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     | |      c   o   m   m   u   n   i   c   a   t   i   o   n   s     | |
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  ...presents...                High School Reunion: 
                     The Nardcore Adventures of Reid Fleming

                                                         by Reid Fleming

             __///////\ -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc- /\\\\\\\__
               \\\\\\\/  Everything You Need Since 1986  \///////
  ___    _   _    ___     _   _    ___       _   _      ___    _   _      ___

It just so happens that when I got home last night from the reunion I 
took notes.  So here goes.

It's true that as Reid Fleming, World's Toughest Milkman and cDc
plenipotentiary, I have fame, fortune and in the snap of my fingers, I can
have fly-girlies on my jock in any major metropolis.  But this story doesn't
take place in a major metropolis.  It takes place in Ventura (Oxnard's fairer
sister), after all, and there, I am merely reid fleming, my lowercase self,
a graduate returning after some years.

I had expected a big, well air-conditioned place, and the overall 
atmosphere to be refined.  We would sit back, quietly reminisce, and 
raise toasts to missing and departed friends.  I guess I'm saying I 
expected it to be somewhat contemplative.  It wasn't.

When we checked in, the lady at the table tagged us with a huge, 
blood-red handstamp that said "Party!", which pretty much set the mood.

For most everybody, the reunion was a chance to get drunk and dance.  I 
did neither.  In fact, I barely even took two bites of dinner.  At the 
time, I supposed that my anxiety had eliminated my appetite, but it turns 
out I was coming down with a cold.

Most people were working hard at getting drunk.  Getting drunk is usually 
not one of my objectives, and especially not that night.  And I'm SO GLAD 
I didn't bring any drugs.  I'd considered bringing some ecstacy with me 
and greeting everyone while looped.  That would have been bad.  Things 
were weird enough sober, plus I would've come on to most of the women at 
the party.  It would've been a bad thing.

Almost all the guys wore ties.  I didn't.  Many wore blazers as well.  I 
didn't.  But I was sweating anyway, and a tie would've killed me.  So I 
didn't feel underdressed.

Mike Hunt came up and talked to me.  He was drunk and looking for 
anybody who would recognize him.  He spent a year in Chino for an 
undisclosed felony.  Now he works for Unocal or something.  Mike was
the only guy to ask me if I was gay or bi or what.  He saw my tongue 
piercing, learned that I lived in SF, and put two and two together.  I 
think other people probably drew the same conclusion, but were too 
gutless or polite to come right out and ask me.

Right after dinner came the awards show, which bordered on demeaning.  I 
wouldn't want to win a "Least Changed" certificate, for instance.

About half of my friends from high school were there.  That means roughly 
7 or 8 people that I actually wanted to talk to.

I was surprised at how many of my friends were especially happy to see 
me.  It was gratifying and strange at the same time.  I somehow forgot 
that in high school I'd earned a reputation for having a bizarre sense of 
humor.  I'm the same way now, except that my friends have the same taste 
in jokes.  So my current friends and I are all on the same wavelength.

It's been a while since I mixed with normal people.  Seemed like all of my 
current friends are atheists.  I heard lots of people talking about their 
church, or bible camp, or various ministries.  A woman at our table 
volunteered to say grace before dinner.  It's been a long time.

Nobody had extracurricular piercings, apparently.  Surprising.  I'd 
always imagined Ventura to be full of trendy people, and piercings are 
trendy.  But seeing everyone here made me realize how much closer Ventura 
is to Omaha than to San Francisco.

Practically all the hot girls I knew in school are married.  And my high 
school sweetheart is now gay.

A photographer took a picture of me and Gabrielle.  I'm sure they'll use it, 
because I showed my tongue piercing.  We would've won "Most Changed", if 
there had been one.  Me with bleached hair, goatee, and tongue piercing.  
Gabrielle as butch dyke.

Before the reunion, the only thing I was really dreading was having to 
meet my ex-girlfriend's husband.  But as soon as I saw Gabrielle with her 
VERY short hair, slacks, and long sleeve dress shirt buttoned all the 
way up, I knew he wouldn't be there.

Gabrielle is working on a computer animation sequence for some wannabe 
digital effects house.  What's funny is she's in my domain now.  She's at 
chapter 4 in the _Renderman Companion_, which I've already read.  She 
described her graduate thesis to me, and I knew enough to ask if she 
plans on using a spline-based or polygon-based modeler.  This never 
happens between us.  I'm always at a disadvantage, but not tonight.  It 
made her seem even less like my ex-girlfriend.

An overgeneralization that got repeated often was that everyone lives in 
a) Ventura, b) San Diego, or c) San Francisco.  This neglects the 8 or 10 
attendees from out of state, and other people who didn't show up.  And
quite a few people live in Los Angeles, as you'd expect.

Yvette Aardman lives in SF.  Before I took off, she asked for my business 
card and told me that we should hang out.  Then she talked about how when 
Mark Evans came to town, she took him out to the best bars in town and 
fucked him.  But he never called her afterwards.  Then she reiterated 
that we should hang out.  Yvette's not half bad looking.

I drove Stephanie Boyce home, which is good, because I like Stephanie and have 
always enjoyed hanging out with her.  And it's also good because maybe 
people will get the impression we went someplace for a tryst.  I want to 
keep people guessing.

-- Reid Fleming

[ Editor's Note: All names have been changed to protect the innocent, the layme
and the slootish. ]

    .-.                             _   _                             .-.
   /   \           .-.             ((___))             .-.           /   \
  /.ooM \         /   \       .-.  [ x x ]  .-.       /   \         /.ooM \
-/-------\-------/-----\-----/---\--\   /--/---\-----/-----\-------/-------\-
/lucky  13\     /       \   /     `-(' ')-'     \   /       \     /lucky  13\
           \   /         `-'         (U)         `-'         \   /
            `-'              the original e-zine              `-'    _
      Oooo                    eastside westside                     / )   __
 /)(\ (   \                       WORLDWIDE                        /  (  /  \
 \__/  )  /  Copyright (c) 1998 cDc communications and the author. \   ) \)(/
       (_/     CULT OF THE DEAD COW is a registered trademark of    oooO
          cDc communications, PO Box 53011, Lubbock, TX, 79453, USA.      _
  oooO        All rights reserved.  Edited by Grandmaster Ratte'.   __   ( \
 /   ) /)(\                                                        /  \  )  \
 \  (  \__/       Save yourself!  Go outside!  Do something!       \)(/ (   /
  \_)                     xXx   BOW to the COW   xXx                    Oooo