I've lived in Chicago for six months now, and a Christmas trip home to Denver has reminded me of all the good stuff I left behind in the move. I've done a fair bit of trading. Mountains were swapped for skyscrapers, my checking account went from Wells Fargo to Chase, and I keep an eye out for gang members now instead of overzealous Christian Fundamentalists looking to ram a pipe bomb up the bunghole of progress.
No matter the differences, though, things are pretty much the same. The ups and downs still transfer, much like the aforementioned bank accounts (which remind me daily that I'd better sell a book soon if I want to keep living the lavish, flood level, sub-basement lifestyle). For instance, my new neighboring states are every bit as lame as the old ones, Chicago drivers are equally oblivious as Denver ones, and a shower beer is just as refreshing in either city. But, while I was out driving yesterday, I was reminded of one thing Denver does boast over the Land of Lincoln: Legalized Weed.
Who knows, maybe legal weed will come to Chicagoland soon, too (God knows they'd make a fortune on the taxes). It looks like the trend is tightly rolling its way across the country, and honestly, I think we could all use a few more brownies and a little more relaxation. And maybe it'd give that tenth-grade dropout who hangs out inconspicuously on the various streetcorners of my block some chance of career mobility.
Beer: Dos Equis Amber
Music: The Rolling Stones