This evening I will be attending my ten-year high school reunion. Consequently, I have nothing to report as of yet. I consulted the website of the restaurant at which the reunion will be held for a wine list, so I could at least provide a preview of the night’s libations, but to no avail. Thus, this week’s post will serve as a site for miscellaneous ruminations on the occasion. I feel that How to Dress Well’s “Change Yourself (Winter is Coming Mix)” is an appropriate music choice. It is alternately brooding and buoyant, ecstatic and contemplative, and combines some throwback tunes with contemporary ones; perfect for an occasion such as this.
Though I have characterized these musings as miscellany, I still have the occasion to begin with wine. I had not considered it previously, but my relatively newfound lust for sweet vin blanc might be the extent of my personal growth and evolution in the last decade. Otherwise, I feel remarkably (terribly?) similar, and not simply by virtue of the fact that, as I write this, I am sitting in the same twin bed I’ve slept in since the age of four (form an orderly queue, ladies). However, as usual, I’m being hyperbolic. There have been other changes. For one, I have more muscle mass than I did in high school; though, at the moment, not so much as I would like. Also, I worry occasionally that I am less adventurous, less hopeful, and less open. Furthermore, I am beginning to doubt strongly that there exists for me a place in society, as it is constituted presently, and I hope morbidly for the thoroughgoing obliteration of currently hegemonic institutions and ideologies. In any case, my predilection for sweet white wine and dissatisfaction with my currently measly muscularity are clearly the more significant issues.
Taking stock of myself has caused me to wonder what changes others have undergone that I might be confronted with this eve. Undoubtedly, some will have experienced similar metamorphoses in body mass, volume, and density. Some may have had inanimate objects inserted into them, whether for cosmetic, orthopedic, or other reasons. A number have entered into legally, and in some cases religiously, binding contracts to cohabitate exclusively with a person of the opposite sex for the remainder of their lives, and for this they receive tax breaks. I know for certain that a few have spawned, incubated, and expelled from their bodies entirely new human beings. Some have only spawned them, as incubation and expulsion are not part of their biological job description. Additionally, the vision of certain individuals may have deteriorated to the point that they now require glasses. On the other hand, perhaps some who sported glasses previously have switched to contact lenses. Or, some may have resorted directly to contacts for vision correction, bypassing entirely the option of wearing glasses, in which case I will have no way of determining if their vision is as effective as it was ten years ago. I may or may not be unnerved by some, all, or none of these things. Only time and the volume of wine I imbibe will tell.
One also cannot help but speculate what manner of fête lies ahead. Will it be one of concord and felicity? Of easy laughter, affectionate embraces, and smiles as dazzling as the flickering light cast by the chandeliers of Renoir’s Moulin de la Galette?
(Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Le Moulin de la Galette, 1876; oil on canvas; Paris, Musée d’Orsay.)
Or will it take on a bizarre, sinister character, as in Ribera’s imagining of Silenus and his grotesque guild?
(Jusepe de Ribera, Drunken Silenus, 1626; oil on canvas; Napoli, Museo Nazionale di Capodimonte.)
More likely, it will be somewhere between the two poles, an area in which many find comfort, but that I dread. Oh well, perhaps I’ll be able to procure some mushrooms, by which I mean portobellos and creminis, of course. The reunion is being held at an Italian restaurant, after all.
(Published originally on November 23rd, 2011.)
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