This weekend, I’m driving north to the old homestead, deep in the Land Of Classic Rock, to attend the wedding of my best friend from High School. There’s a reason I live down here in Baltimore, five hours, $6 and three bridges away from the town I graduated High School in; my experience in that town was sort of a grab-bag of good and bad. It wasn’t until I was about 25 that I figured out the art of re-inventing myself, so my entrance into that town at eighth grade was a rocky one. One of the things that got me through was the group of friends I made my sophomore year, including the guy who’s getting married. It should be a bittersweet experience, and one I’m only partially looking forward to—I’m not sure who’s going to be there, how they’re doing, or what they’ll say. I missed my 10-year reunion (no great loss—I doubt I would have gone anyway) so I’m not up to date on what’s been happening, but I’m wondering if some people have grown up. I’m also wondering if I should take Jen up to my old house to take a look; it’s not often you get to see an impound lot in the middle of the woods. (My dad bought a repossession business in 1984, prompting our move to New York. To answer your questions, no, it’s nothing like the movie, yes, I got pretty handy at picking locks, and yes, Harry Dean Stanton is the mack daddy.)

Queer Eye For The Straight Guy could convince me to hook up basic cable again when we move. Todd taped an episode for me, and it is hilarious. And holy Mother of God, did I want to smash this dude’s girlfriend in the head with a brick.