Louisville Magazine

AUG 2014

Louisville Magazine is Louisville's city magazine, covering Louisville people, lifestyles, politics, sports, restaurants, entertainment and homes. Includes a monthly calendar of events.

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8 LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 8.14 Inter-office MEMO Does drinking wine of a stranger's body at a party count? Dylon Jones Contributing writer He was my frst "gay boyfriend": Bobby Jean. I met him at a church sleepover, and we spent the summer riding around Ohio in his convert- ible and going to church in the woods with his mom Doris Jean and sister Donna Jean. When the pianist started speaking in tongues, Bobby Jean would jump on the keys and play show tunes. It was a surreal summer for both of us. It ended with my gentle suggestion that he see men. He thanked me. Suki Anderson Art director Tis isn't a story of love. But it does involve a tow-headed boy, a California summer and a potential porn star. I can't recall exactly when I met him. It may have been pre-school. It could've been frst grade. Our mothers ar- ranged our summer play dates. He was blond, tan and always wore his shirts unbuttoned to mid-chest. It seemed aggressive for our age range. But this was Los Angeles in the 1980s. Fashion sense trickled down from David Has- selhof (circa Knight Rider) and Don Johnson. Our play dates often consisted of trips to a nearby pool, where his mother incessantly de- clared the water "yummy." If stuck indoors, this boy would insist on playing "doctor." "Just lie down and let me be the doctor," he'd propose. I refused. Tat summer I learned what creepy felt like. I recently Googled this boy's name on a whim. If he's still in L.A., he's either an OB/ GYN or a porn star. Anne Marshall Senior writer Growing up in Nashville, we lived two doors down from the neighborhood pool. We had a slew of lifeguards each summer, but I didn't pay many of them any mind because my nose was typically crammed in some novel. Ten came Alden. Buf and bronze, with one of those oh-my-god-I'm-legit-swooning smiles. He was a dime and then some. One day I casually strutted over to his stand and asked him when the pool was closing. It's not like I had lived there all my life and knew the schedule by heart or anything. Next thing I know, he swam up to my chair on his break and asked what book I was reading. Key. To. My. Heart. From then on my pool attendance doubled, especially during his shifts. (Alden told me when he worked. I promise I wasn't that big of a creep to memorize his schedule.) One cloudy day we ended up being the only two at the pool, so we decided to play a little game of truth or dare. Let's just say someone got her very frst kiss on the cheek that day. Can you say bow chicka wow wow? Sadly, it never worked out between the two of us. But I got a hell of a tan that summer. Worth it. Emily Markanich Editorial intern When I found out I was accepted into the 2011 Governor's Scholars Program in high school, I was nervous because I had never been away from home for more than a week and was about to spend a month and a half on Bellarmine's campus with 300 people I'd never met. On move-in day, my parents helped me set up my dorm room and took me to lunch at McDonald's. I cried the entire time; the employees were actually concerned. At the fnal ceremony, when parents nicely got the hint to get out, my mom hugged me and I broke down in sobs. I was hiccuping and sputtering. It was embarrassing. So when the tall, blond boy sitting in front of me turned around to introduce himself, I didn't notice at frst and had to wipe away the tears and snif a few times before I could register what was happening, let alone form a complete sentence. Surely he wasn't talking to me. Taking in my red, swollen eyes, he extended his hand to say hello. "Don't worry," he said. "I've done this before, and believe me: It'll go by fast." I shook his hand and just nodded, completely bewildered. I also remember wondering if my makeup was still intact, praying I didn't look like a raccoon. Turns out, he was in my journalism class for the entire summer, and we ended up spending a lot of time together. Golden Boy that he was, he could dance, was an amazing photographer and wanted to be an astronaut. He ended up critiqu- ing my photojournalism assignments for class and teaching me how to waltz. I'll never be able to listen to Michael Bublé the same way again. Samantha Rogers Editorial intern One long and hot summer in college, I took up with a guy my friends and family called "sum- mer boy," because we all knew it wasn't going to last for more than a few months. He and I had just gone through terrible breakups, separately, and we spent the summer being brokenhearted together and playing checkers with shots of tequila instead of actual checkers. At the end of the summer, we both got back together with the people who had broken our hearts, without discussing it with one another. Tere were no hard feelings. Elizabeth Myers Editor, Louisville.com It was the summer before I left for my frst semester of college, a hot day in the way that makes everybody talk about an impending apocalypse. I'd been in one of those on-and-of relationships for about a year and decided that because I was moving I had to cut the cord for good. In the middle of a park in Middletown, with the dandelions practically panting around my ankles, I did it. I stood my ground and made an eloquent speech. Ten, in classic soap-opera style, I turned dramatically and stormed of, excited about my newfound decisiveness and the fresh start that awaited me in college. When I was about 15 feet away, with his eyes searing my back, I stepped right into some hole and fell fat on my face. If you ask my ego, the hole was more of a cavern. Tyler Curth Editorial intern Tere's this great scene in Te Sandlot. You remember it. Young Squints ogles Wendy Pefer- corn, who wears white-framed sunglasses and a lifeguard-red one-piece that matches her painted fngernails. "Every summer there she is," Squints says from the shallow end of the Valley Vista Park Community Pool. "Lotioning. Oiling. Oiling. Lotioning." Te narrator — Scotty Smalls all grown up — says, "And one day it became too much for Michael 'Squints' Palledorous." Squints, who can't swim, pinches his nose and springs of the diving board into the deep end. His friends from baseball freak. Wendy removes her whistle and shades before diving from her lifeguard tower. "C'mon, Squints," his worried teammates whisper as Wendy gives him mouth-to-mouth. "C'mon." Squints shoots the camera a toothy smile. "Tis Magic Moment" by the Drifters swells as Squints wraps his arms around a startled Wendy and goes in for the lip-lock. Mandy Shaw was my Wendy Pefercorn. Mandy worked the snack shack at Eastgate Swim and Tennis in Cincinnati. I was a middle-schooler, and she had a solid four years on me. She'd always tousle my hair. Loved her. Her boyfriend drove a motorcycle. Te main diference between Wendy and Mandy is that Mandy wasn't a lifeguard. Had I pulled a Squints it would have been burly Walt to the rescue. Josh Moss Editor Have a memorable summer love story?

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