NoHo to BoCo

Sorry for the lack of posts, readers, but I have been holed up in my little crackerbox in the Valley, recovering from the altitude and clean air in Boulder, CO, birthplace of evangelical loonies, tea revolutionaries, and the ugliest footwear known to man.

Above you see of course my sister, and her beau, SV. Having just recently finished the remodel of their beautiful home, even more beautifully situated against the Flatirons, they have a right to look kinda blissed out.

In fact, a lot of people in Boulder look kinda blissed out. I have a theory that it might have something to do with tie-dye poisoning. People use the word "bliss" a lot as well, as in "follow your bliss." Living in LA, you don't see a lot of bliss. I mean, outside of the porn industry.

Here's something else you don't see in LA:



Frankly, I'm shocked that the city of Boulder just allows kayaks to be locked against street signs like this. I mean, where are the kayak racks? When, oh when are they going to fund a committee to study the feasibility of kayak racks on every street corner already? It's a quality of life issue, people.


Hm, on second thought, I might enjoy living in Boulder. Here, at a local street fair, we see atheists right out in the open, and they're not being stoned or pelted with garbage or anything.


We had breakfast at a great cafe where the kitchen was 100% wind-powered. Apparently there's little point in doing things like that in Boulder unless you tell everyone about it.

Yeah, well, my local Mexican restaurant produces its own wind, so there.




I insisted that my sister take me back to a little place where they serve really awesome cucumber vodka martinis. The atmosphere there, like so many places in Boulder, is definitely relaxed and groovy.


But lest you think that Boulder is entirely tool-free, I include the above picture of some guy in the bar employing the heinous collar-up double Polo. Notice the pained expression on the woman's face. Hey, at least she managed to find a date sans white-boy dreadlocks. That isn't easy in Boulder.



Later, we did a bit of hiking. My sister is pointing to, off in the distance, the one 14er in her home range that she has not yet climbed: Mount Evans. Unfortunately, because the mountain is currently snow-capped, you can't really see it too well in this pic. Too bad, because it would have been a really cool picture otherwise.


Um, yeah. It's beautiful. This view is like, ten minutes from sis & SV's house. That sure doesn't suck.

Shhh! I managed to capture the elusive Rocky Mountain mullet on film.

And then, there was the rafting.

First of all, I think the air temp that day was in the 40s up in the mountains. And there was also the added bonus of freezing rain, so if you didn't bring your own neoprene wet suit (I did not), they issued you one. I don't normally do things that call for neoprene, so it was my first experience squeezing into a giant rented Spanx that smelled like assfeet.

Photographic evidence of my adventure is included below. That's me seated in front of the guide, grimacing. The cold and the rowing was troubling my carpal tunnel something fierce, people, hence the facial expresh. Spooney's doing his water spray-induced pirate squint right in front of me. The two fools on the other side of the boat who look like they're actually enjoying themselves are of course sis and SV.

Look at them. It's like they totally don't view nature as some vicious, temperamental she-beast who, if she must be approached at all, then is best approached with extreme caution and an AK-47. What's up with that?

The creek, she was angry that day, my friends. Many went into the water, but few came out again.

Just kidding. We all came out again. In fact, our raft was the only one in the expedition that didn't expel a one of us. Big whew! I was NOT ready to go in that water, people.

Afterwards, I washed off the rented neoprene stank and got all toasty dry and into some comfy oversized sweats (yes! and I wore them in public, too!) and we drank to our achievement at some prospector-themed pub in nearby Idaho Springs.

Ale and garlic fries never tasted so good before in my entire life. They tasted like...victory.