Moratorium (Part Two): I'm SO Over These People

Oprah

Ok, as mentioned previously, this installment lists some people who's time should have come and gone by now. So...maybe you could find something else to do with your time now? MmmKay thanks.

Oprah: I saw the Oprah show exactly once. She had Bill Murray, Billy Crystal, and Robin Williams as her guests, all at their creative peak (sometime in the late 1980s). They were hilarious, and she had the good sense largely to shut up and let them carry the show. So I really never "got" the cultlike following, particularly among women, to whom she became the Number One Authority. Or some sort of Pied Piper. You know, at some level, I do get it. Oprah created the formula that spawned countless imitations and recreations. Unlike everyone else on TV, she talked about real things, the way you might with your friends. She wasn't necessarily slick and polished, like a Johnny Carson. Nor did she have an act. She would talk to celebrities like they were best buds hanging out. And later she would find interesting but not necessarily well known people, with whom she would discuss interesting things that the mainstream shows ignored. In so doing, she went from TV show host to National Treasure. Her opinions moved the needle. If Oprah spoke favorably about a book, a movie, or a candidate, that was money in the bank. Conversely, get on her bad side, and you were entering a world of pain. How funny were those idiot ranchers in Amarillo who sued her for "disparagement" under some predictably ridiculous Texas law allowing them to sue anyone who says anything bad about meat. They tried to shake her down for $11 million when she said on TV, while interviewing some vegan activist (that sounds like a fun day at the old job) that she'd never eat meat again. Those idiots lost, of course.  She became the Queen of all media: magazines, movies, books, television. You couldn't escape her. She's everywhere! Even now, after giving up her daily show, she's still inescapable. And, she's SOOOOO much more awesome than you. Is there some quiet corner where you don't have to be bombarded with her total awesomeness for 20 minutes or so? I think not. And if nothing else, she still has to answer for giving Lt. Pete Mitchell a forum for his couch jumping, "I'm in love!!" act. C'mon honey. Even John Travolta and his coterie of male masseurs think you have a denial problem.  

Half of Brangelina

Angelina Jolie: Lara Croft-playing, international baby collecting, tattoo mural wearing, UNHCR busy body AJ. Lord, what are we gonna do with you? What a road you've traveled! You go from making out with a girl in Gia to making out with your brother and marrying Billy Bob Thornton (which is really so much less respectable than making out with your brother), to toting around a vial of Billy Bob's mediocre actor's blood, to ditching him and stealing America's Sweetheart Jennifer Aniston's husband, to apparently starting a Hollywood version of the Island of Misfit International Adoptions, to suddenly taking a hard U-turn towards respectability, then pre-emptively having a double mastectomy based on having a positive genetic cancer test. Oh, and showing up as number one on about 50,000 "hottest star" lists along the way. Just one of those things would make an entire life for most people. But not for Angie. She's still on every magazine cover. Still on about half my TV channels. There's no war zone or famine-stricken region of the world that she won't descend upon. Which I suppose is admirable in some way, but I'm just so sick of her. I never thought I'd say it, but even Angelina Jolie levels of hot can get old after awhile. 

Bill Clinton: OK, this guy has got to go. We expect our ex-Presidents to become Elder Statesman.

The Prez

Stay above the fray. Do good deeds. Write your memoirs. Play golf. Show up at other ex-Prwsidenta' funerals. Raise money for charity (to be sure, the Bill has done this, between lucrative speaking engagements and self-aggrandizing political speeches). I guess the problem is we elected Bill Clinton as President at a much younger age than the usual President. So he's got more post-White House years to slog through than most former Presidents. And I suppose there's only so much golf and so many Waffle House waitresses you can endure before you want to get out there and do what you do best. No, not eating pork rinds (President Clinton admirably has gotten in fantastic physical shape, with all his spare time, thereby depriving us of all the midnight donut jokes that we forgot about once Monica came along). Politics! Ex-Presidents normally stay "above the fray," which in Clinton's case means "down in the mud." When he's not calling South Carolina primary voters a bunch of morons for not supporting his wife's 2008 candidacy, to picking fights with his party's eventual nominee, to treating this second Hillary candidacy like his own shot at a third term, don't you think its about time Bill took a rest? I admire his fundraising work with Bush 41. But otherwise, how about being an old soldier and just fading away? Its not 1992 anymore. Enjoy all that White House china you stole and let someone else have a shot.

Beyoncé: "you go girl" ism found its champion in this Fierce lady! Maybe they haven't heard of her in Togo. Or one of those atolls in the Pacific where we used to test atomic bombs back in the 1950s. But everywhere else it's all Beyoncé all the time. I mean EVERYWHERE else. I have to confess...I don't get the Beyoncé thing. She has a weak voice, sings atrocious songs, and was only the second hottest member of Destiny's Child. Here's some lyrics from her big hit, Single Ladies:  "got gloss on my lips, a man on my hips/ Hold me tighter than my Dereon jeans/Acting up, drink in my cup/I could care less what you think." This isn't exactly Gershwin here. Or Lennon-McCartney. Yeah, yeah, I know, "you kids get off my yard!" But, let's face it, Beyoncé is popular because she's hot. She dances and prances. And because she married Jay-Z (thereby making Gwynnie her number one fan). I suppose that works for awhile. But cut to Madonna trying to do the same skimpy leather dancing thing at age 70 or however old she is now. That can only play for so long. Then again, I guess after Beyoncé has earned a billion or two, she may not really care what happens when she's over 40. Kind of like I don't care what happens when she's 33.

Taylor Swift: What do you call an upside down broom? "Taylor Swift." She is everywhere though. Is it legal to have an awards show and not give something to Taylor Swift? And, how exactly did she even become famous in the first place? Its like I looked up one day and she and her blonde bangs were everywhere. Apparently she sings what passes for country music these days, specializing in tales of heartbreak. Largely brought about from the long, long list of men who, despite her looks, talent, fame, and money, quickly conclude they want nothing to do with her. Hell, even awful Katherine Heigl can keep a man. What's up with you, T? If she couldn't write about breakups by terrible men, would she have ANY songs? How crazy is she?And props to Michael J. Fox for calling her out. When that guy can nail you, you know you've crossed a line. Ultimately, Conan O'Brian called his shot, with his hilarious "22" response video. Watching this awesome take down of unwarranted privilege, if you haven't seen it, will make your day.

Neil Patrick Harris: I've kind of run out of steam at this point, so NPH gets off the hook. Suffice to say, it would be great if one awards show, anywhere, could proceed in his absence.

NOT Over:

Katy Perry: Yeah. Still a #bigfan. The more Katy Perry, the better.

Next: Let's Get Real

Moratorium! Part One

Don't mess with my girl

A two parter, both concerning people that I'm sick of hearing about. Time to move on along. Here, I name some people that its time to stop kicking them. We get it. They're horrible, or failures, or whatever. Message received. Loud. Clear. Can we go after someone else now? Like Kobe, perhaps?

In part two, I name some people who, for the love of God, can we please go for one minute about hearing how spectacularly and impossibly awesome they are?

Miley Cyrus. Does she actually sing songs? Because for all I can tell, she's just in the shock business. But at some point, you go as far as you can go and then you have to rely on actual real talent. Which I'll assume for the sake of argument that Hannah Montana has (but Miley, I'm not so sure). How long exactly can you get people to pay you to simulate (I hope) sex with various objects and backup dancers before it loses its novelty value? Yeah, I think Miley has reached that point. Short of her having a human sacrifice on stage or just going Jim Morrison in Miami on the audience, its played. Time to see whether you can get by on, I don't know, uh, SINGING. And put your tongue back in your mouth, dear. That's nasty.

Pres. Obama. Remember that line in Animal House when they're viewing pictures of the pledges and deciding whether to give them an offer, and Flounder's photo comes up, and everyone boos and hisses, and Otter gets up and says "ok, this guy's a real zero, that's true," and then defends him? That's kind of where the 44th President of the United States is now. He came into office only six years ago, the darling of the media, a transformational, iconic figure. His party had control over both houses of Congress. He had sky high approval ratings. He even won a Nobel Peace Prize, basically for not being George W. Bush. Today, things are different. You don't even have to run off a list of defeats and failures. Actions speak louder than words. Congress flipped to the Republicans. His own party's candidates, the sharps, not only told him not to campaign for them, half of them wouldn't even admit that they voted for him for President. THAT is not progress. So everywhere you turn, you run into some article on whether Obama can achieve anything on his agenda, will the Republicans run over him, what's wrong with the President. Hell, even the media has fallen out of love with him. Even two years from 2016, Hillary Clinton has begun receiving near Obama-like attention levels. One pictures him alone in the White House living quarters, with a bitter and resentful Michelle ("why is everyone so mean to me?"), wondering why people (other than Gwyneth Paltrow) won't just do what they're told (like they used to)?  Its a mystery. But the media cycle and the public's gnat lifetime length attention span finally caught up to him. Our President is yesterday's papers (errr, tweets). So for all you Fox Newses, and Tea Party "Patriots," and talk radio outlets, and Facebook crazies, its time to start letting it go. Policies are still fair game of course. Cabinet appointments. Supreme Court nominees. But all the fun we used to get from wondering where he was really born or if he's a secret Muslim covertly working to plant terrorists in the country and install "Sharia law" (whatever the hell that is) or if Michelle secretly munches on fries and apple turnovers when no one's looking...its played. Time to move on to something and someone else. Like whether Hillary had Vince Foster whacked so he wouldn't disclose what was in those "lost" Rose Law Firm billing records. (Look it up kids).

Not good for the look

Amanda Bynes. You know how its funny when the truant officer or the dog catcher slips on a banana peel and falls on his butt, but not when Tiny Tim or some infirm elderly lady does the exact same thing? Enter Amanda Bynes, once promising tween star, and current leader in the clubhouse in the Crazy Invitational. She's gone from promising Disney star, sitcom lead, and top billed movie actress, to sleeping in malls because her parents (who were put in charge of her estate due to Amanda's, um, you know, problems) won't spring for a hotel (which is odd because she has an apartment). The tabloids that previously were all over Britney's parking problems and Charlie Sheen's everything problems have switched in full force over to Amanda. The thing is though, Amanda Bynes was never some horrible, Joan Crawford-like bitch on wheels who made everyone's life a living hell and tough for her she deserves whatever she gets. She was just some kid with good looks and a lot of talent, who got pushed through the Disney "star machine" and suffered the predictable consequences. My God, does anyone come out of that even halfway not a human dumpster fire? Demi Lovato, Miley Cyrus, Justin Timberlake's hair....When your parent sign your first Disney Channel contract, do they agree on your probation terms while they're at it? Sheesh!Anyway, its long past the point of this being anything other than an 25-car pileup on an icy interstate over Thanksgiving. Hopefully this woman can get some treatment and get back some semblance of a life.  

Mommy make the mean lady stop!

The Bieb. This guy...OMG!! He tweets from tub, he sends bodyguards to beat up journalists, he cuts lines at Disney in wheelchair, he strips live on CBS, he makes KKK jokes, he abandons his pet monkey in Germany (nice move, Ross from Friends, having a pet monkey in the first place), he says Anne Frank would have been a Belieber at the Anne Frank House (yeah, THAT Anne Frank). Lord. Its hard to believe some Tony Soprano-like character hasn't had this guy whacked just on general principle. No one should be this much of a douche. Its like at some point, his insufferableness will just collapse on itself like some neutron star and form a black hole, which, hopefully, will send him off to some other dimension. And yet, that's kind of the point. Does anyone NOT get it at this point? If we just kind of look the other way, won't he go back to whatever Axe Body Spray bottle he mutated out of? Why don't we try it?

LiLo-Funny how getting famous during childhood always leads to having a totally normal, balanced adult life. Signed, Judy Garland. Anyway, who's the leader of the club that's made for you and me...to ridicule? Oh sure, she had plenty of competition-the Kardashians, the Hiltons, Charlie Sheen, Bennifer. But for sustained excellence in the art of omnipresent scandal, LiLo is still the Queen of Scum. Drug romps, being a Sunset Strip peg-board and human petri dish, hanging out in clubs every night, -like behavior on set, smoking like a chimney (she has asthma), shoplifting, violating her contracts, squandering her real and considerable acting talent...she's the John Daly of Hollywood. LiLo's a multi-sport star: sex, divaism, drugs, rage, criminality, showing her junk in innumerable "leaked" photos, and physical recklessness. One can picture her and Macauley Culkin getting together years from now and speculating on what might have been. Actually, it would never happen because LiLo would be four hours late and Culkin would pass out on a grate somewhere before the meetup. Sad. And, exactly. Sad. When the Lindz still had some passable level of abilities-to act, to model, or even to be intriguing, making fun of her was entirely reasonable. Like any person with power who abuses it, she was fair game. Now, its like, "that's an interesting handbag, oh wait, its Lindsay Lohan." Time to look the other way. Maybe one day the thing inside her that's leading to all her escapades will finally release her. Like Amanda, one would hope it happens before its too late.


Still fair to hate: Gwynnie. I know, I know. America's Sweetheart? But...Goop. There's the REAL crime against humanity.  Goop raises the question "can we be 'consciously uncoupled' from Gwyneth, and if so, how soon can we do it?"

NEXT: the people who are SO OVER!

So Last Night I Was At This Coffee Shop....

Some guys have it...
 

If I had time to write, for real, I might consider starting a new blog named "Weirdness Amongst the Humans." Because no matter where I go or what I do, odd things happen when I'm out among the non-equals. If its not weirdoes in Alexandria, La coming up to me in locker rooms asking me if I'm a preacher, or weirdoes asking me if I'm Charlie Sheen, or weirdoes getting married by a ventriloquist with a Richard Nixon dummy, I just can't seem to shake the weirdness.

Like last night, for example.

Background: I've been basically dying a slow stress-related death these past few weeks managing a huge Public Utility Commission case. We've been taking a lot of shots, as it were, and I've been finding it hard to sleep, to eat, to exercise. Stress has basically captured my body like some Invasion of the Body Snatchers pod creature, slowly turning me inside out. Not fun.

Today was the big hearing. It went just fine, natch.

But last night, I was preparing late into the night. I went to my top secret hangout (top secret so that I can keep a hangout where I can work away from everyone). Of course, I was lost in thought and had about a thousand binders and stacks of paper in front of me, feverishly working away while thoughts of professional ruin if I blew this hearing consumed me. In other words, a normal Thursday night.

From out of nowhere, a very attractive, young (early 20s), tall, brunette woman walked right up to me and asked if I was busy. No, really. Seriously.

Let's stop right here.

This won't be THAT kind of story. Unfortunately. Which is kind of the point.

Anyway, I told her "well, yes kind of, but what's up?"

She had a kind of anguished look on her face and started stammering out "do you mind if I ask you a question?" I told her no, of course not. She introduced herself as "Victoria" and I asked her to sit down, which she did. Sensing she was very uncomfortable about something, I asked her what was the matter.

To which she replied, "well, um, so...how do you talk to guys?"

For years now, I've wondered when I'd reach that age where women like this go from regarding me as some sort of potentially eligible man that they should either guard against or try to attract, to being that kindly, non-threatening little old man whose presence raises not the slightest hint of a threat. Or prospect. In that split second, I realized I'd finally crossed that threshold of decrepitude. Lovely.

I told her "I'm sorry, I'm not sure I know what you mean. 'Talk to guys'...how?"

She explained that there was some really cute guy out in the courtyard...blah, blah, blah...at that point my mind began to wander. Still she droned on.  "My heart is beating so fast....," "what do I say?" "what would he think?"

Lady, honestly, he'd probably wonder why you were talking to the geezer at the other table just a couple of minutes before.

Other thoughts raced through my mind. Aren't you a millennial? Don't you kids do this stuff ALL THE TIME? Why don't women come up to me, except for pointers on how to score some hot coffee guy action with someone not named Chris Reeder? How exactly do you talk to men? And while we're at it, what is it about me that screams out "excels in picking up men at coffee shops"?

Really, two possibilities reasonably explained this. One was that I look like a kind, old, trustworthy, friendly, non-threatening guy, who might really know the mythological key to snagging eligible bachelors that seems to elude 20s women everywhere. Damn, if I were around and willing to help, Sex In the City would never have happened. I'd have gotten them all hooked up before Episode 1. But, wizened and haggard. Past my prime. No longer in the game but able to share Obi Wan-like inner secrets to help the next generation along.

Or, I look like "Guy On the Make," who would know all about how a woman should scam on some guy. The Daddy Mack of that after-10-on-a-weeknight coffee shop set.

Or maybe somewhere in between.

So, letting the better angels of my nature hold sway, I counseled Victoria. "Well, the best thing to say is 'Hi, I'm Victoria, how are you?'" Or failing that, she could ask him if he was enjoying the night, or what he was drinking. She could remark on what he was wearing. Or, if worse came to worse, she could just look at him and smile, and maybe prompt him to approach her. I reminded her that she was able to start talking to me out of the blue, so surely she could do it with the mouth breather making her heart go pitter pat.

Of course, she wasn't nervous talking to me, because, I'm 150 years old and of no conceivable interest to her whatsoever.

Give me credit for not telling her to take off her underwear, walk up to him and hand them to him. I told you, its not THAT kind of story. Or a fraternity party.

So, buoyed with Chris' Dating Tips, she headed out to the courtyard, looking for love in all the wrong places.

Later that night, I walked outside to try to see whether Victoria had made a Love Connection. I didn't find her. Maybe she'd blown it off. Maybe the guy wasn't interested. Maybe they went somewhere else to get to know each other better. And maybe even now, they're on Hour 24 of the most romantic, meet cute of all time.

Or maybe she was a total nut job.

Whatever happened, it remains Victoria's secret. (Sorry about that, it's late. I'm old). 

Can I please just get my work done and not have to deal with all this nonsense from now on?

Please resume your normal activities.

Rocky Mountain High

Work is just killing me, man (yes, I am the last person on earth who still speaks, and writes, like Sammy Davis, Jr., man). It explains why I haven't written much here lately. Well, that and the fact that its not 2005 anymore and blogs are kind of, what...totes pre-Twitter? Think of this as just an extremely long tweet.

But tonight (actually, about a week ago now), I find myself between insane deadlines and thought during this eye of the storm, I'd try to get in a quick post. And watch Baylor play some team called "Buffalo," and not the Bills. What the hell, Baylor? You're a top 10 team and you're playing the second most popular football team in Buffalo? Actually, I'm sure its the third most popular, as I can't imagine they outdraw Syracuse. Why do people live in Buffalo in the first place? Every time I've ever seen a Bills game it looks like there's 20 foot snow drifts in every direction. It must be like living Antarctica. But with more classic rock radio stations (Jethro Tull!!! yeah!!!), cigarette smoke, and cellulite. So what are you doing, playing a game up there Baylor? Who do you think you are anyway? Alabama, playing Western Carolina? I guess the Baptist alums wanted a wholesome road trip, and there's no college in Branson. Yes, this is a really competitive game. 35-0 in the second quarter. What, Waco Richfield couldn't play this weekend?

Where was I? Oh, yeah. But I did manage to sneak in a little weekend trip recently, in between some client meetings I scheduled in Denver. Thought I'd write about it.

I stayed in Denver, at the Warwick Hotel. I imagine 25 years ago, when Ralph Lauren and British fashion were still kind of a thing, this place must have been totally hot. But it looks in serious need of some refurnishing, at least. Imagine Houston's Lancaster Hotel, only I think they've actually done some remodeling. When your main claim to fame is you have a pool on the roof, it might be time to hire the old hotel consultant.

But its close to my firm's Denver office, and the firm was paying for it, so its like the old saying. "Its not good but there's a lot of it." Actually, that's more of a me saying than an old saying. So the Warwick became my base camp.

Friday, for the client lunch, we went to the Elway's steakhouse (yes, THAT Elway) at the downtown Ritz-Carlton. It has a kind of contemporary feel, not your usual steakhouse dark wood/no lights kind of affair. The Ritz-Carlton was pretty impressive too. We saw a Maserati parked in front, which natch was #baller. I think I had a salad, but a really good one with chicken, apples, and tomatoes. The other two guys had cheeseburgers. So of course, I felt morally superior. As is the regs.

That night, after a pretty hectic day, I just found a halfway decent gym and worked out. Dinner was nothing special. I walked downtown to the 16th Avenue Pedestrian Mall, where the street was lined with restaurants, bars, and stores. The place was hopping, with lots of people of all types out rolling around for the evening. But it was awesome getting out of the heat, and just walking 15-20 minutes outside without risking heat stroke. I can't for the life of me remember what or where I ate, only that I was at the bar, and some old coot (you know, someone even the slightest bit older than me) wandered in after me and relentlessly was flirting (uh, if you could call it that, "bothering" may accurately captures what was happening) with the bartender. That's kind of an awkward job. On the one hand, she wants tips and wants to keep customers there, so she has to kind of pretend to be following this guy's fantasy football talk or whatever it was. On the other, at some point you want to kill yourself. I did notice that her talking about her boyfriend non-stop didn't seem to slow this guy's roll one bit. Again, what the hell? That's like drilling a dry hole...and then spending more time and money continuing drilling. Move on to the next field. Please. So I can eat.

Saturday morning, I passed up the hotel buffet in search of a local alternative breakfast. Which I found at the aptly named "Syrup."  I took a 10 minute walk from the hotel through the cool morning air to reach the restaurant, located in the ground floor of a downtown office building. The place was rapidly becoming packed, but I made it just in time. I had a really great bowl of oatmeal and some eggs, as per uzh.  Then I waddled back to the hotel.

Elk Falls Overlook

But, I'd need the calories because little did I know that I'd be embarking on the never-ending hike. Don't get me wrong-Staunton State Park, and the trail to the Elk Falls overlook was a boss, hike wise. You hike up slowly rising hills through aspen and birch forest, then after passing mirror-still Elk Falls Pond, you reach the 9,150 foot overlook after going through some fairly rocky terrain. Staunton is the newest Colorado state park, created within the past couple of years about an hour west of Denver, close to the town of Conifer. As with most other drives out that way, the terrain changes sharply. Denver sits on flat land just the other side of the mountains, but not long after leaving town the elevation really begins to pick up. Within half an hour, you're in the Rockies. The dramatic contrast never fails to impress. I really enjoyed the hike itself, though I wouldn't regard it as an all-time great. Not long after getting out on the trail the rain and wind started moving in. Naturally I assumed that the Colorado mountains would have exactly the same weather as Austin, and packed, and therefore dressed, accordingly. Good choice. By which I mean, bad choice. Because once the rains had me soaked, the winds made it pretty cold even though it was only 72 out. Which, of course, I wasn't acclimatized to. But no matter, as the scenery was lovely. I took a different route coming back than going out. The ranger said they'd be about the same length. That was true in some sense, but the way back cut through hillier terrain and involved more switchbacks, so it added about an hour to come back. And as I had stupidly not taken any water on the hike (I knew better, trust me, I was just super-human and thought the rule wouldn't apply to me), I was really dogging it at the end. So I didn't make it back to town until about 6.

Mile High

Which was a scheduling problem. Shortly before I left for Denver, I learned that the Houston Texans would be playing a pre-season game against the Broncos, in Denver that Saturday night. So, arriving at the Denver office that Friday, I e-mailed around and sure enough one of the lawyers there had a couple of extra tickets for the game. I say a couple, because it just so happened that my good friend Jude was staying in Boulder, about 45 minutes up the road. We connected with one another and he agreed to come down and join me for the game. We were supposed to meet at 5 at my hotel, so my little hiking drama had him sitting in the hotel lobby for an hour waiting for me. Jude, ever the "no big deal" guy, had no problem with it but I was kind of freaking out. Anyway, I quickly changed, and we took a cab over to the new Sports Authority Field at Mile High, the "new" Denver football stadium.  The game wasn't a sellout, or if it was, a lot of people didn't use their tickets. Nonetheless, a huge crowd did attend, and I even saw some Texans fans. I wore my Texans polo shirt, of course. The game was fairly good, for a pre-season game. The Texans starters played most of the first half. The defense largely controlled Peyton Manning's Bronco offense until just before the half, while the offense managed to move the ball. This was the game where Manning ran up to D. J. Swearinger in the end zone after throwing a touchdown pass, and yelled at him. Manning drew a penalty. It received considerable publicity. We really liked the stadium. Architecturally imaginative, it seemed to resemble the Beijing Olympic Stadium design, on the exterior. The grounds are attractive, and its relatively close to downtown. Inside, the seats are comfortable, and we had great views even from our 40 yard line upper deck seats. The fans seemed relatively polite and still energetic. No one hassled me about my Texans shirt, for example, something that would likely occur in many other NFL venues. We both really enjoyed the game and it was great seeing Jude again.

Crawford Hotel

That night after the game, I walked downtown again and this time made it to the historic district. Filled with old, restored brick buildings, this area now houses bars, restaurants and shops near Coors Field, where the Colorado Rockies play. One highlight was the converted Union Station train depot, which now is the Crawford Hotel. It kept most of the train station's architectural layout, including some authentic spaces for a barber shop, ice cream shop, and a couple restaurants. A real gem of urban reclamation, and its still a metro train stop (and therefore technically still also a train station).

Boulder Creek

The next day I dedicated to exploring Boulder, located about 45 minutes northwest of Denver. 42 minutes' worth of the drive runs through highly attractive road construction, so it takes longer than it should. What a fantastic idea, as Boulder really lives up to the hype. Driving in, and finding the local radio stations, I happened upon KBFR 95.3 "pirate radio" (ok, eye roll, whatevs), playing a Grateful Dead concert. So I knew I'd found the place. The drive once you turn off the interstate winds through really idyllic mountain footholds. You pass the University of Colorado campus, and enjoy a short stretch into the town center. Or, you normally do when there's not some huge enormous organized bicycle race taking up most of the city streets. I had to detour around all number of barricades and traffic cones, finally winding up parking in the Boulder High School parking lot. But its located just a 10 minute walk along the magnificent Boulder Creek Path bike trail. This runs right through the middle of town and acts as a kind of pedestrian thoroughfare running past all the central town locations. It runs along the creek, which itself runs through town. The community obviously protects the creek fiercely; going down to its banks is like escaping from town altogether. And, again, it runs all along the town center, happily ignoring the human development located within feet of its secluded path.


Boulder pedestrian mall

The town center resembles a ski town to some extent. Lots of local shops, restaurants, and bars. On this day, the bicycle race had taken over the town, and throngs had piled into the downtown with bikes or to watch the race. I had a late breakfast at the fantastic Snooze restaurant. Which was packed even at 2 p.m. except at the bar where I ate. I had a great omelet and some hash browns (carbs!). But it was ok as I'd spend much of this day hiking, despite having blown it out hiking the day before. After the meal I continued exploring town on foot. Central Boulder resembles a nicer version of Hyde Park. No shabby apartments, dumpsters, or dingy yards. The median income level is obviously quite high, though the local homes aren't McMansions like you see in some other wealthy places (cough...Dallas...cough!).

Flatirons at dusk

After walking at length, I climbed into the car and drove on over to the gorgeous Boulder Mountain Park, a local park located just out of town. The terrain climbs quickly, and within a short drive you see some fantastic views of the town and the University campus, as well as the reservoirs that supply the town's water and other Rocky Mountain peaks further north. After heading back down to town, I explored the adjacent Chautauqua Park, a fascinating late 19th century educational retreat founded by a number of Texas teachers and educators. The park contains the preserved remnants of this retreat, where teachers would gather during summers, in cooler climates, exchange ideas and teaching methods, enjoy a healthy atmosphere, and recharge and relax before school resumed. The Chautauqua was actually a cultural movement, and several such chapters existed in the United States. Can you imagine such a thing now? How much would it clash with the unimaginative, standardized, bureaucratic monolith that is today's public education? The Park still holds concerts and offers various educational courses, and guests can stay in the restored cottages. Adjacent to the Park, Chautauqua Meadow contains numerous wildflowers and wide open spaces just to the east of the famous Flatirons, a really beautiful rock formation at the base of the mountain range. I didn't try to go climbing them, as I was beat from the Staunton hike, but did get far enough along the trail to get a close view. They face east, so morning would have provided a better view. As it was, I was seeing them close to dusk, and caught a lot of shadow so my photos didn't turn out that well.

After cleaning up a bit I walked around the campus for a bit. Like a Monet painting or Glenn Close, the University of Colorado campus looks much more attractive from a long distance than when you're there. Imagine a nicer looking Texas Tech (without the dust, the 1970s cultural norms, or the wafting feedlot stench). All the buildings look exactly the same, homogenous brownish brick affairs with Spanish tile roofs. All jammed up against one another, with some winding paths in between. The football stadium hails from 1955, seemingly, and while its thankfully located on campus, it can't hold a candle to modern "power conference" stadiums. Which is just as well, because no one goes to Colorado Buffaloes games. And why should they? The team perennially sucks, and there's easily about 20 things more interesting to do in Boulder than endure the dumpster fire that is Colorado football. Oh, and they have rabbits on campus. True story.

The rest of the trip was anti-climatic. I got changed and had dinner downtown. As I walked up to the restaurant, I passed a young couple arguing, and managed to overhear the woman say, excitedly, "...and THAT is why it's time for you to see a therapist!!" Yeah, there's one guy who's night was NOT going to improve. True story.

So, that's my big Denver Weekend. On the whole, Denver is an okay town, but there's no real reason to spend more than a couple of days there, on your way to the mountains. I gather that's what most residents do-hang out in the city during the work week, then spend weekends up in the mountains or one of the smaller towns like Boulder or Golden. Absolutely magnificent scenery in the Rockies. Check it out!

NEXT-if they got rid of all the criminals in the NFL, they couldn't field a team.

My Future Internet Searches

Get there before 5!

I'd planned to post this on my birthday, which happened to fall on the date that Robin Williams passed away. Thanks for taking my spotlight away, dude.  Some people are so selfish. Like when Michael Jackson died a few hours after Farrah, instantly quashing all Farrah-related remembrances. At least it's not like a December 7th birthday. Or November  22nd or September 11th. (I recently met an American adult who didn't know the significance of November 22nd. This illustrates one huge problem our country faces-generations of people with no clue what happened before they were 10 years old). In reality, I wasn't feeling all that funny and you probably weren't either.

But now that an *appropriate interval has passed, its back to the hilarious comedy bits.

*=72 hours, as opposed to ABC News, which had helicopters flying over his property within a couple of hours.

So anyway I happened upon a hole in the space-time continuum (look, there's no conceivable connecting sentence to get from there to here, so why try #teamlazy), and somehow stumbled upon my internet search cache from 20 years from now. (just...go with it. This isn't one of my better efforts). And, DAMN! I do NOT like where things are headed in life. Let me tell you. Sidebar, who knew there'd still be an internet 20 years from now. We got from the Walkman to the iPod in 20 years; you figure the internet would have given way to more efficient means to download porn and track down old high school girlfriends (for men) and post kitten/childrens' photos and inspirational "I can do anything" memes (for women). Surely there must be a better way. But there's NOT! So we still have to enter searches. And your browser still records those searches....is the premise of this wacky posting.

Hey, did you know Charles Manson's getting married? That's kinda crazy huh? Just goes to show I'm still not too old to get married. And that some wives will do anything not to have to see their husband every day. You know, that chick has a real Leslie Van Houten look about her. Be afraid. By which I mean, "be terrified."

Eh, enough riffing. Here's my internet search history from 2034.

"Maria Bartiromo"

Quien es mas macho, el antiquador?

"Discount antiquing trips"

"Prostate symptoms"

"Dinner specials before 5 p.m."

"Katy Perry photos"

"World weather forecasts"

"Best comfortable house slippers" 

"Nearest Luby's"

"Hearing aides"

"Comfortable slacks"

Action Zone

 

"Hernia surgery"

"Local Republican women's clubs"

"Thick As A Brick lyrics"

"What is erectile dysfunction. "

"Best nursing homes"

"Eyelid surgery"

"Senior citizen discounts Austin"

"Come On Eileen double meaning"



Call Me 'Natasha' darlink!

"Mail order bride"

"Saving money repair appliances"

"Texas Longhorns schedule"

"Blotch coverup"

"Hair regrow"

"Kendall Jenner address"

"Best restaurants dining alone Paris"

"Dreams with bananas"

"Hip replacement surgeons"

Just do me a favor and kill me now.

 

The Middle Age Packet

Back in the Glory Days

Now I think I'm going down to the well tonight
and I'm going to drink till I get my fill
And I hope when I get old I don't sit around thinking about it
but I probably will
Yeah, just sitting back trying to recapture
a little of the glory of, well time slips away
and leaves you with nothing mister but
boring stories of glory days
--Bruce Springsteen, "Glory Days"

Quoting Springsteen lyrics to evoke poignancy does seem like the Joey Buttafuoco biography's dedication page, but they hit the mark for what follows. Apologies for sinking to this state.

You see, kids, tomorrow I turn 50. "I'm 50!!!" And as with all other birthdays ending in zero, it sure gets you thinking. Not "go buy a Corvette and start hitting on Hooters waitresses" thinking, but reflective nonetheless.

Then the AARP packet hit my door. One albatross ("ALBATROSS!!) like harbinger of senility, I mean, growing older, is when that thing arrives. As far as messages go its the "Luca Brazzi sleeps with the fishes" way of announcing your youth is now floating somewhere in the East River.

I experienced the joy of receiving that packet earlier this week. Good times. I disgustedly threw it down on my kitchen table, as if to teach it a lesson and show it who's the boss. Of course, it joined about 20 other mailings I'm too lazy to move to the recycle bin, which is hardly Boss-like. The point is, I never saw what the packet contained. But it could only include bad stuff, because it tries to tell you that you've arrived in your "senior years" and now you need to start worrying about medicare and estate planning and yogurt shop senior discounts (good only before 6 p.m. because, you know, I should be in bed by then, with my teeth on the nightstand next to me).

But after I tossed the packet down with a flourish, I started thinking what AARP, or some other omniscient, omnipresent being should include in a Welcome to Old Age, errr, middle age, packet.

Certainly it shouldn't include membership cards. You want to know how old I am? Check my face. Especially the patches where it looks like I have no beard, but that's really because the whiskers are white.

The packet should include things you really need when you reach 50. That's middle aged, because  I'm living to 100. True story. 100. I'm going the distance. Joining the Century Club. In other words, I'm going to all your funerals. Try to serve something easy to chew, please.

So instead of yogurt coupons and medicare info, here's what my packet should have included.

Bad memory. I'm pretty much most of the way there already, but I'm thinking you need to forget all the slights, failures, disappointments, crap storms, and battles you've endured through the years. Its like cleaning your gutters out. As Garth Algar beckoned, "Live in the Now!" And bad memory will help you forget how old you actually are, so you won't miss out on opportunities just because you're "too old."

 

Good memory. To remember the good times. Mainly for when you're too damn old to keep having them.

Sweaters are comfy

A sweater. Because once you're 50, it's always cold.

Patience To suffer all the fools and idiots. they become fools and idiots because they don't know all the useful stuff that you do. Like how to fix the sink. Or the right way to mow the yard. You know. Important stuff.

Bad hearing. Because they're talking about you. And you probably shouldn't listen to modern music. Ever. 

Good hearing. Because, well, you know. People start speaking softly to you.

Flexibility. To try new things, remain open to new ideas, meeting new people, and live in the now (and not 30 years ago). Hey, its not 1975 anymore. And it never will be again (thank God). You don't want to be the guy in 2014 who's still spouting 1970s-era ideas. That just makes you Austin Powers (if you're lucky, or Donald Sterling if you're not). Embrace the present. That's where you actually live. Roll with the times. Don't be a walking museum.

Don't forget the butter!

Initiative. Ronald Reagan entered politics at age 55. Phyllis Diller became a comedian at age 37. John Glenn became an astronaut at 39 and was 49 when he first ran for public office. Julia Child started her cooking show at 50. Joy Behar was a teacher until 40. Its not too late. Well, maybe for some things. My NBA center career arc isn't looking that promising these days.

Ways to Give back. Because you know stuff that others should know (they just don't know it). Like how to fix the door knob. Don't just keep it to yourself. Seriously, does anyone know how to fix a door knob?

Let's pick up the pace!

Driving Lessons. Whether from the Beldar Conehead Driving School or otherwise, you need to avoid driving 2 mph in a parking garage. You lingering long enough won't make front row spaces magically appear. Or 45 mph on the freeway. Or creeeeeeeping around a right hand turn, worried about creating some space-time continuum sling shot effect if you take it too fast.

Bad eyesight. You don't want to see what you look like, or what people your age look like.

Good eyesight. So you can read the fine print, and road signs. And still see hot women at a distance.

Money. The time in life where its acceptable for a man to ask his buddies if he can sleep on their couch ends sometime well before 50. Or to ask them to help him move.

This 46 year old Tony award winner is healthy

Health. You have one, and only one, body. There's no change outs or returns. To now, it hasn't been that difficult to keep it up and running. But its going to become much more of a challenge. Stay active. Stay alert. Eat right. Nourish your body. Use it for something other than lying on the couch. Work especially on balance to avoid falls. Go to the doctor. Don't punish yourself with drink and fat and smoke (ahem, New Orleans?).

Curiosity. The time to stop learning is never. You stop using your brain, it will atrophy just like a muscle. The people who die early more often than not are the ones who don't do anything challenging as they grow older. Once you're a potted plant, its just a matter of time.

A spouse. All those studies that show you live twenty million times longer if you're married or in a very long-term relationship. Ugh. It haunts my dreams!

OK, that about covers it. This packet would be really hard to fit in my mail box.

NEXT-My next 50 year old google search list.





 

My Calgary Dream Vacation Getaway (Day Two, or Three, I'm not sure of the Metric Equivalent)

Dudley Do-Right Loves Banff

Part Deux of the Canadian Travel Saga. I know, you're wondering "how could there possibly be more?" Oh, but there is. There is.

Because after exploring Calgary, I headed up to Banff, international travel destination and ski resort. That's right, I go to ski towns in the middle of summer. "Canadian summer" is something of a non-sequitur; this day felt like a January day in Houston. It reached the mid-50s in Banff, perfect for walking and hiking. You could tell it was summer only because snow drifts weren't covering everything and people had on only two layers of clothing, not five.

I started the day dragging out of bed and schlepping a couple of blocks to the local YMCA branch for a vigorous workout. Using the new calisthenics routines everyone's talking about. That means I stretched and lifted, working around my nagging 50 year old guy injuries. Interesting watching pasty white Canadians working out; Casper the Friendly Ghost thinks these people should get some more sun.

After cleaning up just a bit (hiking loomed ahead, and two showers in one day? Not water-friendly), and having missed the hotel's dismal but free breakfast ("free" and "just downstairs" goes a long way), I walked a block to Cora's Restaurant, a local chain breakfast and lunch place. Cora's is one of those places where the menu contains more photos and drawings of the food than descriptions. Its like Denny's, only the servers have all their teeth and food poisoning wasn't on the menu. In other words, it was pretty good. Having worked up a big boy appetite, I had pretty much the right side of one page of the menu-an oatmeal trough, and a monstrous spinach, cheese, and mushroom omelette. With gluten free (probably) toast (cause, you know, the oatmeal didn't supply enough carbs by itself). Oh and breakfast potatoes. My morning Starch-O-Rama for sure. My waitress was especially perky, energetic, friendly, and smiling. Basically I wanted to pour maple syrup on her and tie her to an ant mound. But fortunately for her, I was too busy stuffing my face to act out on such impulses. And I had no time to work on dating.

Having taken on board a normal weekend's entire caloric intake in one sitting, it was time to head out. The Drive to Banff resembles the drive from Denver to the Rockies. Flatlands surround Calgary for many miles. The level terrain begins to slowly give way to rolling hills, featuring high season wildflowers on either side. Leaving Calgary, one passes the old Olympic ski facility. "Olympic Park," as its called, gives Western Canadians a chance to do the luge, bobsled, ski jump, and downhill ski. Or, for the women who overwhelmingly watch the Winter Olympics, all those events they show in between figure skating sessions. Seriously, if it weren't for women over 35 and gay men, would the Olympics even be on TV? After about 45 minutes, the mountains appear in the distance. They steadily grow larger and come closer. Then you're right in the thick of things, and start listening for yodeling and looking for goats. Summer represents an odd time to see them, as the peaks had absolutely no snow cover. So the tree line ran up about 2/3 of the way, giving way to bare rock. But the mountains were glorious.

Banff the town lies within Banff National Park. Which seems kind of atrocious to me. You have to pay a park entrance fee just to visit a town? That would be like setting up a toll booth outside Houston and charging people to go into the city. Though I guess that's what you have to do to get into New York City. Does any way exist to get into Manhattan without paying a toll or fee of some sort? OK, so rant aside, once you enter the park, you go a few more miles and then take the cutoff for town. Take a left at the first huge peak, and go a few "kilometers" (eye roll), until you hit town. A number of trails criss-cross the forest just outside town limits, and I encountered various hiking groups, biking groups, and horseback riders as I headed in.






Banff

Banff, the town, resembles other ski towns I've visited. Which I guess means the other two ski towns (Aspen and Jackson Hole). Oh, except for the moose or yak or elk (most likely an elk) chewing on shrubbery outside the local high school as I drove into town. Yeah, that happened. No photos though as I was driving and the town was packed. Pedestrians and cars jammed the place right good. Eventually I found a parking spot and mixed in with the tourists. Banff truly draws people from around the world. Walking around the village, I heard all kinds of languages and saw all kinds of people. It was like a UN meeting, without the rabid anti-Americanism.

Banff Springs Resort

First stop, the Fairmont Banff Springs Resort, just outside of town. A classic old railway hotel, this enormous late 1800s chalet style monstrosity sits right on the springs and includes all manner of resort activities. As many non-equals toured the place, I recalled my stay there many years ago. I took my vacation in Vancouver and then Banff, hoping to see both Banff and Lake Louise to the north during my second week of vacation. Unfortunately, British Columbia wildfires obscured the views and made it hard to do things outside. Not to mention that I was unknowingly suffering some cardiac obstruction at the time, and found it hard to engage in much physical exertion. I did meet a cute nutritionist/trainer who set me up on a low carb plan. Sadly, my swag had only limited effect on her, so the quest continued. Anyway, I enjoyed staying at the hotel, though I recall my room wasn't as grand as the facility itself (not unlike my stay at the Plaza, but that story will have to wait). I packed it in and flew to San Francisco to close out that vacation, as I recall.  The Resort is still imposing and magnificent. Finally, I could see it all, with no wildfire smoke.

View from Tunnel Mountain

I checked in with the local Park office and got some trail advice. Based on that, I drove over to the Tunnel Mountain trail. The trail starts right in town and leads up a smallish mountain (but its still a "mountain" so back off!) with great town and valley views at the summit. Check some of these photos. Rain threatened, as fast moving clouds entered the area, left the area, entered the area...15 year old girls trying to decide whether to stay friends with one another made their minds up more quickly than these clouds. Ultimately, it just sprinkled a bit. A good number of people were on the trail, some rather less athletic looking than others. This trail didn't demand, um, supreme fitness. It was no Laura Cowles trail at Vermont's Underhill State Park. Damn, I still get tired just thinking about that slog. Anyway, Tunnel Mountain has no tree line, so you encounter trees even at the top. Though the trail contains several switchbacks at lower elevations, its not as bad as some. I detest switchbacks. They let you climb steeper peaks without killing your cardiovascular system, but force you to see the same scenery for extended periods.

The Park visitor's center said the Tunnel Mountain trail would take 2 hours. I did it in 1:40, with a 15 minute summit break, because, #teamawesome. That gave me more time to prowl around the town. Figuring, I'm in Canada, I dined at the Maple Leaf Grill, an elegant, wood-dominated restaurant featuring many locally sourced meats and fish dishes. I had the salad with strawberries and maple vinaigrette, and wild BC salmon with maple glaze, prawns, and beurre blanc. Very nice. Even though I was sporting hiking shorts, a probably too-tight and definitely douchey "PRINCETON" t-shirt, unintendedly hipsterish two day stubble, and hiking filth, the Grille didn't banish me to the alleyway or suggest that a pond might be good for me.

The Trans-Canada Highway

Taking advantage of the high latitude and long summer day (the sun wouldn't truly set until 9:45), I walked around a bit more, buying a certain couple of nieces some little surprises that hopefully I can actually give them one day. Then I drove back late. The low hanging, late evening sun cast some stunning shadows over the Rockies. I can't adequately describe the scene. "Yeah, it was pretty. Really, really...nice.  You should have seen it. It was really beautiful." All of which was true, but won't win get me on the Oprah Book Club list anytime soon. Or win a Pulitzer Prize. But here's some photos. Suffice to say, the mountains were pretty.

Thus ends my Canadian Adventure, 2014 edition. One slight epilogue. The skies finally did open the following Monday as I drove to the airport. At low 50s temperatures, it truly did resemble Houston weather. In January. As a front blew through. Winter here must be the worst thing imaginable.

NEXT-the Middle Age Packet. I'm still not sure what that means.