LAUGH LINES : Yeah, Well, She Steams a Mean Brew

Well, it must be reunion time, because a lot of alumni magazines are smashing against walls.

You know how it goes: Scan your alma mater’s Class Notes; discover that the Beer Pong Champion of your year has just been made partner in his firm; consider your accomplishments since graduation; roll up magazine and pitch it against the wall, hard. I mean, hard.

My five-year reunion is approaching faster than a speeding alumni mag, and preparation for revisiting my halls of ivy consists of blond streaks and an inventory of accomplishments since graduation. So far, there are two: 1) Bought some really cool shoes. 2) Learned to mambo.

Of course, we all know that college reunions are an opportunity to catch up with old friends and celebrate warm memories, like the time I accidentally set fire to the Language Lab. I shared four years, countless books and some inventive laundry techniques with these people. I miss many of my friends from college, and I’d probably miss a few more if I could get further along the Class Notes before launching the magazine.

There’s an undercurrent to facing a college reunion that’s best explained by Gore Vidal: “Every time one of my friends succeed, I die a little.” Even though I sincerely wish the best for all alumni, there’s something that trips me up worse than a bad mambo partner when I learn that the girl who was the captain of the Clothing-Optional Rugby Team is in her second year of residency at Johns Hopkins.

I don’t understand my response, but it’s hard to ignore, not unlike the Clothing-Optional Rugby Team. I guess I’m jealous, but why should I envy someone in medical school? I feel queasy after I wheel my shopping cart past the chicken gizzards.

I’ve kept up with most of my classmates, and we all seem to be moving forward with life in reasonably happy anonymity. We’ve had our triumphs. For instance, we almost all pay our own car insurance.

And it’s not as if every other member of my graduating class has garnered a Nobel Prize and I’m still stationed at the fryer. Although it might not be worthy of an extensive Class Note, I’ve succeeded in many disciplines: Friends, Throw Pillows, Coffee Beverages Involving Steamed Milk and Chocolate Powder. I shouldn’t be distressed.

But there are unsettling exceptions to the happy anonymity: the fraternity president who’s published a novel, the geology major who’s founded a school in Guatemala. I tend to bypass those items in the alumni magazine and head straight for more reassuring updates, the ones that start, “Jennifer and her new cat, Mister Furball, write from Deerfield that . . . “ I can handle alumni news that involves cats. I just have to learn how to handle successes greater than the acquisition of Mister Furball.

But what is success, anyway?

I can execute a highly successful mambo. And the fact is, however minor the accomplishment--whether it’s getting a Nobel Prize or getting the car washed before driving to Alumni House--it’s an accomplishment.

Life isn’t a class you take Pass/Fail. All anyone should strive for is happiness, in whatever form it may take, including Coffee Beverages involving Steamed Milk and Chocolate Powder. Based on that philosophy, I can bring myself to congratulate others on their successes, and to at least halfway mean it.

Now that I think about it, my blond streaks and I are looking forward to the reunion. I’d like to see all my classmates, meet their spouses and cats and even--audible gasp--their children. If anyone asks about my accomplishments, I plan to direct his or her attention to my shoes. Really, what’s a Nobel Prize when Tito Puente’s playing over the loudspeakers?