Loverpants was consulting his high school yearbook tonight to see if Mayor Hawthorne had tagged up a page. Because let’s see what this indie DJ/R&B scenester might have scrawled across the cover page…Was it the ol’ standby “Have an awesome summer?” or did he make specific reference to that time in Chemistry when they ended up lab partners with the possessed Bunsen burner OOHHH MANNN, remember?
He didn’t autograph my mister’s book, though, turns out. Sadface.
So Loverpants pulled out his college yearbook. I know what you’re thinking. The? Who needs a yearbook when they’re 22? You need a loan repayment plan, not an index of all the times your name appears for Comic Book club.
I don’t know whose idea it was for our wee little liberal arts college to publish a yearbook, but I am almost certain it was compiled by a rising sophomore who was lucky enough to work in Meadville, PA during the summer, scrapping together photos in templates that scream Microsoft Word 95.
Friends and countrymen, this yearbook is possibly the worst. And it’s nobody’s fault. It’s just clearly a chore more than some thing that chums were toiling over in a Yearbook Office, doubling over their inside jokes, the walls papered like the office of a mad man with hilarious outtakes. This yearbook? Well, just take a look:
We start at graduation. Contrary to popular belief, we should graduate the students first and then remind them of the events that led up to that. Nonlinear narratives what what! There is also a Dr. Seuss quote, most likely from Oh! The Places You’ll Go, because yearbook editors are required by law to include said wisdom in excerpted form.
Then there is this spread of the schoolies. It is very cute. These people are now all very wealthy and successful and hold many patents. This is all because they spent their Saturdays rooting for their liberal arts college football team, obviously. I, on the other hand, was very busy Not Having Fun because library heaven on a Saturday afternoon with no one there. There are $3 in my wallet and I do not hold any patents in my name.
Can you spot yours truly in the above photo? I am in front with the fleece vest that I must have ordered from Stuffwhitepeoplelike.com, for my leadership conferences in 94 degrees. I seem unable to follow suit with the pinkie gang symbol that everyone else in the photo is throwing up, because my Coolio dreadlocks apparently give me enough street cred. According to the caption, we are a bunch of crazy leaders–but not as crazy as the aspect ratio stretch on this photo.
Awww. Did someone not get the memo that the dress code for senior portraits was business casual? P.S. I had a HUGE crush on overalls there. He played soccer. Swoon.
You have to love the captions in Helvetica Bold that remind us about homecomings: they are for making memories and remembering old friends. Just in case you thought it was for acquiring dementia or pillaging new friends. WRONG!
Finally an honest caption about LaHood. Oh, but the caption for the photo of the Schultz Staff is misleading. There is an Elmo impostor in the photo. Pssh. Clearly our definitions of “picture perfect” are different.
Let’s hear it for LaMarcus who is seen in a still image both catching AND running. I know. You were thinking, that only happens in .gif files, but the year is 2000 here, people. There are still stores dedicated to renting movies on VHS and my dad is still warning me not to date men who have pagers because they are all drug dealers.
Say what? I thought that anonymous possibly female swimmer was just adjusting her spectacles so she could take a really close look at whether Geico really can save her a bundle on car insurance.
This is by far the most offensive page. There are no signs of life, much less a singular gator, nor a gator that possesses a home, nor many gators who possess a home with workout equipment, in which case it should read “Home of the Gators.” Sigh.
I’m going to try and find my college yearbook and see how many people I don’t know because library heaven on a Saturday in 2002.