Going round and round

The boyos round the corner leading to the final kilometer.
The boyos round the corner leading to the final kilometer.

The Race of Many Silly Names (Not the Tour of Colorado) came to Bibleburg yesterday, and though I thought it was by far the best course of the three we’ve had, the spectator turnout was about what one might expect for a one-car funeral, a Hillary Clinton pole dance, or a goat fuck on the lawn at Focus on the Family.

I rode the townie down to Colorado College for a bit of casual observation with friends and neighbors and the “crowd” was mostly not. Checking out the final lap online via Tour Tracker it seemed that most of what few spectators there were had decided to congregate in Bibleburg’s fabled Drinkin’ & Fightin’ District, a three-block stretch of South Tejon that includes a string of grog shops, alehouses and taverns, one U.S. Olympic Committee headquarters, and a bunch of small shops selling shit nobody needs*, including the “local” newspaper, The Anschutz Gazette.

Ah, well. School is already back in session, it was a workday, and the homeless, while numerous, just aren’t that interested in cycling as entertainment; to them, it’s transportation.

And anyway, I had a good time watching the circus come to town, especially because I wasn’t one of the poor saps who had to clean up after the elephants. It made for a nice break from negotiating with lenders, renters, Realtors®, roofers, landscapers and inspectors.

* The exceptions being Savory Spice Shop, Bingo Burger and Sparrow Hawk Gourmet Cookware.

Reunion

The Boo and Herself
Mister Boo and Herself enjoy a tender moment.

Oh, happy day. Mister Boo loves himself an auto trip, and if it takes him anywhere near Herself, well, so much the better.

The vet has given the Boo the all clear, though the one-eyed little stinkbug still has some meds to finish up. I passed the doctoring off to Herself and got back to paying work between forays into the Realty Jungle.

It helps to remember to fetch a mouse and SD-card reader along on these little junkets, which of course I did not, and if I have to keep working a trackpad and uploading photos via telepathy for much longer I will require a trip to the vet myself.

The good news — well, besides the Boo’s eye injury being healed and his reunion with Herself — is that we have finally made an offer on a place after examining eleventy-seven of the sonsabitches and are awaiting further reports from the front. More as we learn it.

 

Vision quest

Mister Boo has the vision of a GOP congresscritter but more brains and a decidedly sweeter temperament.
Mister Boo has the vision of a GOP congresscritter but more brains and a decidedly sweeter temperament.

One of the drawbacks to having eyes that bug out like VW headlights is that one gets cracked from time to time.

Mister Boo, who suffers from a lens luxation in the right eye, from time to time manages to exacerbate the problem by bumping into something. Author-poet Jim Harrison, who is likewise blind on one side, has mentioned having similar navigational issues.

Anyway, the poor little guy (Boo, not Jim) did it again on Wednesday, and his eye specialist has prescribed a fresh round of medications. So until next Wednesday at least he gets:

One drop of dorzolamide in both eyes twice daily.

One capsule of minocycline daily.

A half tab of carprofen twice daily.

One drop of ofloxacin in the right eye thrice daily.

And one drop of NaCl solution in the right eye thrice daily.

Mind you, this is in addition to the walks (administered twice daily); meals (twice daily); and treats (as needed, which is to say every 15 minutes until he’s full, and then every 30 minutes thereafter). Plus, I anticipate that on his next visit to the eyeball doc the Boo will be prescribed a patch, a peg leg and a parrot. Then we’ll have to call him Cap’n Boo. Arrr.

There has to be some way to blame Obama for this.

 

Duke City blues

Looks like Justin St. Germain’s NYT essay has found an audience back in Albuquerque, where the president and CEO of the Chamber of Commerce opines that violence is bad for the bottom line.

The perception that the local coppers are trigger-happy goons has punched a few holes in business development, chamber boss Terri Cole told The Albuquerque Journal.

“People who wanted to visit Albuquerque or start a business here didn’t do either,” she said. “Clearly that creates challenges for making Albuquerque the type of place where people want to start a business or raise a family.”

Indeed. You may recall that Hemingway wrote of “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place” rather than “A Bullet-Riddled Shithole.”

The FBI crime stats make for an interesting read, too.

• Late update: In related news, Herself is off on another house-hunting expedition, this time after pulling a full shift at the new job. She’s starting to remind me of Ruby “The Ant” Archuleta from John Nichols’ “The Milagro Beanfield War.” I might have to come up with a new sobriquet for the little woman. The Herminator?