did you go, what was it like? mine's next month. I'm collecting anecdotes. the most recent: ----------------- Re reunion: It was funny, and sad, and embarrassing, and awful. Everybody looked either exactly like they looked in high school or completely different---no in-between. It was supposed to be a two-day event: Friday night was an alumni-only private party at the G. Pub in L. That's what A. and I went to. Saturday there were two alumni-and-families activities---a potluck in a park and a fancy dinner somewhere else. Neither of us went to either of those. I hadn't been planning to go to either of the Saturday events (partly because I didn't have a spouse [or family] to bring with me and would feel weird and sad, I guess) and then Friday night sealed it---I'd had quite enough at 3 a.m. when I got back home. I talked to a few people who I never talked to in high school; mostly they wanted career advice because they'd heard I was in the business. (I've discovered that on [Portland's] West Side "the business" means high-tech just like it means the movie industry in L.A.) I talked to a few more people who I hadn't seen in 10 years, or had run into only occasionally in Portland. Y., one of the members of ... (they opened for Hazel at that place off Interstate), squeezed my arm and said "A., I just want to tell you, fuck, you look like a million bucks." He always had a crush on me, I guess, although I never figured out in high school that he was gay. A bunch of girls talked to me who never had before. That was kind of satisfying. I spent quite a bit of time with my old senior-year girlfriend, C., who now looks and acts even more like Andie MacDowell's character in _sex, lies, and videotape_ than ever before. For more details on that, you'll have to wait until we can talk in person. I don't want to get in trouble.

another story used without permission: Well, at least it's over with. ... Jake and I go into the room where the tables are and try to find seating for four. We are unsuccessful, all the tables are full, we can barely find two seats together, much less four. At least I didn't have to be in the picture. Then, Jane and Susan finally show up. I tell them I'm sorry, but we had to try and find seating or else miss dinner (and this whole thing was so expensive I know we'd all hate to miss that). So everyone files back from the picture, and it ends up that Jake and I are sitting at a table with a bunch of people that I don't know. Jane and Susan got stuck at a table with a bunch of cheerleaders, so I'm counting my blessings. So, I'm looking around, thinking, "I don't know any of these people" and then I start picking out some faces... It seemed like everyone there either was pregnant or had put on fifty or sixty pounds for no apparent reason. One of my best friends from my high-school clubbing clique came up and gave me a hug and introduced me to her girlfriend (like I couldn't see that one coming). I might send her an e-mail or something, seeing her was pretty nice. I guess I'd always been worried that she's pretty unstable so she might go psycho or something and be really angry with me for not keeping in touch, but she seemed extremely laid back and happy with her life. She's designing clothes and some boutique in Portland will be selling her stuff starting this week, or something like that. Then there was Derek, a guy who I sort-of dated ... (he ... had another, more popular girlfriend (who looked mighty worn at the reunion)), we'd go clubbing and to concerts and go to Portland and ... ; he didn't want to be seen with his girlfriend at clubs or at concerts, but he took her to the prom). Anyway, ten years later I can't really think of how to describe him, so picture Kramer from Seinfield. His hair was not so high, but he had a bad perm close to his head and long seventies sideburns and was wearing all black, black pants, black shirt, no tie, top buttons undone with long, pointy collar tips extending eastward and westward. This, by the way, is not what he looked like in high school. He kinda waved at me, so I waited until later in the evening and went up with Susan to say hi to him. The person who had taken over Derek's body said, "hey, slip me some skin bro..." and talked to Susan (mostly about music and drugs) for nearly five minutes without even making eye contact with me, at all, even when I would interject into the conversation. He would look past me, over my head, whatever... From what I gathered, he had been living in Colorado with five other guys, snowboarding for quite awhile, now he's back in the great sucking hole that is V. I was only half-listening by then and I excused myself to go back and sit with Jake and look at the alumni book. Susan said later that Derek said as I left, "oh, hey, I wanted to talk to her..." Whatever. He completely blew me off. He didn't have to act like that. Maybe he would have been nicer if ... Or maybe he thinks I've sold out to the man. Whatever. So, needless to say, I didn't waste too much time there, trying to talk to anyone else. The strange part of it was that everyone reverted into their cliques. There was the cheerleader table that Jane and Susan were unlucky enough to be a part of, there was the trendy-prom queen table, where Derek's other girlfriend sat. Nobody talked to me except that one girlfriend, and some guy with really bad teeth who said he had done lights for "Blithe Spirit". Oh, and some really tall, very cute guy who came right up to me and started hitting on me (Susan and Jane and I had been checking him out from across the room, so he came up to the three of us and started talking to me...) so I kept turning away to Jake ..., hoping this guy would take a hint "... oh I'm busy tomorrow, I'm going on a hike with my fiance..." It was weird though, he was like immediately drawn to me or something, and even though he seemed pretty dumb I was thinking where on earth was this guy when we were in high school and I couldn't pay someone to ask me out? I'd have gone out with him if he'd asked me to Prom or something. He'd have looked good in a picture. Anyway, I never did find out if our class president was really in jail for rape, as I heard rumor of. I didn't really talk to anybody there long enough to find anything out. Jane and Susan spent most of the evening outside smoking and I didn't even get to spend much time with them. I wish I had gone to the '88 reunion instead - I had a lot more friends in from the previous year, we continued to meet up and hang out for a few years later. I read the little "memory book" that the committee had put together, and from what I can gather, everyone has stayed in V. unless they've enlisted in the military. Even everyone who has gone to college has come back to V. I can't believe it. I hate it there. How could you go anywhere else in the world and still think you'd want to live in V.? And most everyone lists two or three kids and 75% of them are married. Nobody has listed a career or a college degree as an important acheivement, and the pictures submitted for the memory book contained either pictures of their kids, or of them in a bar with a bottle of beer (or worse, with their kids and a bottle of beer). Overall, it was a white trash nightmare and I'm glad it's over. I said goodbye to Jane on my way out and overheard this guy talking to his wife about the cheeses and seasonal fruits offered at the dinner. "Yup, I was gonna get me some of that cheese but then I heard this chick say that it was goat cheese. Hell, I ain't eatin' no goat cheese." And so Jane and I laughed and she was telling me that she had left me a bottle of wine by my door (since we were supposed to meet up beforehand. Jane works for a beer and wine distributorship now and gets lots of free alcohol, and food sometimes too). She said, "It's a white zinfandel, I know that's not your favorite but the price is right. I can't remember who makes it..." and the beer swilling (non-goat cheese eating) couple nearby overheard and said with the knowledge that comes from familiarity, "Oh, that's Gallo." Jane turned around and said, "They aren't the only people who make zinfandel."

What nightmares! Don't go. If there's someone you really want to see, make someone you know go in your place and get their number, and you can see them in private. Ugh, who in their right mind would want to relive high school? Most of us are lucky to have escaped without taking our lives.

i have this fantasy of going just to see the people that i hated so much, and what a pile of nothing they have made of their lives. in my fantasy, i have full sleeve tattoos by then, and all of my former classmates are shocked and murmur about how i was always such a freak amongst themselves. it's a highly satisfying fantasy. i also talk to pat hance, this guy who asked me out a bunch of times and i said no. i still regret that. he was one of the nicest guys in my school.

i never received a notice for my 5th. I still have a few years to go on my tenth. No way in hell I will go. I hated that school and hated 95% of the people more. "no more high school reunions" -lou reed

I got kicked out of high school and threw my one yearbook away.

we expect no less dear J

Ha! My class had a 1st year reunion -- as if we were going through withdrawal or something and were desperate to return. Fuck no, I didn't go. Most unfortunately, I have been back there for other reasons. I took a class that required classroom observation, and my mother teaches at my high school, so I went back to visit her class. The smell of the hallways almost gave me a panic attack. And then I had to speak to one of my old teachers, and he asked me to meet me there. It's like every time I swear to God I'm never ever ever going back there, something keeps sucking me in. Satan, no doubt. For a Catholic school, they sure were unChristian in their attitude.

i'm going to hire an actor to go to mine. i will brief him on my history, have him practice my character in front of me so i can give him pointers. he will be a huge half-black half-irish man. i will, of course, go disguised as his ("my") personal assistant. we will arrive by personal jet, flying into the little hometown airport. i will hire three hundred people to meet me at the airport, and follow my limo to the hotel in seventy five volkswagon vanagons. after we are safely in our hotel room, the three hundred people shall disperse in 75 directions to distribute tracts proclaiming my return and briefly describing the events that have transpired in my life since highschool. on the night of the reunion, excessive donations to the police retirement fund shall grant me more block securing power than the US president. my limo shall drive down the center of every empty street, surrounded on all sides by the fleet of vanagons. in the air above, six helicopters shall light the area about my progress with the blinding light of powerfull spotlights. the parking nearest to the event shall be reserved for myself and my seventy five vw's. the rest of the event parking shall be cordoned off by the police to provide landing room for my six helicopters. all other guests shall be required to walk great distances to arrive at the event. once inside, my alter-ego shall be rude to everyone he ("I") meets. after fifteen minutes we shall be rushed to the helicopters. shortly after we are in the air, the explosions shall begin.

how much is the pay-per view?

$37.50, US Dollars.

got mail from the guy I was hoping would be my date to the reunion. "Just to let you know, as of this point, it doesn't look like I'll be going to the reunion. I'm a little strapped for cash right now, and I'm trying to save up for a possible 10 day vacation with my boyfriend to Morocco or some other fabulous vacation destination in November. 10 year reunion at ..., with people whom, for the most part, I have the utmost contempt for, can't quite compete." crap. who am I going to take.

i'll go. ma says i clean up good.

it's the weekend of sept. 24 in portland, oregon. I think I could only subject a friend to this. a friend who owes me favors. maybe I could call my high school friend who got married to a finnish mafia bodyguard, had an autistic kid, got divorced and turned mormon, not in that order. maybe I could go with her and give her back her breakfast club videotape while I'm at it.

sept. 25th is a full moon. we could have the sorabji gathering in the parking lot.

Exactly why is this place called sorabji and does that guy ever check his pager anymore?

it's social experiment that Mark is conducting for a large corportation destined to take over the world, thanks for participating, they will be in touch

Isn,t he smart??

sarcastic... but extremely funny.

I found this site through disinfo.com, and it's all slowly making sense now.. yes..

i'm the only one who makes sense here. silence you little people. the snow is warm and i feel a big boot in the sky crawling forward for 1,000 little fishies all in row. anyone know how to make beef stroganof? i have to cook.

Hamburger Helper does

Love me.

oooh grand idea. i cant even hard boil eggs. it's pathetic.

put egg in water. cover. bring to boil. turn off heat and set timer for 20 minutes. beef stroganoff: beef, sliced mushrooms sour cream cooked noodles brown beef slices over medium heat. salt and pepper. add a pinch of good earth. add mushrooms. cook until the mushrooms start to look slick. add sour cream. simmer for 20 minutes. add bull semen. serve over noodles.

oh god. nate...if you can give me a good recipe for chicken cordon bleu, i'll elope with you and move to antartica. we could raise eskimos on a farm. oh and seals. i like polar bears.

chicken cordon bleu chicken breasts, fondled swiss cheese, sliced hame, thin sliced bread crumbs preheat oven to a good round number. 350 or something. pound the hell out of the chicken breasts. salt and pepper. place slice of swiss cheese and slice of ham on each breast. sneeze. roll up breasts. put in dish. sprinkle with crumbs. put in oven. masturbate for one half hour. have a shot of magic juice. check chicken for pinkness. when breasts aren't pink, put some more swiss on top of each and bake a little more to get the cheese all melty. in antartica we'll have to make penguin cordon bleu.

and we can use eskimos for ham.

i hear baby seal works even better.....eskimos are prime aphrodisiacs though

baby seals. i dunno man. i have trouble eating anything that is used for clothing.

I have seal skin boots, that are furry on the outside. Send your hate mail to me via seal skin envelopes.

Ummm. I thought Polar bears lived uh in the arctic circle. Do they also live in antarctica? I'm pretty sure the Inuits (Esquimiu) live in the arctic. The arctic also has ptarmigan, which I'm thinking might make a better cordon blue than penguin, and you can use caribou or muskox for the ham-substitute. Think arctic.

the arctic has no penguins. and obviously there are no eskimos in antarctica -- otherwise there would be no profit in farming them. besides, think global warming. the arctic will be a wet ocean once again... and antarctica will be prime realestate!

oh no, not another girl hitting on nate. the boy's head is going to explode pretty soon.

oh, and nate, september first is quickly approaching. you too, mark and swine.

eh?

is there a u.s. embargo on goods from iran?

cyst, you're covered. it's a DEADLINE, remember?

humansaywha?

I wasn't hitting on him. I'm too into masturbation to lust after anyone else. I don't honestly know if polar bears exist in the Antartic. I did however, see a show once about these weird monster type things that shoot up out of the ice and eat penguins, seals, large canisters, small children, fruit juice, pineapples, and whatever else might be resting on the surface. That my friends, would be an interesting way to bite it.

Cyst, there's an embargo on anything from Iran coming into this country. Except, I believe, antiques. I had all kinds of fun bringing two Kurdish salt bags from a rug store in Toronto back through US customs. Pretty much what happens now is any Persian rugs coming in get labelled as Afghanistan. My dad's best friend was in the rug business for twenty five years. I read in another post that you're in Turkey buying rugs, no? He's Armenian, and wouldn't sell Turkish rugs for years.

fuck fuck fuck. saffron. rugs. pistachios. why do we put embargos on countries with all the cool shit? let's put sanctions on china. the government there is fucked too AND most of the stuff they send us is crap anyway. my friend's passport, which is more recent than mine (and doesn't say shit about iran), says that generally goods from iran are ok to bring into the country as acompanied baggage. so the saffron should be fine, anyway.

mmmmmmmmmm pistachios mmmmmmmmmmmm The pistchios and the saffron ought not be a problem. I'd double check any labels before you leave though. The rugs could be trickier. Now if they were from Afghanistan, and had a label that said so...... I don't think they've lifted the embargo yet (which is just as stupid as the one on Cuba--I mean really, is Castro *that* much of a threat to our shores now?). It wasn't that long ago that I tried bringing those rugs in, less than two years. Customs guy: These aren't from Iran, are they? If they are, I'll have to impound them. Me: No, they're Kurdish. Customs guy: And where do Kurds come from??? Me: Ummm.....western Iraq--I mean eastern Turkey! And the rug dealers I visited in London pretty much told me they wouldn't sell me their best stuff because it was from Iran. sigh. I'd almost wire you money to bring me back some pistachios and a nice Lesghi, or a couple of bag faces..... --patrick, aka pstachio for many years

My family's got good friends whose relatives live in Iran. I don't know if this is still true, but a few years ago if the Persian authorities caught you bringing rugs out of Iran, not only would they take the rug...you'd get arrested.

Persian...Iranian...same difference

Well, sort of. Persia as such is no more, but it's still an ethnic designation. Iran is the politiical entity, and may be an ethnic designation as well. I don't think any of the Ayotollahs would take kindly to someone calling the country Persia today--too many associations with the decadent, secular past.

"The U.S. government...prohibits all imports from Iran....The U.S. Government does not have diplomatic or consular relations with the Islamic Republic of Iran and prohibits imports of goods from Iran as well as exports of some goods to Iran."

hey, smart people. (skip to the end of this message for an offer for cool shit from turkey or ukraine for locating an nyt from earlier this week for me.) on the customs form to get back into the states, is there some clause about how you don't have to declare personal garments as long as you have owned them for at least six months? ... my mother, the publicity hound, is so funny. so is my father, who sends me email on behalf of the family, even though he's the only one from whom english is not a first (or second, for that matter) language. by the way, I have no idea what sort of carpet my mother wants or how much she wants me to spend. whafuck? and she lied about my promising I would buy one or take a lot of pictures. excerpts from the latest: hallo daughter, your Mom is working a lot of overtime and she wants you to buy a carpet for her, (your brother) is leaving for the southwest ... the day before you arrive. your mom just told me to tell you to make sure that you buy her that carpet. I managed to buy ... (from my friend who deals in stolen blaupunkts) now we can watch everything free including all the pay per view movies, the weather is going to be hot for a while, it has been in the low nineties for a couple of days., Your name made it in the Times, thanks to your Mom, It goes like this "ths grad survived the earthquake, tells mom she is ok,mom could not sleep allnight,promised to buy her a carpet and take a lot of pictures" (your brother) is training at the bank ... he will not finish the training before he leaves. but at least he will get some money out of it. bye daughter, we just got back from the gym and got to take a shower bye ... in other personal newspaper news, my second seattle friend to hang out in istanbul with me (the first one has left) got his very first story in the new york times this week! it was in the monday or tuesday business section. it's about an aluminum company in mykolayiv, ukraine. you'll know it if you see it. if any of you have subscriptions and have the monday and tuesday papers around (it ran tuesday in the international herald tribune, but I forgot which day it was in the nyt), please email me at americanka@mailcity.com. I would be willing to trade some cool shit (like a gram or two of saffron?) from turkey or ukraine for it. thanks.

mt's latest message to us reminded me of a bad foreign haircut story of my own, to which I will list the url since I started this thread and have already ruined it anyway. http://speakeasy.org/~tvc15/cyst/981223.html I got mail from my patron. "I'll definitely pay you by the day, instead of by the carpet. Doesn't matter if you don't spend the WHOLE day looking at rugs, or even if you only spend an hour or so. Remember, I have lots of money. I give people $5 just for driving my car forty feet. It's a different world. Imagine if you never had to think about how much anything costs, you just had to wonder if you wanted it or not." cool.

Sounds like hog heaven to me!!!

today I am discouraged about the carpets. the more I learn about turkish carpets, the less shopkeepers seem to want to talk to me. today a turk with a london accent told me to cut the shit about asking him for prices on rugs. he said that someone who can tell a hereke from a kayseri from a konya ladik does not need to hear price quotes on goods. besides, he didn't have what I was looking for. the merchants don't want you to know what you're looking for -- or looking at, for that matter. they're not really into my getting on my hands and knees and counting the knots per square inch myself. he didn't offer me any tea but he offered to shop for me. I show him a photo of the type of rug and design, tell him the colors and size, and name my price. then he tells me if he can do it. he borrows the rug from the place he normally buys from, shows me, and then I can choose whether to buy. what is the catch? if I pay with a credit card, there is no catch. is there? I am obsessed. yesterday I went to the grand bazaar and asked a shop worker if a carpet on display was from balikesir. he didn't fucking know. he had to go ask. it was. of all the useless and obscure stuff I have wasted my time learning in my whole life, this may be the very most useless and obscure! whether I find the guy rugs or not, I will have filled my brain with a big load of fresh stinky garbage. this excites me.

play hardball.....never forget you have the cash....they obviously don't give a rats ass about the carpets.....if they start to bullshit, just turn and walk away in mid sentence............YOU do have the upper hand....you have cash, they just have carpets...see?

I know. I try. they have rooms full of carpets. and they are right next door to another guy with rooms full of carpets. wouldn't they rather have a thousand bucks? I looked at one nice silk carpet and was quoted 40,000. I mean, yes, I know that six kurdish girls spent the best years of their life going blind and arthritic making these 2.5 billion little knots to earn only a percent or two of the selling price of the rug. but 40,000? I think he'd rather have another bmw or something.