I especially liked the first section. In this a middle-aged radio reporter interviews a good friend, who had been a mean girl that tormented him twenty years before in middle school.
And it's really something when he sends his nerd friends out to interview her older sister, who was even meaner. Those middle-aged men report back that she's still intimidating in middle age.
I found this all fascinating. I was friends with a lot of mean girls in school (but not mean boys). I must've got the message though, because I didn't pursue them for relationships when we got older.
FWIW: I can't be sure how I'd act in person, but I found the voices of the two sisters interviewed in the first section to be alluring over the radio. I wonder if there's something in their voices, rather than their meanness?
What this shows is the first half of all people who share the same first name on the right of the red dot. The red dot shows their median age.
I’m a David, and I turn 50 this week. This puts me about 3 years to the right of the median age for my name. My older brother is a Robert, and he’ll turn 59 later this month, perhaps 6 years to the right of the median for his name.
So, back then, my mom (and my late father) were ahead of the curve on both names. Not on the bleeding edge, but definitely early adopters.
(For those who know my parents) who would suspect that?*
* FWIW: I try to convince my wife that my dad was an early adopter of new technology up until his mid 50’s (the early 80’s). She doesn’t believe me. But we had a VCR before anyone else. And he bought the mod new car (it was a lemon, but who knew at the time), the Chevy Citation in 1980. And we had calculators in our house before any of my friends did. Although we missed the boat on digital watches, our house was known among my friends for its large number of digital clocks (one of which still runs in our bedroom almost 40 years after he bought it at Radio Shack).
Once, the outdoor, wooden, coaster — The Predator — stopped at the top of the first big hill. We walked down steep, narrow, wooden stairs.
The other time, the dark, indoor, coaster — then known as Nightmare at Phantom Cave — stopped on a curve near the top. That was interesting. After several minutes they turned on the lights: an indoor rollercoaster is not all that impressive with the lights on. Then we walked down again (I don’t recall the descent being as frightening as the other time).
In looking at this, I’m most mesmerized by the scattering of kindling that skitters across the parking lot.
Almost 25 years ago, I was living in Salt Lake City for a year, and I decided to do some genealogy research. I discovered that my late father had an uncle that I’d never heard of. I called him up and told him.
It brought back the dimmest memories (his mother and aunts had been dead for 15-20 years by then): “Oh … yeah … Louie … he hid under a tree during a thunderstorm and was killed by lighting … must have been around 1915.” He’d been gone for 10 years or so before my grandparents got married and had my dad.
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