Friday, August 31, 2007
The pressure is on
Going into the weekend with a three-way pick the music tie. Somebody be decisive out there! Have a safe and happy Labor Day Weekend!
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Tag, you're idiots!
Now, that we've effectively wiped dodgeball out of our schools, (The Columbine shooters were apparently traumatized by dodgeball) now comes word that Tag is being taken out as playtime activity in schools across the country including Colorado Springs. School officials cite the emotional and physical toll being taken on students who feel they are being "singled out" in Tag. Hello, it's Tag! Do you know how effective it is when no one chases each other? Zippo! Zilch. These kind of things just baffle me. School districts pay a lot of lip service to overweight kids and the need for more physical activity, then they pull crap like this. "No, no, no, kids, no Tag. Let's go inside and play virtual tag on the computer where nobody's feelings get hurt and have some potato chips, too." The only thing school district's haven't banned, besides recess all together, is anybody being picked last for a team but I'm sure they're working on it.
BTW, the kid in the picture above is never going to catch that girl the way he is running so he shouldn't be allowed to play Tag anyway. And, if that's the best he can do when it comes to tracking down women, then he should look forward to a life of being single and playing Dungeons and Dragons.
10:25 a.m.
I do like his blue pants though, those are stylish!
10:28 a.m.
And it does appear the said girl is on the verge of a nervous breakdown even at the thought of being chased, albeit by a child with no reasonable chance to catch her. I hope she can find a good therapist.
10:33 a.m.
She could use the therapy just as well to come to terms with that Medusa-type hair – I mean do parents not care anymore.
10:35 a.m.
These kids look like poster children for the "How not to dress your children" warehouse.
10:37 a.m.
I'm gathering that this was a reasonable game of Tag but, at this moment in the photo, the boy has spotted the ice cream truck and the girl has not yet realized it.
10:40 a.m.
I mean he's not even looking in her direction. This boy, we'll call him Francis, is the reason Tag is being banned. School officials just don't want to see kids playing this poorly anymore. In my day, we knew how to play Tag. Hell, sometimes we even tagged the neighbors, that was good times.
10:42 a.m.
Does Francis have some cheap rip-off bowl cut? Because that's just about the worst haircut I've ever seen. I bet his mom cut his hair and she was drunk.
10:45 a.m.
Here's an artist rendition of what Francis may look like now since this picture is clearly from the early 80s.
10:46 a.m.
Ummmm, we just got a call from Francis and he wants us to stop making fun of him. He wants his hair back too!
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
The study of eww, gross
You can also find this in today's Brighton Blade.
We conduct a lot of worthwhile studies in this country. We look for cures for cancer and Parkinson’s Disease and, amazingly enough, we do most of it by smacking lab rats over the head with wooden mallets.
Some studies shouldn’t be done. Some studies don’t benefit us as a whole.
But, there I was last week, faced with the stunning facts on a recent study of how much old people, pardon me while I dive back into my pre-adolescent years and use the term, “do it.”
The study, conducted by the University of Chicago and published in the New England Journal of Medicine, was based on data collected from 3,005 adults ages 57 to 85 during two-hour face-to-face interviews between July 2005 and March 2006. The findings showed that many are sexually active, as long as their health holds out.
In fact, according to the study, in the preceding 12 months, 73 percent of those ages 57 to 64, 53 percent of those ages 65 to 74 and 26 percent of those ages 75 to 85 said they were sexually active. Among those reporting good or excellent health, 81 percent of men and 51 percent of women said they had been sexually active in the past year compared to just 47 percent of men and 26 percent of women reporting fair or poor health. And ….
La, la, la, la, la, fingers in ears, not listening.
Do old people no longer have any dignity? Do we have to question the “Greatest Generation,” if they’re really still the greatest?
Is it necessary to spend countless amounts of dollars grilling old people on their friskiness?
I assume the researchers had more fortitude than I did in broaching this topic. My approach would have been such:
Researcher: So, Ethel, do you, you know?
Ethel: Huh?
Researcher: At night, do you, well?
Ethel: What?
Researcher: Uhhh, let’s start over.
I found much simpler ways to conduct such fact-finding missions a long time ago. You take yourself, add up your respective number of siblings and you have a quantitative data on how many times your parents did that.
Simple. No mess. Precious minds are spared of hearing lurid details. No creepy data on how many times old people still … eww, yuck. Never mind.
Researchers are heralding this data as a way to correlate sexual activity among older people with health, i.e., if you’re dead then you probably won’t be as sexually active as, say, someone who is undead – good news for frolicsome Zombies.
The study also found physicians are less likely to discuss sex with older patients. Researchers said they “found 38 percent of men and 22 percent of women reported having discussed sex with a physician since the age of 50.” The first time I read that, my mind in a tremendous Freudian slip, left out the word discussed. It briefly made a lot more sense why they weren’t wasting any time gabbing about it.
Maybe, I’m the problem here. Maybe my petulant, immature attitude toward older people and their intimate needs is the reason why the subject is regarded as taboo. Maybe, it’s time I respect that older Americans don’t trade in their libido when they get their AARP card.
And more power to them. Keep doing that as long as you can, talk to your physician about it if you want and I’ll be over here in the corner humming the theme from “Love Boat,” really, really loudly.
We conduct a lot of worthwhile studies in this country. We look for cures for cancer and Parkinson’s Disease and, amazingly enough, we do most of it by smacking lab rats over the head with wooden mallets.
Some studies shouldn’t be done. Some studies don’t benefit us as a whole.
But, there I was last week, faced with the stunning facts on a recent study of how much old people, pardon me while I dive back into my pre-adolescent years and use the term, “do it.”
The study, conducted by the University of Chicago and published in the New England Journal of Medicine, was based on data collected from 3,005 adults ages 57 to 85 during two-hour face-to-face interviews between July 2005 and March 2006. The findings showed that many are sexually active, as long as their health holds out.
In fact, according to the study, in the preceding 12 months, 73 percent of those ages 57 to 64, 53 percent of those ages 65 to 74 and 26 percent of those ages 75 to 85 said they were sexually active. Among those reporting good or excellent health, 81 percent of men and 51 percent of women said they had been sexually active in the past year compared to just 47 percent of men and 26 percent of women reporting fair or poor health. And ….
La, la, la, la, la, fingers in ears, not listening.
Do old people no longer have any dignity? Do we have to question the “Greatest Generation,” if they’re really still the greatest?
Is it necessary to spend countless amounts of dollars grilling old people on their friskiness?
I assume the researchers had more fortitude than I did in broaching this topic. My approach would have been such:
Researcher: So, Ethel, do you, you know?
Ethel: Huh?
Researcher: At night, do you, well?
Ethel: What?
Researcher: Uhhh, let’s start over.
I found much simpler ways to conduct such fact-finding missions a long time ago. You take yourself, add up your respective number of siblings and you have a quantitative data on how many times your parents did that.
Simple. No mess. Precious minds are spared of hearing lurid details. No creepy data on how many times old people still … eww, yuck. Never mind.
Researchers are heralding this data as a way to correlate sexual activity among older people with health, i.e., if you’re dead then you probably won’t be as sexually active as, say, someone who is undead – good news for frolicsome Zombies.
The study also found physicians are less likely to discuss sex with older patients. Researchers said they “found 38 percent of men and 22 percent of women reported having discussed sex with a physician since the age of 50.” The first time I read that, my mind in a tremendous Freudian slip, left out the word discussed. It briefly made a lot more sense why they weren’t wasting any time gabbing about it.
Maybe, I’m the problem here. Maybe my petulant, immature attitude toward older people and their intimate needs is the reason why the subject is regarded as taboo. Maybe, it’s time I respect that older Americans don’t trade in their libido when they get their AARP card.
And more power to them. Keep doing that as long as you can, talk to your physician about it if you want and I’ll be over here in the corner humming the theme from “Love Boat,” really, really loudly.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Where have you gone, Arby's?
No need for alarm, you can still find Arby's at the southwest corner of Bromley and U.S. Highway 85 in Brighton or in your own neighborhood. What you won't find there is roast beef. That's because, over the past few years, Arby's has steadily changed its menu from a salivating line of roast beef sandwiches (Remember the Big Montana? That would have stopped Dick Cheney's heart if he even sniffed it) to a kinder gentle line of fresh sandwiches, salads and I'm guessing they've got a bucket full of sprouts somewhere in there too. They will make the argument that this is in keeping up with the times – challenging Subway, Quizno's and Uncle Charlie's Artery Clogging Factory (currently franchising in Alabama). This is deeper though, it is a deep running prejudice against overweight people. It is the same reason why trans fat is being selfishly being sucked out our chips, burgers and yogurt. I'm guessing the curly fries will be next – probably replaced by broccoli sticks. I will not stand for this travesty. I hereby announce that I'm boycotting Arby's until they bring back the beef.
BTW, pick the song voting is back in the upper right corner. And, for my older viewers (Hey, Steve and Grandma), "Thanks for the Memories" is a new tune so don't be expecting Bob Hope to be crooning away if you overwhelmingly pick that one.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Here you go, hobbits
Despite one Love Boat hijacking and a write-in vote for Elvis Costello, you picked the song. I worry about your taste but, please, enjoy listening to Spock sing about a hobbit all week. Personally, I think I'll turn down the volume but the customer is never wrong. Look for a new pick the song vote tomorrow.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
First impressions important
I'm not one to make a mountain out of a molehill when it comes to first impressions. But, I will say, so far, I've been impressed by new Brighton Fire Chief Mark Bodane. He's seemingly open, honest and not the least bit truculent in talking with the media. And, if that wasn't enough, I will say I was heartened last night when it was his mother who pinned his badge on him at his swearing-in ceremony as his father looked on. One of the first people I talked to about Mark in Illinois when he was hired here described him as a great family man. It seemed to reinforce that. As you may or may not know, Bodane's family has stayed behind in Carol Stream, Ill. as they attempt to sell their home.
Mark has a lot of challenges to deal with in the Brighton Fire District. Fortunately, he has a lot of support. The people of Brighton built this fire department with their own hands and they have a lot of pride in it and making sure it stays successful. Here's to a successful tenure for Mark in Brighton.
Mark has a lot of challenges to deal with in the Brighton Fire District. Fortunately, he has a lot of support. The people of Brighton built this fire department with their own hands and they have a lot of pride in it and making sure it stays successful. Here's to a successful tenure for Mark in Brighton.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
From a distance, it looks like you’re a hypocrite
Yea, nothing makes me happier than a celebrity (especially a tree-hugging environmentalist celebrity) being exposed for the trash littering, tree chopping hypocrites they are. So imagine my glee this morning to find the state of Hawaii is considering fines for noted environmentalist and Compost Queen (throw a pickle on her boy, she’s a done) Bette Midler.
She cut down more than 230 trees around the property she owns on the island of Kauai without a permit. I’m sorry she didn’t chop down the trees, someone did that for her. She just sat inside hemming a hemp sweater. The Board of Land and Natural Resources is recommending $6,500 in fines for Ms. Midler. Chump change, no doubt.
The trees were chopped down to, wait-for-it, make a graded road. According to her attorney, Something-something Graham, she didn’t know she needed a permit. That’s so like an environmentalist to not check before they just go all George Washington on a forest. It’s like a vegetarian getting halfway through a burger and saying, ‘Hey, this tastes like meat.”
"The whole idea with cutting the trees down was with the idea of improving the lot with native species" instead of the nonnative, invasive species that had grown there, Graham said.
Even more sad, Midler isn’t a nonnative, invasive species, like so many celebs who take over beachfront properties, Vail and Telluride, she actually grew up in Hawaii.
I’m guessing this is the fault of all of us non-celebrity peons polluting the environment with aerosol cans and clouding Ms. Midler’s brain. I can imagine her frolicking on her treeless property right now, with a bottle of pesticide, singing, “You made me chop down trees, I didn’t want to do it, I didn’t want to do it.”
She cut down more than 230 trees around the property she owns on the island of Kauai without a permit. I’m sorry she didn’t chop down the trees, someone did that for her. She just sat inside hemming a hemp sweater. The Board of Land and Natural Resources is recommending $6,500 in fines for Ms. Midler. Chump change, no doubt.
The trees were chopped down to, wait-for-it, make a graded road. According to her attorney, Something-something Graham, she didn’t know she needed a permit. That’s so like an environmentalist to not check before they just go all George Washington on a forest. It’s like a vegetarian getting halfway through a burger and saying, ‘Hey, this tastes like meat.”
"The whole idea with cutting the trees down was with the idea of improving the lot with native species" instead of the nonnative, invasive species that had grown there, Graham said.
Even more sad, Midler isn’t a nonnative, invasive species, like so many celebs who take over beachfront properties, Vail and Telluride, she actually grew up in Hawaii.
I’m guessing this is the fault of all of us non-celebrity peons polluting the environment with aerosol cans and clouding Ms. Midler’s brain. I can imagine her frolicking on her treeless property right now, with a bottle of pesticide, singing, “You made me chop down trees, I didn’t want to do it, I didn’t want to do it.”
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
My gun's been took, mm mm oh, oh, yeah, yeah!
Now, just a little more than a month since some crazed lunatic entered the state Capitol with a gun claiming to be the Emperor, comes news that the prized black, 9mm Smith and Wesson pistol belonging to the King has been taken.
That's right. Some crazed fan has taken Elvis's prized weapon from his Graceland estate.
Troubling on so many levels. First off, I think federal law prohibits any Elvis fans, especially those Graceland pilgrimage dorks*, from owning firearms, bow and arrows or even frying pans.
Second, I just guess nothing is sacred anymore. People, this is Elvis' crap, leave it alone or you're going to the soap on the jail shower floor version of "Jailhouse Rock."
Third, Elvis is eventually going to come back since he's not really dead and simply sharing an exotic Pacific Island nursing home with Amelia Earhart (not the KOA traffic reporter), Glenn Miller and Burl Ives. And, when he does come back, there's going to be a lot of crazies and he's going to need that gun. So, whoever took it, just give it back and there won't be any questions asked..... I'm waiting. OK, nobody's leaving this blog till we find out who took it. If that gun turns up on Ebay, somebody's getting a spankin.
* This reference to Elvis fans is not to spread any ill will especially toward Elvis fans who may have recently acquired a working firearm.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Does somebody need a card?
There are two things I dread at work. One is the possibility that one of my beloved co-workers or an FOP (friend of paper) would have some bad luck or illness fall on them. The second is that we will need to commemorate their rough patch with a card. Such was one of those times this morning when we learned an FOP had recently gotten some bad news from the doctor. Bummer right. Within an hour, a card already laced with names and messages of sympathy was on my desk waiting for me to add a John Hancock and a little sad face next to it. Hang on, before you label me cold and heartless if you haven't already – but I hate signing cards like that. I'll offer this gripe because I know this particular FOP might share some of my cynicism. Yes, I feel bad but what can I possibly say in a card to make things better. Nothing. So, if 50 of us sign it, will that make it better no. So, why are we circulating a card? Call me a cynic, but I just don't see it making a big diff. If, I'm wrong, offer your testimony to the power of cards and why they helped you in a dark time. I need to know!
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Trashed
Before my daily gripe, I'll let you know I'm already more than a little suspicious that I have three amputee blog readers. But, hey who cares, I offer you a hearty thumbs up. So here's the scuttle. Last week when I got home my local trash service had left a nasty note on one of my containers – listing its many offenses. "Too close to the other container," "Facing the wrong direction," "Smelly," and "Used a derogatory term in regards to the trash truck driver's nationality." It came with a warning that I would need to fix these things. There was no ultimatum like them putting the containers on my roof. I was still perturbed. Especially since every Thursday, I can't pull into my driveway because one of my containers, haphazardly dropped, is blocking my path. But my main question is this. If you can fill out a list of grievances, get out of your now automated truck (big arms to big up trash can) and attach it to my trash can, then why can't you just put the trash cans where they need to be for your enjoyment and leave me alone? Thank you.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Don 't be stupid alone, let us join you
By now, you've probably heard about the Frederick priest busted for doing some nude laps around a high school track earlier this summer.
And if you haven't heard about it, congratulate yourself for avoiding the media horde careening up I-25 and U.S. 85 to find out how something so outrageous could happen. And, for lack of better B-roll fodder, television reporters interviewing the goal posts to find out if this public indecency has shaken their psyche just weeks before the football season begins. This story isn't enough for the imagination. We need some footage of the track because, when you think nude jogging priests, you think as ... phalt.
These are the kind of stories that the media lives for. Not only will they make a good tease for your 10 p.m. news because everybody wants to know more about Father O'Flasher but it is the type of story picked up by news outlets across the country eager to to fill a minute or so on their own news casts even though they don't have a clue where Frederick is.
Let's face it, stupidity sells.
And, all by all accounts, this was just a dumb decision. Of course, the hunt is on now to find out if this was stupidity for stupidity's sake or if this was, even worse, insidious stupidity. We must find out if this kind of thing happened before, if there was some warning we missed. We have to play that “What if” game. If only we would have known, maybe we could have put barbed wire on the track fence or put up flood lights. Well, cover your ears for the latest revelation, kids, it sounds like he bared all in his own shower, too.
Granted, in light of the recent uproar over sexual abuse allegations in the Catholic church, a priest should know better than to do a poor Playboy bunny impersonation near a public education facility, even in the middle of the night.
I always think back to those great car insurance commercials where people are doing things like attacking bee hives with weed wackers (rest assured I tried hard to avoid that word in this piece) and the voice over says, “We all do stupid things.”
I'm not rationalizing what this priest did. Priests should keep their clothes on. Sumo wrestlers should keep their clothes on. I should keep my clothes on.
These stories get big play and the media feeds them to you because they know you'll eat up every bite. But, after all the outrage or laughter (the choice is, of course, yours) subsides, do we stop and wonder why this is a story.
Although a ticket was issued, there was no public safety threat here. He wasn't chasing anyone.
I can only chalk it up to being a nation of people who suffer chronic, low self esteem. On any given day, we commit any number of questionable, bone-headed things. Do they fall into the category of running around a track naked? Probably not. Though in college, it wasn't met with such horror, I think we called it Thursday. Seeing somebody else doing something dumb if not dumber than you is a real morale booster.
Sometimes, I'd like to imagine all of the stupid things I do put in the news or, at least in a sitcom. I really think there is a market for someone almost crashing their car because a bee flew in his window or falling off the toilet to reach an extra roll of toilet paper.
So get your chuckles about a naked priest on a high school track.
But then take the dumbest thing you've ever done and picture it rebroadcast over and over again on TV stations across the country, printed in newspapers and hung up on the office watercooler.
Now, who's laughing?
And if you haven't heard about it, congratulate yourself for avoiding the media horde careening up I-25 and U.S. 85 to find out how something so outrageous could happen. And, for lack of better B-roll fodder, television reporters interviewing the goal posts to find out if this public indecency has shaken their psyche just weeks before the football season begins. This story isn't enough for the imagination. We need some footage of the track because, when you think nude jogging priests, you think as ... phalt.
These are the kind of stories that the media lives for. Not only will they make a good tease for your 10 p.m. news because everybody wants to know more about Father O'Flasher but it is the type of story picked up by news outlets across the country eager to to fill a minute or so on their own news casts even though they don't have a clue where Frederick is.
Let's face it, stupidity sells.
And, all by all accounts, this was just a dumb decision. Of course, the hunt is on now to find out if this was stupidity for stupidity's sake or if this was, even worse, insidious stupidity. We must find out if this kind of thing happened before, if there was some warning we missed. We have to play that “What if” game. If only we would have known, maybe we could have put barbed wire on the track fence or put up flood lights. Well, cover your ears for the latest revelation, kids, it sounds like he bared all in his own shower, too.
Granted, in light of the recent uproar over sexual abuse allegations in the Catholic church, a priest should know better than to do a poor Playboy bunny impersonation near a public education facility, even in the middle of the night.
I always think back to those great car insurance commercials where people are doing things like attacking bee hives with weed wackers (rest assured I tried hard to avoid that word in this piece) and the voice over says, “We all do stupid things.”
I'm not rationalizing what this priest did. Priests should keep their clothes on. Sumo wrestlers should keep their clothes on. I should keep my clothes on.
These stories get big play and the media feeds them to you because they know you'll eat up every bite. But, after all the outrage or laughter (the choice is, of course, yours) subsides, do we stop and wonder why this is a story.
Although a ticket was issued, there was no public safety threat here. He wasn't chasing anyone.
I can only chalk it up to being a nation of people who suffer chronic, low self esteem. On any given day, we commit any number of questionable, bone-headed things. Do they fall into the category of running around a track naked? Probably not. Though in college, it wasn't met with such horror, I think we called it Thursday. Seeing somebody else doing something dumb if not dumber than you is a real morale booster.
Sometimes, I'd like to imagine all of the stupid things I do put in the news or, at least in a sitcom. I really think there is a market for someone almost crashing their car because a bee flew in his window or falling off the toilet to reach an extra roll of toilet paper.
So get your chuckles about a naked priest on a high school track.
But then take the dumbest thing you've ever done and picture it rebroadcast over and over again on TV stations across the country, printed in newspapers and hung up on the office watercooler.
Now, who's laughing?
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Moths to a flame
You wanna know a bad combination. A neighborhood without power and a really bad car wreck. The lights turned off in our Thornton neighborhood shortly after 6 p.m. last night and, shortly after that, a couple of cars, one unable to comprehend a self-imposed four-way stop – crashed into each other at a nearby intersection. Take a whole neighborhood void of electricity and TV and you know the rest. Folks poured out of their homes. It kind of reminded me of a Zombie movie. They were eager to watch a rather gruesome live theater production of firefighters extricating someone from a car. High marks for the production value – the set pieces were vivid and the landing helicopter was incredible. The performances were hollow – some of the firefighters and paramedics seemed to "sleep" their way through their roles like they had seen this kind of thing a hundred times. I jest but I was rather amazed to see practically the whole 'hood gathered on the street corner. Some cried, some watched stoically and then, somebody noticed the street lights were back on and everybody ran back to their houses to watch the rest of the Bronco game. It made me think that people have lost all touch with reality – unable to differentiate a TV episode from a life and death struggle unfolding right before you. HYPOCRITE ALERT — I was there too so I can't cling to some higher moral standing even though I mainly just wanted to see the helicopter land. As long as we're entertained, that's all that matters. TV don't work, heck, let's go outside and watch a crash. Can't help but think this is what makes NASCAR so popular. I hope the injured person is OK, sorry we saw fit to turn the worst day of your life into a suitable TV alternative.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Hairy situation
Lest we turn this into an advice column, though I do welcome any pleas from parents trying to find ways to create unity in blended families, but I present you with this quandary. I went to to get a haircut the other day. Here's the dilemma. The woman who normally cuts my hair wasn't there. But I needed a haircut, so I had somebody else do it. After all, I just needed a haircut, I didn't want to have to come back. Just as "the other woman" is finishing up my haircut, my regular stylist walks in to start her shift and gives me a cold look like I just shaved her dog. I thought of yelling, "Wait, Mandy, it's not what you think." Just because I always love that line. But, was I in the wrong here? Did I commit some major breach of hair cut etiquette? Is there such a thing? And, yes, as you can see from the picture, I'm perfectly happy with the way my hair turned out so that is a non-issue.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
He'll be thrilled
Since my co-worker Steve Smith is on vacation and, I'm assured, well out of computer range. I offer this uncanny likeness courtesy of the Simpsons. Enjoy. I know he'll be thrilled.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Words can't express my regret
These things just aren't easy to say but it is with a heavy heart that I admit today that I did use a performance-enhancing Thesaurus on several of my recent Colorado Press Association award-winning stories. Words such as "ebullient," "gormless" and "doleful" were used in my stories. I gave into my weakness, seeing other writers effectively using words like "procumbent," "lilliputian" and "skinflint." And, yes, I did turn to a thesaurus. In my defense, I didn't know it was a Thesaurus at first and came across the words while looking up words like "happy," "dumb" and "sad." I also refuse to believe I'm the only one in the journalism business using a Thesaurus. I can't justify a reporter using the word "sempiternal" in a story and pretending they had it on the tip of their tongue the whole time. I apologize to my family, my editor and all those wrapped up in the emotion of my stories because of the use of words like "carbonniferous," "catabolism," and "heliocentric." I will turn in my awards lest cause my company any more shame but I already spent the prize money. I wish I could come up with the words to describe my deep regret, words like "disconsolate," "sordid" and "erratum." Instead, I will simply say "Oops."
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Tribute: Remembering Dave Cushman
I can’t imagine what it will be like the next time I walk through the doors of Aims Community College - Fort Lupton, knowing Dave Cushman won’t be there to offer his warm greeting.
Dave died suddenly Aug. 3 at Platte Valley Medical Center in Brighton. He was 65.
He is survived by Lona Lee, his wife of 40 years, three children and three granddaughters.
When I first started covering Fort Lupton, Dave was one of the first people I met. He greeted me at the door of Aims Community College as he did so many times with an enthusiastic hello.
He personified Fort Lupton to me right from the start – warm, friendly, eager to start up a conversation. He seemingly always had a warm handshake. As I learned my way around the college, he was always my escort, getting me to the right place.
I can remember the one time he surprised me with his regular, friendly greeting at the Trapper Days parade as I snapped pictures. I’m ashamed to say, for a few minutes, I couldn’t think of who that guy was. I never forgot again.
I remember when he called a couple of years ago, excited that he was going to be graduating from a local citizen’s police academy. He thought it might be good for me to be out there and see everybody get their diplomas.
You could see that night how special being part of that group was to him.
I always vowed that I would do a story on Dave. I had to know what made him so vibrant, so energetic, so outgoing.
I waited too long.
Sharing a little of what a special person I always thought he was is the least I could do.
Monday, August 6, 2007
I'm not Hitler and neither are you
I, and our newspaper group, were in the midst of being likened to
Hitler last week for what must have been the official 1 millionth time
when I felt I was finally going to lose it. My first instinct was to
slam my hand down on my desk in a fit of rage but I thought that
wouldn't go to far to distance myself from the former German dictator.
But, I'm tempted, in tune with Sport Illustrated's "This Week's Sign that Apocalypse is Upon Us" to start listing "What we did Hitleresque this week." So what did we do? Nothing actually. No genocide, no invasion of other countries, no actions that would put us on the brink of another World War. We did however take our comments off the Web site ... just like Hitler did, I guess. Why is it every time somebody gets wronged (especially when it comes to having their crazy,vitriolic,racist opinions shared in an anonymous forum, that somebody must be likened to Hitler.
I'm not Hitler, you're not Hitler. And the more we liken every little cotton picking thing we do ("oooh, you pick your nose like Hitler" or "hey, you parallel park like Hitler) the more we minimize the badness of a man who, according to my history books) was pretty bad. Nothing I do or you is going to make us anywhere near Hitler. So keep writing your letters to the editor, we'll keep publishing them if you're not crazy and stop calling me Hitler.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
What happens in your pants ...
I'm thoroughly convinced that all commercials touting the effectiveness of pills like Viagra are designed to scare the bejesus out of men and thus prompt them to do something about their "issue." The latest commercial popping up (sorry, I couldn't think of a better phrase), mainly on ESPN, features the man band or perhaps you can call them the AllMan Brothers. But they're sitting around in some dimly lit place – could be a garage – could be a Country Buffet – who knows? But they're singing some nifty, altered Elvis song. I don't know if there are any other words to their song – I'd rather not know – but I'm keenly aware of the chorus – "Viva, Viagra, Viva, Viagra" they happily sing. Don't blame these guys for not being in touch with their feelings, if you can sit around with your buddies and sing about being impotent – then you're well ahead of most guys. I know what the point is- we're demystifying impotence. But seriously, a bunch of guys singing about it. I hope they don't go on tour.
I will, however, gladly take your thoughts on what that tour would be called.
I will, however, gladly take your thoughts on what that tour would be called.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
The stars are coming, the stars are coming
If you read your major Denver daily newspapers or probably the Greeley Trib (still under the impression Greeley is a Denver suburb), you will see the city is atwiter (/ahtwitter/ to be ridicously
excited about something that does not have real bearing on your life)
because a real Hollywood movie is going to be filming right here in Hickenlooper Ville. The money, the glitz, the glamour. The opportunity to go to a theater and say "Hey that building in the background looks just like that one building next to that place in downtown Denver." I'm still trying to come to terms with how BIG this is for Denver. The economic kickback and maybe even Lindsay Lohan trying to run down my mom in her SUV in a drunken-cocaine-laced rage. Not to mention Eddie Murphy (the real Eddie Murphy of Beverly Hills Daddy Care fame) here in our town,carousing with Denver's finest or hiding out in a hotel room - safely away from all these movie star starved fanatics. So, before the Big Hick holds a big press conference this morning – announcing that the iconic Hollywood letter signs will be moved to the side of South Table Mountain, let us take a moment to be grateful. Hollywood has found us, we will become a movie mecca like Vancouver or Dallas. And, let it be known, that when film producers needed a backdrop for a movie called "Nowhereland," they knew just where to look!
Politics ... yuck!
If only Major League Baseball counted like this, maybe Barry Bonds would be irrevelant. I said yesterday was my milestone 100th blog but that would actually be this one? What does it mean. It means I wasted my Circuit City gripe on my pithy 99th blog and makes the actual milestone really anti-climatic. Nevertheless, here we go. And I'm going to cheat and use piece I wrote that ran in our print editions today. Maybe it'll get somebody's attention. Don't forget to cast your vote at my new poll and be nice.
I didn’t catch the CNN/YouTube democratic presidential candidate debate last week.
Perhaps, that means I’ve officially fallen out of the demographic that needs their politics to be sitcomized into cute, tiny tidbits. The same demographic that needs the importance of their voting decisions relayed to them on non-threatening, 3-by-5 flash cards or, worse yet, celebrities and musicians.
That probably means I’m on the fast road to curmudgeondom – where I sit in my easy chair, or in this case, in front of my computer and hearken back to the good-ole days when, excuse the cliché, being president was a childhood dream, not a millionaire’s dream. I don’t know what those days were like – way before my time.
Welcome to the life of a politically, disenchanted young person.
I’m the person that this gaggle (emphasis on gag) of politicians are trying to influence with gimmicks like fielding video-taped questions from YouTuber’s with guns, wigs and lesbian partners.
This is important, so I’m told. These are politicians getting down on my level to answer questions about issues that are important to me. I should be excited about this.
I yawned.
The only time I don’t yawn is when presidential wannabees traipse across the stages of late-night talk shows. It’s another important reminder that politicians are just like me.
I’m already asleep.
I’ve given up on politicians trying to be just like me. I don’t need to know their iPod play-lists, get a sneak peek at their Hybrid cars or have an exclusive photo of them snuggling with a Roomba on their spotless living room carpet.
I’d manage to stifle a yawn if I heard any of them fretting about their monthly mortgage payment, how we make the world a better place for my daughter and, someday, her kids or even a small gripe about the rising cost of milk at the grocery store.
I can’t fault them entirely or, more specifically, their campaign advisors.
But for now I’m content without another politician pretending to understand my problems and my worries.
I don’t need a presidential candidate to be me. I’d rather someone inspire me to be more like them, rather than lowering themselves to be more like me. Someone who could actually rise above this inevitable partisan debate that leaves a group of grown men and women pouting under the proverbial playground like a 5-year-old left out of the game.
But, for now, I’m left with cute.
I’m in political nomad’s land. Not old enough to want to hear politicians talk to me about Medicare or Social Security but too young to believe some goon who watches American Idol is the best choice to lead our country.
Maybe the best way to get around my concerns is to cast me as a political neophyte – unable to grasp the complexity of a presidential campaign. A young punk unwilling to, if not accept, at least acknowledge the thin tightrope a candidate must walk to appeal to a wide range of voters.
And, in that respect, maybe I’m better off as a voter crossed off the list. After all, if you can’t reach me through YouTube, MTV or my favorite movie star, I’m a lost cause.
But I’m still a vote. A vote I won’t pass up because too many people died to give me this freedom.
But, more and more, I just wish I had someone to vote for.
I didn’t catch the CNN/YouTube democratic presidential candidate debate last week.
Perhaps, that means I’ve officially fallen out of the demographic that needs their politics to be sitcomized into cute, tiny tidbits. The same demographic that needs the importance of their voting decisions relayed to them on non-threatening, 3-by-5 flash cards or, worse yet, celebrities and musicians.
That probably means I’m on the fast road to curmudgeondom – where I sit in my easy chair, or in this case, in front of my computer and hearken back to the good-ole days when, excuse the cliché, being president was a childhood dream, not a millionaire’s dream. I don’t know what those days were like – way before my time.
Welcome to the life of a politically, disenchanted young person.
I’m the person that this gaggle (emphasis on gag) of politicians are trying to influence with gimmicks like fielding video-taped questions from YouTuber’s with guns, wigs and lesbian partners.
This is important, so I’m told. These are politicians getting down on my level to answer questions about issues that are important to me. I should be excited about this.
I yawned.
The only time I don’t yawn is when presidential wannabees traipse across the stages of late-night talk shows. It’s another important reminder that politicians are just like me.
I’m already asleep.
I’ve given up on politicians trying to be just like me. I don’t need to know their iPod play-lists, get a sneak peek at their Hybrid cars or have an exclusive photo of them snuggling with a Roomba on their spotless living room carpet.
I’d manage to stifle a yawn if I heard any of them fretting about their monthly mortgage payment, how we make the world a better place for my daughter and, someday, her kids or even a small gripe about the rising cost of milk at the grocery store.
I can’t fault them entirely or, more specifically, their campaign advisors.
But for now I’m content without another politician pretending to understand my problems and my worries.
I don’t need a presidential candidate to be me. I’d rather someone inspire me to be more like them, rather than lowering themselves to be more like me. Someone who could actually rise above this inevitable partisan debate that leaves a group of grown men and women pouting under the proverbial playground like a 5-year-old left out of the game.
But, for now, I’m left with cute.
I’m in political nomad’s land. Not old enough to want to hear politicians talk to me about Medicare or Social Security but too young to believe some goon who watches American Idol is the best choice to lead our country.
Maybe the best way to get around my concerns is to cast me as a political neophyte – unable to grasp the complexity of a presidential campaign. A young punk unwilling to, if not accept, at least acknowledge the thin tightrope a candidate must walk to appeal to a wide range of voters.
And, in that respect, maybe I’m better off as a voter crossed off the list. After all, if you can’t reach me through YouTube, MTV or my favorite movie star, I’m a lost cause.
But I’m still a vote. A vote I won’t pass up because too many people died to give me this freedom.
But, more and more, I just wish I had someone to vote for.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)