Blog #440                                August 14, 2025

 

I don’t know if you’re familiar with Dante’s Inferno, but Dante describes nine separate levels of Hell.  Level 7 is the Denver airport.  We arrived on time, but our luggage apparently arrived in a different Zip Code, because to collect it we had to walk half a mile, then board a crowded subway train which zips you to a luggage area approximately the size of Pennsylvania.  The signs directed us to Luggage Area 4, Carousel 2 where our one bag was hopefully waiting patiently for us.  It was not.  In fact, it was waiting on Carousel 3.  After 20 minutes, we were notified of this aberration and located the bag.  Ready to go.  Now, we had to find Level Five then exit and locate Island 5 where we could contact Uber for our ride.  Discovering America was easier than this.

 

You know me well enough by now to recognize that using Uber was an unfamiliar, unwanted and terrorizing prospect.  But, after much coaxing and some training by my daughters, I did it, it worked and six minutes later Mohammed arrived.  I was as proud as if I had discovered fire.  One problem -- Mohammed spoke only Arabic.  Well, I managed to say hello in Arabic (yes, I can) and discovered that Mohammed was from Mauritania (I know where that is).  But there was no other communication, and there we were, two old Jews in a strange state, in a strange car, with an unfamiliar and uncommunicative man.  Well, Mama GPS got all of us to where we should be and everything turned out fine.  But, I thought, next time I don’t want to be picked up by Jerry the Jihad who can’t speak English.  I want to be picked up by a guy named Bernie who knew my wife’s cousin in Florida.  Let’s start a new ride service.  We’ll call it JUBER.

 

When we owned a home in Phoenix, I met a cab driver named Fariborz from Iran.  We became friends and he would pick me up from the airport every time.  When I travelled to Turkey, I bought Fariborz some saffron, which he really treasured and his wife made me an antimacassar which I still have.  On our Turkey trip, we also travelled to Greece.  Now the Greek cab drivers are the worst in the world.  No matter where you want to go, they take you to their brother-in-law’s jewelry story.  Every time.  Even when you told them not to, they took you to the jewelry store.  I hated them.

 

I remember when our children were young, there was a cab-driver named Maxi.  Naturally, everyone called him Maxi the Taxi.  His wife was actually named Minny.  Maxi and Minny.  Maxi was a midget.  Ok, that’s about as much as I can say about taxis. 

 

I am writing you today from Boulder, Colorado.  I have only been here once before, briefly, and yet I have seen it a dozen times.  It’s Asheville, NC, it’s St. Louis’ Central West End, it’s Greenwich Village and Berkely and every other college town or ski resort.  It’s seedy and tacky; it’s edgy and artsy and chi-chi all at the same time.  Where ragged street jugglers, magicians and string quartets compete for tourist dollars on the street corners.  Where every restaurant is dog friendly, gluten free and vegan.  Where the forgotten culture, the counter-culture, the homeless culture, the drug culture and the artist culture merge somehow to become the avant-garde culture.  Where every night has an art festival, a revival and an exhibition.  Where a store charging $2,500 for a flower vase is next to a Himalayan gift shop that smells of incense and yak dung.   Where a double-decker bus is turned into a chocolate restaurant. Where everybody accepts everybody and loves everybody no matter what they are or believe.  It’s loud and exciting and troubling and expensive and fun.

 

Message from Shakespeare, the three-legged cat:  How now, my lord! Why do you keep alone? (Macbeth).  I am not in Boulder.  I am home, alone, with no lap to nap on, nobody to wake up at 4:00 in the morning, nobody to scratch my ears.  I hope the old man isn’t gone for long.  I’ll just watch the birds play outside.  Purr.

 

Hi, there and welcome back.  I hope you are feeling well and keeping busy.  The last few weeks, I have looked at my calendar and found it as blank as P. Diddy’s dance card.  Still, I somehow make it through the day.

 

Each morning I wake with the sun

And spend the whole day on the run

I’ve found that it’s true

When you’ve nothing to do,

You don’t really know when you’re done.

 

The one thing I don’t want to spend my time doing is watching the news.  The news is horrible – shootings, stabbings, legislators fleeing the state to avoid having to vote, tariffs, Epstein.  You shouldn’t even watch the news.  Take this crazy story.  Multiple lunatics have taken to throwing sex toys onto the court during WNBA games.  That’s ladies’ basketball.  One was arrested and charged with:

 

·        Disturbing the peace

·        Tresspass

·        Indecent exposure

 

Listen, instead of making up these silly charges, can’t they just charge someone with being Galactically Stupid?  It should be a crime just to be that ignorant, inconsiderate and insulting.  See, I told you not to watch the news.

 

I’d better get to a Weekly Word.  How about antimacassar?  It means a piece of cloth put over the back of a chair to protect it from grease and dirt.

 

Boulder was great fun.  I just came home last night.  We saw lots of cute stores and upscale restaurants and gorgeous mountains and a bunch of moose.  What’s the plural of moose?  Meese, mooses, moosies.  Maybe it’s just moose.  How about we just say I saw a moose and then I saw another moose?  Every time I see a moose, I think of Bullwinkle, and then I think of myself.  Carol and I are so like Rocky and Bullwinkle.  She’s just like Rocky --fast and smart and totally in charge, and I’m like Bullwinkle – slow, mostly incompetent, loyal but goofy, often lost.  We make a perfect pair.

 

But now I’m back to my home and my cat and to you.  So stay well, count your blessings and come on back next week.

 

Bullwinkle                                         Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com