1600

1600
You are masculine perfection
Genius intellect wrapped within an adonis physique
No riddle that could not be solved
No mountain that could not be moved
But every superman has his kryptonite
And I know yours
For all your wit and might
A lowly burrito is your undoing
Consume one and into deep sleep you fall
Not even the tempest can wake you
Nor my frequent phone calls
(wake up already!)

Today you walk the Windy City
Nearing the end of a long tunnel of academia
This journey has taken a lot out of you
But it fails to take your smile
There’s still a sun behind those clouds
And you still brighten peoples’ days

The world may run on Dunkin
But Chicago runs on you

Ode to the Polish Taxicab

Polish Taxicab, what can I say of thee?
A white Volvo you were
Plain and unsightly
But your dull exterior concealed your true identity:
An old warrior who wasn’t ready just yet
To give up the fight

Your rear seat belts were usually missing
And your brakes didn’t always work
In fact a number of times I was concerned for my own well-being
But your blatant disregard for safety never stopped you from giving us a good time

Do you remember all those beach trips?
Do you remember doing donuts in parking lots?
Do you remember that one time there were so many of us that we could not all fit in the seats and we had to put one guy in the trunk? And when it turned out he was claustrophobic?

But your greatest gift of all was hidden beneath your engine.
A weapon that struck fear into the hearts of the lawless
And helped us dish out vigilante justice when the law had failed
True, it was abused on multiple occasions
But that was all part of the grandeur
Yes, it is true
You had police and ambulance sirens

Do you remember the time we saw some girls make an illegal left hand turn and we made them jump out of their seat and pull over?
Do you remember the time you screamed and those two guys started running like the police were chasing them?
Do you remember the time when you made a quick sound, a guy turned to look at us, and then he walked straight into a light post?
Do you remember the night in the canyon when you called out, and a distance police car answered?
Do you remember the time in the car wash, when we set off your sirens and then an actual police car drove right past us at the exit?

Polish Taxicab, you were the best friend of a slightly deranged Polish guy,
And his friends who were too foolhardy not to join in his madness
Wherever you are
Here’s to the memories

Homecoming

Coming home is usually awkward at first. My father normally picks me up from the airport and then drives me back to the family house. He asks me questions of about how I’m doing and other things in my life, but I find it very difficult to give more than one-word or one-sentence answers. I really should be more conversational but I can never bring myself to anything beyond these basic answers. All that changes after about twenty-five to thirty minutes when we arrive at the house. I breathe in the air – the same air I breathed for about eighteen years. The neighborhood looks the same. The sounds are the same. It even smells the same, though I’ve never been sure what exactly it smells like. The door opens. Yeah, I’m home.

Finest Hour

My friends Wing, Fresh and I share a special bond; a friendship based on the foundations of hatred and distrust. That has nothing to do with today's story; it's just a fact. Today's story is about how a moving trip to Seattle was salvaged in the hour of despair.

Some time ago, Fresh was moving from Boulder to Seattle, and Wing and I agreed to help him with the move. A two day drive was planned out that would take us across the northwest United States. I even rented a car to make packing up Fresh's stuff easier and allow us to more comfortably fit in our respective vehicles. The day of the move everything was loaded up into the two vehicles and we all went out for breakfast to celebrate the start of the journey. After eating, we came back out into the parking lot to do a final check of everything.

Fresh's car (the jeep) and my rental car (the green Toyota) in the parking lot awaiting departure.

Wing, the great sage of materialism, laments Fresh's excess of worldly possessions.

Fresh gives the thumbs up. "What could possibly go wrong?" he thinks.

Before departure we did a brief team huddle. Fresh emphasized that he wanted to get to Seattle safely and without getting pulled over, so he advised going no more than five miles per hour over the speed limit. In retrospect this was ironic, because whenever Fresh was driving the lead vehicle we would be burning rubber down the highway. With the final check done, Fresh and Wing got into Fresh's jeep, which would be the lead vehicle, and I got into the Toyota which would be tailing them.

We are all prone to nervousness and panic attacks. Fresh, however, had a particularly big panic attack when some car trouble jeopardized the whole journey. A few hours into the drive, we were in northern Colorado, not too far from the Fort Collins area. I was in the tail vehicle, listening to an audio book while keeping pace with Fresh and Wing in the lead vehicle. Suddenly, I saw a piece of Fresh's jeep start to flail in the air and we all immediately pulled over. It turned out that the part of Fresh's jeep that covers the wheel well on the front passenger side had become detached from the rest of the car and had almost broken off completely.

The damage.

Northern Colorado, for those of you who've never seen it.

Wing tries to pop the piece back into place.

While Fresh flipped out about how we hadn't even gotten out of Colorado before running into trouble, Wing tried to push the loose piece back into the jeep and I pondered possible solutions. Unfortunately, the piece was not willing to stay in place, so it looked like we might have to break the entire piece off of the jeep to proceed. It was then that I remembered we still had packing tape loaded in my car, which is quite strong and might be able to hold the piece in place. Putting all my engineering skills into action, I got the tape out and went to work. Since we would be driving at high speeds, I knew the front part of the tape would have to be heavily reinforced to deflect wind off of the front of the wheel well area where the piece was most susceptible to coming loose. While Wing held the piece in place, I laid down strip after strip of tape, reattaching it to the rest of the jeep. Further along the well I placed more strips of tape that lay flat along the jeeps surface so as not to catch the wind and create drag that would potentially pull the piece off again. After a few minutes, it was done. When we got to a gas station awhile later I took some photos of my masterpiece.

In all of it's taped glory.

I also taped up the other side of the jeep, which I had noticed was a bit loose.

And thus the trip was saved. We proceeded on and in two days reached Seattle. The whole time the tape never failed and Fresh himself told me that the tape is still holding up to this day, even through Seattle's rain. It truly was the finest hour of that trip.

UPDATE: After a few years in Seattle, the tape finally failed. Still, I think I did a pretty good job.

On Free Checking

Several weeks ago, two friends and I entered a deep conversion on the nature of checking accounts and their analogies to Irish folklore. Every facet of the topic was put under scrutiny and distilled to it's most basic element. Over the course of several minutes, a narrative began to form, which became the basis for the slide show below. Having explained the complexities of the modern banking system, I felt compelled to spread the wisdom we had uncovered. A special thanks to my friends, whose names have been altered for the sake of their anonymity.

Yes, this really happened.

So, you have your money, represented by a pot of gold.

You want someplace to safely store your gold, but also allow you to freely take gold out when you need it.

A bank is like a landowner. A checking account is like a hole in the ground on the owner’s land. The landowner offers to safely store your pot of gold in a hole in the ground, on his land.

If the checking account is free, you can freely take gold out of the hole in the ground and not have to worry about your pot of gold.

However, some banks charge fees for their holes in the ground. Fees are like leprechauns being set loose in the field, and they come and start taking some of your gold.

Many banks that have leprechauns will offer to keep the leprechauns away from your hole in the ground, but you have to do something in exchange for it.

The lesson here is, make sure there are no leprechauns before you put your pot of gold in a hole in the ground.

Also, put your gold in a credit union instead.