Last night was the sort of night that I never really write about, but that was a kind of awesome encapsulation of much that is excellent, and which deserves a meandering reminiscing blog post apropos of nothing much at all.

Watching a DVRed episode of Glee last night got me thinking about high school (more on that momentarily), and how the stuff that is entirely routine to me now would have blown the mind of the high school version of myself.

To wit, yesterday, I left my job and returned home to the house I share with an awesome lady. I mixed cocktails — a Blood and Sand, and a Dark and Stormy. I reheated some frozen rice and pigeon peas, and poached a couple of fish fillets in a broth of water, pomegranate juice, rum and ginger, and then I spent a couple of hours sitting on the couch writing a Web site while Jenni did some knitting, before we tuned into last week’s aforementioned episode of Glee.

Like I said, nothing special. But entirely awesome. And I appreciate the show for getting me thinking along those lines. Y’see, we’ve grown very fond of that particular bunch of high school choir misfits — frankly, the only reason I started watching it was because Jane Lynch is hilarious — and at least part of my reason for that is that it is utterly spot-on in portraying the life of the overachieving high school nerd. (The other great high school show ever, Freaks and Geeks, did the same for the underachieving version, but I was always an extracurricular tornado who stayed at school from pre-sunrise to post-sundown, so, y’know, I identify.) The glee club kids are the high school folks who have too much going on, who tend to have really insular relationships with their odd little groups, and who, like most kids that age, are pretty sure that the world is going to end every time there’s a change in social dynamics. They also do really insane things — the stuff that alpha-adolescents don’t have to resort to — in an effort to get laid; again, I relate. I was in no way a hot property in high school, and yet a girl once learned to play the oboe because she had a crush on me and I was in band.

(I’m putting that story out there in lieu of any of my own embarrassing overtures, most of which I have thankfully forgotten.)

Anyway, Glee‘s sense of high-school-misfitdom got me thinking of my own adolescence in relation to where I am now, and the result was extremely satisfying indeed — back in the day, I never touched a drop of alcohol; I was no kind of Casanova; I was convinced I’d be the sort of print writer that can’t buy a job these days; I couldn’t cook an egg if you spotted me the pan, the butter, the cracked egg and a three-minute head start. And there I was, drinking a classic Scotch drink and poaching fish and eating leftovers of a dish I first had in Jamaica and writing code and hangin’ out with a lady that digs me and with whom I am heading to the Caribbean in a week or so.

And, lo, it was awesome.