Thirty years ago tomorrow was a day that will live forever in infamy. Namely, that was the day everything that Lewisville High School, in the expected North Texas town, threw at me failed to kill me, and they had no choice but to turn me loose on the general public. There was no love lost between the school and myself, nor with the rest of the town, and we keep our distance. Any closer interaction, and we’d likely end up like the famed Mongolian Fighting Dinosaurs.
However, there are, inexplicably, people who actually enjoyed their time at Lewisville High, to the point of inviting me and other LHS misanthropes to our next class reunion. Now, this could be just because I’m one of the few alumni to be on the teevee without someone in the background asking the obvious question. It would also be very easy for me to respond with the first thing that comes to mind: “If I wanted to blow a few hundred bucks and a perfectly good weekend listening to a herd of entitled reactionaries bitching impotently about how the universe changed without their express written permission, I’d go to a WorldCon.” (Actually, that’s not as bad a threat as it sounds, at least this year. London…The Colony, Texas…I can imagine which one would be more fun to wander if I got tired of the festivities and went for a walk. In fact, I know which one would have fewer meth labs.)
All of this brings on mixed feelings. On one side, I might actually have fun out there, especially with recreating the “Dick Dent” scene from the film Sid & Nancy with one character, and my best friend yelling “Go get ‘im, Sidney! Gooooooo!” behind me. On the other, speaking from experience, I won’t go until someone finally writes lyrics for our school song: