The...worst letters to the editor in a single issue, ever. ...Downtown Denver is hardly a food "desert." ...if all you're smelling is urine and dog food...stop crawling through the alleys...looking for change. - Westword, 9/24-30/2015
The gentleman...is clad in...a beater T-shirt that reads "born Lucky." His only kitchen wares are a rusty knife, a stack of Styrofoam plates, and a...roll of paper towels. ...no words are spoken other a simple "Hola." I hold up three fingers... Some of the meat he's carving drops off...hitting the bare sidewalk... Glances are exchanged; it's clear that I could not give a shit if he picks up the meat and uses it. He does, if fact, take the meat off the side walk and place it on the...tortilla. ...I stand there, in the blazing sun...as I chow on my al pastor taco. - Westword, 9/17-23/2015
Figure out what city and neighborhood you want to live in. Look for signs of economic vitality: a mixture of young families and older couples, low unemployment and good incomes. ...even if you don't have...children. When it comes time to sell, a strong school system is a major advantage...
Entertainers will relish in the ambiance that a tastefully decorated pergola can bring to any party or gathering. Families can enjoy a spontaneous alfresco dinner or weekend lunch under the cover of a pergola. - Living in Lakewood, 9/2015
You may be...five, ten, or twenty years into the life goals you've set for yourself. ...a measurement of cash in...such as salaries, dividends, rental income... Assets - Liabilities = Net Worth. ...money market accounts... Large assets...deposits, stocks, bonds,mutual funds...silver and gold...should always be listed at market value...
Looking lost is looking vulnerable. ...limit your nighttime outings to well-travelled places. Limit your intake of alcohol... Be wary of pickpockets, especially when exiting public transportation. Walk on the outside of sidewalks... Walk as if you own the street. Learn a few words of the local language. Read up on the local culture, foods and weather, even if you're...in the USA. - Her Life, 9/2015
The young are scared about the future. For the young who have a work ethic, who want to develop the future of the United States with opportunity, with hope, and who happen to be LGBT... Kids getting out of high school face an entirely different future than I did in 1970 in small-town Iowa. Today, kids can't find jobs, kids can't get into good schools. - Out Front, 9/2/3015
Codes to keep you from entering.
Social classes that call you out from the rest.
Money limits your opportunities and success.
Numbers and signs that boggle your mind.
Do we ever get to rest or unwind?
Keys to unlock doors, wet floor signs,
Blocking other doors.
Construction signs preventing you from
Entering the next floor.
Life struggles that bring mind-bending puzzles. - Denver Voice, 9/2015
One popular event is called "Bring Your Government" where...members pitch their...ideal forms of government, while building a LEGO city. ...members can write personal civic letters and watch pro sports games while discussion [sic] relevant issues - at half-time of course! Other Events Civic Stitch 'N Bitch, Sunday School for Atheists - washington park, the profile, 9/2015
Department of State Press Release 252, October, 1966
"Goals of Freedom"
We, the seven nations gathered...declare our unity, our resolve, and our
purpose in seeking together... They are:
3. To build a region of security, order, and progress.
10. ...to forge a social revolution of hope and progress...
11. ...to provide a shield behind which a new society can be built.
12. The training of revolutionary development cadres... Refugees will be
taught new skills.
13. ...to modernize agriculture and to assure the cultivator the fruits of his
labor.
In two years...American troops found themselves in the presence of a restive...people, a dispirited local army led by ever-feuding generals primarily concerned with political power, and a determined enemy seemingly impervious to the vast deployment of American manpower and military technology. ...an entirely new set of political and diplomatic principles had to be devised... - Raskin and Fall
...the emergence...of a desire to hold...to a mythical past. Just as...the 1910 Exposition brought in groups of native Americans to add to the "Wild West" feel of their business undertaking, residents and business owners of this area had...the fear...that their property values would go down...political activism...a desire to preserve their version of the past. - Washington Park Profile, 9/2015
The most powerful Ute chieftain was Ouray...with...a penetrating ability to expose the pretences by which white officials sought to mask their...enterprises. ...the Utes occupied the basin of the upper Colorado River... Winning statehood and thus voting representation in Congress in 1876, Coloradans mounted a strident campaign to have the tribe removed to Indian territory... ...an elderly eccentric who dabbled in several of the unorthodox intellectual and social movements of the period. His latest project, a utopian colony north of Denver named for his friend and backer, Horace Greeley, had not met expectations. ...looked forward...to...leading the Utes swiftly to a state of civilization... - Utley
(Today, districts with the Colorado towns of Ute, Ouray, and Greeley continue to be represented in Congress.)
BEER TOWNS, EARN IT AND IMBIBE
Tons of space, a killer outdoor patio complete with games and owners who...demonstrate...social responsibility... ...cranks out some of the best beer in the state. - Elevation Outdoors, 7/8/2015
People who are more post-modern in their thinking, and urban. ...glad they don't live close to...Applebee's, and who know the difference between American cheese and actual cheese. ...identity defined by something other than late-stage capitalism. - The Denver Post, 9/10/2015
Tuesday. Amid the morning traffic, shortly after 5 AM. Back at my old deathburger. I watch a swiftly moving vehicle, which looks like a monster truck. An old SUV body and no back window. I bet that's fun in the winter months. It screeches around the corner in the dark. After breakfast, it's off to my old bus stop. The monster truck comes screeching back around the corner, back the way it came. Inside appears to be three teenagers. At noon, I'm working at a store besides my own. Many a lunch half-hour I've spent at this break area over the past decade, looking out these windows, watching students from the high school down the street. They walk past here on there way to grab some lunch. Today I see a beautiful tiny girl in blue and white striped spandex pants, straight out of fifty years ago. She's rocking them. The next day, I am back at my new usual bus neighborhood bus stop. At a quarter after noon, a twenty-year-old version of Pippi Longstocking on a bench gets up and, with a Slavic accent, offers me her seat. Do I appear old and doddering? The entire episode is out of character for this neighborhood. Eight and a half hours later, I am on a bus headed toward my street. A helicopter circles overhead. At one stop, a couple gets on. They are a good ten years younger than myself. The driver won't let them on until the guy goes and gets it from the lady, who is already seated. They both sit behind me, and the woman speaks with the voice of a hundred-year-old. She refers to the driver as "a fuckin' gook." He's been the driver for a while, and actually is a mellow guy. With a restrained and raspy whisper, she calls him a "slant-eyed bitch." As they get out she tries to call him this, but with her worn out voice, it's a hopeless endeavour.
On my way home Friday, I'm at my last train station, where a stolen motorized supermarket shopping cart is parked. I get to my own neighborhood, where the benches are full of drunks. One is trying to put a tiny whisky bottle back into his pack. He also has a tall can of Bud Ice. Whisky and a beer chaser. Boilermaker. Mixed drink of champions. Sitting at the bottom of the steps to a big Vietnamese shopping center is some guy with his shirt off. Four drunks wait for their moment to cross the middle of the boulevard. The boilermaker guy lags behind the other three. Twenty-two hours later, I am back here at this stop. A car turns the corner through the intersection. The back door window is down and a child is in the back seat. He throws some trash out of the window and it lands in the bushes behind the bus benches. A teenaged couple sit on a concrete wall, listening to hip hop. This evening, there are three drunks on the restaurant steps. I watch a couple of guys walk through the intersection. One is hyper. After using the crosswalk, they cross the other street through traffic. A turning car is right in front of the animated one, who says, "Ahhh-ha-ha. Kill me. I paid for it bitch!" As he heads for the liquor store with only one neon letter lit up, his pal goes over to the drunks.
Sunday before Labor Day. Mt neighborhood is in the local TV news again. This time, it's some hole in the wall restaurant a few yards down the street from my usual bus stop. I've seen it in the day. I've never looked twice at it. I don't remember ever seeing so much as a car parked in the lot. A neighbor who wishes to remain anonymous reports that the lot is filled with "hundreds" of people during the night. The party spills out into the neighborhood streets. With the camera on his shoes, this neighbor wants to know why he lives in a city which allows this to go on for so long. This morning at 2 AM, a car came along at 50 mph, according to one woman dressed up for a night on the parking lot, and ran over fifteen people. "Suddenly there were shoes under his truck. You didn't know who was dead or alive." No deaths. Just a gun fired into the air. I spend the early afternoon of Labor Day on a pedestrian mall shuttle, headed to the last of the summer's summer festivals. The shuttle is, as usual, full of people, including the guy I am sitting next to. He's wearing a black motorcycle jacket and a full backpack. He is talking out loud to no one at all, wondering what everything is that passes in front of his face. As we pass Marker Street, he mumbles, "Market St., must be where the market is."He asks someone next to him, "Where's the farmer's market anyway?" The following day, I am on my way to work on a bus, sitting behind another guy talking to himself. I can't make out what this on is saying. He has one pair of sunglasses on and another on the brim of his hat. At one stop, a guy gets on who appears to know this guy. Though this guy walks with a cane and has to hop to move out of the aisle, he offers his friend his seat. His friend appears to be able to make out what he is saying. It's as if I am watching someone who understands a language which I don't speak. When we get to his stop, he motions for a guy with a skateboard to get out first. The other guy is frozen with confusion. I jump out between them. At 9 PM, at my last bus stop home, are three young guys who, by their gear, do not appear to be from around these parts. On the steps are three drunks. There's a middle-aged couple and a teenager. The traditional family. The teenager comes over to hustle the three other young guys. He runs down the list. Do they have a smoke? Do they have a transfer? Do they have fifty cents? One of them has fifty cents. The teen and mom-aged woman get on with us. twenty-four hours later, a different collection of drunks will be on the steps. One will be loudly entertaining the rest. Another will walk past me on his way to take w dump in some bushes. He says to me in Spanish as he wanders past, "What's up dude?"
I was woke up by multiple shots fired 7-9 I would say.
Sounded like two different guns.
...NO sirens or anything afterward.
Sounded like two different guns trading shots. ...in the neighborhood of 15-20. I waited for sirens or helicopter...
...in the past couple of weeks we have had a shooting at three different corners.
...many undercover cars circling this morning (and this weekend). ...a K-9 unit + tactical gear wearing officer...around 11:30a
someone was just shot at the park
Seen the police... Lost?
...yesterday I found a shell casing in my grass. - Nextdoor Westwood, 9/9/2015
Friday. 9 AM. I'm at a bus stop down the street. Sitting on the bench is a young woman in a Washington, D.C. tourist cap. She is listening to a song on her phone, and dancing as she sits. "Good morning, ba ba-ba ba - ba. Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba." She swings her phone and dances with her arms. An hour later, I'm at a train station on the campus of a private university. Fifty to seventy-five young adults are all standing together in three loose groups on the platform. From the catalogue-bought gear, they look like college types. One group gets on a train, headed toward downtown. The next group slowly grosses the tracks together to take the previous one's place. More of them filter in here from across the street. They are an ethnically diverse group. It's like a slice of Facebook come to life. One group is in kind of a circle, and they briefly begin clapping rhythmically, including a kid with a U.S. flag on his T-shirt. A small girl steps out of the crowd. She has on a tube top under a tie-dyed halter. She says to a guy across the platform,"Is today your birthday? Happy birthday!" A group, led by a young woman who is not more than a couple of years older, approaches another waiting for a train. She mentions the pedestrian mall downtown. I wonder what their mission is? One of the approaching guy from across the street is tall and wears some kind of bush hat. Eleven hours later, I am at my last bus stop home. Sitting on the bench is a middle-aged woman with her black hair up in a 1960s do. Like the girl this morning, she has a phone in her hand, listening to music, and dancing as she sits. She swings the phone with her arms and shoulders. Is it "Dance in Your Seat at the Bus Stop Day'? Behind the bench, a drunk shuffles past. In the dark, he appears an even shade of grey from head to toe. The pair appear to recognize each other, and she stands to swing back and forth. He crouches in a corner, almost completely hidden in the shadow.
Saturday. I'm at the campus rain station around 6:30 AM. Yesterday's parade of students are gone. I hear a soft voice say, "Excuse me..." I look up to see a middle-aged guy in oily jeans and a plaid wool shirt. He had a new backpack and a newspaper, and needs just "enough to get downtown." ...as in money. I decline, but on his third attempt, he gets enough for a train ticket. He shows his ticket to the guy who gave him the money. twelve hours later, I am on a bus headed right back here. Another gaggle of young adults get on. One of them mentions high school. Another introduces herself to a third and compliments her on her outfit. I hear someone say, "This is so exciting guys." From there to a train, to my last bus home. We are at the intersection of a highway. A guy is standing in the median, doing magic tricks. The following evening, I step off a bus, back in my neighborhood, after seeing a movie. It's 8:30 PM. The sun is down and the city's football team have just played one of their first home games of the season. I have a twenty-minute walk home from here. This evening, I have to journey past what appears to be some kind of tailgate party. The parking lot of each closed business is filled with cars lined up, almost like a car show in the dark. People are hanging out with bottles. The boulevard is bumper to bumper. I don't see any flags for the team, but one minivan is flying a Mexican flag. It's the last evening I will enjoy out for who knows how long. Tomorrow, I will get a call from the owner where I work. The manager of my store has quit. Tomorrow, the general manager will quit. Along with four others I will discover later in the week. The new owners are not the kind who engender loyalty. Is this part of the "new normal?"
Monday. 8:30 PM. I'm on my last train home with a young guy. He has on headphones and horn-rimmed glasses, and an unopened cup of instant soup in his hand. After remaining silent all the way on the bus to the train, he suddenly says, "Oh! Oh no! Ahhh..." He left his work clothes in a bag on the bus. Some 24 hours and 30 minutes later, I am sitting at a stop for my last bus home. This week, the drunks have thoroughly vanished. Tonight, I notice a TV truck, with its antenna tower telescoped high overhead. A golden-haired young guy in a button down shirt approaches my spot where many a drunk has perched. They are going to do a live shot, he tells me, in case I wonder where the lights are coming from. I can't miss the tower, I get it. He tells me that a woman got hit by a bus this afternoon. 23 hours after this scene, I am again on the train One guy asks another about his tattoo. He then mentions doing his own tattoo while on LSD. The guy he asked about his tattoo replies that he loves LSD. The first guy mentions that he's from Venezuela. The other says, "That's in Central America." The first has to explain that it's at the top of South America. He was close, but I suspect that this is not an endorsement of LSD.
The following morning, I am across the street from where I live, walking to my new bus stop, shortly after 5 AM. I watch as someone in a hooded jacket crosses the middle of the dark and quiet boulevard Whatever this one is on; drugs, booze or lack of sleep, he or she hurries past me as if I am not even there. I move off the sidewalk so he may pass uninterrupted. This is the price I pay for being sober. At the end of the week, I am walking to the bus stop at the shopping center where I work. Shortly before 6 PM, a jeep with a family in it is parked at the gas station across the street. I hear the dad using profanity as I look up to see the jeep move forward and put a front wheel over the curb, in the bushes. I hear a small scream. Out comes Dad, Mom, and one kid holding a smaller one. Dad gets on his phone. Someone pulls in for gas, and gets out to stare at this unfolding scene. In no time, another family member or friend shows up in an SUV. He gets out, swoops up the youngest child in his arms, and gets behind the wheel of the jeep. In no more than a minute, the jeep is free and parked in a space.
Tuesday. 9 PM. My last bus comes to take me down the street. When I get on, a guy in back gets up, shuffles to the back, and says, "Open the fuckin' back door..." The following morning at 6 AM, I am at the campus train station. A couple of guys get off a train. One drops a banana peel as the other laughs a halting laugh. "Huh huh-huh-huh." The one laughing has shoulder length hair, a beard, and is missing some front teeth. It's a baffling appearance look to go with his baffling behavior. Both are in grey hoodies, and the laughing guy has jeans with designs on the back pockets. He sips an energy drink as the other lights a smoke. They pass the butt back and forth. The laughing guy stands on a bench in his work boots. The hurls something at the ground, which sounds as if it's plastic when it hits the ground. The entire time, he is looking up in the air, and if he is waiting for it to bounce up and then come back down. Nothing comes back down. A couple of mornings later, the same guys are back. The one with the smokes takes a last drag off a butt when the bus comes, before spiking it. The next morning, there are three of them. One heads toward the university campus. One of the other two says something to him, to which he replies, "What? What?" The guy with the smokes yells something about the "fucking bus!" He kicks the metal side of a bus shelter. On Saturday, I'm out of work a ten to 6 PM, at the bus stop with a middle-aged guy in a shorts standing next to the bench. He is slathering something oily on his legs. On the top of his otherwise bald head is a patch of permed hair, also oiled.
Tuesday of the following week. 5:30 AM. My new usual bus stop. The bus shows up just as a middle aged guy approaches the stop. He asks me if I smoke. I can't tell if he wants a cigarette or he wants to sell one to me. The bus driver acts as if he isn't sure whether or not i am going to get on. I run around the guy selling or soliciting a cigarette. The bus comes to a halt and the door opens. Fifteen hours later, i get out at the train station for my last bus home. This train station has, since its opening in 1994 or 95, been the intersection of gang bangers and assorted criminals and drunks, as well as other working folks. It now is host to a brand new condo complex, freshly minted atop the former parking lot and drive-thru for the buses. This evening, it sports a couple of private security guys patrolling the perimeter with flashlights. A vehicle with flashing lights pulls up ti the condo, and a guy wearing firefighter pants gets out to join the security guys. The following evening at 9 PM, at the stop for my last bus home, is a rumpled drunk passed out on a bench. Next to him is a big empty beer can.
