I was one of those youngsters who got along really well with my parents’ friends. At dinner parties, I was charming. Cute. As I grew into gawky adolescence, the Cute went away; this trait simply morphed into the unmistakable hallmark of geekiness.

How to get by when you’re a geeky young Pittsburgh adolescent:

Impress your mom’s friends by talking about the latest Time magazine cover article.

Get beat up on, on regular basis, by Layla Morelli and her gang of big-haired friends

Read Sassy magazine to feel better.

Let older sister play beautician on your hair, including bleaching platinum

When Layla sneers, “Is that your natural hair color?!” mumble “yes.”

Become a major Billy Joel fan. Listen again and again to “Streetlife Serenader,” seeking the acute meaning that seems to lie just beneath its surface.

Trip and fall onto a manhole-cover on Halloween.
Come to school next day with crutches. Deny rumor that you’re totally faking.

Get mono in April. Miss rest of school-year. Spend your days reading Archie comics given to you by older sister’s friend. Hate Veronica.

Go to Mexico with grandma in the summer. Let it change you so that you return the next year, transformed and worldly.

By the time I hit 15, 16, I’d pretty much grown out of it and spent most of my time packed into a giant diesel station wagon with a hoard of smoking teenagers listening to Morrissey. There is actually a present-day point to my starting off on this, but I don’t have time to get into it now. So that’ll have to wait till my next post.