Yearbooking It.

It's 6:45 and I'm still stuck at work. I've spent the last, say, 9 hours scanning yearbook photos for the reunion collages I need to finish on Monday. I wish it didn't take this long, and I'm sure there's a much simpler way to go about getting all this info into the computer. In fact, if I weren't so prone to procrastination, I could have researched a much faster way to get this done. At this point, I'm wondering if the whole theory of osmosis could expand to allow for me to wave the yearbooks over the computer for my hard drive to swallow the necessary information.

Nope. Tried it. Doesn't work.

In all honesty, I love looking through old photographs. It's like walking through a cemetery, only these people are still living and you know what they look like. But a picture of a person affirms that the person lived, the same way a gravestone implies there was a life that came to an end.

I don't mean to make this morbid. I'm just saying, regularly seeing how many, many, many people have been 5, 12, 18, well, it makes the world seem very large and then suddenly very small.

Obviously, some things have changed. I don't think any elementary school children still learn fractions by hanging sandwich boards around their necks and quizzing each other (I can't come up with any reason why this visual aide would come in handy, but of course, I'm neither a teacher nor a mathematician. Maybe I would be if my elementary teachers had made me sport enormously large numbers around my neck, too). Perhaps this was common practice in 1947.


But people still like to rock. And I can definitely relate to that. I wonder what this guy is doing now. I hope he still has that t-shirt. Honestly, it's only 27 years later. He's only 45. If he's still got his hair, I hope he's letting it 'fro. Solid.

For real, I love yearbooks.

But also, I love my free time. And I need to get out of here. I've been staring at this screen so long, I don't think I've blinked for a few minutes now. Man ...

I'm out.