A friend of mine sent me this photo a few days ago. It's of the college newspaper staff of Statesman, at the State University of New York at Stony Brook, in the spring of 1985.
That's me, top center, in the blue shirt. I was the editor of the arts section, naturally. Already writing movie and play reviews and trying to get other people to submit copy too (a pain, since there was no pay or course credit for working on this paper).
This photo has sunk me into a swamp of nostalgia. Thoughts going through my head in the last few days include the following:
-- I have no idea where that hair came from. Though it looks feathered, I assure you that I took no time and effort with my hair, other than washing it and parting it in the middle.
-- Though I look like a happy-go-lucky guy in this photo, I really wasn't. Well, sometimes I was, maybe. Mostly I was insecure, shy and very lonely. I had a huge self-esteem problem and an enormous lack of confidence in myself -- particularly with women -- that haunted me for a long, long time. I was smart as hell, but I had bad study habits and I was immature in many, many aspects of my life.
-- I had a mad crush on the girl in the grey shirt, two rows down from me. We were sort of friends, and I used to leave Score bars in her mailbox at the newspaper all the time, so I guess she knew I liked her. Not that I could ever do anything about it. We did go out to dinner once. She married a writer.
-- If the me now could go back and live these years again, they would have been very different. The story of everyone's life, I guess.
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