Sooo....I just got my internet installed today and so that's me excuse not to blog. Actually, my excuse is that i'm an elitist bastard who has better things to do on the internet, such as: fantasy football and....well, fantasy football should be enough. So screw you Gabe for judging me. Although you did not technically judge me per se which is understandable seeing as I am beyond reproach.

So some news in Marty's life....Well, I moved out the parents house due to the typical reasons of feeling a tad repressed (that would make it five years of opression for those of you who are counting) and and wanting to move out with some old high school buddies. Probably, if I were to pinpoint the biggest mistake of my life I would have to say that this would be it. Not that I regret it. As a matter of fact I love living here, I just am broke as a m-f'er. Money is sooo overrated and in concordance with popular held conceptions, Guitar Center seems to agree. We'll see how it goes. At least its a shot at true independance before me and Jessie get hitched. (BTW, she's doing well. For those who don't know she's a high school English teacher at North Branch High School. I'll bug her to blog here soon).

Anyways thats it. Its called keeping it short, Hubka.

Feel free to call or e mail....
(763) 458-4884 or mrowles@lycos.com

Hmmm, my last blog got deleted, somehow. So like I said - Listen to the man with the kids on the way! He's gonna be a dad, and dads are always right, so don't undermine him now. And Gabe, you're funny.

This message is to all you bandwagon bloggers. I am a little disappointed with the extreme drop off of people who are actually blogging. (Hubka this is "definitely" not you) I can remember a time when the blogger was new and fancy and everybody wanted to be a part of it. We had a plethora of people keeping the Crown Alumni informed as to what was happening in their lives. However, the blogger has gotten old. It has become so last month to many and that is a shame. The truth of the matter is there are still a select and even elect group of us who are driven to read about our past lives and friends. I want to thank Lynnea, Bekah, and Hubka for their continued support to the blogging community. I would also want to call some blasters out who have become lukewarm bloggers.
- Josh, what ever happened to you. Is the West Coast that much more interesting then our lives. I would expect a response except you probably don't even read these anymore.
- Brad, I know that you have been busy. However, that is a crappy excuse when it comes to not blogging. You have disappointed me my friend (or are you).
- Wakefield, I know that you are not reading this so I do not kow why I am typing. You are a tease.
- Bach, read wakefields comment above.
- Folkestad, you were doing so good for a while. Where are you at bro?
- Kurbis, first off congrats about your engagement. You are at the end of this list so I am sure you are not reading. You blogged fairly recently so I will not say too much. Get more consistent!
- To any other crownies who are reading this yet failing to blog. SHAME ON YOU!

So how do you meet people? I've tried potted flowers - that got me invited to a dinner I ended up making and quaint hellos once a month. I've tried asking people out to dinner while dancing (that one really backfired). I've tried talking to girls at the bus stop - they seem to suddenly notice that the only other guy around was their long-lost 7th-grade classmate. I've tried going to collegate girls soccer games, but instead of being surrounded by 18-20-year olds, I found myself next to Scotty McMiddle-Age-with-three-kids-and-a-bald-spot, and also some 5th-grade soccer-tournament. I started just smiling at any girl that walked by. Then I just wanted friends, so I started smiling at guys, but after a couple of bad reactions, I realized that wasn't a good idea for a heterosexual like myself. I've tried Intervarsity but was met by Spongebob theme nights and conversations with middle-aged group leaders or newlyweds. I've tried to look smart reading Wordsworth out in the open air - that attracts wildly emotional smokers (I really just assumed she was wildly emotional, but she definately was a smoker, and that's strike one, two, and three). I thought I might meet somebody at the athletic center, but I look skinny where I'm supposed to look "ripped" and the only place that pushes through my shirt is my stomach, so I can't imagine the people that live at the gymn wanting to befriend me while I have trouble benching 95 lbs and wander around the weight room trying to figure out what each machine really does. Tonight I decided to see what happens with a two front war: I went to this coffee shop that seems ridiculously trendy and ordered crepes that were a disgusting variant of tart, and some fancy chai while listening to the group beside me play Rook (if you don't know what that is, don't feel bad, I only know it's more complicated than the first three Apollo missions and the sort of card game that you play in small towns instead of getting plastered). Then I walked around downtown for a while, trying to figure out where everybody goes on a Saturday night, and I just ended up walking into this bar that sometimes has live "bluegrass" country-swing and a nice dance floor, so I slid into a bar stool, not sure what to do. The bartender mechanically came over to me, and so I asked her what kind of beers she had. "On tap?" she said. Mentally I shrugged, but my head seemed to nod, and she was listing off things that really didn't sound familiar at all, and the only ones I recognized before she came to the Budwisers and Miller Lites was Kokanee, which I knew I didn't like. I had greenhorn tatooed on my forehead, and this new group of people came in, so after asking what kind of bottled beers (why was I asking about beer when I haven't found one I like, I don't know) she had, I told her to come back to me later, like I was in a restaurant and I "just need another minute". After another thirty seconds, the gathering feelings of stupidity that had been pooling in my toes back at the coffee shop finally had reached my frontal lobe, and I nervously rose and walked out. So I thought my night was over, a seven-dollar and twenty cent lesson in how not to meet a soul. Walking toward my car, a lovely silhouette was crossing the street not far from me, and being out west, she was in some hick jeans and a tank-top that could have been any college-girl's outfit (well, not any girl), but as she came closer, she was mid-thirties, but what happens? She smiles and says hi to me. I responded in kind as I passed her, keenly aware that this woman firstly was just being polite and secondly was in high school while I was learning to walk. Besides, my glass ceiling right now is 30, something that can be revised under special circumstances (like love or banjo lessons), and as Bob said when I got home, if I had met anyone, they would have been the "disreputable kind." So here's a follow-up question to my opening line: What do you order at a bar when you're not really wanting to drink and yet you're not wanting to look like... well, you can picture me at a bar, so just fill in whatever word you think best fits the situation. I really hope the rest of you are finding some sort of friendship that satisfies your social needs and wants, because this whole finding friends thing is harder than anything else. I know, you're thinking, "Steve means 'special' friend, and we know he is just a 'good friend'", but I'm serious about just wanting friends. No offense to you guys (if you didn't take offense, don't reread this just to figure out what should have been offensive, because you might read the word "silhouette" again and then I'll be in trouble with someone), you're great friends, friends I miss dearly (unless this is my brother, who is only bound to me by DNA), but friends who aren't physically present. So as your last show of friendship, tell me how I can make people like me again (or for the first time, depending if your last name starts with Kurb). Man, this whole blog is just a bunch of parentheses (and "overused" quotation marks). This must be what my professor meant by poor writing style. Well, she didn't really say that.
Oh, good story now. I was at the girl's soccer game last night and got to see a girl break her nose on another girl's skull! It was seriously ten yards in front of me, and I heard the crack! Blood was gushing out of her nose, and I was freaked out because I thought they just went head to head, but nope, just a broken nose. And we lost, so it was crap for everyone, but way crazy to watch. Yeah, there's that poor writing style again. So who's going to Homecoming (our first "real" Homecoming)? I'm an idiot. I don't think this is exactly what Gabe meant. But I don't have a pregnant wife (again, no offense Gabe, but WHEEEW!) or cool church job... even minus the cool and church part, and nothing running through my mind but really depressing yet beautiful Italian poetry by Giacomo Leopardi. Man, I'm even a disappointment on blogger. I thought it was just a resume thing. You know what would help? If you blogged. Nope, I'm pretty sure it would. Hope you guys all have new friends or new spouses or new offspring, something.

Hello Everybody,
I hope all is going well. Things are going great over here. I just came back from District Conference and it was a great couple of days. I got to see Nathan Miller and we all know that makes a few days great. (Nathan Miller will be the Crown College president in 2020) Anyway life is good for this father-to-be. Jessica is growing massive. If you were an idiot you would think that she swallowed a basketball. It has been such an incredible experience to be able to feel and physically see my little girls moving in their mom's tummy. It is an awesome feeling.

The church is going well, but busy. College was easy compared to life in the church. I have come to the realization that I cannot do what I am being asked to do. It is humbling to be in a position with so much responsibility and I know that I am in over my head. The weird part is I am exactly where God wants me and it is only through dependence on him that I am able to survive. We are going through a great sermon series on images of surrender and it has really opened my eyes to a huge truth. Things happen not because I am able, but because I serve a God who is always able.

Speaking of the sermon series, if you are in the area on either the 3rd or 10th of October then come on over to Hope Church in Apple Valley and hear one of the greatest up and coming preachers in the world. (That would be me!)

Hey I better get going. Keep blogging or start blogging, but get on this thing and let us know what you are up to.

Hey all, this is going to be quick, but I just received a call from Heidi Brown. Kevin was in a head-on car crash yesterday. The guy in the other car was killed, but Kevin miraculously walked away with only a broken leg, which he had surgery on yesterday. Just keep them in your prayers as Kevin will be out of a job for a while, and I am pretty sure that they do not have any insurance. Heidi is also not currently working. I will let you know if I hear anything else.
Blessings!
Bekah

Again, Lynnea seems to know what I'm going through, for the most part. I just don't see half of the student population at St. Thomas needing smoke-breaks ever hour on the hour. My I'm an outsider. Unlike Lynnea, I take too much time off, calling people, watching Friends and the news ever afternoon, trying a session of Intervarsity, and looking foward to the girls soccer game this afternoon, but definately not getting my reading done. I'm also running into problems with the topics I'm working on for my two big papers this semester. I need a bibliography done today, and that's what will keep my posting length in check.
So playing my little "Find Crownies" game has brought me to another level completely of social interaction - being the recipient of a cat call. I was sitting at the bus stop Wednesday afternoon when a girl that was a dead ringer for Ali Peterson (now that's weird to write) was crossing the street, and me being stupid ended up staring at her, trying to see just how much resemblence she bore. Well, she noticed, and ended up shouting "Hey baby" with a New York accent, and again, I didn't even know it was directed at me, so I looked around to see who she was talking to, and I turned back around to find her entire group of friends bent over laughing at me. Oh, and the girl in my grad program, Layla - yeah, she smokes. I expected to be deterred by a boyfriend or husband or lesbian life-partner, but instead my purely social interest was stifled by a smoldering cancer stick attached to her fingers. I'm not against smoking, just inhaling. Now that sounded like our former president.
Lynnea, give me your work-ethic, and the name of the tutoring service you're working for (man getting a job here is hard). I don't think I can jump on as a Synchro coach, if they even have the sport around here. I'll give you all my apathy, or whatever amount of it that you desire.
And as Lynnea just apologized, I too would like to say that life is not as bad as I make it seem here. It is often much worse and sometimes much better, but either way, don't think I'm a pessimist. I am, but I don't want you to think that I am. I need to get moving. How do we pick up our year books when we live twenty-hours away? Or, speaking for Molly, are in North China? Bye all.
Steve

I wake up and I read. Then I continue reading, and reading, until it is either time to go to class at 6 or go to a tutoring session (I have taken a job with a private tutoring company, which surprisingly, pays quite well). Then I come home and read more and then sleep until it is time to get up and continue reading. Oh, and sometimes I write. So I ask you, how can I spend every waking moment reading and still not feel prepared for class? Perhaps it is that pesky perfectionist in me that constantly tells me there is always more to be done.

My current academic situation differs quite dramatically from mine at Crown. I feel that I was definitely stretched and challenged during my time there as I am now (although it was on a separate level), but life itself was so different; People were constantly around. There were things to do, activities to be involved in, libraries and computer labs full of familiar faces to do homework in. Now I come home at night to sleeping parents and a brother frantically trying to get his own reading done (he is also in grad school). To sit in a house reading for up to twelve hours at a time has become completely unfulfilling, and the worst part is, it is completely necessary. There are definitely still social opportunities, I just feel guilty for allowing any time towards them. There must be some sort of balance to be found.

Luckily, balance has come in the form of Matt as he keeps me sane, pulling me out of the house and continually reminding me that 1. This program is something I have always wanted to do and I will be able to succeed. And 2. It is beneficial, not to mention healthy, to allow myself time off (a foreign concept to me) in order to focus on other areas of life. For this I am very grateful. For, as logically minded of a person as I am, my voice of reason tends to get drowned out.

Now, before you all think that I hate my life, here’s some good news: I recently accepted a job as a Synchronized Swimming coach at St. Louis Park High School! For those unaware, I have a background in Synchro and after a four year hiatus, I am thrilled to return to the sport. Other items of business: I looked through a copy of the Crown 2004 yearbook today. Yes, it is finally out, and looking at it reminded me that homecoming is approaching…anyone returning for it? Also, my sincere congratulations to Bethany and Kurbis(!), heartfelt empathy to Steve for the ruthlessness of his grad program, and thanks to Gabe for his reassuring words of my place in my own program. I miss you all and I promise that my next post will be much more uplifting! (I have been accused of only posting apprehensive and/or pessimistic material; really, life is good, I promise.)

Okay, now I understand what Lynnea was talking about. My grad class from last week left me feeling like a junior-higher at a school dance - awkward and alone, knowing I should keep my mouth shut and come next time in something more than a silk shirt and some wrinkled slacks. It seems that I was not prepared like I should have been, like having a copy of the reading in hand or having all kinds of strange comments about historical authors that have written about the French Revolution. Oh, I didn't go to class in a silk shirt. That would have been something near social stupidity, and I was relying on intellectual stupidity to define that class. So from last Wednesday to this Wednesday (i.e. tomorrow) my assigned reading between my two classes was 700 pages in just two books. The first is Alexis De Tocqueville's The Old Regime and the French Revolution and the second is George Elliot's Felix Holt, and strangely enough they have much in common. And I just realized that you probably don't care. Oh, and I'm writing a 3-5 pager tonight on De Tocqueville. So grad school, yeah, harder than it looked last week. Can I still do it? Maybe, and maybe maybe. Interestingly enough, yesterday I progressed past simple conversation without any hope of further random run-ins to girls walking up to me and me actually learning their names. Well, in this case it is name, but it is quite different than I imagined it would be. Her name is Layla (no idea how to spell that one, but whenever I hear it, I end up sensing the next several minutes of my inner monologue will be dominated by Eric Clapton), and she's a second-year history grad student I had somehow not noticed at our departmental meeting, but she recognized me. We chatted a bit, and she told me to keep her updated on how my semester was going. I caught the subtle hint - upDATEd. Yeah, I hear ya. Actually, though cute and apparently having much in common with me, I imagine she's probably married or living with a boyfriend or attracted to women, something for sure to keep my slowly decaying hopes from ever coming true. Well, I need to run to class here - the one that I'm not in but I just grade everybody's papers - The Barbarian West - 300-1000. Hopefully it's not too boring. Oh, and I'm weightlifting today. Nope, you read right, weightlifting. I haven't done that since.... I might have been a sophomore..... in high school. Anyway, hopefully I won't hurt anything, like everybody's eyes around me or my own tender ego that's so dominated by my athlectic abilities. Right. Anyway, hope all is well.
Kurbis, can I be your child's godfather? Godmother? Stepfat-nevermind. Luckily you won't read this anyway because it's too long. Bye all.

I have finally somewhat moved into my new apartment. Although, in the last 2 weeks I have only been there about 10 hours that I haven't been sleeping. Needless to say, I have not accomplished the unpacking part of moving very well. Congratulations Kurbis and Bethany! I must say that it is about time. I am going to be short today, but I do request your prayers for my brother Josh. He has been getting into a lot of bad stuff lately. He is 18, but a senior in high school this year. Yesterday everything kind of came to a climax, and my parents told him that if he messed up one more time, he was out of the house. This not characteristic of my parents at all, and came to huge surprise to me when I found out. I am very scared about where he is headed, but know that God has a plan for his life. I am praying that he will be brought to a place in his life where there is nothing left but God, and he will choose to follow him whole-heartedly. Hope everyone is doing well.
Bekah

Hey mother truckers,

its been a loooong time since i have even looked at this board so i didnt bother reading everything, but i did see that Marty mentioned that people should stop knocking on ...and i agree...whatever was said against man's best friend should be taken back.

nothin new here. i have started looking deeper into nursing schools.

my gramma got evacuated from florida.

my boss told me today that there are two things we need to do to have peace in the world. 1.) Blow up the FDA (food and administration) since they dont search for cures but just manufacture things to prolong medicine needs and use and 2.) blow up all muslims. wow. my co-worker said "i think that would make some people mad" to which i said "yeah...like Jesus."

oh yeah. and i am engaged. im sure most of you knew that by now, but for those of you that didnt, Bethany are expecting our little baby in about 6 months, so we are trying to get married before that.

ok, time to go

kurbis

ps- there is no baby. but we are actually gettin married May 14 near the crown area. you are all invited. well, except for norton because we dont want crying twins during out ceremony. just kidding.

Firstly I must recount a different feeling than Lynnea concerning my graduate experience thus far. I think I would prefer her place in knowing that I am surrounded by like-minded individuals who have not only an intellectual but also a social aptitude that comes to light in various meetings, but instead I find myself thinking that I should be a TA instead of this PSCO-like bumbler that can't find his way around the copy room (I watched him for fifteen minutes today while I was finishing up twenty-five pages of reading on the use of the word democracy prior to 1789 in every country in Europe). I nearly fell asleep in my "grader" class, so I don't know how the people feel that are actually in the class for a grade. I paid $81 for a semester membership to the on-campus athletic facilities to make sure I avoid that heart-attack coming for my 23rd birthday, and bought my University of Montana decale that is apparently a right of passage from just looking around my apartment-building parking lot. I don't feel like I've taken a step up yet, and this is from Crown we're talking. So, maybe I'll excel, or maybe I'll simply lower myself to meet the standards that surround me. We have yet to see.
Oh, and I must be wary of what I write here, because my brother apparently reads the blogger now, and that's completely wonderful, but then he tells my parents stories that I for some reason or another had left out of our conversations. Thankfully my mom lost all steam when trying to remember that the girl I met was from Bulgaria, and so I felt the negative impact was yet minimal, but the following stories probably could have futher-reaching consequences. Actually, for those of you reading from the fairer sex, please, if you have any positive thought or disposition concerning my moral and spiritual standing, stop reading at the *** and begin once again if I put another set somewhere further down the page. For the rest of you with a well-developed poor opinion of me, read at your own discretion, and please think none the worse of me for that which I have no control over. To my fellow male compatriots, you will understand... and maybe you'll hate me, or be jealous, or both. Kyle told me.... well, I'll explain what Kyle said after we get this thing going.
***
(If you're female and still reading this, please, for the sake of your general opinion of men, quit now)
Yesterday was of course Labor Day, the official end of summer, and there are several activities that one could associate with such a celebration. My form of celebration was sitting in my living room reading Wordsworth, getting myself mentally prepared for the school week and enjoying the quiet ambiance left in the wake of an absent roommate. Mid-afternoon I heard some commotion out back, directly below my living room window, and so, being the curious soul that I am (some people call it nosy or "stalkerish", but I find it a necessity to know what's going on, for legal purposes more than anything), I find that my downstairs neighbors, the ones that I ate dinner with so many monthes ago, well, there they are, right below me. Now all summer I had peered out my back window, realizing that these girls had lounging chairs that moved regularly, enough so that I assumed that they spent time on their back porch sunbathing, but never once did I see such a thing. Now on the last day of the summer season they were soaking in the verdant beams that made their bodies like wax below a candle's flame. These two girls, beautiful in their own right, were in bikinis, lying atop beach blankets and lounging chairs with a bowl of ice holding Miller Lites and a small barbeque behind them sizzling away. Wordsworth, however moving and immortal, could not hold a teaspoon of my attention from that moment on. I just thought I could sit back down and read, but nothing was further from the truth. I paced around the apartment, I tried to form a desire to cleam my room, or do some dishes, anything, and what happens? They start screaming and running around, throwing ice cubes around and giving me another reason to see what's going on. I think had I described my situation to most men on earth, at least most in this country, many would have murdered me to take my place, and there I was fighting temptation like a kid with two hands in the cookie jar. Luckily Bob came home. But what does Bob do? He opens the windows and proceeds to complain about their beer-drinking sun-bathing combination. I was worried that they could hear him, but I think Bob figured that they had enough Miller Lite in them to ward off any bad memories of his denuciations. Bob looked, and he doesn't even care that these girls ( a blonde and brunette built and buzzed as though Dionysus and Venus were in singular form) are sun bathing, and he has a girlfriend, so don't think that I am on the perifery of male reaction. So this is what I fend off even in my own backyard. But to further elucidate my condition, I found myself at school today in the Univeristy Center, right outside the bookstore, where there was a table set up selling large wall-prints of various things, all quite generally asexual, when I paused to take in one picture. Mind you this was in the middle of a very public and frequented place on campus, and nobody seemed to give it a second glance except me, but here it was: Two very attractive women in bed-time attire passionately kissing. I looked around to see if anybody else was seeing this, or if it was just my imagination from my proceeding day's events. Nobody even flinched as they walked by. I quickly headed away from the place, getting it well out of sight before something worse was exposed behind it. Back to the scenery from my living room window. Kyle told me I was supposed to go down and hang out with the girls, but knowing not only my unattractive figure and stomach hair would scare them away for good, I knew of nothing to say that would come out right after knocking on their door. Try it yourself. "So I saw you were sunbath-" Nope. "So, anybody up for some sunbathin-" Nope. "I just ran out of Miller Lite. Do you have any I could borrow while sitting on your back porch?" It just doesn't work. So Kyle must be wrong, unless he or Adam can come up with some grand excuse to get them in that door. I guess that's all I have to tell you guys (and I do mean this in the strictly male sense of the word). Maybe I should write something for everybody just to make up for this otherwise singularly-gendered recounting of events totally beyond my control or even comprehension. Feel bad, feel jealous, just ignore this if you feel I'm on the dark side of off-colored this time.
***
And the moral of the story is never go hunting with somebody who wants to kill you. Oh, ladies, good to have you back in the story. I was just recounting a completely harmless... practical joke, antecdote, proverb that I came across that definately didn't happen to me. Sorry that you missed out, but in reality, you probably are the better for it. Hope all is well for you.
Gabe, you never know if anything's good until you try it. That's why I don't know of anything good. If you never try anything new, you'll miss out on many of life's great dissappointments. So true. I'm gone. Another day of grad school awaits... just grad school.... nothing else.

Beer is the drink of the devil! Respond to that you pansies.
Lynnea you make me laugh. Your last blog talked about your inner dialogue questioning your intelligence. As you recounted your conversations from the party I am not sure if you realize that the topics you conversed on are over the heads of at least 75% of this world's population, none more then my own. You fit in a graduate program like peanut butter on jelly.
Peace out.

I don’t do well with transitions. For the last several years, I have been planning my life by ending one chapter and starting the next in a day or less (i.e. Graduation to Lifevoice to camp, etc.). Time in between such significant life events allows room for worry, I’ve realized, as my inner dialogue for the last few days has consisted of: “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this…” Schmoozing at an English Grad Program shin-dig on Thursday, I gripped my glass of punch and plate of shrimp cocktail while professors asked questions like, “Have you thought about going ahead with a PhD program after this?” or “So, what type of literature interests you most?” They seem like simple enough questions, but for one who is questioning everything that comes out of her own mouth, I became horrified when I heard myself say things like, “Well…ummm…I like British Literature quite a lot…You know, like Shakespeare…” Shakespeare? Am I kidding myself? What kind of an answer is that? Everyone likes Shakespeare! I receive blank stares. “I can do this I can do this I can do this…” There goes that inner dialogue again while I try to think of something a bit more interesting to say that would prove that I deserve to be in this program. Luckily, the conversation turned to post-colonial theory and criticism which I have read much about and I was able to contribute more naturally to the dialogue.

Later, I engaged in conversation with a very friendly current student and not once did I question myself or scan my brain for interesting or intelligent things to say, after all, I thought, she is a student just like me. As she was leaving, she stopped, looked me in the eye and said, “I noticed that earlier you seemed a little nervous while we were talking to the professors. You made it into this program without any help. You deserve to be here. So calm down and enjoy yourself, you’ll do fine.” I had been so busy trying to memorize the name of one of my classes in case I was asked (which I can now proudly rattle off: “British Literature of the West Indies in the Eighteenth Century Imagination”) that I had forgotten that I had earned my place in that class in the first place. I had been spending my time hoping no one would catch on that I didn’t belong there instead of enjoying the fact that I was wanted there. So even though my inner dialogue continues to incessantly chant “I can do this, I can do this…” don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.

Has anybody else met a Bulgarian pre-med student today? Yep, I have. She was the first person I have ever just simply talked to while walking across this great campus. She was impressed that I was a grad history student, and that I even knew that Bulgaria was a country, let alone a Slavic country. Hope I bump into her again. Apparently she rides my bus (as though I own the bus, though I am always boarding an empty bus and watching everybody else get on, so I think in some ways I have precidence). So, at the end of my first week of graduate school, I am not feeling like Dante in his grand descent, especially since yesterday at the fair was nothing like the day before, just cold and quiet. Just a quick blog asking everybody - how do you say "Dinner?" in Bulgarian? Oh well. Josh, after you're done writing, why don't you call a brotha', and after you're done talking to Jeremy, call me so I can hear from your own lips what the heck is going on up there and tell you from my own lips that I will be in Portland for Thanksgiving. Otherwise I may only visit Rachel Enyeart and my brother. Now that's a threat. Chris, tell me what's new that your young lady is making the big bucks and you're just enjoying the benifits? I hope she gets the job, as well. Then you can feel bad for me and buy me a car. To all, I recommend Lyric Ballads by Wordsworth as an incredible read. As always, I apologize for myself.

Hola...a one sentence threat Steve...well you are speaking my language. I have officially ended my fast from blogging. So technically, this entry could be labeled, BREAKFAST. That word sounds familiar like I've heard it somewhere...hmm...does my name rhyme with dorkface? I'll be back...good to hear from ya'll...all's well and raining out here in Oregon...don't worry, i'll be back!

Steve, I am glad to hear that you are still experiencing life! Wouldn't life be boring if nothing exciting happened? You are one crazy man.

I guess nothing else is really new here. Kate is possibly getting a new job. I will tell you what it is after she gets it. Lets just say that the 5 years of college are about to pay off in a BIG BIG way. Bring on the money! It will be nice to have a wife that makes all the money and I can just sit back and watch it roll in.
I don't want to get too excited until she finds out if she got it or not. Man I hope that she does, extra money like that is going to come in real handy. Watch out Luke Peterson the Folkestads are going to pass you in the Bank acount tally! Watch out!

I'll keep you posted

Chris

And now it's time for Silly Stories with Steve. This is the part of the blog where Steve writes a silly story. Actually, yesterday gave me reason to think that I had somehow ceased living and ended up in the second level of hell, so maybe silly isn't the perfect descriptor. On my third day of grad school my true love gave to me, three hours of work, two boring classes, and one missed bus ride that put me behind for an hour and a half. Actually, class wasn't bad at all, one of them at least, and I'm not worried about the heavy load of grad classes, yet. But the bad part of the day did not begin until after I was on the road heading about forty-five miles south to a town called Hamilton. I am being paid to man a booth for ABC Seamless Siding at the Ravaila County Fair, something I thought even I could pull off. On the drive down, I experienced what turned out to be sixty-mile-per-hour wind gusts coming off the mountain range, putting large parts of trees and other debris in my path, as well as creating one tough drive to make in the rain on two-lane country roads. I almost ended up in the back of somebody else's car when they suddenly stopped for a downed tree branch, and so my nerves were already a little fried when I showed up at the fair. It also turned out that I left one of my rear windows open, and we had three different thunderstorms roll through while I worked at the fair. I came to find that my predecessor, Renee, a middle-aged overweight mother of two junior-high-sort of boys (they had helped set up the booth the day before, and one ended up asking the owner of the company, Dameon, the buying price of his very nice wristwatch. It turned out to be worth only seven-thousand dollars. Jr. highers!) Renee had packed up the entire booth and put it between two trailers, also claiming that she had been mauled by the table as it flipped over on top of her. So I proceeded to set up again. Now let me explain that I had seen the entire rest of the fair (it's not a large fair) and we were the only set-up booth that didn't have some sort of tent or overhead covering. We seemed a little out of place that way, and also in being placed on the corner of two permenant trailers in a dank little place where it seemed nobody would ever find us. Whatever. So I set up the booth again, ate my packed lunch, and watched another thunderstorm roll over the mountains and head right for us. Just as quickly as I had set everything up, I put it all back away, and sat in the rain. I had actually thought of wearing shorts, and it's a good thing I didn't. I had my Crown hooded pull-over jacket on, and it did its job quite well. So the storm passed, and I set everything up again. Well, this happened two more times. I had arrived at 6 and was supposed to work until 10, but by the third storm passing through at 8:30, and the amazing lightning display that reminded me how close I sat to giant metal grandstand bleachers, I decided to pack up permenantly and call it a night. I hadn't talked to a single potential customer all night. All the other booths that where anywhere near me had been closed for two hours. I was quite wet, getting cold, and remembered how much I hated fairs. That's when I returned to my car and found my rear window down. There are moments when I wish for my own agonizing demise, and that was one of them. Luckily nothing was ruined, just my sense of well-being. Eu-demonia, for those of you missing Dr. Ratledge. And you think the story ends here. Nope! The drive back should normally take forty-five minutes, maybe a little longer. Another storm was blowing through and I was smack in the middle of it. Not only that, but there was fifteen miles of the worse road construction I had ever been on, and after all the rain, I was driving across pot-holed mud puddles and through a few spots where I thought my little Ford Tempo was going to get stuck in the mud. I arrived home sometime after 10:30 to find a relatively dry Missoula that didn't seemed to have any recollection of heroing storms and evil county fairs. That's really where the story ends, in general. I sat with Bob and Julianne watching The Player on Fox. I think its a comedy, because I found it simply hilarious for the most part. Reality TV really has no limits. I can't wait to see the reality series that takes place at Crown. Now that would be worth watching.
Marty, I'm sorry I said something bad about beer. I'll try another one sometime here.
Oh, and to everyone, I've been playing a game while on campus to see how many people I find that look like Crownies in one way or another. I mean like actually people. I just saw Lenny this morning, but I think my count is up to fifteen people that have identical twins on the University of Montana campus. Oh, and the girl that is in the history grad program here that had a brother that went to school with us - Lodine? Seth Lodine? It sounds familiar and I'm sure I'd recognize him if I saw him. So yeah, hope I see you around here. I think I can piecemeal Kurbis out of a half-dozen people that sit outside the building and smoke. And somebody please write something, even if it's just a one-sentence threat.