Summer Harvest

The worthy Donald Donato has tagged me with a 10-20-30 meme thingie. What, the meme asks, were the events in your ‘umble narrator’s life in 1997, 1987 and 1977? Alas, memory is a fickle thing, but I’m pretty sure it went something like this:

1997: In 1997, I was still living in St. Augustine, Florida. I had graduated from Flagler college in June with a degree in Liberal Arts (Major: Philosophy/Religion, Minor: Undeclared, but a focus on Writing and Mayan Civilization). This degree was proving extremely valuable pretty much worthless in the field in which I was employed, as the assistant manager of a local Music Store. The job was fantastic; my boss was (and is, though we’re out of touch) a great guy and an excellent friend. On the side, I had a weekly radio show featuring alternative music and spoof news, and a regular gig as a Swing/Lounge DJ at a local nightspot on Sundays. I also had a fantastic group of pals. Every Sunday my roommate Brett and I would host a massive barbecue at our place, each of which featured a theme (the winner was the Mother’s Day barbecue, at which we transformed our living room into a womb, complete with heartbeat, strange fluids and red, glowing walls). Spiritually and intellectually I was very much devoted to Gnostic studies, though I had different views on the subject at the time. This was also the year I really got into painting, and incessantly devoured Latin American literature. Just over a year later, I’d move to Seattle.

1987: This was the summer between Grades Six and Seven. My family had recently (within the previous two years) sold our small citrus farm and moved to a modest house in a suburb. I was just discovering that my favorite thing in the universe was music, though at the time my taste in music was… questionable at best. Yes, I was into hair metal. Poison, Def Leppard, Ratt, the whole nine yards. I was also about to begin my first year in marching band, and this was the summer we purchased my first saxophone. It was a thing of beauty: an old, tarnished, beat-up Elkhart alto that needed new pins and pads. I still have it, and it still sounds fantastic. My friends and I got into Dungeons and Dragons around this time, and were hardcore collectors of Transformers and G.I. Joes.

1977: I was two. My parents and I lived in a house on River Road. We had a big, friendly Doberman Pincer named Max. I watched some Sesame Street, and was allergic to parmesan cheese. My daily agenda: wake up, eat breakfast, play, eat lunch, take a nap, play some more, eat dinner, go to bed. There was also undoubtedly some pooping involved. Ah, for the good old days.

I don’t tend to “tag” people with these, but if anybody wants to pick up the thread, by all means do so!