I’ve been tagged by the Crone Report, who I’ve known since the mid-1970s at college. According to Ms. Report, the rules of the game are thus:
Post 10 random things about yourself.
Choose five people to tag and a reason you chose them and make sure to tell them.
Don’t tag the person who tagged you.
She’s right that I’ve probably done this before; hope I haven’t repeated these (and if so, not too often). These are in chronological order, from oldest to newest.
OK, here goes:
1. I fell down the flight of steps between my grandparents’ apartment and ours when I was three. There’s still a scar there under my lower lip where hair does not grow, giving me soul patch potential before the term was invented.
2. In high school, I was president of our Red Cross club.
3. In May of 1972, the US mined Haiphong harbor, thus, we believed, escalating the Viet Nam conflict. There was a demonstration at the draft board in Kingston, NY, and the board closed in anticipation of our arrival, though it was a peaceful protest. The next day, the front page of the newspaper, the Kingston Freeman, had a picture of me and a couple other people sitting in front of the building. The quality (or reproduction) of the photo was so poor, though, that I didn’t even recognize myself.
4. My college friend Alice and I were hitchhiking from New Paltz to Hornell, NY to visit a friend of ours who had been injured in a fatal car crash. Some guy picked us up west of Binghamton and proceeded to give us a lecture about the sin of miscegenation; we weren’t a couple. We wondered what his reaction would have been if he knew she was a lesbian.
5. As a direct result of the person who tagged me, I went through a brief period of wearing berets. But not red ones.
6. Six women and I went skinny-dipping.
7. I worked as a telemarketer. But in those days, we only called people who had had a relationship with the product; e.g., people whose TV Guide subscription had lapsed or the annual for those people owning encyclopedias.
8. I once drove a car from Schenectady to Albany, about 10 miles, without a license or even learner’s permit. The owner of the car was too drunk to drive. (The statue of limitations on this has passed.)
9. I saw Anita Baker perform at the Palace Theatre in Albany in the late 1980s. Afterwards, my friend Karen introduced me to her – very pleasant woman – and we were allowed to go backstage, where boxing champ Mike Tyson and “Ironweed” star Jack Nicholson were hanging out. (The story of Ironweed by William Kennedy was based on Albany, and part of it was filmed in the city.)
10. I did not do it often in any case, but the last time I drank alcohol thinking that I might get inebriated was on my 39th birthday. My friend Marion, who was in the choir and a book club with me, died on March 4 of that year of cancer. Her husband asked me to be a pallbearer and the funeral was on March 7. Worst. Birthday. Ever.
OK, the dreaded who to tag:
Eddie, so he can get out of the rhythm of posting music videos;
Librarian 2008, because she needs to put more personal stuff on her blog;
Uthaclena, because I’m curious whether any of ours will intersect;
Kelly, because she seems always game for a game; and
Anthony, because it would give me an opportunity to know him better.
ROG
