So then in the summer of ’85, I started moving furniture to earn some cash and started hanging out more and more with Dudley (aka Mike Sullivan) and Jefferson (aka Jefferson Thomas Stephens Faircloth aka Jeff).  Me and Jeff both were down in old Va. –  Washington and Lee – Lexington, Va. for the man, and me an hour away at UVa. in Charlottesville.  So we have dinner with our old French teacher Steve Henry (affectionately known as “Serge”) then I don’t see Jeff for like the first two months of school.  At some point in October, I get this phone call,

– “Dude, I’m in Charlottesville, let’s party!”

It turns out he’s like ten minutes away at the condo of some girl the guy he drove up with knew.  So I give him directions – come down Barracks Rd. to Rte. 29. Go south like two miles and you can’t missit.

But like the true man that he is Jeff manages to screw it up and ends up driving half-way to Lynchburg before he turns around to come back and find the Business 29 (as the first time around he had turned south on the 29 Bypass).

So, over an hour after I talk to Jeff on the phone and he says he’ll be there in 10 minutes he blows through the door,

“DUDE, WHAT’S UP!  Since the last time I saw you I’ve spent $1500, and all I’ve got to show for it is a dead snake!”

“Oh – well, here’s some acid – take one.”

“O.K.”

And off we went, but not before weirding out on the first and certainly not last freakshow of the evening finding out that Jeff knew this random roommate that my friends Tim and Doug ended up living with (literally randomly drawn in a lottery system) because the guy had lived on Jeff’s hall at W&L for his freshman year (the man known as Inertia – things at rest tend to stay at rest).

So we head on down to Randy Mac – in the Volkswagen Jetta with that guy J.R. driving – so yah, it’s time to head south to Lynchburg – Tacky Party at Randolph-Macon Women’s College.  My very first Women’s College experience – on acid.  So south it is – tripping idiots, speeding through the wilds of southwestern Virginia and on into the night – the night which would never end – and never really has.

We somehow manage to arrive in one piece (Jeff and J.R. had been “drinkin all day”) about an hour later, and immediately hit the hall parties with some vicious, vicious punches (grain, rum who knows…?), a different one on each hall, and that girl we met from Reston, Va. who knew some weird guy we went to high school with in New York (because he had lived in Reston before he moved to N.Y.).

So drinking as many cups of punch as we could handle while simultaneously hiding from the R.A.’s as we were allowed to be up there in the girls’ halls, but not in their rooms (or something) until it was time to go down to the Tacky Party.

One of those mid-’80s all black Virginia oldies and funk bands was playing with beer for sale in the next room.  Well, Jeff knew the girl who was serving beer, so we spent most of our time in the next room right next to the beer (surprise, surprise), getting our drinks for free, wee-hee.

Towards the end of that part of the night, I ran into a girl I hadn’t seen since the seventh grade and ended up talking to her for (what seemed like) an hour or two while we were trying to find a ride back to Lexington as J.R. had taken off at some point in the evening (there was a ten-minute puke break in the middle of the conversation as all that alcohol had finally gotten to my poor acid tortured stomach).

All right, so we got a ride to Lexington, but the car won’t start, we need to jumpstart it.  Shitman, it’s 2am nobody’s still awake, we gotta call AAA.  So, we go back inside the lobby at Randy Mac to call and wait for the AAA.  While we’re sittin there, in comes this beautiful crazy girl, fresh from the Dead show in Richmond where she had been arrested and spent several hours in jail while her jaw was frozen from whipits.  This is the first time I ever see Kathleen Ryan.

But then the AAA guy shows up to give us a jump start.  It takes a good 10-20 minutes to find the battery (under the driver’s seat in a Volkswagen Squareback, I guess this was the night of the generationally opposed Volkswagens).  But the car still won’t start – that is until the AAA guy takes the stickshift out of gear and puts it in neutral, and then bawls us out for getting him out of bed at 3am so he can come and put the car in neutral for us.

(Phillipse Corner, N.Y. Summer 1998)

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