I have been pleasantly inebriated since we graduated. Oops, I forgot to have my senior picture taken or attend graduation (what a knucklehead, oh, and still am), but looking forward to seeing all my long lost friends, especially the crew from kindergarten and you know who you are: Paul, Kevin, Kathy, Don, David, Sue, and Elaine. I love Madison Heights for its quasi-white trash traditions that, in our time, were cross-pollinated with a pseudo-false consciousness bank teller mentality to produce a runaway crowd of wanderlust souls precariously caught between the inauthentic punk rock ethos of tomorrow and the craven apolitico parents of yesteryear. Happily, the kids still play rubberball in the street and the parents still sigh at the hopelessness of their cards, while the teachers still hope and the board of education still condescends – it is the place I call home. A walk to James Monroe Elementary still digs deep into my soul to reveal a wonder for life, history, and spirit that springs from a place filled with warm memories of classmates, friends, and family.

Not much to tell here, smoked way too much weed and did too much LSD to remember very much. Loved all the live music: Chas Walls and I hitched-hiked to the Easttown and saw Iggy Pop and the Stooges and hitched a ride home with hippies, or maybe it was Cathy L., we were at least 15 --memory is not too bad, afterall. By the time we were seniors, our luck had run out and the music started to suck.