Better Know A Classmate: Nathan V

Bored and snowed-in last Saturday night, I called Nathan. We talked for a good while, and shared some laughs. I asked if he wanted to do an interview. He declined, but said I could interview his dog, Frog.


I spent this week thinking about how I would interview Frog the dog. I constructed a rudimentary dog dialect for Frog by inserting canine-related onomatopoeia into the Queen's English. A typical interchange:

Frog, tell me what your master is up to these days.

Woof Nathan has been bark working more arf in the past few weeks growl since he completed ruff ruff grad school bark.

You have a hole in your skull. Tell me how that happened.

Arf it's a pretty funny story bark. I was bark bark barking at a bigger dog, howl and I thought I was safely out of his whimper range, bark because he was chained to a post grrrrr, right? I miscalculated, though, and woof he was able to reach me. Woof so all of the sudden he chomps down on arf arf my head, and I get kind of messed up howl. Boy, that hurt. But I'm okay now, ruff ruff ruff.

Then I decided that my dog interview was awful. Just terrible.

Still, I wanted to give some information about Nathan, as people ask me about him a lot. A LOT. It's kind of sickening, actually. "What's Nathan doing?" "How's Nathan?" "Nathan is so sweet and great!" "Nathan could have ended the war without the H-bomb!" "Once I saw Nathan having sex with my wife -- it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen!" On and on and on.

So, to curb this appetite, I offer the following facts...


The last CD he bought was probably in 1996. The Gin Blossoms.


He went to school in Fairbanks for several years. He graduated.


Despite the overwhelming odds against him, most notably the male-to-female ratio in Alaska and his face, he found a lady.


He lived in St. Petersburg for a while, for some reason.


He married the aforementioned lady, and adopted her aforementioned dog.


They honeymooned in Madagascar for months. They would not recommend such a trip to other newlyweds, especially if said newlyweds wish for a stress-free beginning to their lives together.

They moved to California.

They live in a million-dollar house.


But they rent it.


His pilot's license has expired.


He surfs, and occasionally saves other surfers from drowning.


He recently obtained a Master's degree, and has applied for a few positions or grants or fellowships or some such nonsense.


He bought his wife a hand-crafted, ceramic mug for Valentine's Day 2006.

His waffle-maker cooks heart-shaped waffles.

He is the only person I know who uses VOIP for his telephone service.


He sometimes puts cabbage on his sandwiches in place of lettuce.


He's going to be one of the people who has to explain his job with a paragraph instead of a sentence. Because you'll ask, and he'll reply, "International Conflict Resolution", and you'll stare blankly, and he'll sigh, and then begin to go into detail, and your eyes will glaze over, and you'll feel bad, because he's a friend, and you asked, after all, and you'll pledge to pay more attention, to no avail, and you'll decide to tell other people that he's "kind of like a diplomat", even though if he heard you say it, part of his soul would dissolve from discouragement.


He had successful laser surgery on his eyeballs.

He can pop a wheelie on his scooter; he fills its gas tank with airplane fuel.

The last time I saw him, he purchased a tiny, remote-controlled helicopter and flew it around our hotel room.


He is sweet and great.


He has assured me he will not come to the reunion.