Grease up the pole and let your freak flag fly high this weekend. In fact, fly a little high yourself. This is going to be a momentous three days and attention must be paid.
The Grant High School 1970-71 Freak Lawn Reunion is commencing as we speak. Do you hear the thunder of Easy Spirit walking shoes?
I am not there, due to a small shitstorm around my life, but that is not going to stop me from reporting on it. I have been in the loop of the thousands of emails that have circulated among the, oh, fifteen or so of us, from the first, tentative "should we try and get together one of these days?" to the most recent - this morning - which confirms (for the fourth time) the ingredients of the Kosher burrito that seems to be the enduring icon of our high school years (well, that and the war in Viet Nam), and that will - superceding all other activities - be recreated for tonight's inaugural dinner.
The burrito will be recreated, I mean; not the war. Hopefully. Although, frankly, this is a group of determined can-do mofos - we are the badasses who took over the Administration Building with nothing more than a bullhorn and lyric sheets for a Phil Ochs medley - and I really wouldn't count out anything they might choose to do between now and Sunday evening. Except any physical activity. Or buttoning up their jeans. Or achieving a cholesterol count lower than 275. Fuuuuck, the Kosher burrito alone boasts three pounds of pastrami.
Besides the laser precision attention to the weekend's menu, my next favorite thing about the email chatter as been that each of the various gatherings - tonight, tomorrow afternoon, tomorrow night - is being referred to as a "session", as in "the Saturday morning session will start around 10, in front of the Bob's Big Boy statue on Van Nuys Blvd, where we will commence to turn Bob into a Maypole and re-enact the draft lottery in collage and interpretive dance. Please come dressed as your favorite member of the Chicago 7 and, please, let's not have twenty Bobby Seales like we had last time. He was, admittedly, was the best one, being black and scary and duct-taped and all, but he was the eighth. Also, can we designate the Sunday evening session as a gluten-free session? Some of us have to work on Monday."
Fastidious attention to the details - in history and burritos - is the hallmark of the Freak Lawn Fifteen (or so).
My plan is to Skype in periodically, capture the oeuvre, and then, with my magic recipe of one part actual fact + a gajillion parts shit I just make up, I will blog about the event so you won't miss a thing.
Oh wait. I think Mika said she is an attorney. I better use fake names, just to be safe. Oh shit. I mean, Miko.
Stay tuned for round-the-clock coverage. I know you are as super excited as I am.
I am posting a photo of Debbie's (oh shit. I mean, Dobbie) dad, Sherwin (damn it. Shorwin) engaging in a respectful exchange of opinion about Viet Nam. Just to get you in the mood.