Rising Inflation

Inflation has begun to affect me on a deeply personal level. I used to tell people I graduated from a practically ivy league college with good grades and better friends, lamenting the fact I never once dined in a professor’s home. Now I start by telling people how much literal ivy covered my freshman dormitory. That should count for something, right? Let them figure out it wasn’t technically among the elite Ivy League institutions. My grades have improved over the years, too. How about the time I had a long feast with a group of tenure track raconteurs? I can even picture the evening. There was wine, cheese, and great arguments about the Great Books. 

My childhood, while once quaint enough, now conjures up images of The Beaver. I don’t specify the year I was born, but you can be sure I avoid showing any pictures that aren’t in black and white. I grew up in a ranch house. Now, I lose the “house” part and let people assume I grew up on a huge cattle ranch somewhere in heart of Texas. Why not?

I have never been all that into celebrities or their associated culture, but knowing the cache they possess within society, I’ve decided to recount many seemingly unimportant interactions over the years. There was the time I saw Spike Lee at the airport with his family. I never thought much of the non-meeting – until now. Now I tell people how I instructed Spike to dress more provocatively and be more open about his Knicks basketball fandom. I also gave him a few screenplay ideas and life advice. When he asked why I was doing all this for a stranger, I said, “It was the right thing to do.”  

The sandwich I had last Tuesday was fine. Now I tell people how the good people from the Guinness Book entered the deli wanted to assess its dimensions for inclusion in their next edition alongside my photograph. 

I had always downplayed by role in the end of the cold war, but I can’t ignore it any longer. 

I used to drive a BMW. I no longer specify what make or model, letting people believe it was an erstwhile race car. What’s the harm? 

I once survived a flood by kayaking to safety. My first dog could speak at least as well as the average 3 year old. And my elementary teachers remained standing until I sat down. It was sign of respect. 

Time doesn’t just heal all wounds, it inflates memories, too.