Despite my recent move to Loveland, Colorado, last weekend I drove down to Boulder for my favorite annual event in town. And, no, I am not talking about the release of new slanderous allegations revolving around the JonBenet Ramsey murder investigation. It would not be May in Boulder, Colorado without thousands of people converging on the reservoir for the yearly rite of passage known as Kinetics.
For those not familiar with the event, it involves me spending several hours in the sun looking at women prancing around in skimpy bikinis. Oh yeah, and there is also some sort of race.
While I try not to sound like a broken record, I have to readdress a serious concern about the Kinetics race. For the second year in a row I saw not a single article of women’s clothing constructed from fruit. Despite my detailed explanation of how to construct a watermelon bra on my web site last year, no one seems to have taken on the challenge of reviving this noble tradition. While I do not claim to be an expert in this matter, this could be taken as a sign that the end of the world is near.
Despite the watermelon bra drought, there was a flurry of activity the whole day which kept my eyes stimulated. Usually I get nervous when men I don’t know approach me wearing nothing but shiny boots, a blonde wig, and a tight gold thong which leaves very little to the imagination. (When it is someone I know I get down right uncomfortable.) At the Kinetics race, however, it just means that he is part of the “Rocky Horror Picture Show” craft. Or at least I hope that is the case.
After checking out the rest of the Kinetic vehicles, Kristin and I sat down on the beach to watch the rest of the day’s entertainment as they walked around, applied suntan lotion to each other, and whipped their hair around in slow motion. Adding to the excitement of the event were several oversized beach balls that were constantly bouncing around in the more densely populated areas of the beach. The center of each inflatable sphere contained a small computer processor which coordinated data from real time global positioning satellites and miniature self-contained digital cameras. This information was processed in real time to develop trajectories that maximized smacking inattentive beer drinking people in the back of the head while they were starting the process of digesting their cool, tasty beverage.
I’ve never really thought of myself as a pillar of society, but as we were enjoying the afternoon, some of the people around us asked if we could watch their stuff for a while. Not that I’m against it, but the whole concept of asking someone you don’t know to guard belongings seems kind of odd. It bothers me for several reasons. First of all there is the possibility the person you ask is really some freaky kleptomaniac who has been mentally drooling over the half empty bottle of sun block and cut-off jeans—just waiting for the right moment to club you over the head before he steals your possessions. (I suppose the upside in this situation is that you are less likely to get clubbed in the head.)
The other problem is that you are announcing to the entire area that you are going to be away from your belongings for a fair amount of time with only a total stranger keeping an eye on the situation. Anyone can just walk up and take stuff under the pretense of, “Oh, they asked me to come get their stuff.” And unless the dealings with the original stranger involved a hologram of authenticity of some sort, you have no way of knowing who is telling the truth and who has a sick fetish for other people’s cut-off jeans.
Given that most people at the Kinetics race didn’t come to the event with the intention of theft, neither of these situations arose. However, a half an hour after we agreed to watch over our neighbors’ belongings, we wanted to leave. While I didn’t want any specific harm to come to the belongings, I had to accept the possibility they would never be coming back. Perhaps they walked over to the beer tent and became yet another victim of the “inflatable beach ball of death” on their way back. In the end we did decide to take off and leave their stuff unattended, but as we were leaving I made an announcement to the general area. “We are leaving now, so feel free to pillage and plunder these here belongings!”
Now that I’ve lived in Loveland for a month, I feel a much stronger connection with the town. To be honest, when I first moved in, I knew little more than the two main streets in the area. Depending on my starting point, finding my way back home was at times quite a challenge. Thanks to my technique of randomly driving around town for little or no specific reason I have identified many, if not all, of the points of interest Loveland, Colorado has to offer.
One of the first things I did after moving in was to locate the nearest Walmart. Fortunately for me, it was only a few blocks away from the house. I drove over and stocked up on soda and other random items that seem to find their way into my shopping basket whenever I enter the store. Unfortunately for me, I drove to the exact same location a week later only to find it was gone. Well, the building didn’t go anywhere, but the essence of the company was nowhere to be found. After a few minutes of playing Columbo, I discovered a large note on the door, explaining that a new store had opened up on the other side of town.
But this wasn’t just any Walmart—- the new building housed a “Super” Walmart. Which means it is basically a traditional Walmart with a complete grocery store stuck on the side. And it stays open all the time. Given my well-documented erratic sleeping habits, this schedule was quite a welcomed change. To test things out, I drove over at midnight to examine the new structure. It literally has tons of stuff. I can’t say offhand exactly how many tons, but everywhere I looked I just saw more stuff. Having just moved all my stuff from Boulder, I was not really in the mood to acquire more stuff. But I did feel the need to buy something, just to be courteous to the Walmart establishment.
In order to make everyone happy, I bought a ninety-seven cent bottle of hair gel. While I’m still not sure if my hair needs the “ultra hold” or “maximum goo” style, the bottle I purchased does seem to be functioning within the expected parameters. And now I have one more item to add to my “ways to entertain myself at two in the morning” list. (Going to Walmart that is, not contemplating my hair gel needs.)
Now that Scott and I have cleared out all the unwanted vegetation from the yard, I have taken on the responsibility of mowing the lawn. For one thing, I haven’t had a lawn to mow since I was in high school. Secondly, the area covered by the lawn is so small it is not a big deal to fire up the lawn mower once a week. The lawn mower is one that mulches the grass instead of collecting it in a bag. In addition to being environmentally better for the planet, it keeps me in a much better mood since I don’t have to spend time hauling bags of dead grass all over the place.
One of my favorite aspects of living in Colorado are the two seasons. Winter and summer both make their presence felt throughout the year—- but not in any particular order. Sure, in December it is more likely to be winter and in June, odds favor the summer. I was mowing the lawn a few days ago when the sun was shining and all the other meteorological signs pointed to summer. By the time I had finished, the situation had completely reversed and it was quite clear that winter was stopping by for a visit. A few hours later it started snowing. If I had postponed mowing the lawn I might have had to shovel snow off it first. Fortunately, winter didn’t want to stay very long and things were back to summer status the next day.
After holding a brief funeral service to honor the premature demise of the raspberry bushes, Scott and I planted some new seeds in the garden. It turns out that world of genetic engineering hasn’t advanced to the point of being able to produce “seven-layer burrito” seeds. Given that limitation, I went back to the Super Walmart (which hadn’t been moved since my last visit to buy the hair gel) and bought various packages of seeds. According to the instructions, if planted correctly, the seeds will grow into various forms of vegetables. My specialty seems to be more in the area of killing vegetation, so I’m sure an attempt to grow a useful garden will be quite an adventure. (NOTE TO SELF: don’t run over the garden with the lawn mower.) But at least now I know where I can buy gardening equipment in the middle of the night.
After moving all my belongings to Loveland, I started the whole process of getting settled into my new surroundings. It was at this point in time I really became jealous of Scott’s dog. When Henry moves somewhere his entire settling process consists of figuring out where to go to relieve himself, sniffing everything in the area two or three times, and then falling asleep in the middle of the floor for the rest of the day. Henry doesn’t worry about hooking up stereo speakers or rifling through boxes trying to find a clean pair of underwear.
Over the years Scott has put a fair amount of effort into landscaping around the house. While it is not quite ready to be featured in “Better Homes and Gardens,” the yard is completely free of unmarked sinkholes and nonfunctioning automobiles. The one area I thought needed the most work was the garden on the side of the house. The area has been overtaken by trash, weeds, and, on occasion, a small band of street hardened juvenile delinquents. One night I told Scott I was going to attack the garden and clean it up a bit.
Before I go any further here, I have to ask the rhetorical question “How was I supposed to know the difference between weeds and a series of dormant but healthy raspberry bushes?” Needless to say, Scott overestimated my abilities to identify “good” versus “bad” plant life and we are not going to have any fresh raspberry pie in August. But on a positive note, the efforts produced a large pile of dead plants that had to be thrown away and we now had a good reason to go visit the city dump. We attached the wooden side rails on Scott’s pickup truck and started piling trash in the bed.
The next piece of vegetation that got loaded into the truck was a sickly looking tree that was living in the back yard. I’m not really sure what Scott did to it, because the tree looked quite healthy and vibrant propped up in the living room when I stopped by for his Christmas party. I honestly suspect Scott didn’t talk to the tree enough. In an attempt to revive the tree, I dug a small hole in the back yard and stood the tree up. My theory was the tree stump would sense the connection with Mother Earth and grow a complete new set of roots in a few days. Everything was going fine until these small gusts of wind kept tipping the tree over. Of course by then the self esteem of the tree was too depleted and we were forced to give up and throw it in the back of the truck.
The next item on the list was an old beat up desk that Scott’s previous roommate conveniently left in the room that was going to become my office. At first glance it appeared to be a simple wooden desk that could be easily carried down the stairs and given to Goodwill. Upon closer inspection, however, the desk was a monster. The entire structure was built from solid inch thick particle board and held together with generous quantities of screws, wood glue, and some sort of futuristic “Star Trek” force field. After a solid hour of attacking the beast, we carried its dismembered corpse outside and prepared it for final burial.
Once all the trash was loaded up, we tied a tarp over everything as best we could and headed out to the dump. While everything seemed to be securely tied down before we left, I suspect the air flow dynamics of traveling fifty miles an hour altered the stress forces in the back of the truck. About half way through our journey, the wooden side railings decided to spontaneously shatter into several pieces. The down side to this event was that half the junk we were hauling flew out on the road. The up side was… well, I don’t think there really was one.
The really funny thing (and by “funny” I really mean “pain in the ass”) was that with the side rails broken there was no way we could fit everything back into the truck. After some deliberation, we left some of the junk on the side of the road and took what we could to the dump. Once the first trip was completed, we went back and got the rest of the stuff off the side of the road. It really helped prolong the “going to the dump” experience into an entire afternoon ordeal.
Despite the setback, our goal was eventually achieved. We made it home in one piece and without any of the garbage we left with. Just to make us feel a little bit better about the whole situation, we checked the mail when we got back and found a coupon that would have saved us the twenty dollar fee at the dump.
And, of course, the dog was still sleeping on the floor when we got home.