The march of time never stops, even for Ponce De Leon, and of course not for even your tye-dyed informer of the world and parts unknown. And it is especially true of all those of the class of 1988, that special and vibrant year of release and joy in the undertaking of our lives as we saw them then.
But this really starts with a girl, and her art.
It was the year that marked the twentieth from the graduation of all of us from Arroyo Grande High School. People were coming in from all over the states and since I was so close, and really because I haven’t missed one yet, I was all in for fun and craziness. The shindig was planned for a place called Madonna Inn in San Luis Obispo, and as it had been years since I had gone there as well it was shaping up to be an all around interesting experience. 75 bucks later I was signed up so it was all about the anticipation of things to come and whatever else I had planned before the festivities were upon me.
I had hit Motorhead of course (see post, it was gnarly) and was ready for the reunion. I got the e-mail that stated we were meeting at Bill’s Place, a smallish irishish bar in the village of old arroyo, so I made my way from the tye-dyed compound out to the joint. But first I stopped by a buddies house and hung out with him for a tiny. He needed a ride and as I had yet to see this friend’s art, she was someone I had met through him and I was hearing a lot about her talent, I gave him a ride and checked her art out.
Now I don’t know about you, but when I walk into a museum, or an art gallery, any place where the work from another persons mind and heart is displayed I find it interesting, and it sometimes gets across to me, but I’m not one for most art. The saying that seems to work best for me is “I’m not sure if its art, but I like it.” And that’s what I’ve felt for many a long year. Until now.
