How Did It Get This Late?

I still remember our graduation day vividly ... I remember looking over at the alums celebrating their 25th, with kids either in tow or on their way to age-appropriate fun-filled activities, and thinking, "Twenty-five years is a long time from now, and by then I'll have ..."

Sigh.

So here we are. I'm actually looking forward to the reunion, to seeing people I haven't seen since the last reunion (or longer) -- though unlike Cabot I can't really see myself working the room too aggressively. (I go to reunions to see old friends, not make new ones, I'm afraid.) And I'm sure that much of it will pass by in a haze of one sort or another and that, when it's all over, I'll be regretting not having had more heart-to-heart conversations.

So for once in my life, I'm not going to procrastinate. The reunion, which starts on June 4, is a scant 270 days away as I write. So, I say, let's start now. Let's all get reacquainted and start reminiscing here in cyberpace. I've invited a few friends from school to join this site as writers. Once they've joined the site, I'm hoping they'll invite others who are either members of or have an interest in HR '83 to keep us company here.

Hopefully, it'll become viral, as they say, and we'll have lots of people joining in during the next 270 days.

Anyway, I propose that those of you who are brave enough or foolhardy enough to respond to this call might start with a reminiscence of September 1983, perhaps even of Freshman Week or (egads) the Freshman Mixer.

By the way, the site is public, so don't write anything you don't want your parents, partners, or kids to find.

Here's what I remember from my the first day of Freshman Week: arriving at Wigglesworth F-32 from the Sheraton Commander pretty much as soon as we were allowed to, only to discover that Jonathan Kolber had gotten there first and taken the middle single (I took the one next to the stairway). I met him a few minutes later as he lugged a huge trunk up the narrow staircase. Later that afternoon: Kolber opening the door to the suite to greet me (and my parents and sister) in his underwear. If I close my eyes, I can place myself mentally into our living room, sitting there that first night with Jonathan, Joel Wachman, and Mike Escamilla, talking about the year to come.

I'll stop there for now.

Post, friends, post! Don't leave me hear alone in cyberspace, talking to myself ...

(P.S. If you're coming across this site by accident and want to join in, send me an e-mail at cyrus [dot] patell [at] nyu [dot] edu.)