Space/"It Was Worth It", by B. Bova
The pilgrims on the desert expanse... By the tens of thousands they had come... We screamed. We laughed. We shouted and hugged... People wept. Columbia is now back at Cape Canaveral... Challenger...will be ready for flight next year. How much do we want to accomplish with the shuttle? We are in space...to stay. Spaceflight is on its way to becoming as routine as commercial air travel.
Fiction/The Palace at Midnight, by R. Silverberg
...reports about the Voodoo principality expanding out of New Orleans and the Sioux conquests in Wyoming and the Prohibition War now going on in what used to be Kentucky. There was a bison herd again on the great Plains...close to a million head. ...King Barnum & bailey III...governed in northern Florida... ...the place that used to be the United States of America...now was a thousand, thousand crazy, fractured entities
Fiction/Blind Spot, by J. Carr
Many high-T worlds had low-T enclaves...with those who rejected the technology for religious or other reasons or...had been isolated and never developed it. The mind rejected or disbelieved...
Monday, September 4, 2017
Saturday, September 2, 2017
September 2017, The Night Rider's Tales of Northwest Denver
...I've kept a journal to...plan for my dreams and strategize my goals. Journaling empowers me to take my ideas and turn them into reality. You can use the power of pen and paper to...create anything you want. Many successful people use this method to attract their dreams and goals. Others use it as...a form of self-therapy. ...I used my journal to plan beyond my current circumstance - it's very easy to get sucked into living for the day. Writing...gives you the accurate perspective necessary to attract the right solutions. ...you'll spot a growth spurt that can be analyzed... ...without the record of events, you'll just pass through each day letting it take you in all directions. Successful people track progress and failures... Record notes and information from reading and research. - Colorado Parent, 9/2017
Friday. I am on a bus to work around 8:45 AM. Behind me is a guy going on about how he was a mortgage broker before the recession. "Not one of the bad guys," he assures the elderly woman sitting behind him. When she gets off, he falls silent, save for his laughter at the texts on his phone. He's a contrast to the guy on another bus, twelve hours earlier, who told the person on the other end of his phone, "shut your smart ass mouth." Today is another one where I am dragging from the change to a later schedule, and after work I connect with another couple of buses. The stop for the last one is on my boulevard, in front of an old liquor store. Sitting on a cement staircase next to the store is a guy vomiting. The bus comes along, and at one stop a guy comes lumbering on board. He has no fare but heads for a seat. The driver calls him back and asks him if he heard what he told him. The guy shuffles back up to the driver, who tells him, "Don't take the bus if you have no money." A passenger comes quickly up front, anticipating his stop. He nervously clings to a railing and looks strung out. The front of his T-short reads, "Team USA." Soon we get to the stop next to the football stadium. Another game is going on, the annual game between two state college football teams. Our way is blocked by a car half out in the lane and half in the parking lot of a bar and grill. The driver honks at this car which results in it not moving. He puts the bus in park and goes outside. I watch some young women move out from the front of the car, it moves out of the way, and some of the patrons outside cheer. At a stop soon after a huge number of people get on. One woman comments on how hot it is on the bus. "He has the heater on..." I've seen this driver before. He's a young native of Africa. The woman tells him, "There's a baby[,so turn off the heater.]" He attempts to speak into the mic, which feedback with painful volume. The bus reacts collectively. He does successfully say into the mic, "Go broncos go Broncos go Broncos." A passenger tells him that the game in the stadium is not a Broncos game." The driver almost misses someone's stop and again they react collectively. He stops the bus to tell one passenger not to hold onto two railings at once. I'm not sure what he is talking about.
Saturday. I am on a bus around 11 AM, headed to the gym. I had watched from the walk to the bus stop as some five fire engines and a couple ambulances and the Fire Chief headed for a corner, which the bus goes past. When we get there, they are all in a parking lot of a shopping center. A woman gets on and tells the driver that she was in the laundromat, there in the center, when one wall came crashing down. An SUV had crashed into it before a kid jumped out to run from the police. The following day, I get an early start to the supermarket at 7:30 AM. I watch a roasted chili stand on the corner. Already at this hour on the day before Labor Day, a young Caucasian couple has come to my neighborhood for chilies. The guy carries two plastic grocery bags crammed full of chilies. My street has become a Caucasian tourist stop, like the zoo. Power to the chilies. It strikes me as dead around here this morning, at breakfast, at the supermarket. After I get the food home, I pay a visit for a haircut to the beautiful and talented Mrs. Thuy. After the trim I'm up the street to drop off film and purchase more. Because so few use film, it's expensive. Twenty bucks for three rolls. On the corner, firemen are collecting donations for MS research. The bus will be here sooner than I can make the train, so I wait at my old stop with other passengers, including a homeless guy. When the bus arrives and we all get on, he is telling the driver that the firemen took his panhandling spot on the corner. As if they are also panhandling. Give me a man in uniform...
Tuesday after Labor day. I'm on the bus to work, still adjusting to this new schedule. A down and out guy gets on. His backpack from the 2000 Olympics in Sydney. He gets out at the next stop. Another guy tries to get on. He has a card he scans to pay the fare. The driver looks at his card and tells the guy, "That's not for you, that's for a lady." Must be someone else's card. And this driver ain't playin'. The following day, I have to report for possible jury duty, for the first time in a decade or so. Probably because earlier this year I renewed my driver's licence. Back then, I'd only ever gone to an old courthouse. Today I am headed for one of the new ones. It's been so long that the new instructions are, if chosen for a jury, don't look at any social media. Some things never change though. The instructional video has a Caucasian guy talking about being intimidated by lawyers, and throughout the video I remember hearing the word "responsibility" more than anything else. I came though security in front of a guy being admonished by security. For the second day in a row, he is trying to bring a "Thor's hammer" into the courthouse. In the big waiting room for the pool of potential jurists, a middle-aged guy is slowly pacing around and around the perimeter. He gets picked for the only jury call before the rest of us are eventually dismissed.
Overnight I get some sleep and feel like doing the ride to work the next morning. I'm on the train with my bike when I spy out the window a trio of people on a bike trail. One is in a blanket and they are standing around a line of baggage on wheels. I get out and am pedaling on a bridge over a highway. A pedestrian comes around the corner. He is carrying his suit in a zippered bag hanging from a strap across his chest. I am definitely out of my own neighborhood. When i get some forty or fifty blocks north, it's where an exit from a bike trail through open space dumps me out at the off ramp from a highway with no crosswalk. On the east side are brand new subdivisions. On the side just a hop, skip, and a jump from the foothills are old homes and farms. They wait for a break in the morning traffic to pull out with their trailers. This side of this road has the metro area's diesel trucks which are driven by actual farmers. Along this dividing line between "progress" and "heritage" is a mix of intermittent bike lanes and guardrails with no shoulders, much less sidewalks. Some twelve hours later, I and my bike are both waiting at a stop for my last bus home. Across the street is a supermarket. Along come a couple women and an older guy with a stolen shopping cart. The cart is full of groceries. One of the women asks the guy what his name is. When the bus comes, the trio get on board as I am putting my bike on the rack. One of the women tells the driver that the guy "has my ticket." I take a seat across from a woman softly playing acoustic guitar. She has big, white legs. She gets out at one stop where a young guy gets on. I smell marijuana. He takes a seat and asks someone if they want to buy weed. He says he grew it himself, and that he just got out of prison after doing five years for beating someone up at "4 Mile," wherever that is.He says that he's from my neighborhood, and mentions my corner. "We used to chill there. We used to get money there." Hustling or holding people up, I wonder? He says that the place has changed, that new people have moved in. As for him, he's headed out of town on the bus tomorrow. He's also getting "back into making music. I'm goin' in the studio tomorrow." Before or after leaving, he doesn't say. He already has a full plate after doing his stretch. Making up for lost time. Picking up where he left off. But not in my neighborhood. He says that all his friends are dead, including his little brother. Been gone for two years.
Friday. Back on the bike to work. I'm on the train with another cyclist. He has a 10-speed frame with orange paint missing all over it. The mountain bike handlebars have new LED lights Nothing expensive. He also has a cup-holder and a red bell with the transit system logo. That's...really weird. Did he attend some transit system bicycle class? I wonder if this bike is low-value to dissuade thieves. I've seen frames locked up missing everything, even with the goddamned cable cut to the missing gear assembly. Or, am I in the presence of a genuine Caucasian hipster? He gets up as his stop approaches and puts on a Hawaiian shirt. As my bike almost falls onto his he doesn't so much as flinch. That's okay with me. I get out at my own stop and twenty blocks north I'm pedaling past an elementary school. It's the first school I've seen since moving into my neighborhood which has Caucasian people. A mom is leading each of two small girls by the hand. The pair have matching dresses.
...a politically diverse resistance has arisen to fight...all three branches of the federal government as well as 25 state governments. We need to build...social movements... ...we are dealing with growing income equality...we need radical, visionary and transformative change. This means challenging the pro-corporate Democrats... In this fight, Democratic Socialists of America (DSA) has surprised many with its rapid growth. DSA's 2016 "Resistance Rising" strategy document identifies its ultimate goal as the "radical democratization..." ...capitalism would be dismantled...
...depression and fear have gripped a large swath of white America. ...white men age 50 to 55 are now committing suicide at a faster rate than any other demographic group...they now realize the American dream is dead for them. We have never seen this. Fear in white America is burning out of control...
...as why there is a shortage of available kitchen workers...popular theories blame the oversaturation of restaurants, a low unemployment rate, Boulder's cost of living, the marijuana industry siphoning off talent and immigration enforcement... ...in just the last three years[, workers] "can demand more money. ...we have to find it someplace." ...had to bring in middle-level kitchen staff from out of state... ...it's tough to fill out a staff in Boulder...when...wages won't be enough to pay rent in the city. The people...that make the city tick are having to move further and further away, creating a bubble that may burst... - Boulder Weekly, 8/24-30/2017
"Young Professionals are able to become engaged in the community where they live and work in on a much deeper level." "We can all relate to each other as far as...success." Events cater to five pillars: access, social, education, activities and philanthropy. ...to help young professionals...balance work and life through activities and contribute to the community. - Denver-Herald Dispatch 8/31/2017
There's a quiet revolution... Gone are...collared shirts and...briefcases. ...Denver is very much near the epicenter... ...shake-up in the office space industry... "Most of the U.S. is catching up to Denver." Being in a modern, tech-rich space full of amenities...games, networking events, patios, free beer and an on-site gym can stimulate creativity and productivity. ...well-positioned on hip South Broadway in sight of downtown, has chemistry directly in his sights. - the profile, 9/2017
Denver's newest urban community meets every must-have on your city-lover's checklist...surrounded by...calming greenery... ...you can explore trails, parks and lakes without having to pick up your car keys. ...energy efficiency, modern floor plans and flexible spaces - while living in a vibrant historic district. - North Denver Tribune, 9/14/2017
Community leaders and wonks from across the city...that aims to challenge Denver on what it means to be a world-class city. "It's about, 'Do you have the opportunity to go to a decent public school, and then get a job and afford a place to live?" Denver Mayor Michael Hancock...his..."world-class city"... The group...wants...a strategy for a "more equitable and diverse city"... "How can we take the same energy...for the last 30 years...and create...opportunity to continue to live in this city and not get priced out of your home? [This new organization] considers itself "a third voice" between Denver's elite establishment that upholds the status quo and a new rising anti-growth sentiment. ."..in the last two years...'What is happening to our city? What's all this development...? Who's being helped? We don't have to stay on the track that is 100 percent change." - Denver herald-Dispatch, 9/14/2017
Saturday. I'm on my way to workout and say goodbye to some shopping center employees, friends of mine, who I won't see so often now that I don't work there anymore. But first, I am having lunch at a diner along the way. It's a 24-hour place left over from serving a former rubber manufacturing plant. Sitting at a table next to me are a handful of Christian bikers who are in black denim vests with "Hellfighters" on the back. The next day, I am on the bike trail from the train station north of downtown. I'm off to the Mind, Body, and Spirit Festival. It's a celebration of all things metaphysical. I am headed along the sidewalk from the station when a couple of oncoming young women ask me for a ride on my handlebars. There is major hobo action out on this trail this afternoon. Under a highway is a guy tending a fire, his bicycle parked on the path. Just ahead of him is a guy hauling three enormous full trash bags. I can't see what he is transporting them on. When I get inside the fest I see some six young women in pure joy that every one of them is a Virgo. "I don't know you (all) but I know you," says one to the rest. "Virgos man." I pass a booth of a guy selling spiritual photos. The guy walks with a cane and points out one photo of a gorilla with a woman's face superimposed on its chest. He tells me that the woman is his ex-wife. At another table, another guy puts his hands together and approaches me to request that I purchase one of his "scarves as gifts." On the way back to the train station, I pass through a historic neighborhood. It's slowly being dismantled, it's elderly ethnic residents being exchanged for young Caucasians. Its old wooden porches for steel condominiums, its legendary music halls for...whatever. It's closing in on 5:30 PM. On a corner is a cement wall with a gay party going on behind it. It's across the street from a enormous mural on the entire side of a building, of an African princess. From behind me comes a young Caucasian couple on bikes...
Monday. Shortly after 9 AM. I am at the dentist, in a neighborhood where I used to live, where I saw nary a single homeless person when I lived here. It's always sold itself as an exclusive shopping district. I am approaching the office when I see a 20-year-old kid walking with socks and no shoes. He's hauling a big black trash bag as he looks into a trash can. Out of the dentist, after a bus and bike ride, I'm at the downtown stop for my last bus to work. A grey haired guy is coming along the sidewalk. He has a cast on his foot and uses a crutch. He asks me if the bus to a mountain gambling resort stops here. It does not. On the bench is a woman with black fright wig hair and star tattoos down her arm. She appears to be in her sixties. I listen to her on her phone mention that she has been "up since 6 this morning." Her "case manager is a piece of shit." I wonder what time the case manager gets up? She sits next to a guy her age with a bandage on his right arm and hand.
After working so many years in south Denver, northwest Denver strikes me as an entirely different animal. It's older. The deathburger next to my new place of employment has a drive through lane in front of the entrance, so you take your life in four hands when you go inside. I get back to my own boulevard after work some time after 9 PM. A teenaged couple crosses the street and the guy asks me if I have a "shigarette" for sale. I tell him I don't smoke. He appears not to comprehend this. The following morning, I see a bit of the local news. A reporter is at a new bar on top of a downtown office building. It's the tallest bar in the city and opens today. I am out with my bike at the bus stop across the street from where I live at 8:30 AM. A lone guy sits in the shelter. He's waiting not for a bus, I think, but for the liquor store next door to open. An hour and a half later, I am in a Starbucks along the way to work. There is a lot of talking in here. In this Northwest Denver neighborhood place, it's high school kids and middle aged guys. The generations are doing their thing. I'm sitting next to a woman tapping on her laptop. I've had four primary care physicians in the past two years and they all did the same thing, tap on their laptops after asking me how I feel. While she is on her computer, I am writing this on my 99 cent notepad. Another woman sits in a corner. She's in a teal T-shirt. On the back is the logo for the kind of church which harbors immigrants being chased by ICE. Another woman, her keys rattling in her hand, looks like a farm wife. She has a white long sleeved shirt under a sleeveless red and white checked tablecloth patterned blouse. She almost forgets her iced coffee. There's a couple sitting next to each other in plush leather chairs, doing what could be therapy. With coffee. I sit at one end of a bar table. From the other end comes laughter as four guys enjoy a game of cards. The place is like a waiting room before the serious part of the day begins. Which is when? It's already 10:30 AM. Another young couple is leaving, the guy in a Star Wars technical blueprint T-shirt. In comes a kid in an orange knit cap, carrying a skateboard. At first I think he is showing a friend something on his phone. At second glance, he is showing him a burrito in foil. Another guy comes in, with grey hair. The back of his T-shirt reads, "volunteer." Nothing more. Some ten hours later, I am on a bus back to my boulevard. A guy gets on who looks like one of the original hippies. His face looks beat up.
Friday. I'm out of the house at 8 AM. Across the street from where I live is a renovated building. It's now apartments. It's full of the only Caucasians in this neighborhood, most of who I never see out on the street. This morning, a drycleaning delivery van is parked out front. The only drycleaning I have ever seen delivered during my decade in this neighborhood. I hop on a bus, and up the street we are headed through the intersection. Before we get to the other side, a long grey haired guy with a walker is yelling for the driver to stop. On the other side a passenger gets off, and outside she signals the driver that the guy is coming. The driver assures her that he knows the guy approaching, and with that we take off. I wonder if the guy with the walker has hustled the driver before? An hour later I am having my first pre-work breakfast before my new job. It's in the same building as a gun shop, and a beautiful young waitress brings my food, gives me a wink and tells me to "dig in." Yesm'. After I have dug in, I pay the check and am negotiating the traffic in the parking lot to get to the Starbucks next door. These parts appear to be dominated by strip malls with tiny parking lots. At the coffee place, where the woman in the church shirt sat yesterday, another now sits. She's in a hoodie with "crossfit" along the back bottom. Today it's far less crowded in here. The residents must have things to do on a Friday. I hope they are off the road when I am making my way home in the dark. Stay home everybody. Some nine hours later I leave work, eventually riding past a bus hub where a couple of buses go past me. The hour and 45 minute trip has its dangerous dark blind curves before I get to the train. Right before the station I cross a bridge over a highway, on the side where pedestrians (or bikes) are not meant to tread. I suspect that this is because, as I attempt to ride across, one of my eyes is on the bridge and the other is on the highway far below. It's causing vertigo. Down the line, where the train lets me out, it's another fifteen blocks home. I stop into the gas station across the street from where I work. I spot a guy who lives on my boulevard. He works for the guy who owns the place where i work, as a driver. I would see him occasionally; kind of an easy going wise guy. He would ask me to go to work for the part of the company he does. This evening he is showing a guy photos on his phone. He doesn't recognize me in my bike gear. I hear him tell the guy, "My girlfriend was pregnant when I was locked up." I didn't know any of this about him. She was knocked up when he got locked up. I decide not to say anything to him.
On Saturday, I am returning from the gym. On the corner is a guy flying a sign which tells us that he was in the hospital when he lost his wallet and his tent. Anything helps. I can keep my eye out for the tent. It's larger than the wallet. Later on I head to the Vietnamese place for dinner. At one table is a pair of Caucasian couples. The men have buzz cuts and one of the women has a hat like one which may have been owned by the British royal family. At another table are a trio of young Caucasians, two girls and a guy. The guy is tall with long, stringy, greasy hair past his shoulders. He is putting sriacha sauce on a tiny piece of meat. When I came in, I heard one of the women ask him if he was having any shows in New York City. There are Caucasians all over this humpy bumpy. Yet more show up. One young brunette swallows something she doesn't like. She takes a sip from a straw in a soda can.
...areas that are developing their own personalities... ...I think...the name changes...in District One in recent years have deepened the identity of...branded enclaves... ...change is...exciting and empowering. Why do we create communities...? As human beings, we don't thrive in chaos or being out of control...we create a community...to establish norms...of behavior. ...we like to feel that we belong... ...North Denver...was established as an alternative to the towns of Denver and Auraria. ...a desirable location...without trendy marketing. ...reinvestment began slowly in the late 1990s... ...North Denver...is nine...neighborhoods (formally recognized by the City in the 1970s)... - North Denver Tribune, 9/14/2017
"Culture is your emotional home. We have this incredible history of using arts and culture to advance resistance." - Boulder Weekly, 7/7/2017
Monday. The last Monday I will have off until we hire a new employee where I work. I am downtown for lunch, the bike shop, and the bank. At the bank I speak a bit of Italian with a teller from Libya. There are motor scooters everywhere this afternoon. One is locked to the bike rack and I can't lock my front wheel to the frame. Are these scooters this season's diesel pickup truck? I find a path through and around downtown and pick up some transit system schedules. I may have found a way to work from my gym. On the way home, I stop at a deathburger for a drink on this hot afternoon. Sitting in a booth is a thin guy with an enormous backpack. His dingy clothes hang from his emaciated body. He makes his exit and another guy comes in, this one in his sixties. He's in a light Patagonia jacket and a brand new marijuana dispensary T-shirt. He's going from customer to customer asking if someone will buy him something to eat. He finds an employee who will buy for him a cheeseburger.
The following day, I am n a bus some time before 9 AM. We stop at a train station up the street from where I live. A guy sticks his head in the door and gives the driver a story about leaving his transfer on the train, says he doesn't want to be late for work. The driver lets him on. I watch him texting. he may have problems in the mental department. Up the street, the bus goes past a class of middle school students playing dodgeball in a park. I make it up north early enough to eat at my new pre-work breakfast place. I see a young couple who strike me as contemporary hippie types. A girl with straight blonde hair patiently listens to an intense bearded guy with his hair in a ponytail. Another couple is seated next to the first. The girl is in jeans with designer holes down the front of both legs. The guy looks like any actor from the 1990s. Just about ten and a half hours later, I come rolling up on the bus hub. A guy in the bus shelter has, I believe, dropped his phone on the concrete. I hear him yelling, "Fuck!...fuck!" A transit system supervisor is here this evening. She asks me what this guy's story is. A bus comes along to take us crosstown. I take it to another down my street. On this one is a guy with a raspy voice. Some 12 hours later, I'm on the same bus headed the other way. I believe that the same guy is on this one. Same voice. He watches me floss my teeth and tells me that his teeth were knocked out by the "po-lice." A guy comes on and tells him that he looks hung over. He replies, "Tryin' to be." The second guy gives him some change. Some stops later, a grey-haired guy gets up. he has a rag around his head with skulls on it. he tells me as he gets out, "Smells horrible back here, don't it?" I don't smell anything at all. I am making an early start today with the hope of finding a place to work out, which is much closer to work. I get up to the YMCA down the street from work. I was told by a doctor a couple of years ago that the YMCA is free. They want $720/year. I think this doctor, in the confusing pile of information which she dumped on me, meant that the internet exercise program she recommended is free. I check out another place even closer to work. I may eventually come here, but for now I will stick with the gymnasiums closer to home.
The following day is the first day of autumn. I head out early again, this time to my regular gym, completely forgetting that it's closed for annual renovation. What a week. It's still a productive morning, as I scout out the bus route from this gym all the way up to work. The bus lets me out is the middle of farmland with no sidewalks. I find my way back to civilization without trouble, and I'm back at my favorite breakfast place. The young and beautiful waitress waves at me and comes over to scratch my back. I keep thinking that North Denver is just a different animal than my own neck of the metro area. My waitress is different today, but also tells me to "dig in" when she brings my order. At a nearby table, an old Vietnam fighter pilot talks to a friend about bombing a particular hill, in monsoon rain with faulty radar. On the way home, I am on a crosstown bus back to my boulevard after work. At the boulevard before mine, we are detoured to the south, so far that my trip home will be half as long this evening. Some long grey-haired and bearded guy is standing up front, volunteering to scout out a street through back to the regular route for this bus. As soon as the driver makes a turn back north, I ring the bell for the next stop. Senior trailblazer dude turns toward me and asks if I have been sidetracked by the detour. I tell him no. "We're at 17th and Irving, sir." I know where the fuck we are, Robinson Crusoe, thanks. The following morning, I head out early yet again. After two days and visits to three different gymnasiums, I head over to the one on the way to where I used to work. It's miles and miles from work, but it's next to a train station. I finally get my first of two workouts in for the next couple of days.
Saturday. Well, my Saturdays off didn't last long. Until we get another employee, I will be working six days a week. It's a short day however. At 7 AM, I am out at the bus stop across the street from where I live. It turns out that I could catch the 7:30, but I like to be early in the event of any curve balls. And here comes one, the 7:00 bus. Turns out that, early on a Saturday morning, this bus is full, including the bike rack. The passengers get on but I have to get the next bus. A couple of guys who look like brothers get out. Then they wait for the next bus. (?) It's 48 degrees F out here and one brother looks cold in just a T-shirt with his arms crossed. Why they disembarked from a warm bus I don't know. The other brother has greased hair and an injury to his temple. He does the talking. He sounds gay as he mentions someone who, "has a mouth on her." He claims that the bus is late, which is absolutely untrue. Some others show up. One is a young guy with a bike which has a flat back tire. Little pickup goes past and honks. The driver appears to look at the young guy and flip him off. Another guy on a bike goes past. He has long grey wavy hair and on this chilly morning rides past in denim shorts and a T-shirt. The bus arrives...on time...and there is room on this one. I hear the greased hair guy mention something about a guy pulling a knife on him at one time. I make it to my favorite breakfast place, where the Starbucks next door is so busy, the drive through lane is backed up to the street entrance. I must use all my parking lot traffic flow instincts to navigate through to the restaurant. After breakfast, I come out and even move my bike before I notice that someone left me a pair of riding gloves. Perhaps they were found nearby and thought to belong to the owner of my bike. They are too big for me. I'm tellin' ya', North Denver...
Sunday. I must return a DVD to the library, but my local branch is closed. This means a trip downtown. I take a bus up the street with three guys who look like they want to start a gang together. Lots of black clothes. They have seats behind me and i smell weed. At the following stop, a cross-eyed woman gets on with a collapsible shopping cart. She's handing out flyers for a "FREE Thanksgiving Dinner." It takes place a couple of weeks before the actual Thanksgiving, and it's over at 6 PM. Looking forward to it. I get out at the corner of my old bus stop to get a bus to the train. I see two passengers with bicycles waiting at the stop, and the bus won't take three bikes. I opt for another route. I arrive downtown and grab lunch at a bar and grill, with a handful of Caucasian guys with grey hair and buttoned down shirts. Outside the window, the assorted homeless strolls past. I realize that i have lost all of my keys.
Monday. Bus stop across the street from where I live. 8 AM. My call called me in to work early. She tells me that it's cold outside. Now there is a guy in the shelter telling me the same thing. He almost disappears inside his winter coat, save for his face and left hand, in which is a coffee. Either my new shell is hella warm, or...it isn't that bad out here. It's in the 40s. This guy is trying to tell me that my bike has 'disc brakes,' like his own bicycle. In fact, my bike does not have disc brakes. Exactly twelve hours later, I wait for a bus going the other way, toward the very same corner. When it arrives, the door opens as the driver is spraying disinfectant foam on a dried puddle of urine. This is what makes this the greatest nation on earth. The following morning, I am on the crosstown bus to work when we pull to a stop. A passenger sticks his head inside the door and asks if the bus goes further than it does. He asks how much the fare is one way. "Two dollars and sixty cents?" He's floored. After more questions, he retreats. Wednesday. Bus stop across the street from where I live. The bus after the one I need goes past. The one I need is a little late. It shows up and the driver is ushering passengers on with a loud, "Undule!" She ism't waiting to collect any fares. Thought she is only 5 minutes late, she's hauling ass. We blow past the bus which sneaked ahead of us. "Do not wait until the last minute yo ring the bell," she yells. We stop at the train station, where another driver comes on to let her know that he will meet her at the end of the line. "OK, out of my bus!" she yells at him. I glimpse her face in the rearview mirror. She's cute. I get out just down the street from a neighborhood rec center, on the same street where I work. After my first workout there, I stop into an Italian restaurant two doors from work. My first time here. The food is delicious, and the second waitress I've seen in North Denver is here, and just as beautiful as the one at my breakfast place. Perhaps in her fifties, her beauty rivals that of Mrs. Thuy.
Thursday. Crosstown bus to work. My bike is on the rack, leaving one space for another. We come to a stop where a couple each have a bike. They stare at the driver through the open door before she tells them, "I got one bike, I ain't takin' two more bikes." I guess this time, it's me who watches someone else have to wait for the next bus. I have lunch at a Caucasian "Mexican" fast food place around 11 AM. In line is a mixture of high school kids and middle-aged construction workers with long beards. I am in line behind three beautiful 17-year-olds. I am visited by the familiar feeling that I should not stand so close to someone so pure. A half hour later, retirees and office workers come in. Yesterday, lunch was $50. Today, lunch will be less, and I think I will be coming here when I am working closer to noon. Some nine hours later, I wait for my bus at a chicken deathburger. A triangular cardboard sign on the table informs me that, "Jalapeno peppers have been on our menu since '52." Wow, those must be some old peppers. I suppose are the mild peppers. I order the green beans, which taste much more recently cooked. According to the clock on the wall, I have plenty of time to catch the bus. I leave early anyway, as I always do. Outside, the bus is already at the stop. Their clock is slow. The following morning at the bus stop across the street from where I live, 9:30 AM. There are no weirdos here this morning. There is only a guy cleaning up the stop. When he is gone it still smells like urine. A little over 11 hours later, I am on a bus down my boulevard. At a stop across the street from the football stadium, I spot an undercover police car parked with lights on in the liquor store parking lot, where the stop is. A guy stands with a vest on, with "FBI" on the front. A passenger gets on who relates that several undercover cops showed up at once.
"I wasn't always looking directly at the notion of heritage, but...in some instances...regions [to which] my family might have migrated. ...moving beyond racial boundaries, gender boundaries, religious boundaries..." - Boulder Weekly, 9/14/2017
Saturday. The 6:30 AM bus rolls up and I run across the street with my bike to jump on it. A couple of young homeless guys are conversing behind me. "You gonna go eat at the mission?" I get out and grab a crosstown bus, on which a woman stands next to the driver, and they speak to each other in Russian. I arrive up north to get another workout in, before I head over to the supermarket. The checker points out my fuel points on the receipt (for the vehicle which I don't own) and a website to contact to do the survey with a powder blue highlighter. She writes her name as well, and then blows the ink dry before handing it to me. I feel like I am in the movie The Virgin Suicides. At work, a customer comes in with a Garth Brooks 2015-16 tour shirt on. Another drops off a cover for, "what do you call those things?" "A futon?" "Yeah/"
Friday. I am on a bus to work around 8:45 AM. Behind me is a guy going on about how he was a mortgage broker before the recession. "Not one of the bad guys," he assures the elderly woman sitting behind him. When she gets off, he falls silent, save for his laughter at the texts on his phone. He's a contrast to the guy on another bus, twelve hours earlier, who told the person on the other end of his phone, "shut your smart ass mouth." Today is another one where I am dragging from the change to a later schedule, and after work I connect with another couple of buses. The stop for the last one is on my boulevard, in front of an old liquor store. Sitting on a cement staircase next to the store is a guy vomiting. The bus comes along, and at one stop a guy comes lumbering on board. He has no fare but heads for a seat. The driver calls him back and asks him if he heard what he told him. The guy shuffles back up to the driver, who tells him, "Don't take the bus if you have no money." A passenger comes quickly up front, anticipating his stop. He nervously clings to a railing and looks strung out. The front of his T-short reads, "Team USA." Soon we get to the stop next to the football stadium. Another game is going on, the annual game between two state college football teams. Our way is blocked by a car half out in the lane and half in the parking lot of a bar and grill. The driver honks at this car which results in it not moving. He puts the bus in park and goes outside. I watch some young women move out from the front of the car, it moves out of the way, and some of the patrons outside cheer. At a stop soon after a huge number of people get on. One woman comments on how hot it is on the bus. "He has the heater on..." I've seen this driver before. He's a young native of Africa. The woman tells him, "There's a baby[,so turn off the heater.]" He attempts to speak into the mic, which feedback with painful volume. The bus reacts collectively. He does successfully say into the mic, "Go broncos go Broncos go Broncos." A passenger tells him that the game in the stadium is not a Broncos game." The driver almost misses someone's stop and again they react collectively. He stops the bus to tell one passenger not to hold onto two railings at once. I'm not sure what he is talking about.
Saturday. I am on a bus around 11 AM, headed to the gym. I had watched from the walk to the bus stop as some five fire engines and a couple ambulances and the Fire Chief headed for a corner, which the bus goes past. When we get there, they are all in a parking lot of a shopping center. A woman gets on and tells the driver that she was in the laundromat, there in the center, when one wall came crashing down. An SUV had crashed into it before a kid jumped out to run from the police. The following day, I get an early start to the supermarket at 7:30 AM. I watch a roasted chili stand on the corner. Already at this hour on the day before Labor Day, a young Caucasian couple has come to my neighborhood for chilies. The guy carries two plastic grocery bags crammed full of chilies. My street has become a Caucasian tourist stop, like the zoo. Power to the chilies. It strikes me as dead around here this morning, at breakfast, at the supermarket. After I get the food home, I pay a visit for a haircut to the beautiful and talented Mrs. Thuy. After the trim I'm up the street to drop off film and purchase more. Because so few use film, it's expensive. Twenty bucks for three rolls. On the corner, firemen are collecting donations for MS research. The bus will be here sooner than I can make the train, so I wait at my old stop with other passengers, including a homeless guy. When the bus arrives and we all get on, he is telling the driver that the firemen took his panhandling spot on the corner. As if they are also panhandling. Give me a man in uniform...
Tuesday after Labor day. I'm on the bus to work, still adjusting to this new schedule. A down and out guy gets on. His backpack from the 2000 Olympics in Sydney. He gets out at the next stop. Another guy tries to get on. He has a card he scans to pay the fare. The driver looks at his card and tells the guy, "That's not for you, that's for a lady." Must be someone else's card. And this driver ain't playin'. The following day, I have to report for possible jury duty, for the first time in a decade or so. Probably because earlier this year I renewed my driver's licence. Back then, I'd only ever gone to an old courthouse. Today I am headed for one of the new ones. It's been so long that the new instructions are, if chosen for a jury, don't look at any social media. Some things never change though. The instructional video has a Caucasian guy talking about being intimidated by lawyers, and throughout the video I remember hearing the word "responsibility" more than anything else. I came though security in front of a guy being admonished by security. For the second day in a row, he is trying to bring a "Thor's hammer" into the courthouse. In the big waiting room for the pool of potential jurists, a middle-aged guy is slowly pacing around and around the perimeter. He gets picked for the only jury call before the rest of us are eventually dismissed.
Overnight I get some sleep and feel like doing the ride to work the next morning. I'm on the train with my bike when I spy out the window a trio of people on a bike trail. One is in a blanket and they are standing around a line of baggage on wheels. I get out and am pedaling on a bridge over a highway. A pedestrian comes around the corner. He is carrying his suit in a zippered bag hanging from a strap across his chest. I am definitely out of my own neighborhood. When i get some forty or fifty blocks north, it's where an exit from a bike trail through open space dumps me out at the off ramp from a highway with no crosswalk. On the east side are brand new subdivisions. On the side just a hop, skip, and a jump from the foothills are old homes and farms. They wait for a break in the morning traffic to pull out with their trailers. This side of this road has the metro area's diesel trucks which are driven by actual farmers. Along this dividing line between "progress" and "heritage" is a mix of intermittent bike lanes and guardrails with no shoulders, much less sidewalks. Some twelve hours later, I and my bike are both waiting at a stop for my last bus home. Across the street is a supermarket. Along come a couple women and an older guy with a stolen shopping cart. The cart is full of groceries. One of the women asks the guy what his name is. When the bus comes, the trio get on board as I am putting my bike on the rack. One of the women tells the driver that the guy "has my ticket." I take a seat across from a woman softly playing acoustic guitar. She has big, white legs. She gets out at one stop where a young guy gets on. I smell marijuana. He takes a seat and asks someone if they want to buy weed. He says he grew it himself, and that he just got out of prison after doing five years for beating someone up at "4 Mile," wherever that is.He says that he's from my neighborhood, and mentions my corner. "We used to chill there. We used to get money there." Hustling or holding people up, I wonder? He says that the place has changed, that new people have moved in. As for him, he's headed out of town on the bus tomorrow. He's also getting "back into making music. I'm goin' in the studio tomorrow." Before or after leaving, he doesn't say. He already has a full plate after doing his stretch. Making up for lost time. Picking up where he left off. But not in my neighborhood. He says that all his friends are dead, including his little brother. Been gone for two years.
Friday. Back on the bike to work. I'm on the train with another cyclist. He has a 10-speed frame with orange paint missing all over it. The mountain bike handlebars have new LED lights Nothing expensive. He also has a cup-holder and a red bell with the transit system logo. That's...really weird. Did he attend some transit system bicycle class? I wonder if this bike is low-value to dissuade thieves. I've seen frames locked up missing everything, even with the goddamned cable cut to the missing gear assembly. Or, am I in the presence of a genuine Caucasian hipster? He gets up as his stop approaches and puts on a Hawaiian shirt. As my bike almost falls onto his he doesn't so much as flinch. That's okay with me. I get out at my own stop and twenty blocks north I'm pedaling past an elementary school. It's the first school I've seen since moving into my neighborhood which has Caucasian people. A mom is leading each of two small girls by the hand. The pair have matching dresses.
...a politically diverse resistance has arisen to fight...all three branches of the federal government as well as 25 state governments. We need to build...social movements... ...we are dealing with growing income equality...we need radical, visionary and transformative change. This means challenging the pro-corporate Democrats... In this fight, Democratic Socialists of America (DSA) has surprised many with its rapid growth. DSA's 2016 "Resistance Rising" strategy document identifies its ultimate goal as the "radical democratization..." ...capitalism would be dismantled...
...depression and fear have gripped a large swath of white America. ...white men age 50 to 55 are now committing suicide at a faster rate than any other demographic group...they now realize the American dream is dead for them. We have never seen this. Fear in white America is burning out of control...
...as why there is a shortage of available kitchen workers...popular theories blame the oversaturation of restaurants, a low unemployment rate, Boulder's cost of living, the marijuana industry siphoning off talent and immigration enforcement... ...in just the last three years[, workers] "can demand more money. ...we have to find it someplace." ...had to bring in middle-level kitchen staff from out of state... ...it's tough to fill out a staff in Boulder...when...wages won't be enough to pay rent in the city. The people...that make the city tick are having to move further and further away, creating a bubble that may burst... - Boulder Weekly, 8/24-30/2017
"Young Professionals are able to become engaged in the community where they live and work in on a much deeper level." "We can all relate to each other as far as...success." Events cater to five pillars: access, social, education, activities and philanthropy. ...to help young professionals...balance work and life through activities and contribute to the community. - Denver-Herald Dispatch 8/31/2017
There's a quiet revolution... Gone are...collared shirts and...briefcases. ...Denver is very much near the epicenter... ...shake-up in the office space industry... "Most of the U.S. is catching up to Denver." Being in a modern, tech-rich space full of amenities...games, networking events, patios, free beer and an on-site gym can stimulate creativity and productivity. ...well-positioned on hip South Broadway in sight of downtown, has chemistry directly in his sights. - the profile, 9/2017
Denver's newest urban community meets every must-have on your city-lover's checklist...surrounded by...calming greenery... ...you can explore trails, parks and lakes without having to pick up your car keys. ...energy efficiency, modern floor plans and flexible spaces - while living in a vibrant historic district. - North Denver Tribune, 9/14/2017
Community leaders and wonks from across the city...that aims to challenge Denver on what it means to be a world-class city. "It's about, 'Do you have the opportunity to go to a decent public school, and then get a job and afford a place to live?" Denver Mayor Michael Hancock...his..."world-class city"... The group...wants...a strategy for a "more equitable and diverse city"... "How can we take the same energy...for the last 30 years...and create...opportunity to continue to live in this city and not get priced out of your home? [This new organization] considers itself "a third voice" between Denver's elite establishment that upholds the status quo and a new rising anti-growth sentiment. ."..in the last two years...'What is happening to our city? What's all this development...? Who's being helped? We don't have to stay on the track that is 100 percent change." - Denver herald-Dispatch, 9/14/2017
Saturday. I'm on my way to workout and say goodbye to some shopping center employees, friends of mine, who I won't see so often now that I don't work there anymore. But first, I am having lunch at a diner along the way. It's a 24-hour place left over from serving a former rubber manufacturing plant. Sitting at a table next to me are a handful of Christian bikers who are in black denim vests with "Hellfighters" on the back. The next day, I am on the bike trail from the train station north of downtown. I'm off to the Mind, Body, and Spirit Festival. It's a celebration of all things metaphysical. I am headed along the sidewalk from the station when a couple of oncoming young women ask me for a ride on my handlebars. There is major hobo action out on this trail this afternoon. Under a highway is a guy tending a fire, his bicycle parked on the path. Just ahead of him is a guy hauling three enormous full trash bags. I can't see what he is transporting them on. When I get inside the fest I see some six young women in pure joy that every one of them is a Virgo. "I don't know you (all) but I know you," says one to the rest. "Virgos man." I pass a booth of a guy selling spiritual photos. The guy walks with a cane and points out one photo of a gorilla with a woman's face superimposed on its chest. He tells me that the woman is his ex-wife. At another table, another guy puts his hands together and approaches me to request that I purchase one of his "scarves as gifts." On the way back to the train station, I pass through a historic neighborhood. It's slowly being dismantled, it's elderly ethnic residents being exchanged for young Caucasians. Its old wooden porches for steel condominiums, its legendary music halls for...whatever. It's closing in on 5:30 PM. On a corner is a cement wall with a gay party going on behind it. It's across the street from a enormous mural on the entire side of a building, of an African princess. From behind me comes a young Caucasian couple on bikes...
Monday. Shortly after 9 AM. I am at the dentist, in a neighborhood where I used to live, where I saw nary a single homeless person when I lived here. It's always sold itself as an exclusive shopping district. I am approaching the office when I see a 20-year-old kid walking with socks and no shoes. He's hauling a big black trash bag as he looks into a trash can. Out of the dentist, after a bus and bike ride, I'm at the downtown stop for my last bus to work. A grey haired guy is coming along the sidewalk. He has a cast on his foot and uses a crutch. He asks me if the bus to a mountain gambling resort stops here. It does not. On the bench is a woman with black fright wig hair and star tattoos down her arm. She appears to be in her sixties. I listen to her on her phone mention that she has been "up since 6 this morning." Her "case manager is a piece of shit." I wonder what time the case manager gets up? She sits next to a guy her age with a bandage on his right arm and hand.
After working so many years in south Denver, northwest Denver strikes me as an entirely different animal. It's older. The deathburger next to my new place of employment has a drive through lane in front of the entrance, so you take your life in four hands when you go inside. I get back to my own boulevard after work some time after 9 PM. A teenaged couple crosses the street and the guy asks me if I have a "shigarette" for sale. I tell him I don't smoke. He appears not to comprehend this. The following morning, I see a bit of the local news. A reporter is at a new bar on top of a downtown office building. It's the tallest bar in the city and opens today. I am out with my bike at the bus stop across the street from where I live at 8:30 AM. A lone guy sits in the shelter. He's waiting not for a bus, I think, but for the liquor store next door to open. An hour and a half later, I am in a Starbucks along the way to work. There is a lot of talking in here. In this Northwest Denver neighborhood place, it's high school kids and middle aged guys. The generations are doing their thing. I'm sitting next to a woman tapping on her laptop. I've had four primary care physicians in the past two years and they all did the same thing, tap on their laptops after asking me how I feel. While she is on her computer, I am writing this on my 99 cent notepad. Another woman sits in a corner. She's in a teal T-shirt. On the back is the logo for the kind of church which harbors immigrants being chased by ICE. Another woman, her keys rattling in her hand, looks like a farm wife. She has a white long sleeved shirt under a sleeveless red and white checked tablecloth patterned blouse. She almost forgets her iced coffee. There's a couple sitting next to each other in plush leather chairs, doing what could be therapy. With coffee. I sit at one end of a bar table. From the other end comes laughter as four guys enjoy a game of cards. The place is like a waiting room before the serious part of the day begins. Which is when? It's already 10:30 AM. Another young couple is leaving, the guy in a Star Wars technical blueprint T-shirt. In comes a kid in an orange knit cap, carrying a skateboard. At first I think he is showing a friend something on his phone. At second glance, he is showing him a burrito in foil. Another guy comes in, with grey hair. The back of his T-shirt reads, "volunteer." Nothing more. Some ten hours later, I am on a bus back to my boulevard. A guy gets on who looks like one of the original hippies. His face looks beat up.
Friday. I'm out of the house at 8 AM. Across the street from where I live is a renovated building. It's now apartments. It's full of the only Caucasians in this neighborhood, most of who I never see out on the street. This morning, a drycleaning delivery van is parked out front. The only drycleaning I have ever seen delivered during my decade in this neighborhood. I hop on a bus, and up the street we are headed through the intersection. Before we get to the other side, a long grey haired guy with a walker is yelling for the driver to stop. On the other side a passenger gets off, and outside she signals the driver that the guy is coming. The driver assures her that he knows the guy approaching, and with that we take off. I wonder if the guy with the walker has hustled the driver before? An hour later I am having my first pre-work breakfast before my new job. It's in the same building as a gun shop, and a beautiful young waitress brings my food, gives me a wink and tells me to "dig in." Yesm'. After I have dug in, I pay the check and am negotiating the traffic in the parking lot to get to the Starbucks next door. These parts appear to be dominated by strip malls with tiny parking lots. At the coffee place, where the woman in the church shirt sat yesterday, another now sits. She's in a hoodie with "crossfit" along the back bottom. Today it's far less crowded in here. The residents must have things to do on a Friday. I hope they are off the road when I am making my way home in the dark. Stay home everybody. Some nine hours later I leave work, eventually riding past a bus hub where a couple of buses go past me. The hour and 45 minute trip has its dangerous dark blind curves before I get to the train. Right before the station I cross a bridge over a highway, on the side where pedestrians (or bikes) are not meant to tread. I suspect that this is because, as I attempt to ride across, one of my eyes is on the bridge and the other is on the highway far below. It's causing vertigo. Down the line, where the train lets me out, it's another fifteen blocks home. I stop into the gas station across the street from where I work. I spot a guy who lives on my boulevard. He works for the guy who owns the place where i work, as a driver. I would see him occasionally; kind of an easy going wise guy. He would ask me to go to work for the part of the company he does. This evening he is showing a guy photos on his phone. He doesn't recognize me in my bike gear. I hear him tell the guy, "My girlfriend was pregnant when I was locked up." I didn't know any of this about him. She was knocked up when he got locked up. I decide not to say anything to him.
On Saturday, I am returning from the gym. On the corner is a guy flying a sign which tells us that he was in the hospital when he lost his wallet and his tent. Anything helps. I can keep my eye out for the tent. It's larger than the wallet. Later on I head to the Vietnamese place for dinner. At one table is a pair of Caucasian couples. The men have buzz cuts and one of the women has a hat like one which may have been owned by the British royal family. At another table are a trio of young Caucasians, two girls and a guy. The guy is tall with long, stringy, greasy hair past his shoulders. He is putting sriacha sauce on a tiny piece of meat. When I came in, I heard one of the women ask him if he was having any shows in New York City. There are Caucasians all over this humpy bumpy. Yet more show up. One young brunette swallows something she doesn't like. She takes a sip from a straw in a soda can.
...areas that are developing their own personalities... ...I think...the name changes...in District One in recent years have deepened the identity of...branded enclaves... ...change is...exciting and empowering. Why do we create communities...? As human beings, we don't thrive in chaos or being out of control...we create a community...to establish norms...of behavior. ...we like to feel that we belong... ...North Denver...was established as an alternative to the towns of Denver and Auraria. ...a desirable location...without trendy marketing. ...reinvestment began slowly in the late 1990s... ...North Denver...is nine...neighborhoods (formally recognized by the City in the 1970s)... - North Denver Tribune, 9/14/2017
"Culture is your emotional home. We have this incredible history of using arts and culture to advance resistance." - Boulder Weekly, 7/7/2017
Monday. The last Monday I will have off until we hire a new employee where I work. I am downtown for lunch, the bike shop, and the bank. At the bank I speak a bit of Italian with a teller from Libya. There are motor scooters everywhere this afternoon. One is locked to the bike rack and I can't lock my front wheel to the frame. Are these scooters this season's diesel pickup truck? I find a path through and around downtown and pick up some transit system schedules. I may have found a way to work from my gym. On the way home, I stop at a deathburger for a drink on this hot afternoon. Sitting in a booth is a thin guy with an enormous backpack. His dingy clothes hang from his emaciated body. He makes his exit and another guy comes in, this one in his sixties. He's in a light Patagonia jacket and a brand new marijuana dispensary T-shirt. He's going from customer to customer asking if someone will buy him something to eat. He finds an employee who will buy for him a cheeseburger.
The following day, I am n a bus some time before 9 AM. We stop at a train station up the street from where I live. A guy sticks his head in the door and gives the driver a story about leaving his transfer on the train, says he doesn't want to be late for work. The driver lets him on. I watch him texting. he may have problems in the mental department. Up the street, the bus goes past a class of middle school students playing dodgeball in a park. I make it up north early enough to eat at my new pre-work breakfast place. I see a young couple who strike me as contemporary hippie types. A girl with straight blonde hair patiently listens to an intense bearded guy with his hair in a ponytail. Another couple is seated next to the first. The girl is in jeans with designer holes down the front of both legs. The guy looks like any actor from the 1990s. Just about ten and a half hours later, I come rolling up on the bus hub. A guy in the bus shelter has, I believe, dropped his phone on the concrete. I hear him yelling, "Fuck!...fuck!" A transit system supervisor is here this evening. She asks me what this guy's story is. A bus comes along to take us crosstown. I take it to another down my street. On this one is a guy with a raspy voice. Some 12 hours later, I'm on the same bus headed the other way. I believe that the same guy is on this one. Same voice. He watches me floss my teeth and tells me that his teeth were knocked out by the "po-lice." A guy comes on and tells him that he looks hung over. He replies, "Tryin' to be." The second guy gives him some change. Some stops later, a grey-haired guy gets up. he has a rag around his head with skulls on it. he tells me as he gets out, "Smells horrible back here, don't it?" I don't smell anything at all. I am making an early start today with the hope of finding a place to work out, which is much closer to work. I get up to the YMCA down the street from work. I was told by a doctor a couple of years ago that the YMCA is free. They want $720/year. I think this doctor, in the confusing pile of information which she dumped on me, meant that the internet exercise program she recommended is free. I check out another place even closer to work. I may eventually come here, but for now I will stick with the gymnasiums closer to home.
The following day is the first day of autumn. I head out early again, this time to my regular gym, completely forgetting that it's closed for annual renovation. What a week. It's still a productive morning, as I scout out the bus route from this gym all the way up to work. The bus lets me out is the middle of farmland with no sidewalks. I find my way back to civilization without trouble, and I'm back at my favorite breakfast place. The young and beautiful waitress waves at me and comes over to scratch my back. I keep thinking that North Denver is just a different animal than my own neck of the metro area. My waitress is different today, but also tells me to "dig in" when she brings my order. At a nearby table, an old Vietnam fighter pilot talks to a friend about bombing a particular hill, in monsoon rain with faulty radar. On the way home, I am on a crosstown bus back to my boulevard after work. At the boulevard before mine, we are detoured to the south, so far that my trip home will be half as long this evening. Some long grey-haired and bearded guy is standing up front, volunteering to scout out a street through back to the regular route for this bus. As soon as the driver makes a turn back north, I ring the bell for the next stop. Senior trailblazer dude turns toward me and asks if I have been sidetracked by the detour. I tell him no. "We're at 17th and Irving, sir." I know where the fuck we are, Robinson Crusoe, thanks. The following morning, I head out early yet again. After two days and visits to three different gymnasiums, I head over to the one on the way to where I used to work. It's miles and miles from work, but it's next to a train station. I finally get my first of two workouts in for the next couple of days.
Saturday. Well, my Saturdays off didn't last long. Until we get another employee, I will be working six days a week. It's a short day however. At 7 AM, I am out at the bus stop across the street from where I live. It turns out that I could catch the 7:30, but I like to be early in the event of any curve balls. And here comes one, the 7:00 bus. Turns out that, early on a Saturday morning, this bus is full, including the bike rack. The passengers get on but I have to get the next bus. A couple of guys who look like brothers get out. Then they wait for the next bus. (?) It's 48 degrees F out here and one brother looks cold in just a T-shirt with his arms crossed. Why they disembarked from a warm bus I don't know. The other brother has greased hair and an injury to his temple. He does the talking. He sounds gay as he mentions someone who, "has a mouth on her." He claims that the bus is late, which is absolutely untrue. Some others show up. One is a young guy with a bike which has a flat back tire. Little pickup goes past and honks. The driver appears to look at the young guy and flip him off. Another guy on a bike goes past. He has long grey wavy hair and on this chilly morning rides past in denim shorts and a T-shirt. The bus arrives...on time...and there is room on this one. I hear the greased hair guy mention something about a guy pulling a knife on him at one time. I make it to my favorite breakfast place, where the Starbucks next door is so busy, the drive through lane is backed up to the street entrance. I must use all my parking lot traffic flow instincts to navigate through to the restaurant. After breakfast, I come out and even move my bike before I notice that someone left me a pair of riding gloves. Perhaps they were found nearby and thought to belong to the owner of my bike. They are too big for me. I'm tellin' ya', North Denver...
Sunday. I must return a DVD to the library, but my local branch is closed. This means a trip downtown. I take a bus up the street with three guys who look like they want to start a gang together. Lots of black clothes. They have seats behind me and i smell weed. At the following stop, a cross-eyed woman gets on with a collapsible shopping cart. She's handing out flyers for a "FREE Thanksgiving Dinner." It takes place a couple of weeks before the actual Thanksgiving, and it's over at 6 PM. Looking forward to it. I get out at the corner of my old bus stop to get a bus to the train. I see two passengers with bicycles waiting at the stop, and the bus won't take three bikes. I opt for another route. I arrive downtown and grab lunch at a bar and grill, with a handful of Caucasian guys with grey hair and buttoned down shirts. Outside the window, the assorted homeless strolls past. I realize that i have lost all of my keys.
Monday. Bus stop across the street from where I live. 8 AM. My call called me in to work early. She tells me that it's cold outside. Now there is a guy in the shelter telling me the same thing. He almost disappears inside his winter coat, save for his face and left hand, in which is a coffee. Either my new shell is hella warm, or...it isn't that bad out here. It's in the 40s. This guy is trying to tell me that my bike has 'disc brakes,' like his own bicycle. In fact, my bike does not have disc brakes. Exactly twelve hours later, I wait for a bus going the other way, toward the very same corner. When it arrives, the door opens as the driver is spraying disinfectant foam on a dried puddle of urine. This is what makes this the greatest nation on earth. The following morning, I am on the crosstown bus to work when we pull to a stop. A passenger sticks his head inside the door and asks if the bus goes further than it does. He asks how much the fare is one way. "Two dollars and sixty cents?" He's floored. After more questions, he retreats. Wednesday. Bus stop across the street from where I live. The bus after the one I need goes past. The one I need is a little late. It shows up and the driver is ushering passengers on with a loud, "Undule!" She ism't waiting to collect any fares. Thought she is only 5 minutes late, she's hauling ass. We blow past the bus which sneaked ahead of us. "Do not wait until the last minute yo ring the bell," she yells. We stop at the train station, where another driver comes on to let her know that he will meet her at the end of the line. "OK, out of my bus!" she yells at him. I glimpse her face in the rearview mirror. She's cute. I get out just down the street from a neighborhood rec center, on the same street where I work. After my first workout there, I stop into an Italian restaurant two doors from work. My first time here. The food is delicious, and the second waitress I've seen in North Denver is here, and just as beautiful as the one at my breakfast place. Perhaps in her fifties, her beauty rivals that of Mrs. Thuy.
Thursday. Crosstown bus to work. My bike is on the rack, leaving one space for another. We come to a stop where a couple each have a bike. They stare at the driver through the open door before she tells them, "I got one bike, I ain't takin' two more bikes." I guess this time, it's me who watches someone else have to wait for the next bus. I have lunch at a Caucasian "Mexican" fast food place around 11 AM. In line is a mixture of high school kids and middle-aged construction workers with long beards. I am in line behind three beautiful 17-year-olds. I am visited by the familiar feeling that I should not stand so close to someone so pure. A half hour later, retirees and office workers come in. Yesterday, lunch was $50. Today, lunch will be less, and I think I will be coming here when I am working closer to noon. Some nine hours later, I wait for my bus at a chicken deathburger. A triangular cardboard sign on the table informs me that, "Jalapeno peppers have been on our menu since '52." Wow, those must be some old peppers. I suppose are the mild peppers. I order the green beans, which taste much more recently cooked. According to the clock on the wall, I have plenty of time to catch the bus. I leave early anyway, as I always do. Outside, the bus is already at the stop. Their clock is slow. The following morning at the bus stop across the street from where I live, 9:30 AM. There are no weirdos here this morning. There is only a guy cleaning up the stop. When he is gone it still smells like urine. A little over 11 hours later, I am on a bus down my boulevard. At a stop across the street from the football stadium, I spot an undercover police car parked with lights on in the liquor store parking lot, where the stop is. A guy stands with a vest on, with "FBI" on the front. A passenger gets on who relates that several undercover cops showed up at once.
"I wasn't always looking directly at the notion of heritage, but...in some instances...regions [to which] my family might have migrated. ...moving beyond racial boundaries, gender boundaries, religious boundaries..." - Boulder Weekly, 9/14/2017
Saturday. The 6:30 AM bus rolls up and I run across the street with my bike to jump on it. A couple of young homeless guys are conversing behind me. "You gonna go eat at the mission?" I get out and grab a crosstown bus, on which a woman stands next to the driver, and they speak to each other in Russian. I arrive up north to get another workout in, before I head over to the supermarket. The checker points out my fuel points on the receipt (for the vehicle which I don't own) and a website to contact to do the survey with a powder blue highlighter. She writes her name as well, and then blows the ink dry before handing it to me. I feel like I am in the movie The Virgin Suicides. At work, a customer comes in with a Garth Brooks 2015-16 tour shirt on. Another drops off a cover for, "what do you call those things?" "A futon?" "Yeah/"
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