I'm flying out to my high school reunion this weekend: #25. On grad night 1983 I borrowed my friend's spanky new Trans Am, put on my spanky new nearly-adult clothes, then drove out to pick up the lovely girl who agreed to ride wi' me. The banquet was held in a church basement. We arrived to a parking lot filled with rented Firebirds. But ours was black. With a Screaming Chicken on the hood. Like this guy's.
It's funny: I disdained Knight Rider as the entertainment of simpletons. But one look at my grad photo reveals a kid unwittingly aping the 'Hoff, with just a scraggly dash of Selleckian lip-shrubbery.
Here is Toronto's CHUM FM Top 100 for 1983, a list that depressed me at the time. Michael Jackson, Duran Duran, all those songs from Flashdance, Taco ... you got any cheese to go with this? Of course I possessed no shame in playing my own favorites from this list: John "Cougar" Mellencamp, RUSH, Loverboy, Police and my dearly-beloved Talking Heads. And I did like the spare, throwback delivery of the Stray Cats. (Say did anyone else notice what an oddity Jackson Browne's entry was for that year?) My female friend requested we play Toto IV in the car's tape deck that night. Who was I to refuse? The reflex to please became so deeply ingrained I still turn up the radio when "Africa" comes on. Truth be told, though, when it came to music I was already nostalgic for 1979.
Alright, nuffadat. The airplane leaves tonight. Time to turn and face the strange.