I have a new blog for 2012 – Assignment 35.
In honor of the 35th anniversary of my move to Denver, I’ve adopted a random set of assignments which involve the number 35.
See you over at the new place.
Posted in Blogging, Books, City, Culture, Current Events, Denver, General Suz-ness, Good things, Life and death, Movies, Music, Travel, tagged 2012, blog, blogging, books, Denver, Movies, music on January 7, 2012 | Leave a Comment »
Okay, I’m going to edit this, now that another day has passed and I’ve gotten over my old grouchy self. It was just an epic bad day at a poorly managed corporate dining spot in a chain hotel. I wish I could be funny about it. Maybe another time or another SNAFU. What follows has been edited from the original rant.
It’s just as well I wasn’t very hungry Thursday at lunchtime. My lunchtime companions were fun, and I’m glad I joined them to honor Pete on his upcoming retirement.
But the restaurant? Epic FAIL.
Eight of us originally ordered, and two showed up a little later. Orders were right off the menu, nothing persnickety requested. The orders were delivered not all at once but in a definite straggle, and one of us who was sitting with a view of the kitchen saw his plate sitting under the hot lights for awhile before finally being brought to him. Eventually everyone had plates in front of them.
Except me. Our waiter approached me and said, she was so sorry but she hadn’t “entered” my order (the Embassy Suites is of course all computerized) and she needed to know what it was. A couple of minutes later she was back at my shoulder to say they were preparing my order now, and when I asked how long, she said “three minutes.” My friends offered to share their food with me, but I declined. After all, mine was due in three minutes, right? I got involved in the conversations, then finally looked at my watch again. Nearly 15 minutes had passed since the “three minutes” statement. No food. No wait person.
I looked over at the kitchen and saw, sitting under the hot lights on the pickup counter for completed orders, a burger plate. Our wait person was engrossed in some business at another table. Another restaurant employee who’d helped serve us walked back and forth in front of that burger plate as I watched. But didn’t touch it.
So, dear reader, I got up, walked over to the kitchen, picked up the burger plate and brought it back to the table myself.
It had sat on that counter under the warming lights so long that the slice of cheese on one side of the open faced burger? Was drying out at the edges.
I wish this was the end of the saga. You should be so lucky. Hell, we all should have been so lucky. There was another saga of confusion and delay about giving us our checks. Separate checks, which our server had offered us. It took maybe 20 minutes and as with the food there was an erratic distribution of checks to some of us, then a long wait for the rest.
During the check situation I told a manager who was working the computer with our server (ours wasn’t the only table with a check issue), about all the problems with my order. All he said was sorry, not even pausing in his work on the computer.
Yes: I was eventually handed a bill, in full, of $15.47 for my burger and iced tea. No comps, no discounts, just the damned bill.
Which I stood in another line to pay up at the register. I handed our waiter my bill and a twenty. She gave me back four ones.
Yes, dear reader, I even got shorted on the change. But by then I was so late getting out of there to get back downtown for meetings, I said not a word and just left.
I’m so glad I got to get together with that group – even if most of them were camera-shy – that in another day or two I will be laughing at the debacle that was my actual lunch.
It probably was the universe’s way of telling me I should have ordered a chicken caesar salad instead of a burger.
But if you’re ever in Denver? Remember that name. Diazza.
Today I spent the morning doing my volunteer gig under the big top.* This was my second Sunday morning shift in a row. The four hours went pretty fast. Both Sundays, I’ve been in a spot in the main Terminal where a lot of just-checked-in passengers walk by.
When I’m out there I’m wearing the volunteer uniform: a nice suede vest, blue jeans, white shirt, bolo tie and snappy white Stetson hat. (The vest, hat and bolo tie are furnished by the airport.) I’m there to answer questions and give directions. It’s fun to have no agenda or purpose but to help people. Mostly the people I talk to need basic directions: to security, where’s their gate. I’m learning a lot as I go along although after working at the airport all those years I did know some things already.
The most common questions I heard last week and today, other than a request for basic directions: Where’s Starbucks? (Concourse B down at the far East end by the regional jet gates.) Where can I find a TV to watch here in the Terminal? (Red Rocks Bar and Seattle’s Best coffee for sure; walk by the other eateries and see if any of them has TV.) Will there be places to eat after I go through security? (Yes.)
Today I got a new one. Somebody asked if there’s a Dunkin’ Donuts in the airport. There isn’t, but that’s not a silly question when you consider the crummy junk-food lineup slap in the middle of the Terminal, 6 East: Panda Express, Domino’s Pizza, Taco Bell, and Burger King. In an ug-lee old food court which sadly has one of the primo visible spots in the place.
There’s a brand new spot in the Terminal: the Marketplace. It opened the other day and has a coffee shop, a flower shop and a corner store with food and snacks. Here are some pictures I took. It looks fresh and new. Lord knows the Terminal could use more of that. (I’m not going to waste bandwith by posting any pictures of the crummy food court.)
*Denver International Airport, aka “DIA”, airline code DEN
I posted the other day about how an alert waiter in Colorado Springs recently prevented a woman from being victimized - by a drug placed in her drink by her date while she was away from their table.
Yesterday I read another story about the good deeds of restaurant staff. Details here and below the fold if the link has gone dead.
You can bet your rigatoni that I’m likely to have lunch or dinner at one of the Pulcinella Ristorante locations sometime soon.
Last night I had dinner with friends at the new Limelight Supper Club. I had salmon; the meal was good and the service almost too enthusiastic – no doubt a reaction to a recent newspaper column slamming the Kevin Taylor restaurants, including the Limelight, for shoddy service.
The Limelight’s just opened in a space formerly occupied by a lackluster restaurant, and we hope the new operation keeps up to its current standards. It’s right there in the Denver Performing Arts Complex, steps away from the DCPA, the Ellie, the Buell Theatre, and Boettcher.
I’ve had DCPA season tickets for years now, and this is so far the most powerful, memorable season-kickoff lineup they’ve had. All three plays are winners, and I’m hoping the rest of the season can keep up this pace.
Our House – reviewed here - is playwright Theresa Rebeck’s brutal, dark, hilarious satire of reality TV and its effects on the people who watch it. As the Denver Post reviewer says:
What distinguishes “Our House” from lesser pop-culture satires is the writer’s sharp, unapologetic anger. One can imagine Rebeck writing this pointed diatribe in an inspired fury, skewering random targets like reality TV, media mergers, gun control and more. “Our House” is an absurd play, but it’s not a farce. It’s too close to real for that. Instead it’s a mind-bending activity that will send departing theatergoers off with synapses firing like so many sniper’s bullets.
That’s not to say “Our House,” now in its world premiere staging by the Denver Center Theatre Company, is fully satisfying just yet. It’s ferociously performed and ideologically compelling from start to lickety-split finish. But it’s also at times contradictory and always intentionally messy. . . .
But Rebeck doesn’t want you to love her play. She wants you to listen to what it has to say — if you can tear yourself away from “Celebrity Apprentice” long enough to hear it.
Rebeck’s unabashed triumph is her creation of two utterly original and somehow alluring lowlifes. There’s Merv, a St. Louis grad student and TV-obsessed narcissist who has reclined his way into $4,000 of debt, creating a powder keg of antagonism with a roommate who calls a house meeting to vote on his eviction (a brilliant machination that harkens “Big Brother”).
And there’s Wes (Danny Mastrogiorgio), the network boss obsessed with Jennifer (Molly Ward), an ambitious anchor beauty who pronounces “Shiite” as “shyte.” Wes plucks her from his news division to host a reality show because, sadly, it’ll give her greater exposure (they’re mercilessly patterned after real-life married CBS power couple Les Moonves and news anchor/”Big Brother” host Julie Chen).
Presented in a single 90-minute act, Our House was a little messy, a little shocking, horrendously funny in spots, and utterly fascinating. Although I’ve never watched any of the broadcast networks’ “reality” shows and barely recognized Julie Chen’s name, I surely thought twice about grabbing the remote to turn on the tube when I got home last night.
[T]he Denver Center Theatre Company’s massive world-premiere stage adaptation [by Eric Schmiedl] of [Kent] Haruf’s best-selling novel, a sweeping panorama about an unremarkable, fictional cattle-ranching town on the plains east of Denver.
. . . While “Plainsong” is an ultimately uplifting story about family, Haruf writes unflinchingly about harsher realities of small-town life, such as drunkenness, sexual abuse, adultery, violence and depression.
News of the novel didn’t reach me under whatever rock I was living beneath, back when it was a bestseller, so I haven’t yet read it. A friend said that’s probably best, because my experience of the play wasn’t colored by my memory of the novel. Thank goodness, I also missed the soppy Hallmark TV adaption of the novel, which Haruf said embodied every single thing he told the producers to avoid. Yeesh.
I liked the play so much I wouldn’t mind seeing it again. And if you don’t know how easily I get restless sitting in a theatre, you have no idea what a tribute that is.
The third new play is Lydia, which will probably be the most controversial play in this trio. By turns lyrical and brutal, realistic and mystical, it may have been the most thought-provoking for me. It had the most hard-to-watch moments. The play built skillfully to the climax but then, I thought, the playwright (Octavio Solis) failed to bring it as adeptly to a close.
Finally, on the book front, Patti Thorn at the Rocky published a thoughtful analysis of Our Mayor’s “One Book, One Denver” program which got off to a so-so start four years ago and has lost ground since then. Thorn writes:
Maybe you remember my recent column, headlined “One Book final event one snoozer.”
In it, I recapped what has to rank as one of the more dreadful evenings of recent memory: Sitting in a dark, cold high school auditorium, listening to author Nick Arvin read from his World War II novel to the unfortunate accompaniment of an electric guitar approximating the sound of bombs going off.
It was part of Denver’s 2007 community reading program, One Book, One Denver. And I have to admit, I was embarrassed for the city. The event was ill-conceived, poorly executed and uninspiring.
Far worse was the underlying sense, amid the discordant guitar riffs and drowned-out prose, that One Book, One Denver itself was bombing. Only 100 others joined me that night, a paltry showing if you consider the main author event has attracted as many as 800 in past years.
Indeed, the community reading series designed to encourage all Denverites to read and discuss the same book hit a participation low in 2007. Record-keeping has been irregular at best, but city staffers estimate that book sales and library circulation totalled around 16,000 in the program’s first year in 2004. This time, they plummeted to less than 5,000.
Any further drop and One Book, One Denver is in danger of earning the label one local writer gave it in jest: One Book, One Reader.
She interviewed the manager of the program in Seattle, which started the first citywide reading program, and compares key aspects of the two programs. Bottom line: Denver’s program is committee-driven, inconsistent, a victim of political correctness and fatally flawed by trying to be all things to all readers of all ages.
OK, enough of this writing about culture. The Super Bowl’s about to start. Not that I really care which team wins. And I may wait to change channels until this BBC America documentary that I have on, “My Big Breasts and Me,” is over.
I’m now working part time. Just in time for snow season.
I’ve got to get dressed and get downtown on a snowy morning. Instead of cruising around here in my jammies sipping coffee.
Sitting here watching the early morning TV news as the snow continues to fall, I learn that a light rail train has just derailed down in the south metro area.
A coal train on the adjacent track derailed and tipped train cars and/or coal onto the LR tracks and the LR train driver couldn’t get ‘er stopped in time to avoid the mess. Nobody hurt, according to first reports, and the LR train stayed upright.
A Channel 9 employee was on the train when it happened, so naturally they are getting cellphone reports from him on the air. Sounds like the driver darn near managed to get the LR train stopped, so it wasn’t a high speed collision, bless him.
The picture above is just one randomly grabbed from the CDOT road cam website. To give you a sense of the morning.
EDITED to add these newspaper/TV pictures of the coal train wreckage (right) and the light rail train off its tracks (below).
Be careful out there.
PS: While I’ve been messing around here, it’s been warming up outdoors. To 19°F. Maybe I should wear my Hawaiian shirt after all.
Further update: It worked out that I’m working at home today. Still have to go out later for an appointment but the traffic madness has abated by now.
I have season tickets for a regional theater company here. The last several times I’ve queued up in the main floor ladies’ room there, no matter which stall I end up in, I have found that the stall no longer has either the fold-down purse shelf which each stall used to have, or the basic purse/coat hook which also used to be there. Which means that to use the facility as intended: I had to hang my purse around my neck or put it on the floor, and if I had an overcoat I had to lay it over the top of the door (and hope it didn’t slide off).
Bad enough, but we’ve attended plays there twice in two weeks this month and each time I used that restroom, I tried three different soap dispensers at the sinks, and they were all empty.
So I went online to their website and found an email link to someone under the heading “facilities.” A woman, to whom I sent a polite email of complaint about these experiences. I received a nice reply later that day, which besides noting that the soap dispenser situation would be remedied immediately, said this (I’ve added the bolding for emphasis):
Thank you for your email and I apologize that you have been dissatisfied with a small part of your theatre experience at the [major downtown theater complex whose initials are DCPA]. I have directed your inquiry to our Facilities Manager and he is making arrangements to add hooks to the stalls in the womens’ bathrooms. I learned that not having the hooks was the current choice, because there was a general consensus that hooks greaten the likelihood of purses and other personal items being left behind.
Yep, what that woman so tactfully related is that someone – I suspect a MALE someone – decided that the little ladies would be less likely to leave their purses and umbrellas and coats behind in the bathroom stalls, if they just had no way to let go of them while attending to calls of nature. Never mind how difficult it is for a female to use the toilet while clutching a handbag and wearing an overcoat; just think how more efficiently those guys can manage the facilities if there are fewer items left behind to end up in the lost and found.
Thank goodness a woman has been heard on the issue. I’m expecting to see purse hooks the next time I use that ladies’ room.
An evocative list of subjects (Ross – University Hills branch).
Uneasy shelf-fellows (Schlessman branch).
It fell on Sunday morning. By Monday afternoon - yesterday – it was going fast. Solar snow removal – we’re good at that around here.
Because late last night, the fifteenth day of Rocktober, 2007, the Colorado Rockies defeated the Arizona Diamondbacks in a baseball game at Coors Field. Which means: THE ROCKIES ARE NATIONAL LEAGUE CHAMPS – AND PLAYING IN THE WORLD SERIES!!!! And if we weren’t at the game, we were probably awake at home, taking it all in via TV, radio and/or the net.
Fourteen years ago, on Good Friday, 1993, the Rockies played their first home game. At the old Mile High Stadium; Coors Field wasn’t built yet. In the bottom of the first, the first Rockies batter (Eric Young) stepped up to the plate and hit the first pitch thrown to him – into the stands, for a home run. (more…)
Woke up to a cool rainy autumn morning.
I’ve only looked at it through the windows so far.
I’m considering a road trip this fall, to see some places here in the US. After the price of gasoline and finding decent hotel rooms, I will be concerned about finding the authentic things – the local things - in those places.
Because I know that just driving into any US town means passing strips of chain sameness. McDonald’s. Walgreen’s. W*l-mart. Not so many Sears and Penneys stores as there used to be. Chili’s. Love’s. On and on.
You have to dig to find the local places to eat, to shop, to visit. Thank goodness for those AAA travel books, although they probably can’t cover everything.
Last night I enjoyed local pleasures: dinner at the Handle Bar & Grill, and a play at Germinal Stage Denver. If you’re in Denver and looking for dinner and a play, please don’t be put off by their websites, which are inferior (HB&G) and annoyingly bad (GSD).
The Handle Bar should have its logo on its site, but I didn’t see it there. It’s an eatery inspired by the sport of bicycling. It’s motto: “We ain’t no chain.” The noise from the bar last night drifted clear over to our table, but the food was, as usual, good. And we could hear ourselves think, and talk.
The theater pros at Germinal Stage Denver work their magic on a tiny stage. You won’t find the GSD experience anywhere else. But you may have a small professional theater in your town. If you’ve been meaning to get tickets, this might be a good time to do that. For an authentic, local, experience.
I’ve just posted an entry over on my travel blog about the day I probably prevented a purse-snatch or a similar theft. It could happen anywhere, not just in cities on the other side of the world.
The short version: I suspected that a loud argument was being staged as a diversion in front of a small group of – mostly – women standing in a queue near an ATM. I turned my back on the hoo-ha that was absorbing everyone else and watched a guy walk toward us, then stop when he must have realized I could see him. He stood for a minute apparently reading a sign, then walked away. The argument faded and the arguers faded away too.
BTW, the photo wasn’t taken where the incident occurred – or didn’t occur. It was taken in Argyle Terrace, near the Sydney Harbour, in the Rocks District.
I don’t have to drive to work on this Wednesday morning.
It’s Bike to Work day in Colorado and Lord knows how many people are on the streets on bicycles right now. People who have little, if any, experience navigating city streets that way, and who assume that the traffic rules and laws don’t apply to bicycles.
Already this morning, according to Channel 9 news and traffic reporters, there have been two significant accidents, one downtown and one at Colfax and Cherry, involving bicycles and motor vehicles.
Look, people, if you must get out on the streets on a bicycle, learn to ride it first. Figure out how to ride and watch out for traffic. And contrary to how MOST people on bicycles behave, the traffic laws DO apply to bike riders, okay? Red lights, stop signs, yielding to pedestrians – all of it.
And when -or if – you make it to your job, please do your co-workers a favor. Take a shower right after you park the bike.
I haven’t had a chance to get tired of London, which must mean that I’m not yet tired of life, according to Samuel Johnson. Crowded, expensive, inconvenient, loud, maddening London. I love the place. Goodness, I really need to get back there soon. It’s been too long. Yeah, I know, I haven’t had to live there. So what? I also love a lot of people with whom I don’t have to live. Thank goodness.
The Internet lets me keep up with news, and the latest kerfluffle shows that even the powers that be in London aren’t above taking a pratfall. After winning the 2012 Olympic games, they’ve slipped on a £400,000 banana peel over the official logo for the games. [Daily Mail story here and printed below the fold in case the link expires.]
Their designers came up with the craptabulous vision shown at the right. Then to make things worse, the promotional video for the logo sent many epileptics into seizures. I think they may be taking this back to the drawing board, literally.
. . . Education Secretary Alan Johnson dismissed the new logo . . [joking]: “I think it looks a bit like Boris Johnson’s hairstyle.”
The suggestion drew a crisp response from the Conservative MP for Henley and shadow higher education minister.
Mr Johnson said: “You can say what you like about my hairstyle but at least it has not yet induced epilepsy. And it cost considerably less than £400,000 to design.”
I don’t know what to write about this, or how, but I have to. If only to quote Susan Barnes-Gelt, writing in Sunday’s newspaper:
[R]arely recognized are those gifted public servants who work to advance the mission of caring for the most vulnerable among us, ensuring that the protocols and systems that protect them are empathic, predictable and fair.
One of those stewards is Lynn Lehmann, who is suffering from terminal kidney cancer and deserves to be recognized. For 17 years, from 1984 until 2001, Lehmann supervised the human services section of the Denver city attorney’s office. . . . As a result of his unrelenting advocacy and focus, outcomes for Colorado’s children and families improved significantly.
The full column is below the fold.
I remember back in the 1990′s when a new Mayor appointed a new City Attorney. The new City Attorney – very smart, with a lot of relevant experience – thought it would be good to start routinely reassigning lawyers from one section of the office to another. Cross-training, enriching our experience, diversifying our skills, or just plain shaking us up and waking us up – I can’t remember which if any of those goals he had in mind.
But he was surprised by the strong response from Lynn Lehmann’s lawyers in the Human Services section. They were deeply committed to that work, and did not at all equate it with working on tax assessment disputes or eminent domain cases or construction contracts or the prosecution of barking dog tickets – or any of the many other things that assistant city attorneys in other sections do. They convinced the City Attorney to leave them where they were – doing utterly non-glamorous, difficult, unsung legal work, in the courthouse trenches day in and day out, to protect children and other vulnerable people.
I have been taking a long walk nearly every day in the City parks across the street from our condo complex: Hutchinson Park and Bible Park. In each park, the wetlands (Hutchinson) and natural areas (Bible) are full of growth, tall grasses and leafed-out plants and trees.
The “developed” areas, especially in Bible – the big park – look almost lush, and “lush” doesn’t come easy to this high and arid climate. It was a copiously snowy winter here in town, and not a very dry spring, good for plant growth. Maybe too good; the cottonwood trees are already shedding cotton fluff which usually happens in July or August – not May.
The goats will be working on the park areas that have been left as natural habitat, and the work will take some time.
They are brought in each day and watched over by a man whose working title I didn’t ask. Goat-herder, I guess. Or, Noxious Weed Control Supervisor? Whatever the title, he’s a courteous man with a Texas or Oklahoma accent.
There are 168 chairs. The transparent base of each chair is lighted at night. I was there yesterday midday and noticed before I read it, that some are a smaller size because 19 of those killed were children.
The twin portals at either end of the reflecting pond are marked 9:01 and 9:03. The first denotes the last moment of a community’s innocence and the second the first full moment in which so much had changed forever. A beautiful old tree survives on the site. Remnants of the bomber’s target building are there, and the back wall of the building across the way has been preserved with its scars showing.
The helpful park ranger answered questions and handed me a brochure. “You may walk among the chairs,” he said.
I walked among the chairs on a perfect day. The stubborn wind was a mild spring kiss. I stood before a chair bearing the name of a woman and her baby.
The museum on the site provided an intense emotional roller coaster. I cried before I went in, walking among the chairs. After experiencing the museum I needed a long drive down sunny highways, so I took it.
It’s 5:30 a.m. MST. The TV news is showing some well-upholstered old white men in old-fashioned dark suits and top hats. One of them is holding a fat furry rodent with a bored look on its face, another is speaking long words into a microphone, and the rest are crowding around the other two so they can be on TV.
It’s Groundhog Day in Pennsylvania. I’ve never understood the rodent-seeing-its-shadow thing. But then we don’t really have groundhogs out here in the West. That I know of. We have prairie dogs, but they tend to be skinny and not to stand still long enough to cast much of a shadow.
Anyway, if we had a groundhog, he froze overnight.
NOAA says this about DEN within the past hour:
Minus 14, wind chill of MINUS THIRTY-SEVEN DEGREES FARENHEIT.
It’s a little warmer in the middle of Denver. But the TV is showing a few godawful traffic snarls, and it’s Friday and I’ve got to get to work this morning.
I’m glad for my warm house, warm clothes, warm car, warm office. And I think I’ll have another cup of nice hot coffee before I take my warm shower.
Officially it’s a big city, but like all cities it’s more like a collection of villages. Case in point, from the October 2006 edition of Insight, published for and about employees of the City and County of Denver:
The quick thinking actions and caring of Public Works Department employees Bob Baca and Teresa Maestas played an important role in saving the life of a Denver resident.
The rest of the story is below the fold: (more…)
Denver Election Commission goofs and all, I just fnished filling out my mail-in ballot, sealed the envelope and put gobs more postage on it than it needs.
It supposedly needs 87 cents postage. I slapped on three first-class stamps, 39 cents each. I don’t keep different-denomination stamps on hand, only first-class ones. I rarely mail anything heavier than one ounce unless it’s a package or priority mail – and I take those to the post office counter anyway. If I tried keeping a bunch of different-denomination stamps around I’d just lose ‘em, and end up wasting the money I spent on them.
What’s up with the little “I Voted” sticker? We get those when we vote in person so we can wear them on our lapels. Now there’s one on the instruction sheet for the mail-in ballots – WITH INSTRUCTIONS to peel it off, no less. Oh, pleeeeze . . .
The common sense is mostly found below the fold in this post. First, the context. Denver’s newspapers and bloggers are chattering these days about the City’s dumping the headliner big-name out of town architect (Steven Holl) from its huge new Justice Center project. Seems he was running true to his form on recent projects in other places: producing unworkable designs which could not be built within the project’s budget. It’s a courthouse, people. It’s financed with proceeds from the sale of bonds. There won’t be a private sector fund-raising project to pay for any cost overruns as there might be – and have been – for a museum, library, theater or other cultural facility.
Pundits have wrung their hands and piteously mewed their grief that our poor little hick cowtown won’t be a “world class” city if we do silly things like this. In her column in yesterday’s Rocky Mountain News, Mary Voelz Chandler lamented that the City needs an “advocate for public architecture” – literally a whole new publicly-funded job. So we can, I suppose, continue to wow the world with all the “world class” architecture in Denver.
Uh-huh. Like guys in Boston or Seattle or Munich are going to say to the wife, “Gosh, honey, we’ve just got to take our vacation in Denver this year, (more…)
Snapped yesterday at Havana & Dartmouth:
Yes. It really says “convince store.”
Libeskind’s proposal for Civic Center Park, presented in slideshow fashion by the Rocky Mtn News. (There’s an ad first, then the slides.) Lord almighty, the mind boggles. HT to my friend George. I think.
Per the Denver Post story, “The plan is only a model meant to ‘ignite and inspire public comment,’ Denver Parks and recreation spokeswoman Tiffany Moehring said.”
The Post quotes the Mayor as saying it’s “audacious.” In a good way, of course.
In this morning’s Denver Post, an article about this afternoon’s unveiling of the Libeskind “vision” was on the front page – of the Business section. Quoting various business execs and developers about the need to clean out the vagrants and low-lifes and “revitalize” the space. I suspect that top on the list is cleaning out the vagrants and low lifes and they could give a rat’s rear what else happens, or doesn’t happen, there, as long as it’s no longer a no-walk zone for regular people due to the high concentration of creepoids (I don’t mean a few harmless homeless people, I am referring to drug dealers and others of that ilk) hanging out. On the other hand, if the money guys like what Libeskind wants, then that’s what the City will build them. You read it here first.