Look at my sophomore highschool self go!

When we last left our hero, he had departed from his home in Foxboro Massachusetts to embark on a monthlong stint hiking in Olympic National Park with likeminded well-to-do teenagers. Well, it's five years and five months (exactly) past when I promised to return (or, in my defence, just five months since I never specified the year upon which I would return).

So, what has happened? Well, I certainly enjoyed my time hiking.
But, today, perhaps more than ever, I am just an extension of my sophomore in highschool self.  Fairly good intentioned, a bit aimless, a fan of Lou Reed and leftovers. My learner's permit now says Missouri instead of Massachusetts, is plastic instead of paper, and entitles me to adulthood (as defined by porn, cigarettes and booze of dubious quality).

Though I'm now in college, my brother S is still a distant entity in a much more southern university. The internet is stranger and stronger place, but much to my past futurist self's chagrin, the telephone remains our strongest form of communication. I still hate Andy Rooney, and concede that the previous statement is something the bastard might heartily agree to.

Writing was an excellent way to reify (how college lexicon of me) the fortunate parts of life, edit the sad parts, embed Modest Mouse song titles into my writing, make metacommentary, and generally sound snarky and glib while impressing my mom. May it continue to do so!