It's 5 am -- do you know where your marching band is?

Thanks to a sore throat that just won't quit, I find myself wide awake at 5:15 am. Surfing for entertainment, I stumbled across the Marching Mizzou Alumni Band web page. Of all things, I found a picture of myself from the "good old days" of college! Big surprise. The photo to the left includes all of the people from my hometown of Mexico, Missouri, who went on to march for the University of Missouri-Columbia. There we are, young and carefree, next to an aircraft carrier in San Diego, California. I'm in the back row, second from the left. At first, I didn't even think I was in the picture - I look so different! (Plus, I think that's the only time I ever voluntarily wore a ball cap.)

You know, I truly had a blast in Marching Mizzou. I was ready to leave when my four years of "service" were done, but I treasure that time in my life. Looking back, I'm sure I never expected to be nostalgic about practicing the waltz step in 100 degree heat with 90 percent humidity on an asphalt "field" ... but there are few things that will bond you to 300 other people better than sweating it out together. I still laugh to think about how we absolutely INSISTED on wearing full uniforms for the first game of the season, even when it was so blistering hot that rational people would be wearing tank tops, shorts, and a lot of sunblock. I think that hot Missouri sun must have fried our brains.

Of course, I met Colin in Marching Mizzou, so I suppose you could say that there were "additional incentives" to being a part of the band bunch. (Beer olympics and dirty limericks aside, of course.) We didn't start dating until my last year in band, though, so I have plenty of non-Colin-related memories of Rally Nights, drumline cheers about OJ's mom, and blatantly phallic drill charts.

So, here's to a middle-of-the-night nostaglia session ... dance a little bit, drink a little bit, follow the band ...