22

Facebook status games. I never play them. You know the ones: “Answer this question, then copy this to your status, and blahblahblah.” Sometimes I’ll answer the question, but I never copy the status.

So one of my friends posted one of these. The gist was “At age N I was doing this, and in a relationship with this person, and my favorite band was, and [a bunch of other stuff I don’t remember]. ‘Like’ this and I’ll assign you an age.”

But I never play these things.

So the age she gave me was 22. This was a week or so ago, so she surely thinks I’ve forgotten, but I haven’t. It’s just that I seem to have no idea where I was or what I was doing at age 22. Which is weird for me. Despite decades of bombarding my cortex with various chemical cocktails, I usually remember past events so clearly and with so much detail that it freaks my friends out. “Do you remember that time we were doing Whippits and Black Label in Tom’s apartment and you said Robyn Hitchcock was totally overrated?” “Ummm….no.” OK, bad example, that was every night in Tom’s apartment.

And what’s more, this comes at a time when my introspection has become retrospective. I’ve been playing parts of my life back in my head to the point that I start to feel like Billy Pilgrim.

But where the fuck was I at 22?

I was born early in a year ending in zero, so the math is easy enough even for me. 1992. OK. There are two facts I’m reasonably sure of. I was working at Chicago Speakeasy, and going to DMACC. I’m reasonably sure of both of these.

But what was I doing at The Speakeasy? Was I washing dishes or had I become a cook yet? I know I was still a dishwasher when I turned 21, because I remember turning 21, getting off work, and buying beer. It was at that exact moment that I stopped getting IDed.

Pretty sure I was at DMACC from like 1990 to 1993 (yet still managed to come up 20 credits short of a two-year degree). Is that the year I took Desktop Publishing and met Photoshop? Don’t think so. That was later, because I remember my 3 favorite things were writing, programming and graphic design right when I discovered the web, which was ‘93ish. Let’s hear it for convergance. Sick of all the assholes I hated in high school suddenly dressing and behaving the way I always had, I declared that I’d just be a huge computer nerd. That would never be popular.

But that was 23, not 22.

Was I living in my mom’s basement for one of my many just-can’t-get-my-shit-together spells? Did I have my apartment in Ankeny? Did Leslea and I have our place by The White House on Penn Ave? No, that was earlier.

Was I even with Leslea then? I know I was in ‘91, because I heard “Smells Like Teen Spirit” for the first time in a car (whose, I don’t recall) sitting on University in front of her place at 42nd Street in what is now the parking lot of Git-N-Go. But we broke up for good right around that time. Was I hopelessly in love with the married waitress at work? Was I madly in lust with the married girl at school? And which one of those did I make out with? Kidding, I totally remember that. It was the girl at school. Shame, I could’ve spent a good long time with that waitress. Women married to dicks who toy with nice guys. If ever there was an archetype. Whatever, killed by a jealous man seems as good a way as any to go out. Part of the reason Robert Johnson is a legend. Also that he was an OK guitar player.

I wasn’t with Ann yet, though I may have been working on stealing her from her boyfriend (the attentive reader will notice a theme emerging). I know I had my own place then, because I remember sealing the deal with a song. Man, I thought that girl was everything. So did everybody else. Shame about the blackout drinking, the other guys, and the not-very-brightness. But where did I play her that song? Must’ve been my place in Ankeny. Did I really live there that long? I know I was still there in ‘95. No, Ann must’ve come later.

And what was I listening to? It’s a safe bet The Beatles, The Who and The Police were in there, but that’s not exactly going out on a limb. Rush and Tull, of course. But who did I discover at 22? I didn’t give much of a shit about the grunge thing, though it was clearly better than EMF. Think I first met the blues around then. Or maybe not. I should go see when all those old issues of Guitar Player are from.

Any remarkable film impressions? Not that I can think of. The Kubrick, Scorcese, and Gilliam kicks came much earlier. Tarantino and Smith were later.

Fuck, I’ve just got no idea at all about 22. I’m gonna mark it “Transitional Period”.