The Comment In My Yearbook Says It All
mini me challenge
In the most likely to be section of my senior high school yearbook:
the toast of the off Broadway stage appearing in darkly harrowing epics by unknown yet brilliant directors
Come to think of it, that description was me throughout most of my childhood. My poor parents!
The above picture is me in high school; little baby doll dresses worn over wool tights and desert boots, toting a copy of Gravity’s Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon, attempting to pen prolific collections of “works” in the style of contemporary poet Judy Grahn (which was exhausting), and hanging out in whatever was the latest coffee shop to compete with Starbucks. Musical tastes were, above all, eclectic. Violent Fems, Holly Near, The Cult, Nina Simone, The Communards, and of course:
Having alto, hot jock swimmer boy who just happened to be inaccessibly gay, for a best friend both completed the picture and infuriated the cheerleaders, the later providing years of perverse pleasure.
