All that was missing was Sting and his fucking lute

So, Reunions was just as alternate-universey as expected–the whole weekend is an astonishingly orange display of “spirit,” complete with themes and costumes and an actual fucking parade and almost no irony, but it’s tolerable if you just pretend that everyone is totally kidding. The representative scene for me was when they parked the goddamned out-of-tune calliope truck next to our courtyard for an hour and it played an endless loop of hideous-sounding Princeton songs and then the sky opened up to a biblical thunderstorm and the freaking thing just kept playing “Tiger Rag” in every wrong key under an apocalyptic sky. That stuff aside, though, it was genuinely great to see certain folks, and once you’re 10 years out, it’s a whole lot easier to just nod and smile and walk right by the people you don’t want to talk to and who don’t want to talk to you. The Soul Cats show was definitely a super highlight, everyone was just on, and I was probably less nervous and awkward than I ever have been on stage (I’m sure I still wasn’t a show-stopper, but I felt totally relaxed, and without any alcohol even, so that had to help this white girl a little).

Tonight is a different kind of backtracking–it’s Sarah Brown’s monthly Cringe reading of old teenage journals and stuff, and I’m going with my actual middle/high school friend Jorli, so we can reminisce about our 9th grade fight over a boy with no personality.

Right now, though, I’d just like a nap pls.

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