Not a Bad Landing for a Fool

'Twas a year ago yesterday – a day for Fools – when I made the decision to move to Denver instead of Austin. Not a decision I regret though I still marvel at how quickly the scenery can change when you're not looking. Life is full of blind corners.

Focus, focus, focus. That's what I'm trying to do lately. Mind you, it doesn't come naturally. My last day on Earth will probably be spent chasing a errant butterfly off a bridge. Thankfully, technology has the back of dreamers like myself …

Behold – an especially vicious alarm clock that connects your bank account to an organization of your hateful choosing. Every time you hit the snooze, your precious hard earned cash goes straight to the GOP or the ACLU or PETA or Rev. Phelps or Barbara Streisand or whomever you loathe most. Every slap of the snooze fattens the wallet of your enemies so those seven extra minutes better be worth it.

Meanwhile, my pal, Gins, came a-visiting this weekend. On Friday night, we met up with a former colleague at the schwanky tapas place, 9^th Door. Very hip, very loud and very yummy. The white sangria went down quite easily as did the Aguacate (flash-fried avocado with pico de gallo) and Pimientos del Piquillo Rellenos (roasted pequillo peppers stuffed with goat cheese, rosemary, and Serrano ham.) Buuuurp!

Saturday morning, we headed to Racine's to meet up with the lovely Miss Bliss and her honey, Neal – see above. A Green Chile Omelet and a Bloody Mary for me, baby! Truly, a Breakfast of Champions. While chowing down, we discussed the state's obsession with Widespread Panic. No lie, every single Coloradan I meet goes apeshit over this band. Guess they are coming to Red Rocks this summer so I may have to check it out and see if they are, indeed, fuss-worthy.

Then, we were off to REI, to spend our hard-earned dividends on more rugged, outdoorsy crap. Fingerless wool mittens? Check. Two CO2 fillers for bike tires? 10-4. One black sleeveless fleece vest? Mission accomplished. Guess this all means I'll have to get off my ass soon. Dammit.

Next stop, St. Kilians Cheese Shop to pick up some yummy Parmesan. O, how I love thy cheese. We padded a few blocks down 32nd to the Denver Bread Company to pick up a fresh baguette - just to keep the cheese company, of course. Please note their bad-ass delivery van above. As Bliss might say, "M'r'fuckers are SERIOUS."

Then, we made our way to Fancy Tiger so I could pick up some naughty needlepoint. (I've now got a lovely cross-stitch project with lots of hearts, bunnies and flowers surrounding the words: "GO FUCK YOUR SELF." It will hang in my office and play a small but crucial role in my self-amusement design scheme while I appear domestically able all the while. Remember, kids, perception is reality!

We then headed downtown to the Ellie Caulkins Opera House – an odd place for a Blues & Roots Festival, if you ask me. Nevertheless, my beloved Swallow Hill organized the gig so we had to show support. The line-up included some masterful musicians (headliner was the Taj Majal Trio) but numerous sound problems put a damper on the experience. Furthermore, I realized that like my music festivals to be outdoors, with lots of sunshine, beer, weed, dirt with a smattering of hippie clothing stalls and political-cause card tables. Not to mention, endless space for dancing and an open sky for day dreaming. Certain music simply should not be contained under a roof.

Tomorrow, I hit the road again. Headed to the Bay Area for work stuff and a bit of personal too. And then, my friends, I will then face five - count 'em, FIVE - entire free weekends here at home. I cannot wait.