I sit here tonight on my couch, relaxing after a long year at Rose-Hulman. The leather beneath me has acclimated to my body temperature; the music, Digitally Imported’s streaming techno feed, flows smoothly in the background. I just finished sorting through several stacks of documents, carefully filing away the pertinent information into my filing cabinet. Looking through the old contracts, pay stubs, tax forms, greeting cards, and receipts, I am reminded of how many things I have experienced and done in my life.

I found my travel itinerary from my first plane trip, a visit to Texas in 1989. I found documents from my Eagle Scout application. Related to Scouting, I found reminders of my trips to Philmont in New Mexico and to Minnesota’s BWCA. I found my first pay stub, my first credit card statement, and my first financial investment statement. I found my formal invitation to become a Brother of the Pi Kappa Alpha Fraternity.

My favorite discovery is perhaps the most telling of how much I have changed: I found my high school photo ID cards. Most of my close friends here at Rose have seen my old driver’s license photo. I enjoy showing it to them as a visual indication of how much the college experience, especially my involvement with Pike, has changed me. The usual reaction is one of shock and laughter. However, though my old driver’s license photo was bad, it can’t compare to my sophomore high school ID photo. Wow. My driving permit photo, taken ten months after the sophomore ID photo, is equally awful. Yet, I am glad that I was the person in those photos. Had I not been that person, I would not have experienced the things that let me grow into the person I am today.

This time of sentimental musing and rummaging was sparked not just because of my need to organize my files. Instead, it is the beginning of a realization, and possible acceptance, that my life will soon fundamentally change. Granted the forthcoming change is still a year off, but it might take me a year to fully internalize the ramifications: I will not be in college forever. Yesterday, I attended Rose-Hulman’s commencement ceremony. I watched many good friends walk across the stage, receive their diploma, and enter the real world. I have known these people for three years and have grown close to many of them. Now, when I leave Terre Haute for the summer, I must face the harsh reality that I might never see some of them again. It is very hard for me to accept this realization, much harder than when I left high school. When I left high school, I believed that I could see whomever I wanted to when everybody returned to Maple Grove around the holidays. I thought that I could stay in close contact with my friends via the links of the Internet. Three years later, I communicate regularly with only four of my high school friends, occasionally with perhaps a half-dozen more. That’s it. This time around, I tell myself that it will be different. I tell myself that I will work harder to maintain contact. Certainly, the tools are better: I can stay informed by my friends’ blogs. I can instantly say a quick ‘Hello’ with AIM. I pledge to make the effort to keep the lines of communication open.

At the end of December, I made a list of things I wanted to do in the near future. Here’s a recap of those things and the progress I’ve made:

• Learn to skate. I’m getting better, little by little.
• Get a motorcycle. No bike yet, maybe it will happen this summer if it fits into my fiscal reality.
• Go to more hockey games. Being in Indiana makes this difficult, but I managed to go to a Wild game in April.
• Learn to play hockey. No progress here.
• Learn to snowboard. I’m getting better. The trip to Steamboat helped a lot. Rumor has it that there will be another ski/snowboard trip next year. Initially, we had talked about going to Whistler-Blackcomb in British Colombia, but discussion has shifted to Breckenridge in Colorado. Either way would be great fun.
• Learn to juggle. No progress here.
• Tour Europe. No progress here, though it still might happen in 2004.
• Learn to race. No progress here either.

Okay, so some things have seen more advancement than others. All in due time…

Next year I will be switching rooms at the Pike house, moving from the third floor to the second floor. I will be rooming with my little bro Tyler. Tyler and I decided that we want our room to be open and inviting, so the redesigned loft, lighting, and furniture arrangement will be such as to encourage social interaction. To that end, I decided to refinish the floor. Currently in that room is carpet covering a hardwood floor. I like hardwood floors, so I plan to remove the carpet then sand, stain, and urethane the wood beneath. The project will probably take some time, but I think I’m up to the challenge.

After all, without challenges, life would be boring.

Ah, the fire truck. It seems like at least some part of at least one of my Fraternity’s two fire trucks is always, shall we say, not in an operational state. Such remained the case several months ago, when, immediately after having its brakes fixed, our 1964 Howe pumper truck decided to screw up its clutch. At that time, a freak sequence of events caused the piston in the clutch master cylinder to break and jam itself against the cylinder wall. Needless to say, it’s a bit challenging, not to mention noisy, to drive an old fire truck with no clutch and badly worn synchros. We decided that replacing the piston would fix the problem, thereby making the truck drivable. Thus began a protracted search for a part that GM discontinued in the early 1980s.

Calls to truck parts dealers around the country yielded nothing more than gentle laughter. It seems that clutch master cylinder rebuild kits for 1964 GMC 5500-frame trucks are exceedingly rare beasts. Finally, after dozens of phone calls and weeks of time, I was pointed to a company called Capitol Clutch and Brake in Sacramento, California. Not only did they understand what I was looking for, but they also stocked the replacement part! Thanks to Visa and UPS, two days later, I had a brand-new clutch master cylinder piston in my possession.

With a giddy fervor, I installed the new piston in the old cylinder, bled the clutch hydraulic system, and… found the clutch remained inoperable. Although the master cylinder could generate enough pressure to bleed the system, the pressure proved insufficient to move the clutch. After much poking, prodding, and head-scratching, the fire truck committee decided that the master cylinder itself was bad, probably having been damaged when the piston broke and jammed.

Another call to Capitol Clutch and Brake, some more Visa action, and another few days, and we had a new master cylinder. I installed it, bled the system again, and… it worked! I drove the truck a few laps around the Pike grounds just to be sure that everything was operational, the entire time having a huge grin on my face.

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Last Wednesday I celebrated my 21^st birthday. It’s hard to believe that I am 21 already — it seems like only yesterday that I was starting high school. There’s just one more year until I graduate and must face the “real world.” But enough sentimental prose; time to talk about the birthday! At midnight on May 7, 2003 I did something that I had never done before: I partook in the consumption of spirituous beverages. Yes, that’s right. For reasons quite personal to me, in the first 21 years of my life, I never drank. Was it a question of legality or morals? Not really. Anyway, House took me to a bar, and I consumed libations. It was an interesting experience. Those early hours reminded me of how I felt and acted while under the influence of nitrous oxide at the dentist’s office during my wisdom tooth extraction. Time passed, and eventually I went to sleep.

That Wednesday evening, I took my three little brothers and two former roommates out to dinner at Pino’s Il Sonetto (yes, that Pino’s). I wanted to go somewhere classy to celebrate my birthday, so Pino’s seemed a logical choice. The company was great, the food as well. Good times.

Speaking of little brothers, I’m proud to say that my newest little brother, Tyler, joined Iota Delta Chapter in Brotherhood last Friday night. Yay lineage!

The countdown has begun: less than seven hours until I turn 21.

Last Monday, I experienced hockey at its best: a playoff game six. Yes, the Wild, in only their third season of existence, made it to the playoffs. Not only that, but they held off the heavily favored Colorado Avalanche long enough to bring Game Six of the seven-game series home to the Xcel Energy Center in St. Paul, Minnesota.

I was able to buy tickets to the game via Ticketbastard last Friday. At the time, the very existence of Game Six was in question — for it to occur, the Wild needed to win Game Five on the road in Colorado. Fortunately, they broke a three-game losing streak, and in the face of elimination, triumphed, sending the series back to Minnesota.

When Vince and I arrived at the Xcel, spirits and excitement were sky-high. Everybody in the arena was energized. Later in the game, whenever the Wild scored, the stands erupted with cheers, shouts of delight that lasted until the next stoppage of play. Despite blowing a 2-0 lead in the third, the Wild came back to win in overtime. Against all odds, the underdogs from Minnesota forced Game Seven.

More shocking still, the Wild just won Game Seven in overtime, utterly stunning Colorado and adding yet another upset to the 2003 NHL playoffs. Go Wild!

Three weeks from yesterday. My how the years fly by…