Friday, Dec. 26th - Home at last. I've done little but alternately sleep, make half-hearted attempts to clean the house, and edit pictures since my return on jetBlue flight #98, arriving at 5:15 this morning. I was awake as it made its approach into JFK, and in the black cloudlessness below, the city shined provocatively orange, and i spotted my block, and ground zero, through the window before rounding over the ocean into the airport. I had half an urge to cry when i saw the city, but i chalk this up to lack of sleep. After the $5 return trip on AirTrain (which i may have been quick to judge harshly) and the E train into Queens, i exited Greenpoint Avenue station in the early morning darkness. The first thing i noticed in the staircase of the train station was a bra with bloodstains on it. Yup, it's great to be back. The trip out to Denver - a city i swear i have no sentimental attachments to - went a lot better than last year. So much so, that i was coaxed by none other than the lovely Karen in to staying an extra day (for a mere changing fee of $25). I made her take me to my annual Christmas movie, the last Lord of the Rings movie, of course. And i also got the pleasure of seeing her open her xmas presents, the 2 Get Fuzzy compendiums and a NYTimes Sunday Crossword daytimer for 2004, both wrapped pleasingly in free Nuggets Cheerleader Posters. Oh what fun it is to torture the girlfriend. Also, check out those sweet boots her mom got her!

I'm just now realizing i never talked about the big Fucking Broncos show we played New Year's Eve Eve. It was at a house party, where most of the interesting things in Denver happen, at house parties. The best part was seeing Brian and Erika, my ex-roommates at the warehouse, for the first time in about 3 years. They seem to be doing well after disbanding the screenprinting business, as they have since took over then sold off a matress business, bought a house, and started racing rally cars. They finished 6th in the Pike's Peak Hill Climb in their first try, and just sold their rally car for $14K. You just kinda knew they'd land on their feet, didn't ya. And of course, they look exactly the same, Dremel the dog included. It was really good to see them.

In case you were wondering, i happen to be wearing a baseball hat with a foam fish head sewn to the front. This was the best part about being in the Fucking Broncos. That and being so drunk i fell off the drumstool at one point. If you are wondering where the Fucking Broncos came from, or why, i guess it could be described as a band formed as an excuse for a bunch of transplanted Denverites to have a party in their honor. This was the brainchild of the band's singer/screamer J.R. (halfway in on the far right) who roped Karen and i into quickly writing 6 songs (including "Tres Amigos", the dirge-y "Victory", the anthemic "No, No, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah", and our epic hit "Wizard Takes Dragon.") The remainder of the band (Ty in the background on the Roland Juno and Andy to the foreground playing metal zone guitar) were shown the songs right before the party. You can imagine how good this sounded. And, with 4/5ths of the Fucking Broncos now residing in NYC, with the 5th on the way, J.R. wants to continue the band. No telling if anyone else does, though. Ah well, Eliot liked it, anyway.

Dave

Oh, and here's another one for the "how the hell did i forget to mention this?" file. About 20 minutes after that picture to the left of Dave was taken, we were crossing Wynkoop Street in tony LoDo (Lower Downtown Denver) when some guy, who looked a lot like a younger Iggy Pop except that he probably doesn't even know who Iggy Pop even is, came barrelling through the crosswalk in a very beat-up pickup truck as Dave and i were being good pedestrians. He slammed on his brakes, shrugged as if we somehow inconvenienced him, then took off again. So, Dave did what any 6'10" fellow in a biker jacket would do in this case, and he kicked the truck, *very* loudly, as it went by. We then proceeded on our merry way, only to turn around to see the guy step out of his truck with a baseball bat, screaming some very unimaginative invective. Even me being a rather large pussy could tell he wasn't about to take another step or use the bat on anything other than his dog or an old microwave, so we just ignored the fellow, and he sped off in a huff. Still, our hearts did race a little bit, so we slipped into a nearby hotel bar for some hooch, and the waitress made fun of me for ordering port. Ah, Denver.

Tuesday, Dec. 23rd - During one of the two semesters i was in college, i took a creative writing class (the one that produced the great works i uncovered in September), and one of the excercises we used was taking a blank page and writing whatever came to mind, without stopping, until the page was full. It's occuring to me to try a similar thing here, so here goes. I'll try and make as much sense as possible.

I just gone done with breakfast at Pete's Kitchen with my mother, her wonderful boyfriend, crazy ol' Armand, and that guest of honor, Karen. This went a lot more smoothly than you may imagine, but still kinda exhausting if you're me. I opted for the "pancake sandwich" today - scrambled eggs and ham nestled between two delicious Pete's pancakes - rather than the customary breakfast burrito, so now i'm a little full. Armand requested a pig-in-a-blanket, and had to settle for a BLT. He also told me of a DUI he got in the S. Colorado town of Walsenburg, where he drove into a homecoming day parade. And he also told me about how he ended up in Denver. He was hitchhiking from Boston, where he was once a cab driver, to California, and he got arrested right here in lovely Denver. When he got out, he just kinda stayed. This was about 20 years ago. Never made it. I asked him why he never tried to become a cabbie here, and he said he still doesn't know his way around. As you can tell, i find Armand to be a fascinating character.

Today's random encounter (that actually occured yesterday) took place in a boutique named Sugar that opened up recently on Broadway, where most of the good stores have gone since i left Denver. I was shopping with Karen for trashy clothes, with Karen settling on a very nice, shapely skirt, when the only other patron in the place recognized me ... by my voice! It was none other than Brian Circle, one time Denver record label maven/vagabond, who also did a short stint in Harriet the Spy. Him and his possessed guitar that got radio reception. I still recall the last conversation i ever had with Brian previous to yesterday, and that took place at the Mercury Cafe, the place Dave rightly hates because they have shitty food. So, picture a health food restaurant - bar - swing band former punk venue, and Robin and i are having a last drink or two before our imminent departure for NYC, way back in 1996. Brian sees us and approaches us and asks us about our move. Brian is a kinda gaunt fellow, nice but with unusual social skills, and listens to nothing but Maximum Rock-N-Roll style punk bands. He may have been in a weird way that night, for he asked us if he could go with us to our move to NYC. This was the first time he'd shown interest in this, and we were leaving in 2 days or so. He repeated the request a few times, and we basically told him of our plans and half-way invited him to join us, knowing he probably wouldn't or couldn't. And he just kept saying "yeah, i really need to get out of here" with a sense of urgency that did seem a little unhealthy. He never made it out, and he's still in Denver, but he seems to be doing okay. He has a dog (named Ramona) so that's a good sign. He also has a girlfriend (who's name i didn't catch, as she wasn't present). But, this girlfriend was in a band, an all-girl band, which Brian described as "cute." He went on to explain that he wasn't about to use the word "cute" to his girlfriend, because he wanted to be supportive, but that was his take, that his girlfriend's all-girl band was "cute." And, on the other end of the store, i could distinctly hear Karen gritting her teeth. Brian is also famous for having a twin brother Matt with whom he had a very chilly relationship. The two at one point disliked each other so much that Matt got reconstructive surgery on his face so he wouldn't look like Brian. And i gripe about my family.

Armand told a story today about a midnight trip to the Taco Bell two blocks down from my mom's new place. It was about 4 in the morning, and Armand, a ratty looking fellow on a good day, was feeling a little peckish, so he strolled down to the Bell, only to discover that only the drive-thru was open. But, as fate would have it, there was a young woman in the parking lot, in her car eating by herself. "Ah" though Armand "maybe she can take me through the drive-thru!" and he knocked on the window, obviously not realizing how terrifying this might seem to the woman, especially at 4 in the morning. Her reaction i guess included a hand guesture that could've been misconstrued for "hop in", or at least it was by dear Armand, as he then moseyed to the other side of the car and went to open the passenger door. At which point the woman screamed and locked the door. And Armand just kinda shrugged and walked off.

Josh just called me from Target, where apparently, after getting into town with Eliot last night, he's already started getting into arguements with his dad. So, i'm going to go rescue him from Target, and we'll see what ensues.

Sunday, Dec. 21st - To paraphrase Ice Cube, i'd have to say it was a good day. So far at least, as it's only 4:15. But, i woke up today at 11 and checked e-mail, and sure enough, Jeff Mensch, in his own inimitable fashion (5 or 6 uncapitalized words) encouraged me to get out there and take some pictures. So, with the sun shining, and a full tank of gas in the SUV, i called up my mom to see if she wanted to be my photographic assistant. I probably shouldn't have been so surprised when she readily took me up on the offer, but i was. Nonetheless, by 11:30 or so, we were heading down E. Colfax on another beautiful day, taking pix and talking about music and art. Conversation turned to Denver's maddening willingness to knock down what few old, interesting buildings they have, and we both wondered if the Hot Dog building still existed. (A note of background if you aren't Robin or Josh: a little way up in the mountains, in a town called Conifer, there's a hot dog stand, built to look like a hot dog, with a sign reading "Coney Island" on top. In fact, pictures of Robin and i at this edifice are still pinned to the wall at the coffeeshop we used to work at here). So, upon reaching the furthest east point on Colfax before it turns into Kansas, we hopped on I-70 and made our way into the mountains. After getting directions from a very lovely Evergreen resident, we made our way up, took photos, and had hot dogs and very good onion rings. We even passed by Tiny Town for a photo or two, all the while listening to jazz and the White Stripes and mix CDs. I just dropped her off, and now i'm here. I feel good today.

East Colfax Toodle-oo Your typical E. Colfax sign Your typical E. Colfax braiding salon in an old windmill outside a trailer park The "Word" on the street is this may have formerly been a tea-shop of some sort. My mom has the nerve to call me weird for taking photos like this.

Points West and North $1/scoop Chinese food Pour a little out for your dead "homeis." Guidos Nickel Where you always know the time and temp Right after i took this one, my ma said "Don't take pictures of me while i'm eating!" So, of course, i *had* to post this one. My new favorite photo

This is Tiny Town
(and we don't want you coming 'round)

Last nite was a blast too. Another trip out with Big Jayke and Fireman Murph, first to a Nuggets game, a spirited-yet-sluggish affair which had the surprising Nuggggs having an off nite, and losing by 10 points to the Seattle SuperSonics. After a roughly 10 block aimless walk thru downtown Denver on a pleasant evening, it was decided we should check out Sing Sing, a piano bar about 1 block from the baseball stadium. If itt sounds cheesy, or at least Mark Russell-y, well, it was, but it was also very fun, especially with the company i had. The painists were a very ribald bunch, and the only time it got questionable was when they called all the servicemen in the audience onto the stage and sang that damned "Proud to be an American" song that *everyone* in the place emphatically sang along to (except for me, natch). Aside from that, it was great fun, and we stuck it out until about 1 am, before finally going home. Fireman Murph was very drunk, and being in a rocky patch in his marriage, was enjoying the assortment of ladies there that evening, Big Jayke enjoyed the "zing wings" and i enjoyed myself in spite of having to not drink that much. Go fig. An interesting footnote for you baseball fans: ex-Rockie manager Jim Leyland (who's much better known for his work with the early 90s Pirates and the 1997 Marlins) was known to frequent Sing Sing almost exclusively after games, before returning home to get some sleep ... in the *Coors Field clubhouse*! I knew i should've moved in to the Eyeboogie couch.

A quick note about the Nugggets game: it was Nuggets Dancers Poster Night. Another High School friend Jeremie showed little interest in going to the game with us, even though we had an extra ticket (Dave and his girlfriend Shae went with us as well), begging out because he was going to a motorcycle show with a hot cousin. But, if he only knew it was Nuggets Dancers Poster Night! Because, he loves cheerleaders, and he really missed out. Or did he? Because after the game, it was decided the poster, a row of 17 or 18 lite-blu clad beauties, would be a very nice xmas gift. And then, i had the idea that we should get people to fake-sign it, using the real cheerleaders names (listed on the back), and tell him we had the dancers themselves sign it. So, having had a couple beers, we very aggresively approached women who we thought would have the right penmanship and had them sign it. We even had them mispell the name (as "Jeremy") a coupla times for verisimilitude. Finally a drunk guy with his buddies asked to sign it, and we said sure. I told him to write something racy and he came up with "Jere - I like your style! xo." After getting about a dozen signatures, we agreed that was sufficient, and swore ourselves to secrecy. I hope he likes it.

Another wacky story: I stopped at Dave's house yesterday - letting myself in with his key - to drop off his xmas present before going to the game. In the roughly one minute it took to slide the gift under his bed and grab a change of shirt from my suitcase, i managed to lose his key, and therefore couldn't leave the house without leaving it unlocked. Which in his neighborhood may not have been the greatest idea. Anyway, after a quick search of the house, i decided the key must be in the MILF-moblie, and i set out to look. There were some little kids hitting something with a stick out side. One of them was surprisingly observant enough to notice that i'd been wearing the same shirt - an old green collegaite shirt, with the initials BSU and an angry looking beaver head, that i bought here on 13th Ave. - for the (gasp!) 2nd day in a row. "Why you wearing that shirt again?" said the little nino, without even so much as an introduction. I explained it was because i like beavers. He said "you're a beaver" and this was of course because of my hair. Actually i've heard more hair comments here in 3 days than a year in New York, but that doesn't surprise me. Anyway, it was only a matter of mere seconds before my name became "Beaver." And so, during each trip shuttling back and forth between the house in an increasingly infuriating search for the damn house key, i was hailed with a volley of "Hey, Beaver!"s. "Is that your car, Beaver?" "Is that your house, Beaver?" "Are you breaking in, Beaver?" Pretty cute. I finally found the key after searching for about 40 mintues, then giving up, then on a whim checking my *luggage* and there it was at the bottom. How i'm this bad with keys, i'll never know.

Phew. Okay, i'll continue this soon. Right now, i have to tell Mark Puner the good news, and that is that Netherworld - home of the "Nether Club" sandwich - has a golfing video game, featuring promotional clips from both Dick Vitale AND Uncle Kracker.

Saturday, Dec. 20th - So, i'm back at Netherworld, and i go to log in to my website builder, and i didn't have to type in my name or password. 2 days worth of people who could've fucked with my site if they wanted to. So, now, i can write really the most obnoxious crap in the world, and if people try to call me on it, i can say, "someone clearly hacked in and wrote that instead of me!" Plausible denial, as Jesse Fuchs would say. Except that i've already revealed that strategy and therefore corrupted it. But, i haven't checked the rest of the site for any thing unusual. So, maybe instead of being feckless and devious, i should be worried. But i ain't.

I'd run down some recent activites, such as eating at a Waffle House in far North Denver, then forgetting my Topman Jacket and having to drive back up and get it, or meeting up with my aunt Jude and talking about avant-jazz. But, frankly, it's just too nice out to be here, plus, i'm already almost done with my beer, and there's xmas shopping to be done. So, maybe more tomorrow. I have yet to take a photo. Sorry Jeff.

Thursday, Dec. 18th - Okay, here we are. Where is here? Other than Denver? Much like last year, most of my computer related activity has taken place from Cafe Netherworld in Capitol Hill. This place opened not too long before i left Denver for NYC in 1996, but its continued existance makes it somewhat venerable by Denver standards. An attempt at description: the theme i suppose is goth, mixed with tinges of your typical Denver-sports obsession (the bartender today is working on his college bowl picks in earnest.) There's a mock electric chair just outside the lobby, the color theme is largely dark purple, and there is Simpsons pinball, knock-off MegaTouch and three pool tables to go along with the row of antiquated Imacs. They also serve the Nether Club sandwich. You get the idea now. Nice place, or at least the closest thing to Calvin's (a legendary minor-serving Denver pool hall of lore) this city can muster at this stage.

Also, staying along the theme of transit, i should say my JetBlue flight was considerably more tolerable than the last one, though i can't explain why. I was as fidgity as usual, and stuck in an aisle seat at that. Those TVs on the seat backs really help, even if one of the channels shows nothing but The Flintstones. And, even though i made reservations for a modest mid-sized car, i, in very Colorado fashion, got stuck with a bronze SUV. Dave called it a "MILF-Magnet."

One of my favorite Cars songs, "Touch and Go", just came up on the jukebox. Sweet. It's telling that thing i've really enjoyed today - other than some Pete's Kitchen with Dave - is being here writing. I made some perfunctory stabs at xmas / thrift shopping, and did secure Josh's present, at least. But still, after more Mexican food for lunch, i forced myself to wander amongst the book stores (almost buying *another* copy of Moby Dick) and vintage clothing outlets in hopes of being inspired to shop. Alas, today was not the day, and it wasn't long before i ended up back here, writing. Fans of my mom will be happy to know i got that visit pretty much out of the way already. And, maybe being more prepared for it than last time, it went down a little smoother. A litte. This is aided by the fact that one of her old reprobate/drunk friends Armand (trust me, pictures soon) made a surprise appearance. Armand is probably in his late 50s by now, of Polynesian Dutch origin, and is very proned to funny/poignant nonsequiturs. At its worse, it devolves into weird stand-up, but at its best, it sure can alleviate a lot of tension dealing with fragile moms and their loathesome interruptive boyfriends (the latter of which insisted on a hug as i split). And, i should say it wasn't that much of a surprise to see Armand - or his eternal partner in crime, Tim - at my mom's house, as they are both homeless, and well, you gotta crash somewhere. Mind you, i've known these guys for about 10 years now, and they are harmless, and vascillate between endearing/funny and aggrivating/exhausting. But, in a weird way it was nice to see them. Armand still calls me "The Chicken Pock Kid" in reference to my bout with that crippling disease way back in 1994. He also - apropos of nothing - very solemnly showed me a picture of his sister he's carried in his wallet for what looks like over 20 years. A lot of stuff like that. Oh, and my mom has cracked ribs. "Oh, how did that happen?" i asked disingenuously. And she just laughed weirdly and said she fell in the driveway. And i said "wow, you sure do fall a lot" (this dealing with another slip a few years ago where she broke her arm, as the story goes). And she said "well, that's what happens when you get old." And i said "oh."

Here's the best part of our conversation, though: my mom was convinced on our last visit that i came out to tell her i was gay. I'm serious about this. She based this on two very important factors. The first was that i didn't have a girlfriend at the time, and hadn't in a spell. Resisting inflamitory statements about my friends here. The other, more important reason involved my clothing choices whilst there, which included my rock n' roll bracelet (which Jesse Blockton once hilariously described as "belonging on some rich lady's cat) and my Sir Pendelton wool jacket, the origin and purpose of which have been discussed on these pages. Yes, i'm gay because i don't have a girlfriend based on my very warm jacket. I could've diginified this strangeness by saying there's not a whole heap of difference between looking "gay" and dressing for impending rock stardom, but i decided to just let the whole thing hang there. But, this does explain her enthusiasm for meeting Karen when she gets here. If i decide such a meeting should take place. And, there may be those of you who deduce that the source of my consternation is being mislabled specifically as gay, and i can assure you of this all the time. No, it's that my *own mother* is so absolutely clueless to my life, or who i am as a person, that this would be a consideration. I sound like some whining teen blogger right now - you know "fuck you mom!" - but this is just, idiocy. I'm going to stop talking about it now.

So, i don't really know what i'm doing tonight, or tomorrow. But, i think i could use a nap. Before i do, though, i'm going to repost that picture of Elliot that i had to remove to make room for my eloquent commentary on the AirTrain. I miss that guy already.

---

Lengthy - By my unscientific approximation, AirTrain shaved somewhere between 2-5 precious minutes off my commute, compared the previous alternative, the JFK shuttle bus from the Howard Beach A train station.

Confusing - At least that amount of time, if not more, was spent trying to *find* the damn thing after i exited Jamaica Station, following a paper trail of notices that lead me on to the street, then ... nothing. So, i shleped by bag around for a few minutes, got annoyed and asked a security guard where it was. About 7 empty escalators and a few long hallways later, i found the platform.

Expensive - By this time i was already nostalgic for the shuttle bus, but at least there was one nice surprise: as an inaugural guesture, the AirTrain was *free* until midnite. So, now my ride on the rapid, disconcertingly wobbly conductor-less train was at least not costing any more than the previous trips. But, as i rode the 4 or so minutes to the airport, i kept thinking of the poor guy that died on the dummy run a year ago, delaying the train's debut until yesterday. But, now, this pleasure, this convenience will be costing $5, a whopping $5 mark-up from the bus. Which apparently, is no longer in service. And how much did it cost to build this f*cking thing? At what price, progress?

Out of room.

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