Dude be droppin science
Two short, but very memorable, reels of film are keeping the projector that is my brain busy.
One: When I was in 4th grade I was completely madly and totally in love with Ian. Ian lived across the street from a former friend (a friend deeply involved central to the Pee Story, which I swear to god is coming). From 4th grade on we (she wanted his ass too) perched at her bedroom window for hours on end waiting to catch a glimpse of Ian in his bedroom. Oh god! Ian in his bedroom! The wonder, the fascination, the brief brief moments of glory. This obsession lasted a few years. We didn’t talk about it much after elementary school, but it was still there. Ian was in our circle of friends so we had some precious face time with some regularity. Ian was mormon, had a “blended” family and shared a room with one step brother. In 6th grade there was a rumor Ian had a crush on me. Ha! suck it former friend! Alas, nothing ever came of this. Mostly because Ian actually had a crush on Heather, the blond gymnast. I couldn’t hate Heather though, because she was my friend and generally a good person. I am getting away from my point here.
My point is that in 8th grade, the flame of my passion still burning strong albeit silently, our school participated in some JUST SAY NO campaign. This consisted of the entire school tying red ribbons on the fence in the shape of JUST SAY NO. The effect being passing cars able to see our commitment to Nancy Reagans lasting impression on American youth. But I didn’t tie my ribbon on the fence right away. I fashioned mine into an AIDS ribbon and wore it around for a couple hours. Feeling quite proud of my knowledge of important world events. It was lunch time and our clique was cliquing. Ian came up to me and noticed the ribbon. He noticed! He opened his mouth to speak to me. My breathing slowed. I didn’t want to miss a single syllable from his mouth. Ours eyes locked, So you support fags? The words almost killed me on the lunch lawn. I ran to the bathroom and forced myself not to cry while my face contorted. Fuck you Ian. I do support fags. But AIDS isn’t fag disease, asshole. His hateful words dashed the beautiful image I had of him. In my mind Ian was a sensitive man with at least as much world knowledge as myself. In one quick sentence our future was over. In one quick sentence I was reminded that we were in 8th grade and to get over myself. But Ian was still an asshole. I never really talked to him that much afterwards. In high school he went on to play football and become the blonde blue eyed jock we all love to hate. He was also prom king and voted BMOC. Assholes are like that aren’t they?
Two: Last summer (or the summer before, I can’t remember) I visited X in Berkeley. More specifically Cloyne. Wait this link better summarizes my experiences at Cloyne. This memory is rendered much shorter by its inherent hazyness. I do know I was visiting X and if you go to the first link I parked right there. This was a time of extreme poverty on everyones part. So when I got there 3 of us walked to the local liquor/grocer and bought 2 packages of a ramen noodle variant. X and I shared 1 made with extra water so there would be more broth to share. It was still daylight by this point. The time line goes dark for 3 or 4 hours. The next thing I remember is getting ready for the ho-down at another co-op and X telling me that she’ll meet us there because she has a date to make out with some guy whose girlfriend is out of town. I could not make this stuff up. I refused to wear anything remotely ho-downish but still manage to get down with my bad self. I wore a purple sequin top and black dance pants. It was awesome. The ho-down got shut down, not by the police, I forget why. But not before I embarrassed myself in front of not 1 but 2 friends’ younger siblings. I hope they were drunk enough to forget what they saw.
Ok so natch the after after party is at Cloyne. X is still no where to be found, I imagine kissing evolved into heavy petting and so on and so forth. I’m dancing in a room, it’s dark, I’m drunk. I see a brown lab bottle neatly labeled Brain Juice. I should have known better. I really really should have. I open it up and take a deep breath. Oh shit. My last clear thought of the evening: ether. By pure luck some douche elbows me in a fit of grace. The bottle spills all over me, it’s in my hair and all over my clothes. You know what this means right? I can’t stop getting myself high. I am high off my ass on ether and there is nothing I can do about it. Everyone around me is taken victim. I passed out on a pile of (dirty?) clothes and woke up the next morning with my brain swollen shut. It was a completely amazing weekend. Dancing and unintentional drug use made possible by theft from a UC Berkeley science lab? Hell yes. God bless the Clones, every last one.
The Millionizer needs more of the latter
[tags]AIDS, Cloyne, Berkeley, Brain Juice, I hope all mormons aren’t like this[/tags]