By Chad Armbruster

Well, we did it. We're back as promised. Through rain, shine, fire and brimstone we have again managed to flood the streets with our wise words of wishful thought.

So, my only question to you the reader is: Does absence make the heart grow fonder? If not, don't feel bad. I can't really imagine that OFF! was the most prevalent thing on your mind as you went bar hopping with other locals only to find that some of the usual hangouts became as dead as Elvis just before his head hit the porcelain god. But I digress; we've all gotten use to the lulls embedded within the campus calendar (adjusting our own accordingly).

So, rather than bore you with the annoying 8th grade version of "What I did on my summer vacation." I've decided to bore you with what I DIDN'T do on my summer vacation. I know you're all riveted to the page now. But seriously I know this is not going to make a huge impact on some of you, but you know it's always a hit and miss kind of thing. Anyhow, I'm talking about marching band.

Now I know some of you are wondering how I could come up with such a lame topic. Well, I'll tell you, every August schools around the nation gear up for their marching band season and just like football, the kids have to come in early for practices and the lot. So for the most part my friends are all busy with the new season coming up and I'm left sitting to drown my sorrow in an article for this magazine, but I know you love me so I'll continue.

For the past 11 years I've been in marching band. Every summer I've gone out on the field and sweated along with my cohorts. Except this year I have to be an adult.

I know at some point we all have to be adult about things and go off, get a grown up job and settle somewhere. But by god why does it have to be when you're 25. (Wow, that was a sad statement wasn't it?) I mean it just seems crappy that I put my heart and soul into doing something every year for decade and now it might as well have never happened. It's like that relationship you made at summer camp that deep down you knew wouldn't make it past two weeks but by god you lived so deep in that moment that digging you out would have made the baby Jessica rescue seem like a stay at the Ritz. (Now that I got my Dennis Miller moment out of the way, I'll continue)

The point here is that at some point we're all dragged into the realm of the adult world. And you know what? At this point, it sucks and I don't want anything to do with. And as a matter of fact for now I'm taking my ball and going home.