CHARISMATIC MEGAFAUNA

By Quiconque

�In Case You Were Wondering, No, You�re Not in Houston Hall�

Upon hearing these words I began to regret my decision to attend my first alumni function since having graduated thirteen years ago. Why did I go? Out of nostalgia? Out of loyalty? Out of goodwill for the president whose retirement we were celebrating? Out of a wish to reconnect with old friends? No, four times no. I went because it was free, it was down the street from where I currently go to school, and there would be alcohol.

I dragooned a good friend who did not attend my university to accompany me. I figured that way I could guarantee having someone to talk to. We hit the booze table early, made a great show of pretending to look forward to catching up with other (imaginary) alumni. (He couldn�t wait to see Diane, but was hoping to avoid Aaron, since they had some murky romantic issues to work through. I wondered if Jessica had had more children, or if Liz had really gone on to medical school. We laughed and laughed about that week we all spent in the cabin during Spring Break�.)

Apparently, the outgoing president is the best president ever, even better than the dead guy who founded the place in the 1700s. I�m not one to quibble. I was never really fond of the founding father, except, of course, for the legal tender that bears his image. Besides, this new soon-to-be-old president is a woman, the first one ever. So, rah, girl power!

I did manage to see two people whom I knew, both of them a capella veterans. Ah, the a capella veteran. A capella at my university was like something out of Beverly Hills, 90210. Remember the scene where Brenda discovers that Kelly and Dylan have been carrying on behind her back? Remember that impassioned speech: �I hate you both; never talk to me again!�? Well, variations on that line were said, sung, and screeched at all phases of the a capella group process, from auditions to re-auditions to the alumni newsletter 6 years later. So, when fellow veterans see each other, there�s always this look of guarded optimism, followed by an almost imperceptible wince that asks, �Did we really go through that? Do you still remember me like that? Can you believe we took this crap so very seriously that it still eats our souls, just a little?� How bitter can you be for not getting the solo on �Who Put the Bomp?� I mean, really. And yet, it lingers�

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LINKS

DIARYRINGS

READING: The Abhorsen Trilogy by Garth Nix

WATCHING: My youth pass by