A while back, as in 25 fucking years ago–Jesus christ, it really was that long–I was in college. I headed to Syracuse, NY in January, a semester after all the other kids, and in the cold, dead middle of winter.
Starting late and it being to fucking cold too barely move, let alone socialize, meant my first semester grades were fairly phenomenal, since studying was my only activity. But the life of a grind was not my highest quest, so I tried to figure out something I could do to kill the boredom.
Back then, there was no Internet to make fake friends on, sadly.
Backtracking a bit, the semester before I started my actual first semester of college I worked in a warehouse, packing school supplies. I missed the normal September start because of a late check to accept my place in class, and because it certainly didn’t hurt for me to have some dough in my pocket to live and shit.
Now, packing school supplies probably sounds like a beachwagon full of fun and games, especially the “mother shift” of bitter ladies working the only job they could find to make ends meet for their families. Yeah, fun with a capital F. True is, though, it had its down times.
To quell the boredom, I taught myself to juggle and then spent months juggling various school supplies in my little, dirty workstation. (One that I would have for several subsequent summers, as I worked my way through college and made some friends I still have.)
In 1982, bored with my own company, fucking cold to the bone in a miserable winter, I headed to Syracuse U.’s “Women’s Building” and started hanging out with the Juggling Club. Founded just a bit before I started by a local dude with a professor father and NASA aspirations, Paul Norton, it still exists. And, somewhere on that linked website, there’s an old, old, old picture of yours truly.
Today, I timewarped back to those days. I showed up to check out the juggling club that convenes every Saturday at the Klutz Store in Palo Alto.
There’s something comforting about a patio full of nerdly men with a variety of facial hair arrangements, the inevitable juggling core, and their colorful toys. For myself, I picked up a few of these.
I’m pretty sure I’ll be back, if only to work on the back fat oozing out beyond the elastic of my bra.
In Between High School and college, I worked a job at a local think tank cafeteria with a bunch of divorced women who only talked about getting their alimony checks and how hard it was to do anything. They all smoked like chimneys. By the end of that summer , I was ready for college and another job. I saw where my future was headed if I didn’t take the reins . And look where I am now . . . Again, to the back fat, I say “Foundation Garments” a discreet little Bali body suit can smoothe out a multitude of rolls. . . I haven’t tried the Spanx brand yet, but it is no doubt in my very immediate future. . . I hope I don’t offend Dvae
On the look where you are today front, I look at those women from the warehouse along with the serious donut-scarfing overweight chicks with whom I once dd computer inventory at Bradlee’s, and I think you and I are ahead.
They had to be our age now, when we enxountered them then. We both haven’t given up all of our dreams and aspirations, like those women seemed to have. Better yet, we haven’t started wearing holiday-themed cardigans and the kind of jeans with polyester and a stretchy waistband. In other words, there’s hope.
You haven’t been around for the last couple of Christmases. .. I have a couple of festive “Holiday ” sweaters but none of my current waiste bands are elastic. . . except for the sweatpants that I never wear out in public like work or the grocery store
spanx sound fun
and i likes a bit o meat on a girl
give you summat to ang on to like
better n boney hips and ribs poking tho anyday
tha only jugging i do is finances
still i cant spend it all on beer
but i can try
dave