June 12, 2012
Highlight of the college reunion this past weekend was tent-hopping between the parties for older returning alumni, and in particular stumbling upon HQ for the class of '57 back to '42—bluebloods who graduated well more than half a century ago—where a big band called “Howard Johnson’s Ice Cream” was playing jazzy speakeasy numbers that were likely throwbacks even to the octogenarians in attendance. Cece and I danced around the outskirts of the tent, happy to have escaped the glossy pop being spun across campus at our designated fling. An elderly man with a cane was poking his way out of the party and upon seeing us said Enjoy it while you got it before climbing into a rented golf cart and careening off drunkenly into the night.

Highlight of the college reunion this past weekend was tent-hopping between the parties for older returning alumni, and in particular stumbling upon HQ for the class of '57 back to '42—bluebloods who graduated well more than half a century ago—where a big band called “Howard Johnson’s Ice Cream” was playing jazzy speakeasy numbers that were likely throwbacks even to the octogenarians in attendance. Cece and I danced around the outskirts of the tent, happy to have escaped the glossy pop being spun across campus at our designated fling. An elderly man with a cane was poking his way out of the party and upon seeing us said Enjoy it while you got it before climbing into a rented golf cart and careening off drunkenly into the night.

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