Coping With Depressing News

On the verge of paralyzing journalism induced depression, Clyde and I have gone on a news diet.

World events seem more depressing than usual lately. For a time of year that media outlets usually feature shark attacks because there's not much else going on, we seem now to be bombarded with news of unthinkable violence.

We no longer want to be constantly upset about Gaza, Syria, Iraq, Ukraine, and Missouri, just to name a few. Al Jazeera and BBC no longer play on our TV all day. When you take in the same depressing stories multiple times in an endless 24 hour news cycle, it starts to get to you. Research shows that watching the same traumatic footage over and over affects you as if it were happening multiple times, even though it really only happens  once.

Instead of watching the endless looping on cable news networks, I'm getting information about world events  mostly through public radio where repeating footage is minimal. The Daily Show and Colbert Report round out how informed I am, if they're not on break. I catch the local TV news occasionally, but there isn't much information there, unless you want lots of weather and local crime.

I used to get a daily newspaper. It came to my front step early in the morning and kept me well informed without the disturbing video overload. I read the articles one time, occasional cutting out the ones I wanted to send to friends - sort of an old fashioned way of sending a link, and then added the leftovers to the recycling bin. I was fairly well informed during those years. But like many people, I quit taking the paper when the price went up and the quality went down, a victim of electronic media.

In spite of information overload, it's harder now to be informed than it used to be. Studies show that with so many news sources these days, people usually only pay attention to the ones which reinforce their world view. In other words, we no longer learn anything from news outlets. We just get our existing opinions reinforced. This is why the Republicans and Democrats in Congress and elsewhere are moving further and further apart.

We should know what's going on in the world. Informed citizens make for intelligent voters.

Do you value being informed? How do you digest information in the 24 hour news cycle? How are you coping with the summer's endless stream of bad news? Just leave a comment, here or on Facebook. I'll follow up in a future BillsWeek.

Taxi Companies HATE Uber, and Other App Tales

I recently downloaded an app called Waze (pronounced "ways") to my iPhone. Waze gathers data from hundreds of users via their smart phones and converts it into traffic information that guides you to your destination using the quickest route possible. For example, I usually take I-25 home from work. But when there's a traffic jam, as there often is, Waze knows about it ahead of time and directs me to a different route. It's a-MA-zing.

Another great app I recently discovered is Uber. Uber, like Waze, gathers information from drivers' smart phones and directs them to passengers who have requested a ride. In other words, I push a button on the Uber app and minutes later a car comes to take me where I want to go. Payment is done via a credit card you enter into the app ahead of time so there's no cash and no tip to mess with. It's so much faster than a taxi which can take up to an hour to arrive after you call for it.

Taxi companies, by the way, HATE Uber.

Everything is an app these days. Doing things from a website on your desktop or laptop computer is so 2000s. Anything you need to do, you can do from an app on the phone in your pocket.

I assume that app is short for application, but it also brings to mind the iPhone's maker, Apple. But that's neither here nor there.

I have relatively few apps on my phone but I've come to depend on them. I have an app to read the local paper, a camera app, an "organizer" which keeps me on task, and a calendar. I have an app which tells me what time it is in any city in the world. I can listen to music via the Pandora app and I can even watch movies on the little tiny screen using the Netflix app. Though I've stopped using it, again, there is also a Weight Watchers app on my phone. I even have an app which tells me whether I've used the allotted monthly amount of data on my phone plan.

There is an app which tells you at what altitude you are, which can come in handy in Colorado. Though I've never used it, there's an app that gay men use to find other nearby gay men. There's probably something comparable for lesbians and straight people, but I wouldn't know about those.

Facebook and Twitter have apps. I haven't fallen under the spell of Twitter yet. Is it something that could benefit me in any way? What would I tweet about? Who would want to know when I go to the bathroom or some such other personal and mundane activity? But I digress.

There are a few things I haven't been able to find an app for. House cleaning, for one. Wouldn't that be great? An app to weed the garden would also be nice. Is there an app that would help me give pills to my cat? Hey, not long ago I would have joked that I wanted an app to avoid traffic jams.

The What's Not Here Anymore Tour

When visiting a new city, it's sometimes fun to visit the most impressive, unique sights. In Denver, you might take in various landmarks such as the state capitol, for example, or the Museum of Nature and Science. Coors Field could be of interest, and you might even swing by the Denver Mint, though it's not much to look at from the outside.

I have an alternative tour. I call it the What's Not Here Anymore tour. After 25 years of living in the Mile High City, I know more about what a location in the city used to be than what it is now.

Though I didn't move here until I was 27, I grew up in Denver's orbit of influence. Denver was where we went to the airport. Denver was where all the TV stations came from. Denver was culture and theatre and shopping. Denver was fancy restaurants like the Spaghetti Factory where we ate whenever we came to town.  Hey, it seemed fancy at the time. Casa Bonita was also a regular stop - yes, I know the food is not that good, but for a kid just discovering his sexuality, those cliff divers were amazing to watch.

The malls in and around Denver were exotic because before 1980, my hometown didn't have one. There was nothing like that first sip of Orange Julius or an ICEE at Cinderella City.

The first traffic jam I remember was in Denver. My father drove the RV as my friend John and I watched from the overhang above the cab. We had to turn the radio off so Dad could concentrate while all those crazy freeway drivers tried to get around us. Naturally, the doors were locked because we were in the big city.

The first time I ever saw a gay couple making out, my family was driving through Cheesman Park on the way to my brother's apartment on High Street. My  parents pretended not to notice. Slack-jawed, I silently vowed I would return to explore this fascinating phenomenon and by golly, I eventually did.

When I moved to Denver, May D&F was the region's primary department store. The downtown location was an interesting paraboloid shape where the gigantic Sheraton now stands.

When I moved to Denver, Denver International Airport was still a massive construction site. Though the old crowded Stapleton Airport hasn't existed for two decades, I miss it. Oh sure, it was unnerving to land on parallel runways, two planes' wings nearly touching as they simultaneously approached the ground. But it only took 10 minutes to get from the end of Concourse E to my apartment on Columbine street. And I continue to be embarrassed by that circus tent that passes for the DIA roof.

It pains me now to see the wasteful demolition at the old University Hospital site, though we are promised new opportunities for housing and retail in the future, I'm starting to wonder if I'll live long enough to see it.

Try as I might, I can't exist totally in the past. I do appreciate the Denver of now.

• The blossoming of Lower Downtown (LODO) over the past two decades has really enlivened the city. 
• I love those whimsical dancing sculptures at the Denver Center for the Performing Arts. 
• The Tattered Cover continues to shine as a literary beacon, even though it's moved around a bit and opened multiple locations. 
• Our Civic Center is second to none when it comes to gigantic holiday light displays. 
• The light rail system and Union Station redevelopment illustrate that people here have enough vision to invest in a bright future.

When all is said and done, however, nothing caps off the day like a visit to the Spaghetti Factory. It hasn't changed.

Tales of the 4-Plex

With the warmer weather this time of year, and with daylight continuing past dinnertime, our windows and shades are wide open so that we may enjoy the benefits of summer. Our senses are engaged by evening breezes, the occasional smell of a rainstorm, and as we move closer to August, the sounds of crickets.  Open windows blur the lines between outside and inside, and as you fold laundry or watch TV, you can't help but notice what some of the neighbors are up to. For example, the couple on the north end has new twin babies. The guy who regularly walks his dog in the yard doesn't always pick up the poop. The little girl across the way enjoys wearing princess dresses, predominantly pink, while her father favors tight fitting bicycle lycra.

Clyde and I are most entertained by the college students who rent the middle unit. We have no idea how many live there, because there is an endless stream of young faces going in and out. We are especially intrigued by two attractive young men who regularly hold hands as they come up the sidewalk. It's great that they are comfortable enough with themselves and their housemates, not to mention the neighbors, to openly express their relationship. Times have certainly changed.

This past week, the students welcomed yet another couple of housemates.

We know because we overheard them through the open windows. One of that hand holding couple stood on the front walk and gave the tour to a couple of newcomers. He indicated their patio and grill, pointed out the hose, discussed street parking, and described a couple of neighbors by name as he pointed to the different condos. When it came time for ours to be pointed to, we very clearly heard him say, "And two older men live there."

Ouch.

He didn't say it in a mean way. He wasn't disrespectful. He just said it as if it were a fact.

Olympia Dukakis as Mrs. Madrigal

I realize we are, in fact, older than he is. I also understand that our actual ages are way beyond his youthful comprehension. Who at 23 can accurately comprehend what it is to be in your 50s?  It's not that I expected he would describe us as "two hot guys," or anything like that. I might have hoped he thought of us as the nice "gay couple next door." I may have even fantasized that I was Mrs. Madrigal in Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City books, inviting the tenants in one by one, lighting up joints, and exuding a nurturing, sage-like wisdom as I listen to their problems.

I don't suppose he would think me younger if I walked up to him, shook my finger in his face, and lectured that not long ago, I was his age. I was hot. I stayed up late. I had boyfriends. I militantly came out to my friends and relatives. I went to marches on Washington. Hell, because of me and all the generations of lesbians and gay men before, he is free to hold hands with his boyfriend outside. I wonder if he's ever even heard of Tales of the City.

Don't worry. I won't say anything. I have to face it. My bald spot is older than my neighbor. I go to bed at 8:30 when he's just on his way out. I couldn't live his life if I wanted to, and in fact, I don't really want to. I am comfortable as one of the older men next door. Now what can I do to get that guy to pick up after his dog?

So Many Passwords, So Little Brain in which to Store Them

It has come to my attention that we are using more passwords than ever, but the space in our brains isn't growing to accommodate them all.

I have passwords for my computer at home, my computer at work, and voice mail systems at each place. I use a password for online banking, to select Netflix movies, and to access a range of accounts from the power company to my credit card. I even have a password for making insurance premium payments online, something I do twice a year.

Why do I need a password to make insurance payments? If someone else wanted to pay my insurance premium, I wouldn't have a problem with that.

I don't think I should need a password to look up information about my gym membership, benefits at work, or the cat's microchip.

The only institution that hasn't made me use a password is my church, but I'm sure we're getting closer to collection plates with keypads on them, a safeguard from tithing hackers.

And how are we supposed to remember them all? If I don't use a password very often, I forget what it is. When I need it I have to click on the "forgot password" link and have yet another one emailed to me. Of course, to get the email, I need, you guessed it, a password.

Passwords are also getting harder to remember because they come with so many requirements. In some cases, you must use a combination of capital letters and small letters, a mixture of letters and numbers, and/or symbols that aren't letters or numbers. God forbid they make any sense so you can remember them. To ensure security, don't use the name of a family member, a city, a pet's name, or your birthday. And for God's sake, don't write them down because a crook might steal them.

It's worse when the password is assigned to you. Our new wifi came with a password that has approximately 27 random letters and numbers. I guess the neighbors won't be piggybacking for free on our internet.

Meanwhile, the worst finally happened. I walked up to an ATM machine and inserted my card. The screen prompted me for a PIN number. I reached for the key pad and my hand froze. I drew a complete blank. To save my life, I couldn't remember that number, one I've been using for years. Nothing.

Like the hard drive on an old, overloaded computer, my brain had crashed.

I didn't get any cash that day. I didn't even get my ATM card back because the machine wouldn't release it without a password. But my account was safe, gosh darn it.

Dripping Faucet? Go Get Your Tools

I'm not good with tools. I know the difference between a Phillips screwdriver and the other kind, but that's about it.

I recently did some caulking in the bedroom. I bought the tube of caulk and the squeezy thing with the trigger that you need to make it work. I successfully squirted a wad of goo into a big crack between the floor and the wall and smoothed it out. Some extra goo got smeared around adjacent areas. Attempting to clean it up with a paper towel just made it worse. It looks like hell. But I did it. I was proud.

Recently I had to reset the cable modem. To do that,  I needed to insert something small inside a little hole on the back. A nail would be ideal. I looked everywhere, but other than the nails jammed into the wall for the purpose of holding artwork, I couldn't find one anywhere. I finally found one in Clyde's tool box.

I have a tool box too, but I couldn't find a nail there. Are you surprised I have a tool box? I don't remember how I got it but it's always been in one of my closets, sometimes buried under paper bags or Christmas decorations. It contains a hammer and two different types of screwdrivers, Phillips and the other kind. It also contains a lot of cords and adapters for computers and VCRs from the 90s which I've held on to, just in case. They are not helpful for the current problem we are having with the cable modem, but that's a story for a different time.

I learned everything I know about machines from my dad. He was a good man, very wise about many things. But he was not "handy." Dad taught me everything he knew about fixing cars: get out your credit card and take it to a mechanic. The family tradition continues.

For the record, I do know how to change a tire, thanks to that long stretch of Interstate 80 between Laramie and Rawlins, Wyoming. Picture it: no AAA. Just me and a jack standing over a flattened wheel. And my equally inept boyfriend at the time who was at least able to read the directions from the driver's manual while I skinned my knees on gravel and got my hands and shirt all dirty and sweaty. I earned some butch points that day.

Currently, Clyde and I are coping with a drippy kitchen faucet, a bathroom towel bar that is falling off the wall, and a front door latch which sticks so badly that if there were a fire, we'd probably burn up just trying to get out. Any normal man (and many women, of course) could just make these repairs with their tools. I have even seen little kits at Ace Hardware for drippy faucets. But I don't know how to use them and my little Phillips isn't adequate anyway. I have decided to call a "handyman" company to fix all of these things at once.

I imagine the handyperson coming through our sticking front door expecting to see old people too frail to wield a wrench but finding instead two able-bodied men who should be able to fix their own towel bar. What can I say? I'm an embarrassment to manhood. So I just whip out my credit card and the job gets done.

TV in Every Room Not Quite Enough

We have three TVs in our house - 1.5 per person. One in every room except the kitchen and the bathroom.

As far as I can tell from a quick internet search, we are about average for U.S. households.

I've always watched a lot of television. When I was a kid, I plunked down after school for Petticoat Junction and Gilligan's Island, and after a break for dinner I sat through the prime time lineup, followed by the news at 10:00 and reruns of M*A*S*H before bed. In the summer, I would go outside and play, but only after the mid-day broadcast of Love American Style and before The Adams Family at 4:30. As a result, I've participated in a number of pop culture trivia contests over the years. I won a prize once for being able to sing all three verses to The Beverly Hillbillies.

In the mid 70s, I could recite the entire week's programming schedule for every channel. I was a walking TV Guide. To be fair, there were only four channels at the time. And none of them were on 24 hours.

Other than during dinner, my parents never limited TV time. There was one exception: my mother forbade me from watching Charlie's Angels. Of course it wasn't hard to disobey down in the basement with the volume turned low. I think Mom was worried that the sexy female detectives would inflame my youthful passions. If she'd only known my true nature, we could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble. The Six Million Dollar Man - now that inflamed me. And of course, Captain Kirk when he fought aliens with his shirt off. Other boys had angel Farrah Fawcett in a swim suit over their beds. I had a poster of speedo-clad male divers from Casa Bonita. Mom thought I was interested in diving. But I digress.

So apparently, now in the 21st century with hundreds and hundreds of channels, we need three TVs to keep up.

It's a wonder we ever do anything else.

It's better now than in the old days. You don't have to schedule your play time around the TV. You can watch when it's convenient. In addition to recording the traditional and cable network shows, you can also, courtesy of Netflix and cable on demand, watch multiple episodes of many series, past and present. Currently we are enjoying occasional marathons of Veep, Frasier, House, and Royal Pains.

Clyde and I watch TV together most of the time, as opposed to watching simultaneously in different rooms. This potentially changes when Clyde decides to watch an overly depressing or violent movie, or if I want to watch a sitcom that is beyond his tolerance for stupid.

While the television may be the center of attention when we sit in the living room, you can also find nearby: three laptops, an iPad, and two iPhones, all of which are capable of delivering YouTube, Netflix, and any number of other video streaming services. They are rarely all used at the same time, but usually the TV isn't the only screen running.

The laptops have the added advantage of being good platforms on which the cats may lounge.

There is plenty of entertainment available thanks to technology, but I think we need a TV in the kitchen. I can carry a laptop into the bathroom.