grief, but I never allowed myself to be vulnerable to it either. I hid behind walls of humour and withdrawal. I considered myself well-liked, but most people probably thought I was a weirdo.

Kirk was the first social outcast to be the object of my obsessions. In 9th grade sociology class, I was assigned the task of silently observing someone and keeping notes in a journal over a period of a couple weeks. I naturally chose Kirk as my subject. What I wrote was a hilarious bit of fiction, with, among other things, a graphic depiction of a completely made-up nose-picking incident. My sociology teacher, a Miss Evans, told me that it was a mean-spirited thing to write. But I learned later it spawned much laughter in the teachers' lounge. She never did return it to me.

Kirk never became a drinker, but one night David and Nathan spiked his orange juice with vodka, and managed to get Kirk to say some very odd things under its apparent influence.

Like a plurality of my college-bound graduating class, in the Fall of 1986 Kirk went off to Virginia Polytechnic Institute, along with the likes of David Hanger and Nathan VanHooser. The good-natured teasing continued there, tempered with the kinship that naturally results from having spent so many years together. Kirk never became a drinker, but one night David and Nathan spiked his orange juice with vodka, and managed to get Kirk to say some very odd things under its apparent influence.

In all likelihood, no one has ever seen him lift a drink of any description in any bar. I doubt he's ever looked into a mirror, drooling in anticipation of the lines of cocaine laid out thereupon.

Anyway, now Kirk is marrried, has two kids and is a professor at Alabama's Auburn University. Check out his web page. He's gained some weight, but he has the same eager posture that I remember so well from high school.

Kirk is an honest, upstanding, conservative, and incredibly boring citizen, the sort of person this country is fond of electing to high political office. Chances are good that there are no known records of dalliances with prostitutes, minors, musicians, or artists. There are probably no photographs of Kirk puffing on a Phillies Blunt stuffed with marijuana. In all likelihood, no one has ever seen him lift a drink of any description in any bar. I doubt he's ever looked into a mirror, drooling in anticipation of the lines of cocaine laid out thereupon. On the flip side, I've never read anything of interest he's ever written, I've never marveled at any creation he's ever made, and I've never had particularly interesting conversations with him. He knows what goals to strive for and all else is trivial. It's unfair that people like this get to rule the world.

---

He was so rude that he never even uttered an apology as he unhooked the television while we were watching it.

A


fter I took a little bath, I came downstairs to find Monster Boy moving out in earnest while Matthew Hart looked on in amusment from the couch. Monster Boy's mother and stepfather were there, along with a teenage sister and a teenage brother and a female friend of the sister. All the young people were named Jessica, except maybe the boy.

The mother was fairly friendly, but the father was gruff and looked upon us with disdain. He never said a word to us the whole time he was there. He was so rude that he never even uttered an apology as he unhooked the television while we were watching it. It was Monster Boy's teevee, but damn it, we were watching a countdown of the top ten cheesiest videos of all time on MTV. By the way, in all cheesy videos, it's mandatory for the lead singer to fall on his knees, grimace and hold two clenched fists in front of his face. This means "I'm feeling very emotional right now."

Deya was there when a house meeting was held to give our least favourite Brit the news.

Monster Boy didn't take his couches, but he took almost everything else he owned, leaving the downstairs barren. Matthew was jokingly upset with himself not to have tried harder to seduce Monster Boy's sister. She looked ridiculous from the amount of eyeliner she'd used.

The latest news is that Rory has been evicted from the Haunted House. Deya was there when a house meeting was held to give our least favourite Brit the news. As Deya, Matthew and I discussed this, Matthew became concerned about what had become of Leah (supposedly back with her folks in Louisa County, but also possibly in some sort of exile with Rory), so he drove off to give her a call. No one can make calls from Kappa Mutha Fucka as of yet.

---

Abundance House is a strictly micro-brew region. They have no recycling bins full of Natural Ice cans.

A


nap took me to about 9pm. I heard a comotion in the hall outside and thought I'd get up in case I needed to forestall another window getting broken. I found Matthew and Angela carrying on. They were drunk, but not especially so. What counted for me was that they seemed happy. I took a sip of their vino.

Coincidentally Cory (the former Coffee Cart Girl) had just arrived. She wanted to invite me to go "play" with her. I was kind of groggy from my nap, but I agreed to go. We went back to her place, Abundance House, and socialized with Franz, "Blond House" Elizabeth, and (occasionally) Kirstin the Aquarian eco-radical. Cory had bought some expensive beers at the JPA Fastmart, and we were drinking them as we talked. Abundance House is a strictly micro-brew region. They have no recycling bins full of Natural Ice cans.

It's is also a strictly vegan region. Perhaps the house is just a little overboard when it comes to doing right by the world. But it's populated with fun, intelligent people possessing, most importantly, well-developed senses of humour.

Cory broke out a deck of playing cards she'd bought recently and passed them around. They featured pictures of nude men with circumcized penises in various states of arousal. The deck appeared to dated from the late 70s or early 80s. It was printed in the familiar yellowed colours from that period, and the guys all had fairly big hair or, in some cases, afros. They weren't attractive by modern standards; indeed, the deck looked like a photodocumentary of some sort of hypothetical amateur night at the White Spot (a greasy spoon restaurant on the Corner).

Implication: I'd like to go to a dress-up ball at Kappa Sigma Nu with that kind of hair, but I'd like it to be nice the next day when I see my academic adviser!

Cory and Elizabeth both have piercings, bleached hair and dread locks. Franz has streaks bleached in his hair and may have piercings as well. They discussed with me and each other how irritated they get when "sorority girls" and other "stupid people" ask them the usual questions about piercings and dread locks:
• Question: Did it hurt? Implication: Why are you such a freak that you would do something that would obviously inconvenience you for the cause of your abnormal subculture? What goes through the mind of the asked: Like, duh? It felt wonderful when the guy drove that needle through my tongue!

• Question: How do you get your hair to do that? Implication: Your hair is fucked up real bad, and believe me, I've noticed! What goes through the mind of the asked: Leave me alone! I've heard that question a million times! How did your brain get to be so retarded?

• Question: Is [your hair] permanent? Implication: I'd like to go to a dress-up ball at Kappa Sigma Nu with that kind of hair, but I'd like it to be nice the next day when I see my academic adviser! What goes through the mind of the asked: Does it look like I could actually comb this out?

Selflessly, Wilbur dove off into the abyss, landing with a thump at the bottom. He was unhurt, and managed to recover the evidence.

I, uh, spent the night at Abundance House. Elizabeth, however, went home.

During the night I had a rather disturbing dream. I was in the forest, at a campsite beside a primitive road. There were a number of others with me, such as Diana the Redhead, another girl, and perhaps others. My childhood dog, Wilbur (a black Labrador who lived from 1972 to 1982) and some other dog were also there. Anyway, there was lots of strange uses being made of sex at our little encampment, and the only one who seemed to be a force for righteousness was Wilbur the Dog. Suddenly I discovered that a high, sheer cliff extended down from the edge of the road nearby. A salient bit of evidence indicating Diana's unrighteousness was to be found at the bottom of that cliff. Selflessly, Wilbur dove off into the abyss, landing with a thump at the bottom. He was unhurt, and managed to recover the evidence. Diana's crime was some sort of lesbian sexual thing, and she was made to pay in another sexual way. It was all very sick and twisted.

one year ago

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