A few weeks ago I was putting something away in the closet and noticed the stack of old papers (writing, report cards, permanent records, etc.) that my folks sent out a while back, and I realized I hadn’t done an “Early Years” in, like, forever*. So I rummaged around in there looking for something fit to print. And lo! Here is something about being fit. Close enough.
Tag: the early years
The Early Years: Jim’s Clarinet Sounds Like A Chicken
So last week, I posted an ancient report card progress report and mentioned that when I played the clarinet, our dog, Miss Marple (AKA “Missy”), would plant herself in front of me and howl. I further mentioned that it was too bad there was no video because it probably would have made us―or at least Missy―Internet stars. Well, there’s still no video, but since my dad knows where all his pictures are, there is, at least, photographic evidence:
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The Early Years: Jim Isn’t A Jock
It’s been quite a while since I reached into the huge stack of ancient school reports, assignments, “artwork”, etc., that I received from my parents a few years ago when they were cleaning out some rooms in the house, so I thought I would do so now. This time I pulled out a report card “progress report” from thirty-five years ago.
The Early Years: Vocational Guidance Counselorrrrrr …
The Early Years: Bah Humbug
From the “Oh The Holidays Have Gotten So Commercial” department:
The Early Years: Accident-Prone Much?
From the “Doesn’t This Happen To Everyone?” Department:
The Early Years: My Aren’t We All Grown Up Now, “James”
The Early Years: Jim Thinks The President Gives A Crap That He Likes School
From the “I’m Chevy Chase And You’re Not” Department:
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The Early Years: Jim Shares Too Much Information
When I was a kid we took regular trips to nearby attractions, “nearby” meaning “The Northeast and Atlantic Seaboard”. One of our favorite destinations was Washington, D.C., home of (at the time) very clean subways, some parks, the Smithsonian, and an unusual concentration of memorial sites. Oh also there are a lot of lobbyists there. But when I wrote this letter to my grandmother, I had bigger things on my mind than stuff like that.
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The Early Years: Jim Hangs Out With Frankenstein’s Monster
One question people like to ask is, why did I start writing horror novels and stories? Maybe it’s because of this:
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Viscosity 