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2010-08-28 - 9:29 a.m.

Got a high school reunion in a few weeks, up in those old hills. Friday night at a bar and Saturday night at a place called the Fellowship Hall on Virginia Avenue. I'm on the fence about it. It's true that I'm writing about a lot of those people, and they don't know about it. I'm writing about the tough boys and the pretty girls, the boys who read books and the girls who wore glasses, the boys who huffed gasoline and the girls who rolled joints, the boys who keyed cars and the girls who wore shirts so tight I thought I was going to catch fire in the middle of Miss Watkins' calculus class. We'll see. I didn't go to the last one because Hurricane Katrina tripled gas prices and also because I was seeing a girl I liked very much and who was about to move very far away and about whom last night I had a dream.

Watched Midnight Cowboy last night. Dustin Hoffman is young but looks older and Jon Voight is just young. I like movies from that era: the late sixties until about the mid-seventies. There's something about the light they caught on camera, the clean, bright yellow sunshine, the long, straight hair that women wore, the big cars made of steel, the sideburns. What comes through is that time's optimism but in the good movies it's always cut through with the darkness, with the big heavy sadnesses that whisper: I'll be here as long as people are here.

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