OF COURSE Ali Schumacher sent me pages from the Indianapolis Star style section with notes attached to photos.
If I were able to go back and retroactively log all of the high school hours we spent making fun of stuff - at lunch, in the track meet bleachers, in physics class, as marginally useful "aides" in the gym teacher's office where we sat around and played records - I'm sure I'd be pleased that I used my time well by laughing a lot and not just bemoaning the fact that I'd never had a boyfriend.
Yes, picturing our chemistry teacher as a gangsta rapper with a Flavor Flav clock around his neck took some of that pain away.
That same principle still holds true although I can't remember what I was angsty about a week ago when I received Ali's letter and the newspaper Spring Fashion Jam. Perhaps I'd run out of Bud Light.
Ali: This may be the most unflattering photo ever taken. Me: The lady's face on the left makes me nervous. What does she see with the crazy blue eyes? Wherefore does she grip her clutch so desperately? Also, I do not believe that she is playing that tambourine.
Ali: This photo requires a comment but I cannot figure it out at present. Me: How about Nice Shoes? Period. Everything else = cringe. I just tried to imagine dancing around a studio, flicking a scarf between my legs, but I pulled whatever muscle is used in wincing.
There's another shot that Ali didn't flag but which caught my attention of the other lady playing a ukelele. Its photo caption referred to the compatibility of island breezes and ukelele tunes and I kind of want to say something about that but am starting to feel like a jerk so I'm going to shut up.