So I had some time to kill earlier this evening, so I have been surfing MySpace. It is seriously addicting…it really sucks you in. But I thought I would try to find some people from my high school days; weird, I know…considering there are very few people from high school I even remotely care about. [...]
So I had some time to kill earlier this evening, so I have been surfing MySpace. It is seriously addicting…it really sucks you in. But I thought I would try to find some people from my high school days; weird, I know…considering there are very few people from high school I even remotely care about. Okay, well more than a few. But I had to hunt around for my yearbook a little…
I finally found it at the bottom of a box in the closet.
I also found a notebook from my sophomore year of college. After reviewing the pages of meticulous notes I took, I’m still a little mystified at how I even graduated. And that’s sad, considering I think I’m smarter now than I was back then. Seriously, I was a moron back then. Not only did I have the worst taste in girlfriends, but my knowledge of theory was horrific. I mean, I knew the difference between chordal and figuration dissonance (don’t ask me to tell you what it is now…), but somehow I couldn’t tell you what an appoggiatura was for the life of me. At least I rocked my sight-singing and my Bona solfege! (those of you who aren’t music majors won’t know what that is…but those who are are probably laughing at the fact that I even mentioned solfege this long after college.)
So anyway, I was perusing my yearbook; the spine all tattered and worn from the years. It’s funny what a yearbook represents; all those pictures, memories, good times. Bad hair cuts (seriously, mom, what were you thinking?) I find it rather humorous that 90% of the girls that signed my book (most of which were of the hot variety), told me that I was a “nice guy.” Guess some things never change. :) But it’s always a trip to flip through the pages, even though they are representative of days gone by; days that really don’t have any significance in life anymore. Back then, maybe it was a big deal if you were voted “best looking,” or “most creative,” — but what does it all mean now?
Jack. Squat.
For all I know, the jock who everyone thought was cool could be living in a van down by the river.
But despite the insignificance, it still gives me warm fuzzies. And I actually do wonder how some people are doing, where they are, what roads they have taken.
The past is a funny thing.