Our class was relatively modest -- about 150 -- and only 30-40 showed up. But it was nice to see all the folks and talk about some of the old times. I really do find inspiration in my small town roots, as much as that background may offend your typical member of the condescending, pseudo-intellectual far left, as evidenced by His Majesty's reaction to the selection of Sarah Palin as Tired Old Man's running mate ("Senator McCain has seen fit to select a former mayor of a town of 9000 to be his running mate for president."). Well, anyway, Your Majesty, go **** yourself tonight, because I had a tremendous amount of fun hanging out amongst my fellow small town old friends. And get this, Your Majesty: An overwelming majority of my classmates can still to do this day speak in complete sentences! Go figure! But anyway, the next day, as I was waking up out of my coma, a thought struck me that gets more at the general point that while we can't ever forget the past and where we came from, we can't wallow there too long either (I'd say one night every 10 years or so is about right!): As I was driving home in a half-dead stupor late the next morning, I recalled a line from Rick Nelson's early 70's tune, Garden Party: "If memories were all I sang, I'd rather drive a truck." So let's keep thrusting and foisting ourselves into the future, always the future, although never forgetting where we came from. That's what I'm talking about.
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