By Richard Rushfield
Don't stick to Me, i am Lost is a wierd and salacious memoir approximately existence on the final New England hippie university on the top of Reaganomics. starting its doorways in 1970, Hampshire collage was once an scan in revolutionary schooling that went hilariously awry. Self- proclaimed nerd Richard Rushfield enrolled with the freshman category of 1986, hoping to shed his healthy California upbringing during this liberal hideout, the place overachievement and preppy outfits have been banned.
by way of turns hilarious, ironic, and steeped in background, Don't keep on with Me, i am Lost takes readers to a campus populated by way of Deadheads, membership children, poets, and insomniac filmmakers, at a time whilst the USA observed the increase of punk and grunge along neoconservatism, earnest demands political correctness, and Take again the evening vigils. think Lord of the Flies set on a school campus and you've got Richard Rushfield's alma mater experience.
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Extra resources for Don't Follow Me, I'm Lost: A Memoir of Hampshire College in the Twilight of the '80s
Sample text
My man, you should’ve beeeen there. ” Sydney blurted, “Ace took the mike at the coffeehouse and rapped for forty-five minutes straight. ” He looked at me and suddenly grew very serious. ” He nodded. ” Sydney came around and patted him on the back. “Baby, you don’t have to go back there now. ” He pushed her arm away. ” I stayed listening to Ace and Sydney rap until eleven that night. Sydney, I learned, had been a high school drama student and veteran of many Berkshire summer workshops. She’d starred in several of the musical comedy numbers, which she restaged for us.
Alternately, if I sprang onto the conference table and if I flung myself hard enough, in one leap I might be able to fly over the heads of the opposite row and reach the door, all it would take was a little luck, perfect coordination, wind conditions . . I sighed and pulled the crumpled paper off my lap, smoothed it on the table. ” Helen nodded. ” I mopped back a wash of sweat, cleared my throat, glanced tentatively around the room, looked down, and began. “Drop the bomb, exterminate them all.
Leo stroked his beard and smiled, waiting for me to elaborate. ” “That’s great. Wonderful. ” Leo nodded. ” “Classes? ” I had noticed in the past couple days that the crowds were moving across campus with an ominous new sense of purpose. I’d even seen a few people hurrying. And the presence of books under arms was becoming undeniable. In the back of my mind I was aware that classes would form a part of my college experience. But I assumed that somehow or other I would be informed through proper channels that it was time the whole learning thing got rolling.