TIME OUT OF MIND

Oh, life...it's bigger than you, and you are not me

Athens, Georgia, is on my mind today (Saturday 11/4/23) because my older son, Jack, is there right now with his dad (aka The Wasband) and some of his dad’s friends to celebrate the University of Georgia’s Homecoming Weekend.

As an alum, I could’ve also gone, but 1, I wasn’t invited and 2, I’m too poor to go anywhere anyway.

The Georgia Bulldogs will take on *checks the Google because she’s an alum but she’s not sportsy* Missouri.

Coincidentally, I think Missouri was the opposing team at the ONE football game I went to the entire time I attended UGA, because not sportsy. But I wanted to experience the feeling of a packed stadium cheering on the home team “between the hedges” and see whichever UGA mascot it was being trotted out to cheers of “GOOOOOO DOGS! SIC EM WOOF WOOF WOOF!”

The Dawgs crushed the Missouris so ridiculously that most of the stadium was empty by halftime and we headed downtown en masse to party in the streets.

We really didn’t need to hit any bars because my roommate, Becky, knew the key to all home games was to simply drive through campus, and yell out “GO DAWGS!” until someone handed us a beer through the open windows.

Ah, Becky’s beloved Mr. Potato Car and the late-night rides we’d take after last call at The Globe or The Georgia Bar. We always would go past Peter Buck’s gothic mansion in the hopes of spotting him. One time there was a huge party happening at his house and we actually parked and dared each other to go in, but we chickened out. Years later, when I met Peter here in Portland, he was like, “Oh, you totally could’ve crashed, no one would’ve cared.” Sigh.

Anyway, missing this particular Homecoming Weekend is extra killing me because the members of R.E.M. are there with Micky Dolenz of The Monkees, who recently recorded a covers album of their songs.

Last night I watched footage of them singing together in front of Wuxtry Records and my heart split open as I was instantly transported to College Square in downtown Athens watching Mike Mills walk out of the best record store ever. I had a raging crush on him at the time, but I never approached him in that fan girl way, although when I met him a few years later and watched him hit on Tanya Donnelly from Belly, I realized I probably could have pulled it off.

My first year in Athens, when I felt so displaced, I would intentionally walk past R.E.M.’s office downtown to make myself feel a little bit better. I live in the same town as my favorite band, I would tell myself as I hurried to make my 8:30 Theater History class.

One time I was shocked to encounter Bill Berry on the street at the very un-rock & roll time of 8:10 am. He was wearing a giant gray peacoat and looked properly rock-star disheveled and probably hungover. He gave me a look like, “Okay, say a fan thing, I’m ready.” I just smiled and said “Good morning!” and kept walking.

I don’t have a cool Bill Berry follow-up story, sadly.

That same summer I met the Wasband, although he had already graduated UGA and was about to start his second year at the Medical College of Georgia in Augusta when we were set up on a blind date by my friend, who was dating his brother.

The Wasband is tied into my memories of my two years in Athens, all of them very happy (in case either of my sons happens to read this, I want them to know there was a time when their parents were happy and in love) and I can’t help but feel the pull of the early 90s and those crazy times when my older son is texting me from the UGA Student Store after walking through the Tate Student Center.

Those memories include seeing R.E.M. at the 40 Watt Club in January 1992, about 6 months after we met. A friend of mine from the Drama Department who was in the “Shiny Happy People” video had tipped me off to the secret show by walking past me in the hallway where all the Drama majors hung out and quickly whispered, “Go to the 40 Watt Friday night.”

There was a mental health benefit scheduled for that night, with one of the acts listed as “Peter Buck and Friends.” After my last class, I made a beeling for Wuxtry to buy two tickets. “Yeah,” the guy behind the counter said with a smirk, “I know at least three of Peter Buck’s friends who’ll be there.”

The Wasband (who was just The Boyfriend at the time) drove in from Augusta as soon as I convinced him it was really happening. The rumor that R.E.M. was going to be playing had exploded via word of mouth, which is the early 90s version of going viral.

We had gotten there early enough to secure spots in the front and it was amazing. “The name of this band is Fuck,” Michael Stipe announced before the band played an all-too-brief set.

I can still feel the crowd swaying as one when they launched into “Losing My Religion,” the first time I’d heard it live.

Michael Stipe would often be spotted around town, but we all knew to leave him be when he was home. One time he came to a play in the Drama Dept’s black box theater, and one time I stood next to him at a Replacements show at the Georgia Theatre (before the fire and the rebuild). But I was too enthralled with the local legend to speak to him.

I finally met Stipe in 1994 in New York City after The Boyfriend and I moved therefor his residency. It was at a benefit hosted by Peter Gabriel at the Chelsea Piers, where I worked in Special Events, and when we chatted about Athens, he told me I absolutely could’ve approached him back then because we had mutual friends.

Peter Buck now lives in Seattle and is in Portland so often, I’m guessing he keeps a place here as well. We got somewhat acquainted in the early 2000s when I was on the radio and his band with Scott McCaughey, The Minus Five, would play shows around town.

My years in Athens might deserve their own book instead of a hefty chapter in my eventual memoir. It’s also kind of hilarious that Marjorie Taylor Greene was there at the same time I was for a bit, although it’s unlikely our paths ever crossed.

Like all the other rich Southern sorority girls who went to UGA to get their MRS degrees (as the locals would drawl), I’ll bet MTG never went to Monday Night Disco at the 40 Watt. And I’m guessing Marge never set foot in the Drama Dept because she’d never want to get any Gay on her.

This doesn’t even scratch the surface of the Athens memories that have come tumbling back to the forefront of my poor brain today. How do we like DEN OF SIN as a title for my college-era memoir? It could be its own thing, or it could be a large section of MY MESS IS A LIFE.

I could also attempt to fictionalize some of the stories that would seem too wild to be true. All I’d have to do is change names, the details are salacious on their own.

Suggestions are welcome…and please also don’t forget we’re still plugging away at The Sound of Settling.