It's August 1st at 5 AM. I have not even had a chance to turn my calenders to August from July. The month is not yet six hours old. Already I have something to post on this ridiculous blog. I am wearing a shirt I purchased from the ARC. It's a jersey for some local sports team called the "Bone Benders." Outside of the deathburger, waiting for the door to be unlocked, are a couple of guys who I have never seen before. One of them has teeth which are so worn, they appear as if they have been drilled down in preparation for crowns. This guy sees my shirt and says, "You're kidding. That would look good on a stripper." I notice in one of the parking spaces, on the ground is a mountain bike with a trailer attached to the back. The trailer has a Rubbermaid basket on it. After I get to my usual bus stop, I see the toothless guy walking the bike and trailer up the sidewalk. He appears to know some of the construction guys waiting for the bus. But he heads up the sidewalk.
At the teeming center of the region's cultural ferment... The tastemakers...of Denver...have always felt themselves psychically apart...drawing invading hordes of buskers, foodies, fixie pixies, ravers and new urbanists. ...the suburban wasteland that girds Denver...is a sprawling tribute... When not caravaning to office park from bedroom community, from big-box store to strip mall, or generally to hell and back, locals spread mulch and talk about "trading up" to that four-bedroom, three-car-garage neo-ranch in a newer, better, covenant-controlled subdivision that's just around the corner - or soon will be. Some locals have emigrated...to the neighboring State of Euphoria, the San Luis Valley, in search of hot springs, quinoa and mystic vibes; others are hoping that critical mass of B&Bs and artsy characters in scenic backwaters like La Veta will transform the area into some kind of Taos North. - Westword, 7/31 - 8/6/2014
The auto world is a very special segment of America, with the normal exaggerations blown even larger. There is a self-belief that what they are doing is not only good for America, it is America. ...the auto business is not the place for a puritan, nor...for someone who has an abiding faith in man as a rational being... - Halberstam
The following morning is my birthday, and chilly. On my way to the deathburger, I notice a ghoulish figure taking tiny steps along the sidewalk. He's dressed in a black hoodie and black pants. Inside the deathburger, Mama Cass is singing about "words of love" over the sound system. Someone in the kitchen mentions to another employee, "You're friends are harassing us." The friends, I believe, are outside. They are five or six clean-cut, spikey-haired teens standing around a car. They are eating their breakfast decked out in sports gear. When they see me leaving, one says that he likes my hair. Another mentions that he likes my shorts. Another shouts "USA!" For the first time in a week, no one mentions my shirt. These guys live a million miles away from the tall, thin figure dressed in black. They may be frightening him. He silently stands next to the stop sign and looks around. "You oughtta know by now. You oughtta know, you oughtta know by now..." Shortly after I get back to the bus stop, he comes along. He stands and watches everyone get on the bus when it comes. After work, I am back in my own neighborhood. At a bus stop is a couple who are arguing with each other. The man is yelling loudly, "You don't have any fucking patience, you don't have any fucking patience!" He is wearing a shirt with a smiley face, and written underneath the face is, "Have a nice J!" Neither of them appear to be drunk, though a drunk guy does happen to drop by. He breaks up the argument before going on his way.
'Tis the middle of the week. I am on my way across the street to the bus stop. This week, I am taking the bus which comes earlier than the one I usually take. I was convinced I was the only one who knew this, until I see an employee at the gas station across the street. He's outside in the predawn darkness when he yells, "GET ON DOWN HERE MAN, THE BUS IS COMIN'!" I don't know this guy. When I get to the corner, there is no bus for as far as I can see.
...(they were above all functional, operational, "tactical" men, not really intellectuals, and tactical men think in terms of options, while intellectuals...might think in terms of the sweep of history...) They could, they thought, control events, but it was all an illusion. Given their outlook and their conception of the country and of their own political futures, they would be driven to certain inevitable, highly predictable decisions, but they still had the illusion that they could control events. They were rational men, that above all; they were not ideologues. If someone in those days had called them aside and suggested that they...were tied to a policy of deep irrationality...they would have lashed out sharply that they did indeed know what they were doing. - Halberstam
It's another Saturday. I'm at my alternate train station. It's the only place where I can count on connecting with the train, which will take me to the bus, which will get me to work on time. All on a Saturday morning...at 5:30 AM. It's a sordid tale. I know this only as a result of my personal experience with the city's transit system. Was it the father of Allen Dulles, former CIA Assistant Director, who used to test his mental acuity by memorizing train schedules? I suppose that I don't get paid enough for this. Welcome to the post-Great Recession. The station is located at a campus with three community colleges. On a two-sided bench made of concrete and tile mosaic are a couple of guys. On one side is someone sprawled out asleep. On the other side is the self-professed "spiritual man" with the big hairdo, who approached me with his wisdom a couple of Saturdays ago. He is sitting straight up on the bench, awake, silently holding vigil. He sees me, alert and composed. I wonder if, like some kind of character from Twilight, he awaits the dawn with trepidation. Seeing him for the first time two weeks ago, he asked me about "A demon's wishes." Could it be a demon's fears inside whatever mind resides under that fright wig? The train which comes takes me to a station south. I am headed to my bus gate when I am passed by a guy with a black eye.
The United States would take the place of Great Britain; it would balance, stabilize and protect the world. There was a great centrist political strength in the United States; further, when confronted by...most important...a just an honorable democracy the totalitarian forces of the world would have to respect that power. ...that democracies were ipso facto good and totalitarians were ipso facto bad... ...he did not reckon with the whimsical quality of history, that the forces of history can just as easily make democracies aggressive, that to some...democracies look tyrannical, that justice and decency have various definitions... - Halberstam
Total bummer over here last night. ...she heard the shots and think she may have seen the get-away car because we live about a block from where that happened. - Nextdoor Westwood, 8/10/2014
Sunday afternoon I am at a park not far from where I live. On my way home, I happen upon three young Mormon guys on bikes. One of them asks me if I know where another particular park is. These guys don't look any older than seventeen or eighteen. I know exactly where they need to go, and I give them directions. With that, they are on their way. Tuesday. 5 AM. Bus stop across the street from where I live. In the bus shelter are a couple of guys shooting the breeze on the bench. The guy doing most of the talking is slumped in a wheelchair. He has a salt and pepper beard. The other guy could be three decades his junior. The first one is talking about "buying the right part" to fix something "the right way. Women want to be the boss." He says that he has a brother-in-law who, at 58, is a retired judge. Whatever he's talking about, he then says, "By the time it gets into court, I'll be dead." He says that he's renting a place for $200 (a month, I assume) which leaves him $500... When my bus shows up, neither one of these guys get on. When I get up the street, I go and come from the deathburger. At my usual bus stop, an employee in a deathburger uniform comes by. She's on her phone. "Yeah, it should be on the hook, yo. That's fucked up." She looks at the bus schedule posted on the shelter, and she says, "Shit."
Wednesday. I am working a half day, a closing shift. After work, I get off the train to grab dinner from a gas station. I wait at a bus stop for some minutes before I realize that I've missed the previous one, and the next won't be there for another hour. The neighborhood is an antithesis to my own. There are established businesses along with brand new condo units. I behold one with the construction having just been cleaned up. A sign reads "spectacular views of the mountains." In the approaching evening I can see lights on in huge windows, and rooms decked out in the trappings of urban twenty-something Caucasians. Is this an example of the city and state administrations' view of a "world class city?" Is this the brave new world? From the bus stop, I watch some of these white bohemians coming from and going to the gas station in the early evening. One groovy guy is talking to a mother and her young child at the Red box about a favorite movie. On the outside wall proudly hangs a lighted ATM bank sign. No empty case without its stolen fire extinguisher. No needles or sleeping drunks in the parking lot. No panhandlers at their posts. No empty 40 oz. beer bottles to be found here. Neon Miller Lite and Fat Tire signs hang in the second story windows of a "bar and grill." I watch out of the corner of my eye as a car very slowly attempts to squeeze into a tough space between two parked cars at the curb. It briefly crunches the corner of the vehicle in back. A woman with China doll skin gets out as walks inside the bar. I see someone toss a flaming napkin out of the door to another business. I wonder if I will have dreams of this street tonight.
I get back to my own neighborhood around 9 PM. It's beginning to rain. Behind this bus stop is a flight of stairs. At the bottom are a couple who are down and out, or homeless, or drunk. The male is complaining to her. It begins to rain harder and the wind begins to blow. The couple wanders away. Between the bus bench and around the corner, a young woman has been running back and forth. The final time, she comes back down the street with both another girl and with a guy in a wheelchair wearing a Batman T-shirt. When the bus pulls up, out of the rain appears a middle-aged guy asking everyone if they will give him a cigarette.
The next morning, I'm up at 4 AM, in and out of the shower, and out of the door. At the bus stop across the street is a grey-haired guy in a windbreaker. He asks me if he missed the bus because he gets "upset." He tells me how hard it is to come back to work after two weeks on vacation. The bus comes, and at the next stop is a guy whom instead of getting on, asks the driver if there will be a bus coming from the other direction. I get up the street to my usual bus stop. When the connecting bus shows up, I watch as an ambulance pulls into the parking lot of the medical marijuana place, the owner of which is in jail awaiting trail for money laundering. The driver gets out in the dark, and I watch him open the back doors. I can see an empty gurney in back as he leans inside and stares for a minute at the interior. I watch him take a clear, garbage-sized bag from the back and carry it the long way around the front to the passenger side door, which he opens and where he puts the bag.
A couple of mornings later I am back at the same stop at the same time. When the bus comes, the wheelchair lift brings down a familiar face. It's Mr. "pussy; three dollars." His neatly trimmed beard is grown out and bushy. His legs are swollen and chapped. He has the same grin and urine odor, and he rolls away into the dawn. After work I come home through downtown to stop at the bank. It's another rainy afternoon. The pedestrian mall here is always festooned with performers of some type. Under a small awning is a young guy. He's wearing suspenders and a short-brimmed hat with a feather in the band. He stands in front of a collapsible table the size of a night stand, and he's shuffling a deck of cards. Everyone else is hurrying to get out of the rain. I didn't know card tricks qualified as a street performance. It goes to show how much I know.
Saturday. 5 AM. In the middle of the crosswalk on the corner where I live is a young guy is shorts, T-shirt, and sleeveless denim jacket. He is listening to his I-Pod, and he is standing in the middle of the crosswalk. He's looking down the street; not toward oncoming traffic, but the opposite direction. After a minute, he's on his way. The bus comes, and at the next stop a guy gets on who appears to be somewhat out of it. He has on a jacket with sports team lettering on the back which spells out "stoners."
It was a basic disinterest in the underdeveloped world... In October 1949 Acheson...talked about Indochina with Nehru, who...said that the French would never give Bao Dai the freedom necessary to hold the hopes and passions of his people. Acheson told Nehru he was inclined to agree...an odd answer...in effect saying that we were committed to a dead policy... Philip Jessup, the ambassador-at-large...carried with him a letter from Acheson to Bao Dai... Jessup, an authority on international law, considered this a letter of recognition. ...he held a press conference...saying that...the French had granted the Vietnamese independence. ...Jessup was ordered by Washington to give a second press conference in which he...stated that he had referred to Vietnamese independence within the French union. ...on his way back to the United States, Jessup learned that he would have to answer to McCarthy's charges that he had an "affinity to Communism." The desire to strengthen Western Europe against the Communists would see us strengthening a Western nation in a colonial war. ...stability as we defined it was colonialism as the Vietnamese defined it. Freedom to them was instability and revolution. Just as the policy had gotten turned around, so too had the words... - Halberstam
Monday. Usual bus stop. It's a quarter to six AM. The weightlifter in red satin shorts and no shirt comes past with his dog. Today is the first day of a semi-annual change is bus schedules. It's the first time in a long time when the changes include the buses which I take to work in the morning. The only good news about today are two-fold. This early in the day, buses have been added to the trip up the street. I am convinced that this was a direct result of the voice of my neighborhood residents. Also, this has resulted in after the dice have stopped, at least for this week, my being able to leave later and get to work earlier. For the rest of the passengers and the rest of the morning, this is an unpleasant and confusing surprise. This is the bus route which stops up the street from the train station due to condominium construction. Not only are passengers continuing to put up with this, now they can't even count on whatever routine they had from the old schedule. When we get there, disembarking passengers are complaining that they are too far from the train. They don't hear him say that he would be happy to take them down there is they stay on board. One guy flips off the driver. The down and out, infirm, neo-hippie couple are rambling on about their plight. In the dim light, a line of passengers, mostly construction workers, marches down the same street where buses must wait for them to clear out before moving ahead. This is because one lane is cordoned off due to the construction. This can't be a safe way to operate a train station.
Tuesday. I'm at the deathburger at 5:30 AM. Footlong is searching the trash locations, wearing a buttoned down shirt and khaki slacks. He appears more as a school janitor than a Sherpa this morning. Blondie and other music I heard on the radio, when I was in middle school thirty years ago, plays over the sound system. It's an eerie scene. I sit down on the bus next to a woman going on about her cell phone company sending her an upgraded phone through the mail, and not including a battery. She gets up at a stop so that the down and out, infirm, neo-hippie couple may have a seat. She says that she is going to get off at the next stop to leave a candle where a boy drowned in the river yesterday. She's doing this at 6 AM. She doesn't mention going to work or having a job. Wednesday. 5 AM. At the deathburger, Footlong is in the exactly the same clothes as the day before, smelling like urine. He has pulled an entire trash can out to find his cup.
It's after work on a Saturday. I'm on my way home from work, and I'm across the street from what will most likely be my new deathburger. I am watching a middle aged homeless guy yelling at a much younger, shorter homeless guy. Both are carrying bundles. The older one has a sleeping bag, and the other has a collection of crap in his arms. For some reason, the older guy is pissed off at the other. Carrying his sleeping bag, he comes up to the other one and kicks his bundle. The younger guy's armload of crap goes flying, and he runs away. I am going to miss my old deathburger. I am going to miss Mr. Footlong Goatee. I just had lunch there. I walked in to a lobby with trash and stains on the floor. Behind the register is a middle aged guy, who has a favorite expression, which is, "Un-be-lieve-a-ble." There is a goofy couple in front of me, talking about one of the three community colleges on the campus across the street. Behind me is a guy with plastic wrap around a new tattoo on his leg. Behind him is a guy with dirt all over his legs and feet. Behind him is a guy with a small state flag tied around his head. he last guy is all smiles, and has a bag from a deli shop with a small box inside. He asks me if I like "Hallmark stuff."
"For twenty years we've been subject to your [fascism], [now] witness ours. You didn't give two shits about our families and you ensured that we were locked behind a door, to disrespect us at every opportunity, so why should we care about you and yours. In short you treated us inhumanely, and so we simply seek to do the same, and we take [comfort] in the knowledge that we leave your wives without husbands, and your children fatherless. You wanted to play mad scientist, well they will be your Frankenstein." "...to take someone who's delusional or having a mental-health crisis and take their clothes off and give them a smock and put them in an isolated cell to deal with their own demons." "I experienced hate and rage on the street, but not close to this level. And I was capable of controlling my emotions on the street. Out there, I could never beat a lady to death for the kind of things that made me want to beat some female DOC employee to death." - Westword, 8/21-27/2014
WE BELIEVE We believe in taking personal responsibility for mishaps and dysfunction... ...become productive citizens. We believe in...foundational truths of the Bible. WHO WE ARE ...a 501(c)3... We overcome the battles that once defeated us and we now win! LIFE SKILLS Financial literacy, health & nutrition, proper hygiene... SUPPORTIVE SERVICES ...healthy home search, eye exams/glasses... HOW WE HELP OTHERS ...candidates...must... Have no sex/child offense charges. Trainees learn solid solutions to personal problematic lifestyles such as homelessness, crime, poverty...along with many other social issues. - brochure for Treasure House of Hope
"The inherent suffering of life" as the Buddhists call it...the ego must bear the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune." The ego is always suffering. ...stepping back to observe the suffering psyche. We are NOT our thoughts, nor our emotions. ...the relative tightening of the greedy and the selfish, of the hate-filled and those awash in fear. ...life is about moving toward a changeless state of being and of what it means to remain a nonjudgemental witness to all that happens in life. Although everyone eventually learns many life skills, we rarely learn how to live our lives well, manage our emotions and relate to others... - natural awakenings, 9/2014
Across the ideological spectrum, is is almost universally assumed that more and better education will function as a panacea for un- and underemployment, slow economic growth, and increasingly radical wealth disparities. Behind that support seems to lurk an inchoate faith...that higher education will eventually make everyone middle-class. This is the inevitable consequence of an interwoven set of largely unchallenged assumptions: the idea that a college degree...should serve as a kind of minimum entrance requirement into the shrinking American middle class; the widespread belief that educational debt is always "good" debt; the related belief that the higher earnings of degreed workers are wholly caused by higher education... ...reform movements are calling into question the American faith in higher education in general, and all its extravagant promises regarding...increased social mobility. Two aphorisms from economists...almost zen-like adages...Herbert Stein's insight: "If something cannot go on forever, it will stop." ...Michael Hudson's observation: "Debts that can't be paid, won't be." - Atlantic Monthly, 9/2014
Monday. I'm on a bus up the street. Three guys are in back, discussing places to eat. Until one speaks up about people who are speaking Spanish about us non-Spanish-speakers, and doing it behind our backs. These people are, you see, members of drug cartels. They speak Spanish because the United States makes it difficult for them to learn English. As a result, the United States is responsible for the existence of the Mexican drug cartels. The conversation then turns toward the search for a Department of Transportation medical card. Tuesday. This week is the first week during which I am taking a different connecting route to work. I am at my new train station, where Mr. Man of God with Tina Turner Hair is silently standing under a street lamp. He is absolutely motionlessly staring straight ahead. Thursday. I'm at the bus stop across the street from where I live. It's a chilly 53 degrees F on this late August morning at 5 AM. A couple of people are talking in the shelter. One is a young guy who I've never seen before. He mentions the cool weather during Colorado's summer, "being out here, off and on, since 2007." I bought a place across the street in early 2007. The bus takes us up the street to a stop for a connecting bus. At this stop are a handful of middle aged guys. We stand in a spread out line along the street. The bus shows up, and the driver opens the door to tell all of us, "Lets' go, let's go. One's over here, one's over there..."
The following day is my day off. In the early afternoon, I, my sister, and the mom head over just a few short miles at the most to an outdoor shoping mall and condominium complex. While they get "mani/pedis", I track down a place to read. It's a shop which sells I don't know how many flavors of tea. They brew a cup and serve it either hot or cold. I order a "Chocolate Mint" and take a seat. When I look up to peek out of the window, sheets of rain are coming down. Inside, the noise of the rain is inaudible. A single clap of thunder makes it inside. A lone woman is in a corner, delicately pecking at her laptop and undeterred. Over the speakers, at a low volume, is house music. Thirty years ago, it may have been The Cure. An employee opens the door and reports that it's hailing. Someone comes inside. I hear, "Wow... Hey... This place sells nothing but tea..." I see a middle-aged guy in a bike helmet and a couple of twenty-something ladies. One of them comes over to the wall to open a bag and tale a sniff. "This smells so good." When the squall lets up, I meet up with the fam. We have an early dinner and then step down the way for some ice cream. On an opposite corner, I see security on bicycles in two different uniforms. A police officer comes walking by, followed by some shoppers. He stops to speak with some lovely ladies. A police SUV pulls up, and he waves and gives it a thumbs up.
It's the Sunday before Labor Day. I am downtown for one of the "world class city"'s annual festivals. I spot a deli from the mall shuttle and I stop for lunch. The place is mildly ski-themed, but on the walls are mostly advertisements for local brewery labels. On the wall next to the soda machine is a certificate from the Denver Pollution Prevention Partners. I've slipped in ahead of a line of twenty-something Caucasians. I hear one woman mention that she just graduated from college. I get the impression that they live in one of the new condo towers across the street, or perhaps is one of the endless others lining the light rail tracks. Black Sabbath is on the sound system. My sandwich is good. I am sitting next to a booth where a couple of women sit down. One mentions her "leadership team," and that her staff was "updated. This is cool/" "Pretty awesome." There's a "hitch" in something. "A total long shot." "Wait until he responds. If he says, 'I don't know...'" "His mailbox was full. So we'll see. He has some girlfriends." "We're all leaving our people (aren't we?)" "I know. We're waiting to see what our staff looks like." "I want a pickle. They're so good." "They're so good. I want an iced tea." "Coffee to iced tea?" "I'm so excited. Crazy." "Is Sam going out at all?" "No. I'm going on vacation for a week. 'Cause there's no other time to do it. Sam gets four weeks of vacation, but they're preset." Someone mentions the election, and training. This pair are election workers? Others in here appear more like neo-suburban hipsters, from back when the suburbs had money for things like rebellion. This place looks as though it's doing pretty well for lunch on the Sunday before Labor day. Power to the neo-suburban hipster election workers! As my boss told me yesterday, go out and celebrate with the workers of the world.
