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Soon I'm going to have four degrees: undergraduate degrees in journalism and sociology and master's degrees in elementary and early childhood education. How about that. My walls will be as decorated with diplomas as they will be with punk show fliers. I'm going to New Jersey for a week next week. Me and Elizabeth -- the girl I was once engaged or not engaged to -- are planning a camping weekend at Seven Lakes. I don't think anything good can come out of that. I'm leaving for Montana around my twenty-fifth birthday, May seventeenth. I'm into it. I wrote a Montana, future co-worker an e-mail that said, "Montana, dude! See you soon, dude!" She didn't reply. When friends ask me what I'll do there I pretty much say drugs, hiking, and hanging out. Again, I'm way into it. I'm throwing a rager at my place before I leave. There's going to be a keg and everyone is going to do keg stands. Not optional. Way sweet. Steve wrecked his bike -- I watched it in slow motion; it was brutal -- at the Boulevard Oval and was carted off in an ambulance. His head's cool, but he broke his collar bone -- now we got no drummer. Our last two shows before I go are canceled -- lame. I was amped to play with Under Pressure and The Bananas -- way sweet bands. We also had to cancel our plans to record. More lame. But I'll be back in a few months and we'll get it all together. Glued-Up and pop-punk for life. Bikes and Montana -- fuck yeah!