Tonight Andy and I spent some time discussing the utter financial uselessness of our time in college. I was looking at a catalogue from the Colorado Institute that Dave left behind and noticed that most of the plans of study at least had a solid career goal attached, even if it was sort of farfetched. My English major sort of culminates in the equivalent of spinning around with a blindfold on and then stumbling into the job market.

So I paced around in the Kum & Go cooler ... and it was pretty relaxing. Once you're freezing between metallic rows of Mountain Dew and Mister Pibb, it's hard to remember why you're pissed off or frustrated. It's too weird a view. And all the soda reminds me too much of the past, as does just being in a cooler (although I'm glad that I'm no longer the one stocking the Casey's shelves).

Because we had nowhere to go, Andy, Kevin and I went to Murph's on the square. It was a rather sizable mistake. We were the only people under forty, and for the most part we were the only people who didn't look as if we'd gutted a feather mattress and glued its raggedy contents to our faces. At least 70 % of the bar population turned around and unabashedly stared at us for the better part of a minute, and some mildly-retarded woman almost got upset with me when I disagreed that Kevin had a twin brother.

So we left quickly.

Egh.