Reunion Essay Questionnaire

Shock enough, it was,

When I received a bulging white parcel

From the institution of higher learning that graduated me

Into the wide, wild world of wily reality,

Nigh onto forty-five years ago,

That fat packet containing all manner of friendly desiderata

Inviting me to prime myself to return to New Haven,

After almost half a century,

To revel in the celebration of my manifest aging,

A prospect in which I had less than zero-tolerance interest,

No matter the social and intellectual enticements,

The appeals to my devotion to dear old alma mater.

Stupid, naive, gullible, Adam-innocent me,

I opened the plump envelope, rather than trashing it

Summarily,

Cutting it just enough slack,

To give it the benefit of the down-and-out doubt,

Allow it to inflict its presumptive spew-spell, over me,

Attempt to cajole me into submitting a recent photo,

Filling out an anonymous survey, updating a bio,

And composing sage answers to six inquiries (to be Web-sited).

Having a few lapsed minutes in my otherwise idle afternoon,

I reviewed the half-dozen you've-got-to-be-kidding-me queries

Posed by the "Class of 1963 45th Reunion Essay Questionnaire"

And gasped for panic-attack breath.

The interrogatories knocked me flat out of bed, on my ass,

Reminded me of my blue-book-exam days at Yale,

Transported me to those stressful four-hour autos-da-fé,

When I was compelled to recycle metric tons of bullshit,

Answering questions even the Sphinx wouldn't think up.

For a good ten minutes,

I debated whether or not to invest the emotional time,

In answering those deepest of heavy-duty questions,

Which some quorum, minyan, of haughty "class officers"

Had had the audacity to concoct,

In order to give meaning to their ultra-affluent boredom.

And so it was that I reached into my Lux et Veritas,

My lifetime's worth of pedestrian wisdom,

To give back, to Yale, something that would make her proud.

Q: "How has your life differed from what you expected in 1963?"

A: "For one thing, I've had no money and no prospects

Since going AWOL after killing ten water buffaloes, at My Lai.

"Also, I took the brown acid, at Woodstock,

Became a roadie for the Who, then ended up at Esalen,

Where I was gang-raped by Allen Ginsberg and Peter Orlovsky.

"For the last thirty-five years, I've been the chief latrinist

At Father Rosenstein's Home for the Prodigal and Damned,

In Truth or Consequences, New Mexico."

Q: "What values or beliefs have guided you throughout your life?

Have they changed or remained constant over time?"

A: "I firmly believe that although humanity isn't worth a shit,

"All women, ugly or otherwise, endowed or otherwise,

Willing or otherwise, should be taken advantage of, wantonly,

And that I'm just the right guy for the job.

"Also, I've always maintained that it's a cardinal and ordinal sin

Not to steal from food pantries and the homeless.

Indeed, I have noticed that, over the years, my values have matured.

"These days, I'm even willing to steal from children and old ladies.

As for my salacious behavior,

I've not ruled out pedophilia as a viable alternative lifestyle."

Q: "As you look to your life after 65,

What changes in relationships and circumstances do you expect?"

A: "Most likely, my live-in lover, who has a disgusting case of AIDS,

"Is going to knock off, within the next three months,

Which is pretty fine with me — quite timely, really —

Since I've got a litter of five other HIV-positives, to pick from.

"And I'm hoping that Father Rosenstein will advance me,

From latrinist, to his personal altar boy,

Thereby allowing me to take communion directly from his cock."

Q: "What, if any, new roles do you foresee for yourself?"

A: "Kaiser, dinner, cabbage, egg, spring, and jelly.

Ha-ha! Just kidding! Seriously, I'm entering clown school, Monday,

"Where I plan to study asbestos and snow removal,

The mating habits of barnacles and giant and colossal squids,

And to practice the relaxation techniques of Torquemada."

Q: "What hopes or fears do you have about these changes?"

A: "I'm terribly concerned not that I might get strangled by squids

But that a circus lion won't find my honk-horn routine funny.

"I also have genuine misgivings about becoming a kaiser roll,

Because Father Rosenstein might mistake me for a wafer

And eat me, for communion, by mistake."

Q: "What words of advice would you give to your child,

Grandchild or young person?"

A: "Son, when I ask for the time, don't build me a watch.

"More important, if given the chance, say no to life.

Furthermore, ask not what you can do for your country;

Ask what you can do your country out of.

"Seriously, if someone tries to pick you up, on the street,

Don't be squeamish or standoffish.

Just ask, 'Your place or mine?'"

Q: "What do you wish you were doing less of? More of?"

A: "Less masturbating. More fucking.

Less dreaming. More LSD trips.

"Less bloody stool. More tequila.

"Less living in a state of suspended evaporation.

More living on a psychedelic-mushroom farm, in Tecate."

Having completed the "Essay Questionnaire"

And actually feeling considerably headier than I'd anticipated,

I decided to attend the June reunion, after all.

I mailed the packet, chock full of my complete raison d'être,

Including a nude photo of Prince, back to Boola Boola,

And began planning out what I'd wear to each event.

01/14/08 - (2)