Text: J-School

It's that time again. No, not annual bathe a mexican day, silly. It's school time! I love mexicans.
See? piso mojado

I'm signed up for the second round of my pre-requisite courses in order to continue my Journalism major and Italian minor. What's funny is that my family, namely my mother and grandma, thought I would probably do something with computers. In fact, everyone I know seems to ask me "I thought you were going into computers?" In which I promptly reply "I guess all the jobs playing Kings Quest VIII were filled." No, I've never replied with that, but I don't understand why playing a couple of computer games qualified me as an IBM motherboard programmer.

Journalism is a little funky. It is one of the harder schools to get into and stay in at CU. You have the ability to apply twice annually. You must have met the minimum requirements before you can do this however. Which includes a competitive GPA (3.3+?), the completion of two pre-requisite courses, and a convincing 500 word essay. After you've applied, you are notified several months later whether or not you were admitted with roughly 200 other students. I am seeking a degree in Journalism with an emphasis on News Editorial.

My ideal job after graduation would most likely be to work for National Geographic. I am hoping that by learning Italian I not only increase my awareness and understanding of other Latin based languages, but that I acquire a job that allows me to travel. That's really the summary of my academic career at this point. It's not entirely interesting. That's why I am going to switch over to the Chronicles of Sweetwater now.

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Chronicles of Sweetwater

Through the mist of 12 o'clock bar smoke lingers the mixed voices of Sweetwater regulars. The rush of three 5'4" waitresses that seem to disappear and reappear through the myriad of people at average height are serving the usual crowd. It typically includes: Devereux, Old Chicago, homeless bikers, horny moms, bug-eyed former sharpshooters that swear they make a living playing shuffleboard, and bar-wenches that are apolstered sometimes with a jail-stripe full-body bathing-suit that apparently is an advertisement reading "If you Karaoke Uncle Kracker I will grind with the first dirty man that hasn't bothered to look at my face yet"; don't forget overly-tattoo'd christian fanatics, poolshark magicians, drunk bloated hitler look-a-likes and anyone else that might fit in this spectrum. The evening is devoid of the antics of a drunk step-dad, but one thing is for certain, the patron-saint of Sweetwater, Eric Walker, should not drive. He has consumed his usual 5 to 6 pitchers and 2 to 3 shots. This is the same holy formula used to transform Walker from being able to recognize basic conversational English to interrupting people with random business propositions, namely the publishing of his auto-biography as told by those who document his drunken escapades--since he can't recall.

(More to come later. Homework time.)

Text: Mike's house

Mike's house is like an old bar that war veterans gather at to reminisce about the obstacles they have faced in battle. Some of the soldiers are stronger now and others are weaker. They all share something in common though--Brotherhood. There is a highly regarded, yet hardly spoken about, covenant that exists between these men. They have all taken their chances with relationships and there have been some casualties. Others have remained steadfast in their pursuit of happiness and are successful. Then there are kids like Dan and Steve who are content with their single-life and truly wish to remain loyal to their friends. Yet when one man falls or one man rises in triumph at any complication all of the other brothers are witness and no brother ever abandons another. [Exception: One soldier abandoned a whole regiment of brothers in the mountains to pursue aforementioned happiness. Oops.]

This reminds me as to why I love New Years Eve. It is a chance to really reflect on what Mike's house means to everyone. It also makes me wonder if everyone in the world has a sanctuary such as this. For the last 6 years Mike's house has been a refuge for Dave, Mike and I. Don't label us as an inner-circle or on any different level than anyone else in the group, just the guys who originally lived together and created the bridge among friendships. Over the 6-year stretch we have definitely encountered a unique variety of friends, some of which still contribute to the bulk of the regiment.

We have Sean, Steve, Huy, Mike and I that have been regulars at this old rendezvous. Frequently we have Dan, Dave, Lil' Huy, Rick & Jeff [if poker is going down] and when applicable, wives, fiancés, and girlfriends present themselves. Except that it hasn't really ever been about who is with who at Mike's. Everyone is individual. Keep your insecurities at home and step aside from who you're with because nothing is safe from the brothers who gather. People either hate Mike's or love Mike's and even have the same love/hate relationship with Mike himself. That is until they really get to know him and his home.

Last night I had a talk with the codger himself (who turned ancient last night). His words prompted me to write about this today. It is important for a place like this to exist. A place where friends can come and go as they please but no one ever forgets who you are and what you've done. A place where brotherhood is eternal no matter if you fuck up, throw up, or get thrown out. When you've tried and failed you always have friends to mend you and throw you back into battle. The New Years brought a reminder that I have established some amazing friends over the last 6 years alone. I look forward to what 2006 will bring as far as new friendships and refreshing the tales of the old.

Happy New Year everyone. Victory is imminent.