Monday, April 13, 2009

Boulder again

Well, I'm here in Boulder, and maybe it's just because I've been reading Paradise Lost, but I feel like the surly, pasty, criminally out of shape, old, bald snake in the garden.

Abashed the Devil stood,
And felt how awful goodness is, and saw
Virtue in her shape how lovely; saw, and pined
His loss.
I never feel less attractive than when I'm here. The humidity, as a rule, is roughly 30% lower than it is at home: I get nosebleeds. The air is thin: walking up two flights of stairs makes me pant.

Everybody here is tanned and vigorous and healthy. Everybody hikes and climbs rocks and rides mountain bikes and skis. Everybody is so fucking nice. Oh, how I hate them all.

And yet. I'm in a meeting at the National Center for Atmospheric Research's Mesa Lab, looking out enormous windows at the Flatiron Range towering up over us. A couple of deer have been nosing around out there most of the afternoon. Tonight we're having dinner at L'Atelier, which I've heard raves about. Maybe later I'll see if the same cute bartender as last night is working at my hotel. Maybe she'll overlook my east coast urban hideousness.

Update. The trip wasn't a total loss by any means. There was that aforementioned dinner at L'Atelier (duck confit, foie gras, a really nice Australian shiraz I can't remember the name of). There was another dinner at Sunflower (beet "carpaccio," hanger steak with bearnaise, and a salad of arugula and truffles that I could have made a meal of by itself). There was a beery late night playing nine-ball at the Catacombs. There was Left Hand Books, a store that is desperately needed in DC. There was the fact that the downtown Borders closed, which surely was a big shot in the arm to all the cool little independent bookshops around there. There was an hour I spent on the Pearl Street Mall watching a peregrine falcon eating a pigeon.

On the other hand, I missed my flight this morning and I'm on standby for the next one. I really hope I get out of here soon. I'm way too familiar with this airport.


Melissa said...

My friend Alison moved back to Boulder after a few years in D.C. She was waaaay to much hotness for this place.

An Briosca Mor said...

Was the pigeon still alive when being eaten by the falcon? 'Cause that would be way cooler to watch than if it was already dead. The food chain in action!

And re your orginal topic, from way back in the day when I used to listen to folk music - before it was taken over by overly precious navel-gazing singer-songwriters who create what Zan would call "new age rhymes with sewage" music, only with words - I recall this song.