Cool vid from Occupy Denver's Oct. 8 rally

There are at least two people I know in this time-lapse vid

For Occupy movements, "the point is to speak out, be heard and shed frustration in public"

Occupy Denver: Man in a hat reads his words and we amplify them

Occupy Wall Street is but three weeks old and Occupy sites are sprouting across America. I was at Occupy Denver yesterday to observe and to understand. I was fairly successful with the former and only partially successful with the latter. As I was casting about the web this morning, I came across some columns by Kevin Pinner on death + taxes out of Minneapolis. Minneapolis is a great alternative media city, a progressive city with a strongly Democratic mayor who supports Occupy Minneapolis. As Pinner points out, this outspoken stance is something that Occupy Wall Street lacks, as Mayor Bloomberg is obviously a charter member of the 1% (twelfth richest person in America) and a staunch apologist for Wall Street.

Still, this movement originated on the streets of Wall Street and not on Hennepin Avenue in the Twin Cities or Colfax Avenue in the Mile High City or Center Street in the Oil City of Casper, Wyo. When people gather in those places, they are taking their cue from OWS but it actually originates from a deeper place. Here’s how Pinner describes the many street protests in Greece:

Their causes are diverse, as are the people, which works for them, and can work for Occupy movements, too. The point is to speak out, be heard, and shed frustration in public, where the powers that be can digest it, where police can misbehave: that is part of the non-violent strategy’s power.

I felt that power yesterday in Denver. The point is to speak out, be heard and shed frustration in public. I wasn’t prepared for this. When Chris and I arrived on the State Capitol grounds, people were voicing concerns that covered a thousand topics: Unemployment, income inequality, expensive wars, bloated student loans, Wall Street, and so on. Each phrase that was uttered was repeated by the multitudes. At first that seemed redundant, even silly, until I realized that the speaker was counting on us to serve as his/her megaphone. One young woman spoke about her mom who worked two jobs to feed her and her sister. We all repeated her story loudly and suddenly her words were floating in the humid air above the state’s capitol building. Her story might drop into the consciousness of legislators as they enter the building to do business this coming week. We now knew her story and we might be carrying her story back to our towns and even writing about it on our blogs as I’m doing right now.

I am a veteran of many protests in rallies dating back to Vietnam. I am jaundiced and jaded. When I go to a protest, and because I am a Democrat, I expect to be harangued by an endless array of union reps, anti-war activists, aging Civil Rights marchers, lean-and-mean environmentalists, AIDs activists and so on. These are causes I believe in. These are causes that most Democrats believe in. In fact, the last time I was at a rally on the steps of the Colorado State Capitol, it was the Sunday before the start of the Democratic National Convention in August 2008. Speakers that day included Ron Kovic, Cindy Sheehan and Eldridge Cleaver’s widow. After the third speaker, my brain was fried. I went over to see what the counter-protestors were doing, hoping for some comic relief. I also visited with the young people crafting the puppets for that morning’s march. Later, the permitted march of about 1,000 souls got underway with a Denver Police escort.

The most important protest of the DNC convention happened on Wednesday. Rage Against the Machine played for a large crowd. The band then teamed up with  members of Iraq Veterans Against the War to lead an impromptu march to the convention center. It was a non-permitted march. The L.A. Chief of Police had warned the Denver Chief of Police to expect violence if Rage Against showed up. But the Denver Police took a different approach. They provided an escort for the non-permitted march by 3,000 fired-up young people. If I remember correctly, there were a few pot arrests but nothing serious. I was inside the convention hall, blogging from my seat. I should have been outside covering the march.

But in these “Occupy” days, it isn’t the march that is important. The people speak. Their words are amplified by the rest of us. In this way, we hope to bring about change that we all can believe in.


Read a sampler of Kevin Pinner’s “Occupy” columns here and here.

Something organic (and very soggy) about Occupy Denver rally

Author with soggy sign

Whenever I attend a protest in another state, I always try to exhibit a little bit of Wyoming. It ties me to home. It causes strangers to approach and say, "Hey, I'm from Wyoming too." On a fall football Saturday, someone might come up and say "Go Pokes."

That's what happened today in Denver during the Occupy Denver rally and march. A young man perused my soggy sign (see above).

"You're from Wyoming?"

"Yes" I said out of my soggy face.

"I'm from Torrington."

"Cheyenne," I said.

"Go Pokes," he said, making a fist.

"Go Pokes," I answered. "They're going to need a lot of Go-Poking today at Utah State."

He laughed and moved on. We were marching and the rain was coming down. My wife Chris and I took turns holding the sign. It was permanent marker inked on poster board. Neither of us are great sign makers as we lack whatever genome helps you make readable yet artistic lettering on a white board. But the sign possessed some Wyoming soulfulness which probably drew the young Torringtonite to us. And later, two young women from Gillette who now live in Denver.

Getting ready to march

They were young, most of the occupiers. The age of our kids. Motivated and peaceful too. Their signs were mostly better than ours, and some had machine-lettered placards which looked really good. Some had covered their placards with plastic. They had planned ahead. It takes some planning to attend a protest, even when that protest seems to have grown organically out of the wet ground.

Some of the Occupy Denver people have been living outside for weeks. Their impetus comes from Occupy Wall Street, which began its life in Manhattan's Liberty Square Sept. 17. The weather, for the most part, has been glorious. Treatment from the Denver Police, pretty good. People drop off clothes and food. The multitudes have assembled their own security force. I asked one of the security guys how he got his job. "I was tall," he said, "so they asked me."

When it comes to visibility, it helps to be tall. Tall and festooned with orange. It is hunting season, after all, and you can't be too careful.

This teacher testifies about the damage done to public education by the undue influence of large corporations. 

Chris and I located the core of Occupy Denver on the Capitol grounds along Broadway. There's also a small tent city which provides shelter for the hardcore OD crew. Each occupy event focuses on what night be called "testifying." A person calls "mike check," comes to the center of the circle and proceeds to outline his/her reasons for attending. Savvy folks break their narrative into bite-bized chunks so the rest can follow. It's basically repetition. It turns all of us into motivational speakers. It engages the audience.

He: The top 400 in this country

Us: The top 400 in this country

He: Have more money

Us: Have more money

He: Than the bottom 150 million

Us: Than the bottom 150 million

Former First Lady Dottie Lamm interviews one of the more seasoned occupiers

And that person goes on until he/she is finished -- or until someone else in the crowd calls "mike check" and take the soapbox. That person may want to dispute what the previous testifier said. That happened at least once today. One guy, obviously infused with the populism of the day, told everyone that the streets were ours and that we were going to walk in the streets during our march, no matter what the police said.

"Mike check," said one of the tall security guards.

Despite what the previous person said!

Despite what the previous person said!

We are not going to walk in the street!

We are not going to walk in the street!

He went on to explain that OD did not have a permit for today's march and that it might be in the best interest of everyone here not to rile the police who, for the most part, have been very helpful and understanding. We were policing ourselves, he noted, and wrapped up with "peace."

"Peace" we all said.

As we testified, two DPD paddy wagons rolled down Broadway. I couldn't help but notice that a squad of riot-equipped officers clung to the side of each wagon.

"Uh oh," I thought.

"Uh oh," thought those around me.

Occupy Denver occupies Colfax Avenue

As it turned out, there was little cause for alarm. Marchers chanted and followed the rules and we walked down Colfax Avenue. Police prowlers prowled the inside lane and the security teams made sure we followed the walk-don't-walk signs. A seasoned woman in a funky hat came up to me and said that she was interviewing "older" participants and she couldn't help but notice that Chris and I were, possibly, a bit older than the majority of the assemblage. She hoped that we didn't mind if she pointed that out. We didn't mind. She introduced herself as Dottie Lamm and said she was writing a column for the Denver Post. She asked why were here on this cold rainy day. We believe in the cause. We were curious. A good excuse to get out of town. She asked for our phone number so she could interview us in detail later. We traded numbers. And she moved on to interview other older participants.

Dottie Lamm, in case you don't know, is Colorado former First Lady, wife of Governor Dick Lamm (1975-87). Dick Lamm was a firebrand in his day, as was his wife. She ran from the U.S. Senate in 1998 and was defeated by Ben Nighthorse Campbell, who had earlier defected to the Republicans.

We walked down Colfax in the rain. We received quite a few honks and we yelled in response.

Who are we?

We are the 99 percent!

What's democracy look like?

This is what democracy looks like!

Whose street is it?

Our street!

But we didn't walk in it. We walked along the sidewalk to Fillmore, crossed the street (with police assistance) and headed back to the Capitol. More chanting. More rain. We called it quits, had lunch and drove back to Cheyenne in a heavy rain.

What had we learned? A lot, as it turns out. I'll explain tomorrow...

A short story about one government-issue, middle-class, Middle-American family from Denver

My government-issue parents in Denver, circa 1950. Thanks to my sister Mary for the photo.

I was born in Denver at the tail end of 1950.

My father was a World War II veteran who used the G.I. Bill of Rights to graduate from Regis College (now Regis University) in three years. It was a private Catholic college, one he never could have afforded without the government program, promulgated by Pres. Roosevelt and sponsored by Democrats and Republicans, that provided college degrees for millions of American men. The U.S. Navy paid for my mother's nurse's training at Mercy Hospital in Denver. The war was over before she finished so she didn't have to join the fight. But she did use her government-supported training to help support her nine children from 1946 until she died forty years later. My father spent most of his working life building Defense Department-funded ICBM missile silos around the West and then with the space program in Florida. His salary, directly and indirectly, was paid by Uncle Sam.

My father's father made a pretty good living in Denver selling insurance with Mutual of New York. But before he joined private industry, he served with the Iowa National Guard on the U.S. Mexico border and then in France with the AEF. After repeated gas attacks, the Army shipped him to Fitzsimons Army Medical Hospital outside Denver. During his recuperation, he struck up a friendship with an Army nurse, Florence Green from Baltimore, who had traded the life of a debutante to tend to shattered soldiers on the front. The U.S. Army trained her in the healing arts. Grandpa Shay was forever grateful. Both Grandma and Grandpa received the lion's share of their medical care from Veteran's Administration hospitals in Denver and Cheyenne. They both were buried in Denver's government-administered military cemetery, Fort Logan. You can go visit them. Notice what a fine job the V.A. does in maintaining this national landmark. Go ahead, notice.

My mother' mother was the first postmistress in a little town outside Cincinnati. She liked her government paycheck. But one summer she joined her sister and two friends for a road trip via flivver to the Rocky Mountains. The roads were rough. Fortunately, Brevet Lt. Col. Dwight D. Eisenhower had led the U.S. Army's Motor Transport Company from D.C. to California in 1919 and made the road navigable. A year later, she was following the same government-blazed trail and, a year after that, she and her sister were living in Denver and visiting the mountains regularly.

Ike was from Kansas but he liked Denver. He got married in Denver to Mamie Doud and later fished the U.S. Forest Service mountain streams during his breaks from the Oval Office. During one Mile High trip, he suffered a heart attack and recuperated at Fitzsimons Army Hospital. I was four -- almost five -- at the time. Our family lived just off of Colfax Avenue in Aurora and my father took me down to the corner, pointed at the well-lit building across the street, and said: "Our president is right over there." The president was a Republican. My father was a Democrat -- then. But he said "our" president. Gen. Eisenhower had been his supreme commander in the ETO. And now he was his -- our -- president. We then walked back to our $8,000 house, purchased without a down payment and paid for with a low-interest loan. At the end of his life, my father was astonished that he paid twice as much for a new car as he paid for his first house. He was a Florida Republican by then, a by-product of Nixon's southern strategy. He seemed astonished by many things, particularly the Liberal politics of his eldest son. Even though he passed away almost a decade ago, Dad may be astonished still.

Spawn of our government-sponsored parents (see above), taken in her backyard in Daytona Beach, Fla.,
where we used to watch government-sponsored rockets blast off into space (from the Mary Shay Powell archives).

My mother's father came from Ireland in 1917. He worked with his brother on the Chicago El until he got sick and had his infected lung removed at the city's charity hospital. The doctor advised him to take his one remaining lung and go to the healthy climes of the West. Grandpa made it as far as Denver, liked it, and decided to stay. He worked at the post office for many years, and then the railroad. He also was a handyman and a helpful neighbor. He only had a sixth-grade education, but I learned more from my Grandpa Hett than I did from almost anyone else. He was a strong believer in the healing power of ice cream. This also is my belief.

These are my forebears. An imperfect lot, to be sure, and I carry on that tradition. It is possible that we all would be perfectly fine without the programs and opportunities offered by our citizen-funded government. It is possible, yet unlikely.

On Oct. 8, we Occupy Denver, site of the Democratic Party's 2008 convention -- was that only three years ago?

The arts, especiaslly the graphic arts, are laying a huge part in the Occupy Wall Street movement.  This event's right down the  road in my hometown of Denver. www.occupywallstreet.com

Wyoming's first openly gay state lawmaker wows them at Denver gathering

WY Rep. Cathy Connolly (D-Laramie)

Ana's Political Page alerted me to this Denver Post story about one of Wyoming Fighting 14 Democrats:

Wyoming’s first openly gay state lawmaker wowed ‘em this weekend at The White House Project’s Go Run dinner in Denver, where more than 100 women attended a two-day political training seminar. 

State. Rep. Cathy Connolly is one of only 14 Democrats in the 90-member body, and the number of women isn’t much better. In contrast, Colorado has the highest percentage of women serving in the state legislature and Democrats control the Senate. 

When Connolly said she is the lone female on the joint education committee, the crowd murmured. The same when she said Wyoming doesn’t have state-funded preschool.

FMI: http://blogs.denverpost.com/thespot/2011/09/17/gay-wyoming-lawmaker-regales-white-house-project-attendees-in-denver/39698/


For a snarky exploration of the one-sided demographics of the Wyoming State Legislature, go to my previous post at http://hummingbirdminds.blogspot.com/2011/09/legislator-demographic-map.html

Colorado Rockies get desperate as another season tanks

This is the most ridiculous promotion I've ever seen. Rockies Faith Day? Why not call it Rockies Sucking Up to Churches Day? Or maybe New and Interesting Ways to Fill the Ball Park as the Rockies Choke Day? Maybe Rick Perry could conduct the opening prayer?

Weird.

If this is a trend, sign me up for Rockies Flying Spaghetti Monster Day.

Go to http://mlb.mlb.com/col/ticketing/faithday.jsp?partnerId=aw-5951796513581239158-1070

What happened to our agent of change, our Obama?

2008 seems so long ago...

The first post on this blog to carry the label "Obama" was on Feb. 6, 2008, "March 8 Dem Caucus Could Carry Clout." Read it at http://hummingbirdminds.blogspot.com/2008/02/march-8-democratic-caucus-could-carry.html.

I was late to the Obama cause. In 2004, I was a Kucinich delegate to the Wyoming State Convention. We lost. In 2008, I still was rooting for antiwar champ Kucinich, but switched over to John Edwards and, as Mike-come-lately, joined the Obama ranks as he started picking up steam in the early primaries.

My wife Chris was none too pleased with this. She was a Hilary Clinton fan from the beginning and she never wavered. We had some words over this. She made her calls for Hilary in one room and I made my calls from Barack Obama in another. She went out to the local community college to hear Hilary speak and I traveled over the mountain to see Obama raise the roof at the UW basketball arena. I was an Obama delegate at the Wyoming State Convention in Jackson and she was a Clinton alternate. Obama carried the day. I blogged from the convention and you can read about it here and here. I was an embedded blogger at the Democratic National Convention in Denver. You can read about it here and here.

I can be naive in my beliefs. All of us can. I have been disappointed in times with Pres. Obama but he is the clear-cut rational choice when compared with the kooks on the other side.

But if he abandons Democratic Party principles now, that's it for me. I will not be in his corner in the 2012 elections if he caves to the Republicans on The Big Three: Social Security, Medicare and Medicaid. This is the so-called Social Safety Net that we all count on, Dems and Repubs and Indies and Greens and Tea Party and even the unaffiliated and noncommittal. This will spell the end of an America that makes sense.

Life will go on. I will continue my snarky posts and my ongoing feud with Tea Party Slim. But it won't be the same. The fire will have gone out. I will putter in the garden and write the occasional letter to the editor wondering what happened to our champ, our agent of change, our Obama.

Bob Greer comes to Cheyenne to talk about his books and African-American history in the West

My wife Chris is on the planning committee for the annual Cheyenne Juneteenth celebration and the fund-raising banquet put on by the Wyoming NAACP. Chris and I are both proud members of the NAACP and freckle-faced Celts of Scots (she) and Irish (me) heritage. My Mom was Black Irish, if that means anything.

Chris asked me about a speaker for the Juneteenth dinner. I suggested Robert Greer, Dr. Robert Greer, "Bob" to most of us. Bob found a fine literary magazine, the High Plains Literary Review, back in 1986 and accepted my first published story in 1990. I'm eternally grateful for his good taste. I've read two of his CJ Floyd novels and listened to the audiobook for another while driving across Wyoming several summers ago.

CJ Floyd is a bailbondsman working out of the colorful Bail Bonds Row across the the Denver Police Department. Several of CJ's adventures have taken him all the way to Wyoming. Usually he is ferreting out miscreants and consulting with his sources in the city's Five Points neighborhood, which was the black section of town during the racist days of red-lining. Denver attempted to keep all the "Coloreds" in Five Points, Larimer Street and Lower Downtown, now the Yuppie and artsy enclave of LoDo. Denver thought that an invisible red line would stop minorities from migrating to the swankier parts of town.

My mother used to take us to our family doctors down in Five Points. Our doctors' names were Kobayashi, Momei and Hosakawa. Colored folks. Nisei. Two of the three fought with the 442 Regimental Combat Team in World War II. My father, a World War II vet of the European Theatre, never went with us. He never objected to my Mom's choice of doctors. But he was a product of his times and he was damned if he was going to go to a "Jap" doctor.

Denver has an intriguing history and Bob does his best to inject it into his mysteries.

Bob will come to the Cheyenne Holiday Inn on Saturday, June 4, to speak at the annual banquet of the Wyoming NAACP. His theme will be the contributions that African-Americans made to the history of the West. He will sign copies of his books from 6-7 p.m.. Dinner will follow, with Dr. Greer's speech at 8 p.m. Tickets are $35 per person, $50 per couple. You can purchase tickets for the event by calling Abe Stevenson at 307-634-8304 or Bennie McLaughlin, 307-634-5527.

When he's not writing, Dr. Greer is a professor of pathology, medicine, surgery and dentistry at the University of Colorado Health Sciences Center in. He also holds a master's degree in creative writing from Boston University and an Honorary Doctorate of Humane Letters from Miami University of Ohio, his alma mater.

Greer has lived in Denver for thirty years. In 1986 he founded High Plains Literary Review and continues to serve as its editor-in-chief. He is the author or co-author of three medical textbooks and over 125 scientific articles. His short stories have appeared in dozens of national literary magazines and his short story collection, Isolation and Other Stories, published in 2000 by the Davies Group Publishers, is also wonderfully illustrated.

Greer has been involved in cancer research at the University of Colorado Health Sciences Center for more than thirty years. In 1983 his research group was the first in the world to report a synergistic link between smokeless tobacco use and human papillomaviruses in certain cancers of the mouth. That research foundation is the basis for the plot of his novel,The Devil's Hatband,the author's first novel featuring Denver bail bondsman and detective CJ Floyd. Several of his novels are set in Wyoming.

Spoon, Greer’s 2009 novel of the contemporary American West, won the Colorado Book Award for literary fiction. It also was a finalist for the Western Writers of America Spur Award and received the Rocky Mountain Farmers Union 2010 Media of the Year Award. Wyoming’s Craig Johnson, author of Another Man's Moccasins and The Dark Horse, had this to say about the novel: "With Spoon, Robert Greer tells the story of a modern-day range war in wildfire prose both taut and lyrical."

Greer also reviews books for a Denver National Public Radio affiliate, KUVO, and raises cattle on a ranch in Platte County, Wyoming

Blizzards can be hazardous for mayors

A blizzard sweeps through southeastern Wyoming. Not much snow but lots of wind and cold. A piker compared to other big snowstorms from my 32 years on the High Plains.

Blizzards arrive at inopportune times. New York City is having a tough time cleaning up after the recent Christmas blizzard of 2010. Mayor Bloomberg has been apologizing for the city’s response. No announcement yet on his resignation, or that of his public works department. The New Jersey governor has been vacationing at Disney World for the past week. He's keeping in touch by phone, said a spokesman. Pennsylvania Governor Ed Rendell railed about "wusses" or "wussies" who couldn't make it to a snowy stadium Sunday for the Philadelphia Eagles and Minnesota Vikings match-up. The game was postponed until Tuesday.

I recall the 1982 Christmas Eve blizzard in Denver. Two-plus feet of snow in 24 hours. I was a freelancer working from home back then. Chris was at work. She rode the bus downtown that snowy Christmas Eve morning. Her bank was open, as were many other businesses. By noon, most were closing so their employees had a chance to get home. Chris caught a bus which got stuck in a drift after traveling a few blocks. Luckily, a coworker happened by and gave her a ride. It took them about an hour to drive the two miles to our apartment. We spent most of the evening watching local TV reports about "The Blizzard of the Century."

Christmas Day, I rose early and helped people shovel out of their houses and apartments. My wife slept in. No point – getting anywhere was impossible. My car was snowbound for a week. City plows attempted to clear one lane in each direction on the main streets. Side streets were left to the tried-and-true solar melting method.

We lived between City Park and Colfax Ave. I needed to turn in an article downtown. No e-mails or faxes. So I went to Colfax to catch a bus. A mountain of snow clogged the street’s center line and traffic was backed up going and coming. I started to walk. Each time the No. 15 bus caught up with me, I contemplated jumping on. But I kept moving and the bus did not. I delivered my story and got home by dark. The streets were still clogged. Buses still crawled Colfax.

I finally dug out my car in time for a New Year's Eve party at my sister Eileen's apartment. Main streets were clear but side streets had snow ruts as deep as the historic wagon ruts on the Oregon Trail. I made it to the party (Chris was sick) and we all had wonderful blizzard tales to tell over mass quantities of beer.

Denver Mayor Bill McNichols did lose the next election in May 1983 because of his inept handling of the blizzard. This also happened once in Chicago, if I remember correctly. Maybe it’s happened elsewhere. Epic snowstorms provide headaches for politicians but many useful and entertaining stories for the rest of us.

Get tickets for "Next to Normal" through NAMI

I’ve heard a lot about this musical and plan to make the trip to Denver to see it. From the Denver Center for the Performing Arts web site:

From the director of Rent comes Next to Normal, an emotional powerhouse of a musical with a thrilling contemporary score about a family trying to take care of themselves and each other. Winner of the 2010 Pulitzer Prize and three 2009 Tony Awards including Best Score, Next to Normal is the most talked about new show on Broadway having recently been chosen as “one of the year’s ten best” by major critics around the country.

Next to Normal is a musical about the emotional dynamic of a family with teenage children, specifically dealing with mental illness. There are no sexual or violent situations, but the content and themes would generally be over a younger child’s head. Age 13 and up. For more info, go here 

And this special offer comes from the newsletter of the Capitol Heights Faith Communities (my old crowd) in Denver:

Purchase your ticket for Next to Normal through NAMI, National Association for the Mentally Ill, and our friends upstairs at NAMI will receive a portion of the sale. “Next to Normal” is a story about a mother and wife who struggles with worsening bipolar disorder. The play received the 2009 Tony Award for Best Original Score, Best Orchestration and the 2009 Tony to Alice Ripley for Best Performance by a Lead Actress. Showing at the Ellie Caulkins Opera House, January 4-16, tickets are available at NAMI, 303-321-3104, and start at $28.

No Hobbit Homes for Tea Party Slim

When my neighbor, Tea Party Slim, came to the door, I thought he was going to rub my face in the election results.

But I was wrong.

“I guess you won,” I said, extending my hand.

He shook it. “We did. But that’s water under the bridge. Got a few minutes?”

Slim didn’t wait for an invitation. He breezed right past me and sat on the couch. He held a sheaf of papers in his right hand. He shook them at me. “America’s suburbs are threatened with a gigantic conspiracy.”

“Want some coffee?” I asked.

“Not if it’s that shade-tree grown farmer-friendly commie goop they sell at farmer’s markets and serve at trendy city coffee shops.”

I was taken aback. Slim had never refused coffee before.

“That’s what I’m saying. The cities are talking over, trying to push us suburbanites into U.N.-mandated human habitation zones.”

I had many questions. But first, I had to set the record straight. “Slim, we don’t live in the suburbs.”

“We do too. We’re not in the city. That’s downtown.”

“We’re in the city limits. The suburbs ring a city. Suburbanites have to drive to work.”

“I drive to work. So do you.”

“True, but sometimes I walk. Sometimes I ride my bike. I could ride the bus if I wanted.”

“That’s what they want – public transportation.”

During the past year, I’ve had similar one-sided conversations with Slim. Socialized health care. Missing birth certificates. Elitists in Washington. It was best to get a cup of commie coffee and let it play out. So I did.

“You’ve heard of Article 21?” He was shaking the papers at me again.

“I haven’t.”

He smiled. “I knew it.” There followed a long convoluted explanation, so long, in fact, that it forced me back to the coffee pot. When I returned, Slim was still talking. It was peppered with references to "compact development" and "smart growth" and “sustainable development” and "New Urbanism" and "transit-oriented development” and “creative economy” and "livable communities."

“These all lead to the same thing – the U.N. forcing us to live in Hobbit homes.”

“You mean Hobbit like in the movie? Those nifty little houses in Hobbiton with the round doors?”

“Not so cute if you’re 6-foot-2 like I am and are forced to live in one and give up your two-car garage and three bathrooms and big kitchen and back porch with the gas grill.” He looked like he was going to cry.

“Don’t worry, Slim. None of that is going to happen. Hobbiton is just an imaginary place.”

His face took on the rosy red glare of Tea Party outrage. “You’re darn right it’s not going to happen. Americans have the Constitutional right to live in any kinds of houses we want and drive any kind of truck we want.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said.

“Trucks are our ‘personal mobility machines” – that’s what Ed Braddy of the American Dream Coalition calls them. He’s a real trailblazer – you should look him up. A true visionary.”

“I drive a Prius, but you know that. But I’m thinking of buying that new electric car. Just plug it in at night – no more gas stations.”

He laughed. “Agenda 21 already has you by the balls. Next thing you’re going to tell me is that you and your wife are going to retire to a cramped city condo instead of a sprawling retirement community in Arizona with a golf course.”

“Yes, Slim, that’s exactly what I’m saying. The misses and I already have a cool condo picked out in Denver. It’s close to stores and museums and relatives. We can walk everywhere or take the light rail. No lawns to mow and water. The apartment complex even has its own roof garden where I can plant my veggies. It’s close to a bikepath and …..

Slim stood. He’d heard enough. “You go ahead and live in a Hobbit home, Frodo.” He shook his papers. “We’re going to fight this at city hall. No human habitation zones for us.”

I stood. “Good luck, man. You’ve had some recent successes so best to strike while the iron’s hot.”

"Join us, Mike. Join the rising tide of outrage against nearly everything.”

I saw Slim to the door. “I’d love to, Slim, but I have to ride my bike to the winter farmer’s market in the renovated historic Depot downtown to buy my locally produced food and locally made Christmas presents. That’s all part of sustainable development, Slim.”

I thought his head would explode. But he calmed himself and smiled. “We’re on a winning streak, you said so yourself.”

“True, but streaks don’t last forever. Just ask a baseball player. Or a Democrat. Even a Republican.”

With that, he said his farewells, got in his truck and drove to his house two doors down.

Inspiration for this piece came from the recent article in Mother Jones, “The Tea Party Targets… Sustainable Development?” by Stephanie Mencimer. Go to http://motherjones.com/politics/2010/11/tea-party-agenda-21-un-sustainable-development?

You can't stomp on 75,000 fired-up Democrats

Slightly-doctored photo of me at the 2008 Democratic National Convention wrap-up at Mile High Stadium/Invesco Field in Denver. We were unstompable on this night. And so we shall remain. Go to http://www.moveon.org/ to add your "Don't Stomp on Me (Us)" photo to the mix. And while you're at it -- VOTE!

Washington Monthly: On the edge of the next real estate boom -- and Utah shows the way

So many things to like in this Washington Monthly piece about the The Next Real Estate Boom. Western cities such as Salt Lake City, Denver and Portland are leading the way towards close-in walkable communities. But it's not about big chunks of federal money dropped on big projects. It's about private-sector funding and streetcars and affordable houses and zoning law changes and energy-saving construction. Local collaborative efforts. Democrats and Republicans and Independents and Libertarians and Greenies and Tea Partiers working together for the common good.

Dogs and cats, living together...

Just go read it.