The last drive-in theater in Denver closed for the season last fall. Looks like it's going to be a long off-season, as I saw during my drive to work this morning that the screen is on the ground, and earth movers are busily moving earth.

It's been threatened forever, and a couple falls ago the marquee showed a sad final goodbye message, followed in the spring by a perky 'We're back!' message. This is looking pretty final, though. I never saw a movie at this theater, but I watched many, many awful movies through buggy windshields at others out where I lived as a kid and a teenager, all long, long gone.

Crunch.

This place I was staying was a big open room. Maybe the size of a basketball gym, but probably narrower, at least. I was there longer than a motel room, I think, but definitely temporary. Nevertheless, I had decided to acquire and set up an aquarium. It was huge -- footprint the size of a twin bed, only about 8 inches deep and down at bed height, so you could look down on the fish and plants and whatnot. No top. It was really cool, and I was enjoying watching the fish move around. . . .

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So I'm sitting at the bar, hearing the music in the distance. I got there just before 10, and the back near the band was packed. WTF? Place never starts to fill up until after 11, and I'm gone soon after. Don't like the crowds. But I usually get two sets of music before the annoyance gets the best of me. That was the last show of this fairly popular band with their girl singer, who is leaving for reasons who the fuck knows.

So this time I had to find a stool in the middle of the bar, far from the action. It can be kind of fun to watch the guys flying around filling orders. They make something of a show of it. But I wasn't liking it that much, because I was more by myself in the middle of things. I'm OK by myself down at the end of the bar, because I can turn and focus on the band, and that's why I'm there anyhow. The middle is supposed to be all social & stuff, and I'm there alone. I can chat a little with some people, but these are mostly 30 year olds and we just don't seem to have a lot to say to one another. And the women seem worried that I'll come on to them and they'll have to go to the trouble of smacking me down. Or maybe I'm projecting that onto them. But it's not a comfortable spot for me.

...

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I mentioned the friend who ditched out on the music outing I was trying to arrange by callously getting sick. I also mentioned that the nature of the illness was intestinal and that she had thoughtfully withheld details. Well, she's finally up & around again, able to drink wine but not eat anything that anyone sensible would call food. You win some and lose some, I guess. But that thoughtful reticence about the details of the personal plumbing is gone gone gone. Hooboy is it gone. . . .

I was at a camping event that was winding down. Friends & campmates were milling around getting ready to start thinking about preparations to strike camp & return home -- maybe 7 or 8 people. The event was held in Hawaii --

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Meanwhile, I was morbidly fascinated by this woman who hobbled into the place. The bar is a very divey biker-type joint, pleasantly rough around the edges, with friendly people, many clearly known to one another as regulars. She was well-known by the others around the pool table --

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So I get this letter in the mail inviting me to a musical instrument sale. It's run by a music store, or rather by a foundation established by the family that's run the store for decades. It's supposed to be selling instruments donated to the local university music program by the store, and part of the proceeds benefit the foundation and whatnot. Kind of confusing, but at the end part of the sales price qualifies as a tax-deductible contribution so that's all good.

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Heya, PJ.

For various reasons, this is going to be the place I do my writing for a while. I'll still keep up with email, of course, but I'm over the board and other time sinks like it.

I've spent untold hours reading and blabbing over there, and I'm not presently feeling all that great about that focus. Still love the people I've loved for a long time, and I still appreciate so many of the others. But many have become mere acquaintances, and some of the usual suspects don't have that much to say to me anymore nor I to them. Plus, I divert too much effort there.

I'm convinced that a more focused, less reactive model would be a better outlet for my writing skills and a better way to develop my point of view. In any case, I'll have somedamnthing to show for my time.