The Artist Presently Known As Ed

Crime and Punishment, 1980

In second grade I became a criminal. I walked four blocks to school, but on the way, I had a habit of peeling off registration stickers from car license plates. I got popped by a guy a couple blocks away. Got some attention from a police detective at school. Apparently there was a $15 fine involved that the old man paid up front. I was indentured for a few months to follow, paying back whatever I could week by week until it was all paid off.

Subsequent financial arrangements between he and I were less novel and more hostile.

Letter to the Principal, 1984?

It's dated "6th grade" only, so I suppose it has to be 1984 when I typically seem to show a slump and readjustment period into school life. I have no idea if this or any final draft was ever delivered. I only know I didn't write it for fun! I think what is most surprising is the scratched out bits, one line of which says "my dad will spank me too."

I might point out the larger context for this was that in the summer of 1983 my step mom Eda left our house and just following that I started at this new school, Longfellow, due to a playground indiscretion that got me kicked out of Hawthorne where I went from K-4. Longfellow, while still in Clairemont, was clear across the community and required me to be bused in. That was a bit disorienting, as was stepping into a new school. While this was the second year there, it was definitely a different place and the family was not the same. I did endure some ridicule at the hands of smartass kids who, upon learning my story in 5th grade, mocked that my mom (step mom) left because she didn't love me, or that I did something. While Longfellow was perhaps a better situation academically for me with one great teacher who cared for me (Mr. Wright), I think the great transition was probably jarring, adding nothing positive to my already being a bit of a screwoff/jokester in class. I spent just two years at Longfellow before I got into middle school, back in my neighborhood.

Apparently I liked Duran Duran that year. And Inspector Gadget.

Letter from the Principal

I was an erratic student, particularly in my middle school years. This comes from 7th grade. My middle school was in my neighborhood, as was the first elementary school I went to clear through 4th grade. Fifth and 6th grades were at a school farther away, where I was bused over and back. Returning to my neighborhood school, in a whole new setting such as middle school offers, and being 12-13 years old was all kind of new. In some ways I did okay, but it took some adjusting. I could be pretty average as a student but be able to get these two awards in one ceremony. Typically I might have dreaded a letter coming from the school principal, delivered to my house. But this worked out okay.

Awards night program

This is the program to the awards night. Hard to believe I was in the same list as some of the high achievers, but here you have it. I can't make this stuff up. I'm on the right page in two places—as some guy named "Edward."

Improvement award

This is the award for improvement. I forget where I started and where I ended. I generally recall being a C+ student in 7th grade.

Citizenship award

Funny, I don't recall being a good citizen in school, but I have a few odd examples that maybe I was, even if I was a dismal failure at the subjects.

Looks like the school saved a lot of money on these awards, judging by the calligraphy. Made it cheap enough they could include all the slackers!

The Spelling Bee that never was

This was a key time for me. It is dated March 11, 1987. I could be a fuckoff in class, or not get good grades, but I've always had a pretty keen ability to spell well. So don't ask me how—in the middle of a year when my life was turned inside out and I started out as a "D" student—I got into a spelling bee at school.

It was big for me to get anywhere in school. And, this being only about half a year since I met my mom, she drove all the way down after work, about a hundred and more miles from San Pedro, to go see me do this. She planned to take me alone, but somehow shortly before I was to leave, my old man interfered and decided he'd be part of it. So we all went to dinner at the local pizza joint, and I got a sub sandwich. During this, I came down with my first instance of a wicked case of nerves that gave me this urge to go take a piss. Only it wasn't that I had to take a piss. But something was rattling me at a deep level. (This kind of thing plagued me during other high stress times like interviews and public speaking, etc. for years to come.) Anyhow, this nervous thing plagued me good that night. It was so bad I had to bow out of the competition, probably without even setting foot on stage. I don't know if it was the fear of being in front of peers, or the oddness of my new family life.

I guess we sat through the Bee, but for sure it was a bummer, my mom having come all that way to see me, and not being able to go on.

I appear in the middle column, left page.

9th grade ID card

It isn't the best picture, but in some ways I prefer this to the rest of the high school pictures. I was a sharp witted loudmouth who got into a bit of trouble but generally was a nice guy. This picture was taken deep in the era where I was shaped by the old man. It was a time when I took metal shop and wood shop in some effort to identify with him. (He told me to drop one or the other. I replaced wood shop with public speaking and proceeded to get my first "F" grade for the first semester in high school. Good going!)

The written artifacts I have from this era make me cringe. I just re-read an English class assignment that was so dismally written with changes of tense, voice, and that even has a crazy ongoing "dialog" with my teacher. Oh, it was hell. The letter to my teachers, included below, is one little sample of the silliness I engaged in. One page is all you need for now.

9th grade wrap up letter

I don't recall if I actually gave this to any of my teachers. But now I hang my head in shame. The few typewritten pages from my high school era are really all that appear in that format. Usually I just wrote by hand, and often not very well. (Nothing has changed in that regard!) You can see that I had little control or patience or attention to detail. I pride myself with doing a better job now that I write so much, but even now I could use an editor.

But let's not trample the gleeful expression of delight at my accomplishments here. This was big. A year before I was a glorified "D" student, so seeing things lift up was exciting, as is clear here. It was the first school year since elementary that the old man did not do his draconian restriction on my toys. Maybe he never needed to?

A few words about my handwritten additions. I was really a smartass then, maybe more than I am now. A lot of the stuff I called humor then were gleaned from popular culture, but without my knowing precisely where things came from. I mean, I listened to the B-100 "B Morning Zoo" for years around that time, there was a four-person show that was fast moving, used little drop in samples, and had other things flying by. I latched on to a lot of that, Gary Larson's strip, The Far Side, and other things I've now forgotten. Another reference might be made to my history teacher, James Bannon, a crusty old Marine with a sense of humor I found hilarious, perhaps as a child of a military family and a person with history and military interests myself.

What a Difference a Year Makes

Here you can see a rather notable change in my academic standing from the final report card of 8th grade to the final report card of 9th grade. The first year I was at the 88th percentile of the whole class. The second year, at a different school, and newly attitude-adjusted by a talk with my pastor Jerry Lawritson shortly before entering 9th grade, I ended up in the top 11 percent of my class. Notice the citizenship difference too. Can you believe I got an "F/U" in Physical Education in one year and an "A/E" in the next? Yow! Gained two whole grade points from D+ to B+, which is pretty much my overall average on out, tending toward improvement once into college classes. The insane thing is that in the first semester of 9th grade, I basically sat out my public speaking class and got an "F." Later on, I got the fire turned on and got a "B." And later still, the same teacher, Harry Steinmetz was my government and economics teacher in my senior year, and even later still, in 2003, he was again my public speaking teacher in college. I might also point out that I never really enjoyed US history, but I loved world history. Look at the contrast! The Small Group Instruction was a class where a bunch of us misfits were placed. It was kind of an encounter group where we were made to talk about interpersonal dynamics, and I guess why we were screwoffs. Well shit. I just met my mom months before. You think that has anything to do with it? I was actually hooked into that because they called it a "pilot program." You gotta understand how appealing that was to a guy who was HUGE into naval aviation and Top Gun that year. Oh, that's not what a pilot program is in middle school, is it? Well, I learned at least one thing that year!

1988 Aerospace Museum award

10th grade ID card

I was getting used to having train tracks in my mouth (braces), and at night, headgear that I originally dreaded but came to find acceptable as long as it was off school hours. But then at the end of 9th grade, I had to get glasses for my myopic vision. I went from being a kind of ratty looking kid to looking a tad nerdy, if you judge by the couple of ID cards here. I remember picking the gold rimmed glasses because they struck me as less obvious than heavier frames, or darker ones. Worse still, they were available two years later and when the insurance approved a new pair, I got the same thing again! I've since spent more time (and money) getting frames that suit me, and worried less about whether I appear to wear glasses or not. I do. I do. I just do. I've tried contacts. Hated them. Can't afford laser surgery. I wear glasses. So there!

Algebra, 1989 style

I was miserable in math once I got into 10th grade. I did passably well in pre-algebra, but I never took to algebra. So I was pretty much doomed. Here is a note to my old man, alerting him to the situation, hopeless as it was. "F" for a grade, and "E" for citizenship.

1989 IPMS local contest awards

This is the take from one night's local IPMS chapter contest in April 1989. I won three awards in two categories, and best junior perpetual plaque. All that is made quite possible by the lack of competition (or minimally so). Still, it was good for ego formation, as my journals from the period reflect. 

IPMS national contest, 1989

In 1989, I cleaned up in contests associated with my plastic model building hobby. In 1988 and 1989 I won contests at the San Diego Aerospace Museum and had those pieces on display for a year each. In April I did a sweep of two categories in a local IPMS contest. But here I did pretty darned well in the national contest that conveniently came to my town! Weeks after winning four awards there, I put down the airbrush and liquid glue, and set about playing drums. Just days before this contest, I was diggin' on starting my music collection with Def Leppard's Pyromania.

A couple weeks before that, I had just seen Dead Poets Society with my church youth group (which I had not joined in with for months before that—this summer was huge for me!), and I took away the message: Carpe diem. Sieze the Day. On the IPMS magazine that followed this contest and posted pictures of all the winning entries, I wrote, "They told me carpe diem, so I did!"

The model in this picture is a curious bit of fiction that had people genuinely stumped at times. I dubbed it the F-14E Tomcat. At the time, the F-14D was emerging and so the E model would have been far off (but no such plane ever existed). I took the opportunity to fashion an odd model made from an F-14 kit with much of the middle section cut out from front to back, with the variable wings locked into one position as if they were always fixed. I put a single tail fin on to what I think was an F-18 tail area with the jet nacelles joined side by side in one structure. The wings also became a bit more F-18 or F-16 like with Sidewinder missile launcher rails. I remember there was a lot of resin and putty involved in some of the transitions that were needed.

IPMS national contest, 1989

For a lot of years I said I'd never build armor models. No tanks, no artillery. Nothing land based. My specialty was in Navy jets, with a particular love for F-14s. I lived in the shadow of Miramar and used to watch F-14s do endless touch and go practices near my house. Top Gun excited me at a deep level. So I was not into "ground pounders" as armor is called.

I took to doing such kits in February 1989, much to the surprise of all the people I had boasted to about not doing such material. One guy, Jeff Walton, was my age and used to build armor primarily. I boasted that I'd beat him at his own game one day. I did. We both entered the national contest, and even my rather incomplete M1 Arbrams tank topped him. The paint was still smelly from the day before! Also in my newfound armor kit collection was a model of the infamous Sgt. York, a smart tank that I can't remember anything about. Also on this page is the wacky F-14E, a creature of my own devising. Four awards, three models. Not bad. It was my second to last contest, according to my records.

IPMS national contest awards

Here they are in what I believe to be the one color picture I have of my winnings that year. Here is where Photoshop is damned handy. These have been yellowed Polaroids for all the years since. At least here you can get some idea of what things looked like. From left to right: M1 Abrahms, F-14E, M247 York.

1989 Aerospace Museum award

This award was won with the help of the same A-4 that won big in April. There was an interesting irony in winning on this date. It was literally the last month I had my model building materials out. By the end of October, I was putting stuff away, already taken by storm by rock music and playing drums. A year later, I went and got my model from the museum, and put it in a box.

In 2005, as a need to prune my collection of material stuff in the face of eviction at the hands of my old man, I uncermoniously smashed all my plastic models into the trash can. The other reason was that my worldview by that time had come to reject military, war, and violence in general, and I had a bit of a conflict hanging on to such things that not only served as reminders of a time when I was shaped more by the military than by church and the vision it stands for. All that stuff really did amount to too much to move and protect. They had already been boxed for years, and were losing their parts. Summer 2005 just finished the job.

Youth Sunday prayer

My part in the youth Sunday service was to do the prayers. I cringe at it now because I didn't have a spiritually minded bone in my body. And the prayer I delivered here was one that was extremely close to a model prayer that Judy, our youth pastor gave me. She tutored me on the basic components of a prayer, with the acronym ACTS—Adoration, Contrition, Thanksgiving, Supplication. Doing something like this was solely a rote exercise for me, though I did have a great feeling for doing it. But it was not my own words.

The day featured Shelby as part of the service too, and this day was one of infamy because just after the service, Judy, beaming with pride at leading the young people to do this service, was heard to say to Shelby's mom and grandmother, something like, 'I'm glad to see the investment's paying off.' Shelby, already not a devoted church going person (attending more as an anthropologist/student of people) was set off by this kind of mixed metaphoric talk, taking great offense at the financial aspect of the comment. She grabbed her mom (who fancied herself agnostic-athiest) and grandmother and headed home. I was torn; I just had a great service and was happy to be congratulated and recognized, and Shelby, my imaginary love interest, were pulling me apart in two directions. She never set foot there again. It was a touchy subject for a long time to come. She continued to make snarky comments about my church life, or ignored it the best she could. She was a difficult person to know and relate to.

Deacons letter after youth sunday

I can appreciate the letter that the Board of Deacons sent me in the week following the youth service. But I know what I know about how I operated there that day. 

For one, I was dressed in stuff I'd never be seen in if it were up to me. It was more of my old man's sartorial tyranny. The pictures show it. It was almost like dress clothes, but with no coat, tie, cufflinks or any of that. I was always self conscious about that kind of thing. And on this day, all the more so.

While I liked being a part of church life, and was just one week from an extremely moving experience in the mountains, I did most of what I did by formula. I was at church, I knew I was at church. I said what I thought people wanted to hear. The prayer was heavily paraphrased from what Judy had given me as a model. 

But if one day I am not here to comment upon and reduce myself, you can think I was the sweetest, most compassionate and mature dude in church that day. I will accept readily that I was making some strides against great odds at that point. But there were far bigger strides yet to make, and years later, I was as hurt and alienated as I was dutiful, and some of the same people shaped that experience for me. I tend to say that I was a great kid in the congregation, but it didn't hold up so well when I wanted to be an adult there.

Thanks to CCCPB—deacons

In February 1990, I was nominated to be the youngest deacon that church ever had. I was certainly riding a wave of enthusiasm for doing all I could in church life. But I was not very good at it. It was all rote and rather stiff. I've held other church officer positions since, both there and elsewhere, but I don't seem to ever get into them like I feel I should. Still, at that point, this was big stuff. But it was more a matter of Jerry and Judy making determined efforts to include me and give me an alternative to being a troubled teen. But really, I had no idea what religion was for in my life. I was not religious. I was churchgoing and found that people treated me like a person worth talking to. Nothing shameful, but not really a complete reason for being at church. 

I ended up bowing out of the Deacons in September that year, a few months shy of a full term. I was up against a lot of depression and even my first ideations of suicide at the age of 16 and drew inward during the summer. I didn't feel I had what it took to look after the spiritual needs of others.

Rock Show 90

Say it with that big bold, FM Radio DJ voice...RAWK SHOWWWWW NINE-TEEN NINE-ty! 

This was the show that I saw as a junior in high school, and a drummer who had not yet been playing for a year. I was literally being tickled by the sounds of Rush, and this helped push me over the edge. The guys in Squirt Guns and Carnations (guns and roses, get it?) played the fuck out of Tom Sawyer. Dwayne Sutke was the guy to match or beat in high school. But look on the other page and there's another guy you'll read about more on TAPKAE.com: Mike Bedard, as a 9th grader. At the time, I regarded Mike as a bit of a dull dude, a metalhead. I had no interest in metal. I was into Jethro Tull, thank you very much, and they just won the best hard rock/metal grammy a year before. So Mike's band Metal Burger did not get my small plus sign for the stuff that I did like.

Destiny, a cornier name than most of Iowa could muster, was really a good band made up of a bunch of dudes who were aiming for the stars in contemporary Christian music. I was a moderately close friend of their circle so I was inclined to like them, but really, all the other music was just unfamiliar to me then.

This very show was what prompted Shawn Zizzo and Tomas Enriquez to form up and at least once we played as a two guitar/drums band trying to hash out AC/DC or Aerosmith. The following ad tried to find additional musicians to fill it out. As it happened, we did nothing of the sort until just about a year later when our own senior class talent show was upon us. Then we did play our own version of the RAWK SHOW with a more complete band that covered Walk This Way, ala RUN DMC.

No Metallica-ites

After seeing the RAWK SHOW at school in April, Shawn Zizzo and Tomas Enriquez and I somehow found ourselves jamming at my house once over Memorial Day weekend. That was a trip. My old man was off on one of the annual motorcycle rallies that I used to be a part of through 1989. But this time I stayed home and probably said nothing of my plans to jam with the guys. We set up in my living room. Drums and two guitars. I wanted to play Tull and they wanted to play AC/DC, Aerosmith, and the Cult. I had no love for Metallica and so I wrote this ad as you see it. I think we played just that once before we got ready for the talent show a year later. I guess we didn't find a bass player or keyboardist or singer to fit the bill.

The funny thing is, I discovered the San Diego Reader in the spring of 1990. This had to be one of my first ads ever. Taking a look at it years later, after getting to know more about the local players and studios, it was interesting to look back and see who was trying to do what. There was also a girl from school who was part of their survey question page. At that time, I did not know her, but after she joined Madison in senior year, I knew her. But it was years again before I recognized her in the Reader.

Command Post

In my early teen years I was a huge sycophant at the Command Post, a hobby store dealing in plastic models. The other two shops were neighbors, and all three were owned by one John Weaver. I went to the CP for years, and often would make myself useful doing work there as an underage kid, and the manager would comp me models I was interested in. He knew I knew my shit, so he was nice that way. For one eight month period, I went to the shop both weekend days, and stayed five hours on Saturday, and four on Sunday. I would go get the guys rolled tacos and sodas, stock shelves, talk product with customers, and sit around and shoot the shit with Ross and Jim or Fritz. Ross was the one who introduced me to classic and progressive rock, and Jim was a huge Rush fan. They were, in a peculiar way, my older brothers during that time. I got into Def Leppard, Jethro Tull, and Rush because of these guys, and the way was paved to get into other similar bands.

Sara Gray was a huge Pink Floyd fan given to dressing in torn jeans and tie dye, and always going on about Syd Barrett era Floyd. Or she was going on about Tangerine Dream. She more than anyone stoked my curiosity about Jethro Tull, giving me a taped copy of her LP version of the 20 Years of Tull set.

On August 15, 1989 I picked up the drumsticks and started playing drums. By about October, my model building days were almost completely over. I dropped in on the shop still, but that summer, they had moved to an all-under-one-roof warehouse shop that killed the funky vibe of the old shop. Ross and Jim were gone. The whole thing was over for me.

Until one day (maybe Easter Sunday 1990), I got a call from Mark Bahlmann, the manager who comped me models and supplies at the old shop. He wanted to know if I would come in and work on Sundays. It was a bit odd by then. I had been as thoroughly dedicated to my church life for the last nine months as I had been to showing up and being a kid in the proverbial candy shop for eight months before that. I also had been warned by my family not to work on Sundays. No one was a strict sabbatarian or anything, but there was some respect for Sundays that only later did I appreciate. I took the job, starting conveniently after church on Sundays until the school season ended, then I took a morning shift during the week during summer. It was my first job, but it was a bit too late.

Compost Card

...It was a bit too late, and I was given to screwing around, now that I was hardly interested in the product or the hobby. I was getting into Rush, and a fellow employee, Jeff Bieler, was able to give me a taped copy of the 20 Years of Tull set, but this time from CD! Oooooo! I was over in my part of the giant store, the vibe was gone. So I took to cutting business cards apart and fashioning my own from the component parts. It was the prototype effort that led me to having fun with image manipulation in Photoshop! I just had to keep myself amused at any cost.

I worked there for about four months in the summer, until Mark let me go at the end of August. During that time, I used to get such a meager check that they'd let me cash it at the register—all $90 of it. I used to go to the Music Mart across the street and spend on cowbells and cymbals, stands, even a new snare drum. I was building up my Pearl Export knockoff set.

When Mark let me go, it was for the good. I had a senior year to enjoy. I had an easier time of it since that was the first year I got to buy my own clothes with my own money.

Algebra, 1990 style

Algebra was wearing on me by the time this teacher/parent progress report was issued. I went from and F/E grade to an F/U. Interestingly, there is a "U" citizenship grade but the space is checked next to "practices good citizenship." Odd.

Notice the date compared to the others in this series: all from the same period in May. 

American history progress report

This class was one half of a combined American history and literature class. It was rather nice that both worked in tandem and more historical context was added to support the readings.

Notice the date compared to the others in this series: all from the same period in May. I just don't want people seeing my math grades and judging me by that, so let's set the record straight. This is more my territory in general. 

American literature progress report

This is the other half of the American studies course I took. I'm pretty much a B+/A- kinda guy. Notice it too is part of the May 1990 wave of progress reports. Any wonder that even as I write, I have not finished my math coursework even in community college? 

The Worst Photo Ever

I remember a Yakov Smirnoff joke that went something like, "You know, you can go to the DMV and they'll take your picture and make you look like a movie star. It's just that you'll look like Ernest Borgnine!" Well, in 1990, not far from my years watching AirWolf on TV, I knew what that meant: they'll make you look like one ugly fuck. And here it is, even at my tender age of 16, I am portrayed in the most dismal light.

I got my license on July 3rd, 1990, and got into my first car accident with Jennifer Slaughter, a nice church girl and daughter of my youth pastor, on August 1. She had gotten her license about two weeks after me. I was driving my grandmother's car from a church picnic, and Jen and another of our youth group were driving in her car to her house. I overshot the turn I intended to make, and thinking she was behind me rather safely back, I yanked a late left turn, and she, not as far back as I had thought, had to swerve left to try to at least swing into the other lane (no traffic). That didn't work so well. My car was hit in such a way that she hit the front of it by coming from behind! Basically, she hooked the bumper and tore it loose and did some front/left damage to my car.

It was awkward explaining it but really, with both of us new at driving, and leaving a beach party, that was explanation enough. It was more awkward looking pastor Judy in the eye.

The Good Senior picture

I have to articulate that this is the good picture of the session. The one that made it into the yearbook was rather dopey looking. (You'll notice that in this album, there is a page from my church newsletter with the offending, bespectacled shot that I hate so much.) If someone has to recall my high school days, PLEASE use this pic instead, okay? The glasses just fill me with shame and dread, and this is one of few not sullied by their presence. See one from my prom day for another that looks pretty good, and again, without the ugly glasses.

Exchange Students

At the time of this article in the school paper, I didn't know that my life would essentially be changed by one of the guys from overseas. I was on the school paper that year and in another class that fall of 1990, I had Stephan Rau (left) in my government class. We were sociable there and probably had lunch together much of the time but it wasn't until January when we started hanging out on the outside of school. He lived in Tierrasanta, and I in Clairemont, both areas rather far for high school students with no more than a bike. (In retrospect, six miles isn't far, but it's a long slog through a pretty commercial district and some notable hills.) Anyhow, we really got off to a friendship in the winter of 1991, seeing laser light shows, having a Monty Python movie night that led us to some great conversation at a level I don't think had transpired between me and a peer before. Also did other outings—movies, trips to local attractions, etc.

My old man was quick to latch on to our budding relationship. He started prodding me to go to Europe, no small coincidence considering that is what he did after graduation from high school. I had no interest in it really, not even after going to two years' German class in school. Only after realizing that Steve was an important friend did I concede. It also was convenient that my old man could say I had the money to do it. It was the money that he had basically extorted out of my mom for five years. I almost think he had the whole damned thing planned. He's wily that way.

A little better than Rupert Murdoch

Before there was Fox News and the blowout over Rupert Murdoch's NewsCorp, there was one Ed Lucas, causing a bunch of noise in the journalism classroom. I got a C+/N for being really average and a pretty big screwoff that semester. I had senioritis. It says here I should drop the class. I stuck it out, and went on to create such a masterpiece as the April Fools issue, and such self-serving balderdash as the issue covering my band's performance in the talent show, where I quote myself anonymously!

These days I am too clever to self promote that way. I have TAPKAE.com!

Katrina, pt. 1: April Fools Issue

The 1991 April Fools issue of the school paper was filled with silliness, and a decent share of it was mine. This page, the back page with an utterly dumb survey question, was something of my design. Bear with me. This is a long story.

There is a girl named Katrina Foster who appears on the right side. She is an Australian who started in US schools not long before. Had some attitude adjustment. I was a TA in her English class in the last semester of my senior year. She was a sophomore. I sort of was interested in her, but she was kind of rough edged, earning her a nickname of Wombat. (A wombat is a pretty fierce animal from Australia.) The wombat joke irked her, so in true high school form, it was the basis for more humiliation.

On the paper, I was free to interview whoever I wanted for this dumb question, so I asked some friends to give me planted answers. Half the answers given name Australian animals that might replace the Easter Bunny. Wallabe, platypus duck, koala, tasmanian devil, a dingo. The rest are nonsense answers, more so than the Australian ones!

Okay... that is the newspaper page that was designed as a joke at her expense. Just wait. Notice that picture.

Katrina, pt. 2: Have You Seen Me?

I got the pictures as a legit part of the newspaper. I had two printouts of her picture and kept one aside. One night, after the talent show in mid March, Steve Rau and I were hanging out, and we got to joking about how else to use the picture. Somehow the idea hit us to make a sign like the back of a milk carton, with a "Have You Seen Me?" entry with various information. Eventually the picture and question was enough to make the point and so I made them up—100 of them. Being on the paper, I was able to get to the office to learn her class schedule. I went to her classes and asked if I could come in and post these joke posters up for the Friday before April Fools' day—the same day as the newspaper came out, particularly with the Australian animals on the back page, and Katrina's picture too. All her teachers agreed. I even got a poster in the principal's office. And a small number in the small utility/closet rooms that no one ever seems to have a key for.

I went around the campus after school on Thursday after school, taping about 70 of these things up. Time to wait and see what Friday brings...

She was not too happy. I skipped my TA duties that day in her English class. That might be a bit much. I guess I still don't know how widely it was recognized as a two-pronged joke with the paper and poster featuring the same picture. But it was good for some juvenile laughs. I don't think I have topped this as an April prank.

Subliminal Gestures

I don't know how I got to write an article about the band I played in, and how I got away with quoting myself anonymously, but I did. Maybe journalistic objectivity is taught in later journalism coursework, but in high school, it was good enough to get the paper filled with anything, apparently.

The funny thing is, this band lived and died in service of one event done in two performances. Our fifteen minutes of fame was really about half that much when you consider our song, Walk This Way, was perhaps four minutes long, and played twice in two shows. Maybe if you add the minutes required to read this, you might get up to about 11 minutes of fame for Subliminal Gestures! By the time was released, SG was a thing of the past by a couple months. Shawn Zizzo and Tomas Enriquez went on to be rather popular locally in Ear Food.

This is a rather cut article. The one I submitted was a paragraph or two longer, presaging my tendency to write long articles.

Algebra, 1991 style

In my senior year, I had to take the second level algebra class. For a guy who basically squeeked by in Prealgebra class, and spent two years trying to get the primary algebra class done right (but bombing back to Pre level for a semester), this was terribly frightning. During several weeks early in the first semester, I enlisted the tutoring help of Phil Calabrese. He is a math genius and ONLY during the period I was under his tutelage did I do okay in this second level class. (I think for the first month or two it was essentially review of stuff I tried to learn two years earlier!) But, sometime about six weeks in, Phil had to leave town for a while and it was during that time—predictably—that I lost my grip and fell under the wheel of the moving train. After that, there was no recovering. I basically resigned myself to smarting off, air drumming, or after a while, just coming in to sleep for an hour. I did that the rest of the semester, and then during the next. I had no chance. 

The good news is that, even though that "F" grade was turning dangerous in combination with others earlier on, and threatening my very graduation, in the last semester, I took something called "tech math" that struck me more as a geometry class. Go figure this: I got an "A"! It makes no sense. I was even called upon by classmates to tutor them!

Prom 1: Pimp My Ride

After the car accident in August 1990, I was generally limited in my driving the family cars. So it was pretty darn remarkable that my old man did one of the rare undeniably cool things like this: renting me a red Camaro for prom night. That came with a double risk: only the undersigned is supposed to use it, and the age requirements do not include 17 year olds with one year of driving experience! Still, he did it. Saved me from having to find others who wanted to get a limo.

Prom 2: Trudi

I really wanted to go with my friend Shelby Duncan. She had a way of turning me away that took about a dozen years to really understand. She hooked me up with another exchange student from Germany, Trudi Lepique. (They both went to another school.) During the spring of that year, Shelby, Trudi, Steve, and I went out a time or three, had some fun. I was always excited to see Shelby, as she had been my crush for a couple years. And in 1991, I was head over heels for her. But always, I was kept at bay.

Shelby had some passing interest in Steve, but he actually went with another girl. Not getting her to go to the prom, and taking about another four rejections, Shelby persuaded Trudi to go with me. I had about two weeks to get ready (which I realize is a lot more than Andie had in Pretty In Pink). Nice tux, nice car, nice corsage provided by a friend of my old man's. Cute girl. It was actually more than I anticipated.

Prom 3: I'm So Cute

This was at Shelby's house. She wanted to have fun playing with her camera, and we were the perfect excuse for that. It was also a way to sort of torment me by being near her on my prom night, but not being with her. Not to slight Trudi; she is obviously a cute one. But for me, in 1991, it was just wrong. I was pretty awkward then. I hadn't had a girlfriend except in my imaginations. Shelby was the unattainable everything for me, so anything else didn't measure up.

Still, I did have some fun getting these pictures, and as you see, without those dorky glasses, I am a pretty handsome dude!

Prom 4: Giddy and Guilt Ridden

This bunch of shots was more of an in-joke for Shelby and Trudi. I felt sort of like I was there for effect. Being slighted by Shelby and hooked up with a girl I barely knew (cute and German as she was) was disorienting. Getting dressed up and going to a dance was extra foreign to me also. Other pictures from this series show that to some degree. This is one of the less self-conscious. Another couple make me look as if I am a piece of wood, particularly as I am trying to hold Trudi in a pose. I might have been wood: hands stiff, smile that is tempered by the rejection of my one and only true love that kept sticking daggers into me...

We went to Tom Ham's Lighthouse, a restaurant that at the time carried a pretty good name as a go-to place for special occasions. I ate the steak. The view was great, but I barely knew Trudi, and knew she was doing this to take a load off Shelby. The dance itself was on Mission Bay at a resort hotel, and we did a bit of requisite dancing but that was dreadfully embarrassing. It would be years before I even felt comfortable holding a girl and not coming off as a piece of wood. I never liked to be in dance situations, not even at my wedding. Old phobias die hard.

Anyhow, we went off to a party in La Jolla, with occasional hoots to "whoa man, nice car!" But there too I was not comfortable, and Trudi, coming from another school surely wasn't either. We stopped by at my youth pastor's place, which was just two blocks from Trudi's host family's place, and a few more blocks from Shelby's. Shot some pix and told a few stories, and then it was back home to her place to drop her off. I guess I got to my prom, but it was certainly a loaded affair. At least Trudi carried herself graciously. But it wasn't a night of dazzling magic or anything.

Church Recognition

This is from the newsletter at my church. Also featured is Jenny Slaughter, who just the year before, was my parter in car-crashing shortly after we both got our licenses. True to form before this and after this, the secretary got things wrong, citing me as a student at Mission Bay High. I went to Madison. Why the ugliest picture of the portrait series was chosen is beyond me. There are far more handsome ones that could have been used. But NO. The dorkiest one got used in my yearbook and here too. It makes me look somewhere between a rockstar and a Republican. Oy!

Still interested in history, and still fancy myself a teacher of sorts, given the right setting.

Steve Rau, Senior Breakfast

Steve is about a year older than me, but to do a year in American school, he was essentially taking a step backwards. An academic year here does not count toward his German education, so he returned wiser but lost a school year there. Still, he got to experience some neat stuff, make friends. Not all is lost.

The last week of school had some special things going on. Senior breakfast. Graduation rehearsal. A dinner with both our dads. This was from the senior breakfast. It was bearable but since we had free use of my grandmother's car for the day, I was set on getting over to Shelby's after the breakfast event. It was the last time four of us were in the same place, and a lot more special than any of this official school stuff.

The Lineup

Trudi, Shelby, Steve, Me.

The Friday before graduation had a senior breakfast that Steve and I attended. While with the car, we swung by Shelby's to meet up with her and Trudi. I recall it being fun and lighthearted, with graduation day for all of us just a short time away on Tuesday, albeit at different schools. We shot some silly shots like this, and a few others from the session seem to be more candid. Shelby uncharacteristically let me get a good shot of her, but from her vantage point, she got the best shots of Steve.

Despite all that, in the middle of 1991, I was madly in love with Shelby. It was something I was about to explode with once again, and did, primarily on my trip to Europe, and in the aftermath. Without Trudi there to pass me on to, it would be she and I again.

All I Needed to Know I Learned by my Graduation Day

This picture is dorky. It also is something that, if I had studied it more, would have made clear our non-relationship. Shelby was in one of her fashion incarnations that looks pretty ridiculous at this time, but it wasn't always so. Who knew what she'd turn up in next? She was a shape-shifter when it came to dress. I on the other hand was pretty square. But at this point, as a senior, I was wearing stuff I chose for myself. It was still square but it was my square, not the old man's, which I hated with a passion.

She has her arms crossed in a kind of closed off way. The face says plenty: "Gawd! In a picture with EDWEE!" My hands are neatly crossed, always aware that she is out of reach, often physically but always emotionally, at least at the level I was aspiring to. I'm smiling through my tears almost. So close... So CLOSE! In the old days, just a couple years before, she was the one who drew me out of a shell, particularly in the way we started off talking about the turmoil of life and family. But as soon as the topic turned to US, that was always testy. So here it is, in a picture. There was no US. Ed has built up desire. Shelby mockingly blows it off.

Wouldn't be so bad if I let it all go after a couple years. But I kept on with my hoping and wishing until twelve years and five days after we met. Then I finally had it. And sure enough, the day I reached out with a bit of affection on my mind (like what I should have done when this picture was taken), she yanked away like she touched a hot stove pot. And then I knew I couldn't do that anymore. I wrote at the end of 2000 all the things I had wanted to get off my mind. I blew it all out. And then it crashed and burned the next day. Scarcely anything but a few emails in the coming months to be sure it was dead...

Wow.

Pre-grad dinner, Steve

The night before graduation, Steve and I and our fathers went to the Casa De Bandini restaurant for what was our last social engagement before we were done. After graduation, Steve and Gerhard went traveling the western states and we all later rendezvoused back at their place in Germany in mid July.

Pre-grad dinner, Ed

I actually sort of look decent here. Except the glasses, of course!

Graduation

Harry Steinmetz, Gerhard Rau, me, Steve Rau.

Mr. Steinmetz was our government teacher. Steve and I did quite well in that class, and I found the kind of friendship in that setting that rubbed off positively on me, academically in particular. Steve's dad flew to the states to see the graduation, but also to do a bit of travel in the American West. They returned to Germany shortly before I got to their place at the end of my trip.

But on graduation day, I was about to enter a whole new life of uncertainty. I had no particular college plans. I knew I'd get to Mesa College but little else was on my horizon. It was probably the last time I saw a number of those 400 people who graduated that day.

Proto-TAPKAE.com

On June 12th, I was in a new life. I woke to a June gloom sky of murky humidity. I went outside and raked part of the yard. Then I got on my bike and went to the Wherehouse record store and bought Yes' 90125 on cassette, my first Yes album. I probably played my drums. It was summer again, but summer unlike any other.

So unlike any other that during the day, I sprawled on my bed and wrote this journal, which I dubbed "Life at the Top." [Read the newly done 2011 transcript. Or some 20 year anniversary thoughts.] After the date, it read, "the day after the end of my life." I just kept writing and writing. Spilled a lot of ink about my high school experience and some of the people who helped shape it. Family people. School people. Church people. Shelby people. It was just a big sprawling thing that went on for page after page. Later on, I decided to type it up and copy it and give to a few people. Some of it is pretty juvenile, but there are points where I can see the kinds of questions that moved me to a new place in life, and that paved the way for more such questions.

I consider that the start of my earnest attempt to keep a journal on a rather regular basis. It is the first time I think I used journaling for some kind of introspection. It was when I guess I thought my life was worth examining. That summer, with Europe and a heart thumping for Shelby, and the newness of being in transition not from one grade to the next, but into a new paradigm of being, I felt it was time to record it and make some sense. Life has been chronicled on scrap paper, stationery, school notebooks, bound notebooks, photos, recordings, a tad bit of video and a fuckload of bytes scattered throughout emails, blog posts, and bulletin board conversations.

High school transcript

Well folks, this is where it all led to. A "B" average. I guess that means I am still above average :-) For giggles, it might be worth a look to see if the teacher progress reports differed from the final. It might suggest that they did some good. As you can see, math is not my strong suit. English, lit, history generally tend to be my favorites. Even journalism turned out okay.