Not too bad, thanks. Spent it up in Connecticut at the graduation of one of the smartest kids I know– Katie’s going to be heading off to George Washington University in the fall, and she’ll do great. (yes, I feel like I’m contributing, I’m helping her dad sell off his comic book collection to pay tuition– and yes, it’s one of those collections that can pay for a college education. Plus some.)
As you might expect, this led to a number of us grousing about kids today (you mean these high school graduates have no memory of the Reagan Administration?!?) and flashing back on our own high school days– which naturally led to discussions of high school reunions. (Ironically, one of the people in the discussion was Keith DeCandido, the editor of the book that I brought back to my reunion, Urban Nightmares, and I got to tell him the reaction of people when they saw that I named the protaginist in my story after the name of the high school. Great reunion cred.)
I figured I should take Katie aside and warn her about high school reunions, to wit: there are dozens of liars at the things. People will come up to you and swear that they were in your English class, and you know they couldn’t possibly have been. Also, you know darn well that there weren’t that many bald guys in your entire school, let alone so many pregnant women. But alas, you still have to go to your reunion, if only to prove that you’re unafraid and/or out of prison.
I didn’t get to see everybody I wanted while I was in the Nutmeg State, but I’ll be in touch with them soon enough. And then I may even be allowed to talk about them in public, instead of being coy and coded. My partners in crime might not like what we’d be discussing…