Stayin' Alive, Stayin' Alive

Don't you hate it when a piece of music gets stuck in your head? It can be so irritating, especially when the only way to get it out is by replacing it with something equally annoying.

Bee Gees music is the worst because it repeats itself endlessly. Just try to get, "Ah ah ah ah stayin' alive, stayin' alive..." out of your head.

It doesn't matter if you know all the words. I can tap my foot to "Night Fever" all afternoon and I don't know a single lyric.

Some tunes are better than others. I was in a restaurant men's room the other day when a song I hadn't heard in years came over the sound system: We've Only Just Begun, by the Carpenters, a sweet, melodic pop tune about young love from the early 1970s. I remember learning to play it on the piano when I was a kid. Now I lingered over drying my wrinkly old hands, humming along until it was over, the nostalgia of an aging boomer. Fortunately, no one else came in. The song stayed with me for hours.

It's not always music from the 70s, though when you're my age, chances are pretty good that it is.

Sometimes it's a commercial. I like the song, Home, by Phillip Phillips. "Just know you're not alone, cause I'm gonna make this place your home ... " But now American Family Insurance has tacked their jingle onto the refrain. Every time I hear the song, I also hear the jingle, even if it's only in my mind. Of course that's the advertiser's evil plan - making it stay with you longer.

Then there's the stuff that barely counts as music. One week, I couldn't escape the 10 second theme from local television's 9NEWS, over and over and over until I thought I'd lose my mind.

Clearly it isn't always something I like.

Here's a rundown of my recent inner playlist. Try to guess which ones I enjoy and which ones make me insane:

- The Downton Abbey opening (complete with closeup of dog's butt - visuals can be part of it too)
- The theme to NPR's All Things Considered
- You're Lookin' at Country by Loretta Lynn
- The telephone ring tone of a coworker several cubicles away
- Those few measures of Gershwin repeatedly - I mean repeatedly - used by United Airlines
- The little dittys that play when the doors open or close on the subway at  Denver International Airport
- The notes played by Windows when I boot up my laptop (Mac people, I don't want to hear it)
- The theme from Star Trek Voyager
- Whatever was the last thing I heard

What I want to know is how to get from We've Only Just Begun to How Do You Make it Stop?

Food Fundies Ferment Frustration

I was once told that I shouldn't eat a certain prepackaged frozen microwavable dinner because no part of it had ever been touched by human hands. The person scolding me was your typical organic, all natural, vegetarian, self-righteous food fundamentalist who loves to judge other people for their inferior culinary habits. I dated a bunch like him when I was young. It occurred to me much later that if my dinner had been touched by human hands, it would have been the hands of exploited underpaid migrant workers. I couldn't possibly win that conversation.

I'll never forget the argument I had with the woman who would only buy brown eggs. Because they are brown, she opined, they are inherently better than white eggs. I insisted there was no difference except the brown ones cost more. I will concede that in many cases, brown is better than white. Rice and bread, for example. But after consulting with a doctor, a farmer, and a software engineer, we decided that the color of the egg is determined by the breed of the chicken and otherwise is no different.

Like other fundamentalists, food fundies think their's is the only right way and they will endlessly harass everyone else until we are just like them.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for ethical and environmentally sustainable food production. I just happen to think that awareness raising can be done without clobbering people over the head with righteousness. I'm not saying all vegetarians, for example, are guilty of such extreme obnoxiousness. But those who are give all the rest a bad name.

Food righteousness is one thing. Food pretentiousness is another.

My family recently gathered for dinner at a very expensive Denver restaurant which simply dripped with self-importance. I won't say what restaurant, but it was in LoDo on Market just off 16th Street. This place's specialty is "molecular gastronomy." The concept is that the food would be prepared scientifically, frozen or heated to extreme temperatures and processed in such a way that our taste buds would squirt with ecstasy. I didn't think it was that good. Some of it was just weird. Why would I want a piece of fruit that had been pulverized into a ribbon swooping the length of my place setting? Just give me the original piece of delicious fresh fruit!

My grandmother mastered cooking the old-fashioned way: with her traditional electric oven and smooth glass stove top. Her cooking was an art form, not science, done by feel with the benefit of decades' experience.

I'm hungry. Maybe there's a mass produced prepackaged dinner in the freezer.

Valentine's Day - Secret Santa All Over Again

I'm waiting for the inevitable suggestion from a team building enthusiast at the office, that we do something dreadful for Valentine's Day.

One year, everyone actually decorated shoe boxes with slots in the lids so that we could deliver little greeting cards to each other's desks. Just like back in grade school, you could measure a person's popularity by the number of Valentines crammed into their box. Many had little chocolates attached. Some came in envelopes which exploded in glitter upon opening.

It was hell.

On top of that, I was still reeling from the secret Santa fiasco.

The prior Christmas I decided to really participate fully and be a part of the team. I went to the company holiday party. I also signed up for the secret Santa exchange. In case you are lucky enough to have avoided it, Secret Santas are usually chosen in a drawing. Each person is assigned to be the secret Santa of another person, buying them little gifts during the time leading up to Christmas. The "fun" part is keeping your identity from the person you are giving to and guessing who all that junk appearing on your desk is coming from. It  usually culminates right before Christmas in joyful exclamations of surprise when Santas' identities are revealed.

I drew my secret Santa name and planned out a month's worth of toys, coffee, and gift certificates. Pushing the monetary limit, I sneaked my coworker her favorite snacks. I put a decorative stocking full of swag on her desk. I bought a personalized dog toy for her dog.  I was kicking Santa ass.

Until the person to whom I was secretly giving all this junk actually looked me in the face and told me she was dissatisfied with the gifts she was getting from her secret Santa. They were cheap, she said.

I was pissed.

She didn't, supposedly, know it was me, but that shouldn't matter. One shouldn't complain about a secret Santa to anyone, just in case. And if she did know it was me, that's even worse.

I was so upset that I decided right there and then never to participate in secret Santa again.

And just when I was getting over it a month and a half later, boom! Valentine's Day.

I think the office should be a place where you go to work. But since Christmas, we've had a couple of birthdays (I must confess, I do like cake), a pot luck, and several "wear your favorite sports attire" days leading up to the Super Bowl. We sure have a lot of fun in my office. With just a week left, dare I hope that Valentine's Day will pass unnoticed?

No Escape from Sports and Television

A couple of regular readers have mentioned that they are looking forward to my detailed analysis of the Super Bowl this week. Sarcasm notwithstanding, it's hard to avoid the news that the Denver Broncos are one game away from NFL championship. The whole state is awash in Broncomania. Even the company where I work is having a "sports attire" day on Friday. I can hardly contain my excitement. Of course, along with any celebratory event at the office, there is a sharp reminder to adhere to the dress code. We don't want anyone taking fun too far.

Actually, the Super Bowl has little effect on me except it might be easier to get around during the game. Perhaps we could go to a movie or something.

Just because I'm not interested, however, doesn't mean I can escape from it. Thanks to the ubiquity of TV, I am exposed to all kinds of non-stop sports.

It's not enough that Americans have more than one television per person at home. Or that we can watch anywhere using our mobile communication devices. There are screens in every restaurant, waiting room, bar, and everywhere else you can think of.

A favorite eatery in Lodo has a TV on literally every wall, sometimes more than one, so that no matter where you sit, you can't help but see "the game" or whatever's on. Last time I was there, I counted 13 from the booth where I sat. Basketball, soccer, and hockey were on view, along with a broadcast of American's Funniest Home Videos for balance. It was notable only for the absence of American football.

Even the nice restaurant where I took my boyfriend, Clyde, for his birthday, had a big screen with ESPN on the wall. I watched one man ignore his wife and kids repeatedly so he could check the score. Shaking my head in disgust, I missed what Clyde was saying to me.

On my weekly early morning visit to Village Inn, where it's just me and a bunch of old guys eating breakfast (yes, yes, I'm one of the old guys ...) the server, Regan, knows to sit me as far from the television as possible. But still I am never out of view of highlights from last night's game.

My favorite Indian restaurant has a TV in the corner where they used to show Bollywood music videos. It provided the perfect festive atmosphere in which to eat Indian food. But they have switched over to the usual whatever sports thing is on.

This isn't just an American thing. Waiting to board a plane in the Tokyo airport recently, we were practically forced by the placement of a big screen in the boarding area, to watch sumo wrestling. Man oh man, you can really see a lot of sumo wrestler details on those giant, high definition TVs.

At least at Annie's, on East Colfax, they show old movies sometimes instead of sports so that Clyde and I can guess who the actor is instead of what team is playing.

Clyde suggests having those little individual TVs like they do on some airplanes which you watch using headphones, viewing without disturbing others.

Actually, that already happens at my gym. Some of the exercise equipment has individualized screens where you can change your own channel and watch what you want. It can make a 30 minute cardio session go a lot faster. And even if you don't have your own TV on the treadmill, just look up. There are 10 hanging from the ceiling to keep you entertained while you work out. Never fear, the locker room has a couple too, in case you go too long without screen time.

Surfing the Stratosphere

I remember staying up all night with my friend John listening to the radio. This would have been in the mid to late 1970s. We didn't just listen. We ran the tuner up and down the AM frequencies and counted how many distant stations we could find from far away.

In a smaller town like Scottsbluff, Nebraska, there weren't a lot of radio stations so the airwaves weren't cluttered with local stuff. At night, there was nothing between us and the sounds which stirred our imaginations from places such as Albuquerque, Oklahoma City, and Denver.

In those days, AM radio was pretty diverse. There was music, of course, news, and talk shows, as well as advertising and weather. The Omaha stations featured farm reports and something about hog futures. Sometimes the smaller town stations had a hospital report where you could actually hear a list of who was in the local hospital that day. HIPAA regulations hadn't yet been invented.

One of the Chicago stations had a great late-night review of the newest porn movies and a psychologist who answered all kinds of questions about sex. Boy did I learn a lot on those nights. In the 70s, I found sex to be a thrilling and exciting subject.

About this time, cable television was starting to catch on. We got it before larger cities because we needed it. Scottsbluff's two local stations couldn't carry all the national network programming, but cable enabled us to get ABC, NBC, and CBS affiliates from Denver, as well as Channel 2 which in those days was known primarily for Blinky the Clown and reruns. Cable fixtures such as MTV and CNN were still a few years away.

In the late 70s, John's parents sprung for HBO. We didn't care that this radical new pay channel showed recent movies with no commercials. We were more interested in the R rated movies and seeing naked boobs. Yes, I know what you're thinking, but for me it was just a phase. That obsession kind of replaced the radio during sleepovers.

Nowadays, it's easy to log onto the internet and listen to a radio station from anywhere in the world. Not that I ever do it. It doesn't seem like such a big deal now when it's so easy. But I remember that magical feeling of awe when I was a kid, listening to sounds from far away. Just because we couldn't yet surf the net doesn't mean our imaginations were stuck in Scottsbluff. We were surfing the stratosphere.

Finally, BillsWeek Takes on the Pot Issue

I've had my mind on a lot of things lately. Ongoing issues with my house. My rapidly aging car. The fact that I, myself, am rapidly aging. It's actually been quite easy for me to forget that events of major historical importance have been happening all around me.

In case you weren't aware, marijuana is now legal here in Colorado for the first time ever.

The governor calls it a great social experiment. News outlets report that after just a few days, supplies are running low. Trendy restaurants are integrating it into recipes.

Conservatives, meanwhile, bemoan what's happening as the very downfall of society. One confusing Fox News discussion (according to the Daily Show, where I get my news) equated teen use of marijuana, text messaging, and the deterioration of civilization.

As a proud Coloradoan, what effect has the legalization of weed had on me?

None. Absolutely no effect at all.

In spite of the very downfall of civilization, I still trudge to work, stand in line at the supermarket, sit in traffic, and otherwise go about my day. I have yet to see anyone in Colorado more stoned than before.

In contrast, I daily see people driving under the influence of cell phones: swerving between lanes, driving at unsafe speeds. What do conservative pundits have to say about that?

I have noted with amusement the proliferation of green crosses around town, signifying an establishment selling medical marijuana; places with subtle names like The Clinic, Alternative Medicine, and Natural Remedies. There is also Discount Medical Marijuana for your more budget minded pot consumer. 

And as of this month, the non-medical retail shops are appearing with big neon marijuana leaves on upscale office buildings.

I voted for legalization. It makes sense to me to put revenues in state coffers rather than those of far away drug lords.

But I have no plans to take advantage of this new freedom to imbibe. I just go around every day like usual, watching carefully for drivers on cell phones.

After Hong Kong, Denver Seems Kind of Small

Ever since my extensive four day trip to Hong Kong in November, Denver is looking rather small.

Our highrises are shorter. Our light rail trains, though plenty cool, are not subways. We don't have those space-efficient double decker busses.

I guess it's all a matter of perspective.

The mile high city seems positively huge when you're driving inbound on I-25 after visiting Wyoming, for example.

Hong Kong, much bigger than Denver, is actually quite small compared to other Chinese cities that most of us have never heard of.

These considerations are important if your self-worth is tied up with where you live. And mine is.

Denver is the biggest city and the urban hub for a huge geographical portion of the United States.

Because I believe Denver to be superior to most other places, I believe myself to be superior also, simply by virtue of my being  smart enough to live here.

I have it on good authority that others feel the same way about where they live. New Yorkers exemplify this more than most. They believe absolutely and without a shadow of a doubt that they live in the greatest city in the world, and all others are inferior.

I enjoy the occasional opportunity to voice my opinion to these folks that the greatest, most vibrant city in the world is --- London. Hey, I like Denver, but I'm not stupid.