I started reading The Man Who Folded Himself last night for the first time since high school. Unlike most things I enjoyed in my youth, it’s every bit as good as I remember, possibly even better.
The other thing that seems better: my graduating class. I found out Monday evening that my ten-year reunion is less than two weeks away. Under the circumstances I thought it prudent to find my year books and reacquaint myself with people’s names. As it turns out, there were far fewer jerks in my class than I remembered. In fact, as I looked at senior pictures, in several cases I remembered the specific incidents that caused me not to like one person or another, and laughed as I recalled I had actually been the instigator in most cases. I was the jerk then and it amuses me now, so I guess I still am.
Seriously though, I seem to recall not liking most of my classmates, but couldn’t find a single person in the yearbook I actively dislike now. I guess that’s potentially subject to change once we all meet up, but we’ll just have to wait to find that out for certain.