Last night, I was doing some serious spelunking in my attic and storage closets for some old files, and I happened to come across a large brown box labeled, simply, “Memories.”

One thing long-time readers may have garnered about me is that I am sentimental to a fault. Or perhaps they haven’t. I’m not sure if I broadcast that kind of thing. But under this stoic figure lies a mushy mass of emotions and neuroses, all bundled together with the bailing wire of a few fond memories. Let’s face it, a middle-aged man who still tears up at the Spock death scene in Wrath of Khan isn’t particularly steely.

I am always interested to delve into the past, however, since a lot of interesting events have taken place in my time so far on this planet. It’s somewhat chilling, too. But I’ll get to that in a moment. For now, I offer something a bit more banal, which is this: