AUTHOR: Beth TITLE: DATE: 1/01/2004 07:03:00 PM ----- BODY:
Blast from the Past Last night in Brookline there were the usual suspects: Kim and Cory and their fabulous apartment; Andy Hicks, as usual in a plain black shirt and some form of retro-military gear (this time his grandfather's olive skullcap from world war II); Andy Mannone, in a "Brigadoon" T-shirt from high school (this was my tenth straight New Year's Eve spent in the company of Mr. Man-one, as he is called);Bill Allen and his extremely tall boyfriend; and I'm sure some people I've forgotten, to whom I profusely apologize in advance. New this time around, though, was Jeff Dubner, who I last saw, I think, about five years ago, if not more. I was a little nervous about him showing up, because I am neurotic, insecure and paranoid; but it turned out to be a good time, as we remenisced about frighteningly old times like Music Theory class. We also got to talking about sports, (yeah, I know, big surprise when I'm involved), and one thing led to another until we were having your typical water-cooler conversation about Joe Namath's drunken appearance on the sidelines at the Pats-Jets game two weeks ago. "Old Joe used to get around," I remarked sagely, despite the fact that I was not yet even a fetus when Old Joe was doing such things. "So I hear. "But now he's just a washed-up has-been," I concluded. This led to an interesting discussion of personal peaks. "I think there was a time, between the age of four, and four and six months, that was really great for me," Jeff reflected. "Everything's kinda been downhill from there." "I think I remember five minutes," I replied, "When I was about fifteen..." But it was time for the proverbial hollered countdown from ten as idiots in Times Square jumped around on camera while a huge gaudily lit ball fell from the top of a building. Humans, for another year, are curious creatures. "HAPPY NEW YEAR!!" and everyone was kissing. "To being a washed-up has-been," Jeff toasted, and we raised our plastic cups of champagne.