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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.