Alex Moschina

The first time it happened, I was 14 years old. My friend, Sarah — an older girl who wore band t-shirts and had punky hair — brought me to a dirty café that was known for letting teenagers smoke as long as they paid for coffee. I had a crush on her and she knew it.

The lady I sat next to told me she had never used a Scantron; she’d never even seen one until that moment. I watched her flip the paper over and over as she examined it like some strange alien artifact.

One of the guys–the older one–gets out of bed and shuffles off to the bathroom, easy, like it’s just another day. But the other guy–the young guy–he hits the snooze button and just lies there. Then after a beat his girlfriend pokes him in the ribs and he gets up. It’s funny because it could really happen like that, you know?

When he got to me, I‘d say, “Cheesecakes.” Then his face would grow dark as it all came back to him; he hated me. Or rather, he hated my boss. He called him the “cheesecake man.” And while this isn’t a very cruel nickname, the way he said it, it had the earmarks of a racial slur. Now I was the “cheesecake boy.”

I was in the wrong here. I admit it. But calling me an “a-hole?“ That’s a bit excessive, no? (Those who were offended by my FB Moms/Hippies articles need not respond.) Especially considering that we’re more than likely going to run into each other sooner or later…

It seems like every Monday morning I trudge into work, log into Facebook and find you at the top of my news feed: jeans rolled-up, in mid-dive over a beautiful mountain spring. Or in a dimly lit bar, engaged in conversation with some transient friend of yours (you look like you’re saying something to the effect of “Yeah, well it’s only illegal because the government saw it as a threat to the paper industry and blah blah blah”).

Well listen, that’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. I don’t know quite how to say this, so I guess I’ll just blurt it out: I think you should get off Facebook. Why? There are plenty of reasons really – not the least of which is the extreme close-up of a veiny bulging stomach that you’ve set as your profile pic – but really it comes down to status updates.

Hey, what if we did a tour with Maroon 5? That would be cool. The MarGOOn 5 Concert Series… something like that. We could take turns headlining each night. I bet Adam would be up for that.

We discovered early on that writing songs – even techno – requires skill. But once we figured out the kick-hat-kick-hat + snare roll formula, things slowly came together. Then when we realized you can drop techno down to 85 beats-per-minute and essentially create ‘80s-style rap beats… well; it all sort of snowballed from there.

Sooo, we good? Nice dog, by the way. What is he? An American pit bull? Is he friendly? Oh. Okay, I’ll keep that in mind next time I see him on your steps. We’re more cat people, ourselves. Though cats can be pretty mean too. Our Persian is real feisty. Check out this scratch on my arm… Brutal, right?

Every time it happens, I’m taken back to ninth-grade swimming class. In those days I wore an oversized Ghost in the Machine t-shirt in the pool to try and conceal my shame. Not that it worked. The fact that I had a shirt on only meant that I had something to hide.

It’s been 500 years since Ponce de León and his cronies putzed around Florida, looking for the Fountain of Youth. And yet, if you look around Palm Beach County today, you might think that search never ended.