You know what I’d really like to sit in right now? My homeboy Jim’s old green-and-beige plaid swivel rocking chair, that’s what. That was a perfect chair. I don’t know where he got it from, but it was in his bedroom when we were kids (after his older brother moved out, and he took over the bigger room), and to this day it was the most comfortable chair I ever sat in. At some point he no longer had room for it, so he lent it to me, and I had it in my possession for approximately 4 years. Four of the most comfortable-sittin years of my life.

I gave it back to Jim before I moved to Texas, and I’ve missed it ever since. That chair would make our recently-cleaned study/vidja game room the bee’s knees. Right now it’s the cat’s pajamas. If it had that chair and a sweet rug to tie the room together? Duck’s sunglasses. I’m sure I could find a similar chair, but it wouldn’t be as comfortable. Nothing could ever be as comfortable as that chair. And look, I know nostalgia is coloring my opinion of the chair, but I also know comfort (and sitting), and I’ve sincerely never had a more comfortable sitting experience than in that chair. That includes our dope purple velour mid-century-style armchair from Joybird, which is probably the second most comfortable chair I’ve ever sat in.

I’ve got some great memories with Jim’s old chair. I watched Twin Peaks for the first time while sittin in that chair. I read On the Road for the first time while sittin in that chair. I fell in love with The Beatles while sittin in that chair. I completed Super Mario World with a 96* for the first (and so far only) time while sittin in that chair. Police Academy 4: Citizens on Patrol saved my life one night while I sat in that chair.

One time I got real stoned, ordered a pizza, and later fell asleep watchin Grosse Point Blank while sittin in that chair. When I woke up the next morning, I picked the pizza box up off the floor next to me and ate the rest of the pizza in the dark and silence while sittin in that chair. I suppose I wouldn’t call that a “great” memory, as such, but it’s a vivid one, to be sure. That was a weird time in my life. I plan on writing about my wilderness years at some point, but I wouldn’t get too pumped for it just yet, or maybe at all.

I texted Jim and told him I was thinkin about the chair. He responded “didn’t I give that to you?” followed by “WTH happened to that?” I guess the chair didn’t leave the same impression on Jim’s brain (his butt either, apparently). He’s always had a bad memory, though, and I’ve always been a slut for nostalgia, so it’s not terribly surprising that things turned out this way. Anyway, I hope the chair is up in heaven, being sat in by Harry Dean Stanton. He deserves a good sit.

Last time, I talked about high school reunions, and earlier today, I started reading through my unfinished high school reminiscence project. A quick correction: in my previous post, I indicated that the working title of said project was “Unfinished High School Reminiscence Project”, and when I found the file today, I was reminded that at some point I changed the working title to High School, or “My Obstacle“. Clockwise Circle Pit regrets the error.

A lot of it is way outdated, on account of I started writing it during the first summer of Li’l Bush’s second term, and plenty of it is embarrassing, on account of I started writing it 20 fucking years ago. Some of it is less embarrassing, though, and today I’m gonna share one of those less embarrassing parts. This was on my mind when I was writing my high school reunion thing, and when I realized it also mentioned Jim,  from up yonder, I figured I was fated to share it here. It must be your lucky day. I corrected some grammar and gave it a general tidying up, because I’m a better writer now than I was when I was 28 years old. Here it is.

Average Joe(l)

My identity in high school was pretty low key.  I was the nice guy that a decent cross-section of people knew, and I made small talk with a wide variety of people and cliques, but I had a pretty small core of actual friends. The core changed and morphed throughout my high school career, but it always included Jim, as it always has since that fateful day of kindergarten registration, when I stood behind my mom, clutching her leg in horror as Jim peeked around the wall of his parents’ living room, each of us too shy to speak a word to the other. 

As the days, months, and years ticked by, Jim and I both changed, and we had our ups and downs (as true friends do), but we never lost sight of what was the foundation of our friendship – that we could always rely on each other, no matter what. Now, our lives have taken drastically different directions, but I know I can still call Jim, and we can still hold a conversation as if we haven’t been apart.

Perhaps nothing illustrates my social standing circa 1995 better than the final issue of our sub-mediocre school newspaper, The BNL Star. On an otherwise regular spring morning, just as first period was beginning, two intrepid reporters for the Star came into my classroom and spoke to the teacher. The teacher told me I needed to go with them, causing everyone in the room to turn and look at me, an event which haunts me to this day. On the way down the hall, they told me I’d won a senior survey category.

Not “Best Looking” or “Most Popular” or anything like that. What I won was “Most Average Person”, a category I don’t recall even noticing when I filled out my survey, though to be fair, I only voted for “Best Sense of Humor (Girl)” (my friend Liz) and “Best Sense of Humor (Boy)” (me). We arrived at my locker, and I stood sweating in my Jimmy Page & Robert Plant 1995 tour shirt while an ace photographer from the Star took my picture. A week or so later, I turned to the senior survey and located my picture way down in the bottom-right corner of page 7, way past the “Most Talkative” and total bullshit “Best Sense of Humor” categories, down below “Favorite Movie” (Forest (sic) Gump) and “Favorite Car” (Mustang), along with a caption: “‘Mr. Average Nice Guy’ – Joel Hearth”. How nice.

Just to the left of that was the official, less pleasant, designation, “Most Average Person”. The name beneath that illustrious title? My cousin Billy, with whom I share no physical resemblance. Turns out I was so average, they didn’t even know which Hearth I was.

That concludes the old part of this post. Here’s proof of concept.

For the record, I would never say “rock the house”. Can you even imagine? This concludes the new part of this post. I hope you enjoyed both. Thanks for reading.