entries by topic: colorado

2017/4/4 weather
2017/2/28 reading
2017/1/25 I went down to the Women’s March in Denver on Saturday with my girlfriend and my sister and a couple of our friends and (from the looks of things at the bus station) a pretty good percentage of Boulder County. I didn’t take a camera any better than my phone; none of us were really sure what to expect from the whole thing, and traveling light seemed like a good idea.
2016/11/6 It’s early in an unseasonably hot November in the Western United States of America. An election day looms. I find myself, in those moments when I can face the news, somewhere between paralyzed with fear and numb with disgust.
2016/9/28 Hello, Colorado citizens.
2016/8/9 We keep on putting ice cubes in the box wine. It seems like a bad habit to get into, but I guess I can’t credibly argue that it’s a worse habit than the box wine is on its own.
2016/6/1 in my life it seems like
2016/4/27 amtrak
2016/4/26 It’s some time well after midnight. There’s a storm rolling in over the mountains and up from the south. On the radar, the colored splotches are over Boulder now and not quite here. There’s that heavy feeling to the air and the smell of flowers. The thunder is almost continuous, and you can hear rain on the trees though it’s not exactly
2016/3/26 Out along the foothills, everything blanketed in snow and the particular dingy grey of snowclouds still churning slowly over the mountains. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were still coming down up above Jamestown.
2015/10/18 New York always feels something like a foreign country. Not like one so foreign that its modes and routines are completely illegible, but one far enough from usual life that I’m often unsure what the rhythm is, the protocol, the whatness-of-what. I speak the language (one of them, part of it) but I don’t exactly speak the
2015/9/22 Back in Colorado, one festival and ~1400 miles later, a week has predictably lowered temperatures into the range of encroaching Fall. Where I live, the tourist traffic has slackened and the coffeeshop is emptier.
2015/8/23 Our plane descends into Denver International Airport and an obscuring haze drifted in from Washington’s burning forests. We step into the terminal and everything is momentarily new, unfamiliar. Outside, despite the smoke, the air is beautiful, cool and dry, easy to breath in. We aren’t on the bus 5 minutes before I catch the tang of dank, weapons-grade cannabis drifting out of an open pocket or bag.
2015/8/1 For weeks now, between Nebraska and Colorado, I have been operating at a heat-induced cognitive deficit. I am never not sweating.
2015/1/13 rtd / bus schedules / transit data
2014/7/29 it was raining again tonight
2014/4/10 I rode in to work today for the first time in months, along the foothills down 36 with trucks full of debris and construction materials rattling past, out onto the plains along Nelson Road. Everything has that sort of springtime muzziness about it, the ragged-edgedness of early grass through late-winter grime, the smell of thawed-out earth, a haziness in the air, a certain texture to the wind.
2014/3/23 Erik Winn was tall and skinny and had skin like tanned leather. He wore glasses and shaggy sweaters and tall leather boots. His teeth were terrible, until he had them all out and got dentures. He smoked constantly – hand-rolled cigarettes from a big can of American Spirit tobacco. He rolled more expertly and effortlessly than anyone else I have ever met. He drank coffee, slowly, all day long. He seemed to live on peanut butter sandwiches, bananas, now and then a baked good from Trident, where he was very nearly part of the physical structure of the place when he was living in Boulder. He was, whatever else my description might suggest, a handsome man, and I know there were women in his life before I knew him, though by the time we worked together he was almost monk-like in his ascetism and claimed variously to have given up on love, on art, on a lot of what my Christian heritage is always calling the things of the world. He played classical guitar, skillfully, and sang, though I always had a hard time getting him to start.
2013/10/5 I’m writing this, imprecisely, on a typewriter I only half remember how to use. It’s not exactly a romantic typewriter. It’s a product of the death throes of an entire category of consumer utility item. An entire technological mode, really. It must have been sold some time in the 1990s, after the obvious total superiority of computer word processing had emerged.
2013/9/8 i step out into the rain, pipe in hand
2013/7/10 : ambient Twitter radiation prompts me to look out the office windows in Gunbarrel. Sure enough, in the hills towards the northwest, a small white plume, too low and distinct to be a cloud. We confer. Definitely smoke. The Internet says it's north and a little west of Lyons. Through binoculars it looks bigger, oddly less distinct. It's hot out, windy enough. Fire season seems to have re-emerged.
2013/7/7 Main Street in Lyons is busy all day long, thick with tourist traffic, National Park daytrippers, and people on Harleys. I feel invisible - walking for groceries, reading over food and a beer, watching mid-afternoon rain from the doors outside my rooms. A lot of people pass through a place like this, but you're so much background noise to most of them.
2013/5/2 from a bus running north out of boulder
2013/2/9 midwinter midafternoon; depressed as hell
2012/4/11 this poem again
2011/10/19
2011/5/22 The upstairs neighbors are having a work party or something. It looks like they're installing a drip irrigation system in the back yard. They've got music on loud. Phish, Led Zep, Floyd, lots of the Dead. It might be a Pandora station, but I hope not. Lately I'm taking a dim view of algorithmically determined music selection, or at least a dim view of Pandora, which has entirely taken over the public-audio landscape around here and seems to exhibit an ever-narrower imagination. All of the easy choices rendered automatic. Radio minus the human element.
2011/4/24 Short flight in from Omaha. It's raining in Colorado. Can't even see the mountains from the bus stop at the airport.
2011/4/14 Brent is in Colorado Springs for a Space symposium, so I take the day off, rent a car, and drive down to this quasi-famous upscale hotel complex at the south end of town.
2010/11/3 It's Wednesday night and we're sitting in the Mountain Sun again.
2010/2/3 me and sun microsystems
2009/4/5 it's still the early years of a century
2009/3/27 Allegedly, March is the snowiest month of the year in Colorado. I had been having doubts, until yesterday.
2009/3/15 i wake up at noon or maybe one
2009/3/14 at the end of the last summer i
2009/1/14 I'm sitting in a bus station, trying to get wireless. It isn't working. Mike Huckabee is interviewing Ann Coulter about her new book on Fox News. A guy named Daniel asks if he can use my phone. He's clearly stoned out of his gourd. After he calls his dad, he asks me if I play any instruments and we talk for a while. Actually, pretty much he talks, but although I'm always at least a little nervous at the prospect of talking to some random dude in a Greyhound station (because, let's be honest, these places are freakshows, and before you know it some guy will be trying to sell you bad coke and/or encouraging you to join him in his personal relationship to Jesus) I don't really discourage it. CA, who has been talking to an old metalhead named David on the bus, arrives from Nebraska and we depart.
2008/12/3 "the names of the months sound like threats"
2008/11/13 You ever have one of those days where you're up to your eyeballs in bush-league technology problems, and you think man, I should have just gone to Virginia to hear some bluegrass, get a little high, and spend a week helping Abe drive his new ride back to Colorado?
2008/11/3 situational ethics
2008/10/26 sunday morning in late october
2008/10/24 i'm always, every day
2008/8/27 So I went down to Denver last night to hear Dennis Kucinich talk at the Skylark Lounge, a couple of blocks away from an apartment where I spent most of the summer of 2005.
2008/7/13 america and hope
2008/4/7 it ain't just feet of clay
2007/6/23 It is summer now. The grass has started to turn brown. We have sealed ourselves in the relative coolness of the house with the hum of box fans, decrepit computers, an ancient laser printer. The kitchen is filthy and piled with the wreckage of my highly improvised cooking. The entire former contents of our bedroom closet, purged in response to the death-stench of some rodent or reptile in the walls, spill across the couch and living room floor.
2007/5/31
2007/4/18 It’s been rainy here in Boulder County, and the landscape is as green as it seems likely to get this year. I should have learned by now, though, not to make predictions based on so little experience of a place. After 26 years Nebraska and Kansas still surprise me. 78-year-old men sit in gas stations over bad coffee talking about the weather and shaking their heads. Certainly this is a piece of deep routine, but partially it is because the weather still surprises them too.
2007/3/17 literacy - a short list of things badly or not at all understood by yours truly - other notes collected from paper
2007/2/12 I went to the DMV today to get my very first Colorado driver’s license. The office in Boulder is housed in the back of a near-death mall, and the atmosphere is the kind of Midwestern Soviet ca. 1987 that lets you know you’ve stumbled into a channel of that bureaucracy which runs like dry rot through the official American system. The older guys all look just like the actor who plays the bond company stooge in
2006/11/8 I'm not sure I care too deeply, and it sure as hell ain't all that surprising, but I think I just caught the Bill Ritter (as of yesterday, Colorado's governor-elect) campaign (or an earnest supporter) gaming Wikipedia.
2006/7/10 amplitude modulation
2006/3/31 Wednesday night: Drive to Breckenridge by way of Keystone, to see
2005/11/12 a brief digression on manpower, inc.
2005/8/8 i: punditry - ii: attitude - iii: anyway
2004/3/26 My stuff is carefully, maybe even artfully, packed in a single backpack. Shorts, shirt, longjohns, disc, cleats, notebook and pencil in a Ziploc sandwich bag, three letters demanding responses, bandanas, shaving kit, sunscreen, knife. The dirty brown sleeping bag is neatly rolled. I must be forgetting something, but I can't for the life of me remember what. Colorado, here we come.