Obama shows up.

So this is pretty much the view from where we were standing.  I'm zooming in with the camera about halfway, but it's certainly not maxed out.  We were very fortunate to be so close, though I can't say I'm sorry for the lazy people who rolled out of bed at 9am and expected to get into this thing.

I cropped this one up a bit so you can see that we were, in fact, watching Barack Obama speak.

It's just not a political rally without the fascism people, the John 3:16 guy, and the aborted fetus people.  I assure you they were all out in force.

Get on the O Train!!!

Chris and I are lucky enough to live in a swing state this election year.  Yesterday, Barack Obama came back through Denver and held a rally downtown in Civic Park, which is the massive expanse between the courthouse and the capitol building.  Because we have a bad case of Obamania, we got up at 5:30 and took the train up there so we could get in line early.  It's a good thing we did, because there were only 1,000 or so people in front of us.  This sounds like a lot, until I tell you that there were at least 100,000 people at the rally by the time Obama took the stage.  The crowd spilled out of Civic Park and flowed all the way up the steps of the Capitol.  It was a breathtaking sight.  

It was damn cold, and we did a lot of standing around, but it was totally worth it.  I feel like I was a part of history.  His detractors may say that he's "only a community organizer," but I look around and I see a squabbling, jaded, self-centered community of 300 million people that could do with a little organizing.  It will be nice to say, fifty years from now, that I remember the day I waited for hours to see the man who would one day change America for the better.

Here we are, waiting in line.

This sign said "CO 4 CHANGE"

Ever wonder what 99,000 people looks like? (This is looking back from where we were standing -- the other 1,000 were in front of us.)  I strongly encourage you to click on this picture -- it will open bigger and you can take it all in. 

Stupid, stupid cross-promotion.

Lately, it seems as though the Susan G. Komen "HEY GUYS IT'S BREAST CANCER!!" Foundation has achieved a monopoly on pointless cross-promotion.  From soup to yogurt, frozen meals to kitty litter (you tell me I'm wrong), that damn pink ribbon is on everything.  They've stopped even trying to make a connection between the product I'm buying and the relative level of my awareness.

And yet, none of that even comes close to attaining the level of "Wait, what?" that today's crappy cross-promotion enjoys.  Sit back, relax, unfocus your eyes, and try not to think too hard about what I'm about to show you, because something in your brain might go "twing" and you'll show up on next week's episode of House.  Hint:  it won't be Chagas' disease or lupus, either.  

This sticker. It was on a pumpkin. The kind that will be turned into a jack o' lantern. A pumpkin. Member of the squash family, maybe you've seen one? Big, orange... piratey? No. No, it is not in the least piratey.  What the hell.  I guess the people at Disney figured out that, like, kids help to pick out their pumpkins, so maybe this sticker will raise their awareness that there are pirate movies out there?  Kids have to go to the doctor, too.  Can we brand flu shots with Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers?  It would be neat.

I do deeply appreciate the swashbuckling font in which they've printed the code for "large pumpkin."  Now, that's a 4735 that looks like it's about to shiver a timber or two.

Pikes Peak part two

It's odd, I didn't take any pictures of the teeming masses that swarmed the summit.  I was likely just too tired.  But here's Chris in front of the excellently retro train that eventually took us back to civilization.  Would you believe we got applauded?  The train tour guide lady announced that there were several people on the train that had climbed the mountain, and there was a very enthusiastic response from the crowd.  It was quite nice, but I know if I would have heard that, I would have thought, "What, they couldn't go back the way they came?"

We had to take a more traditional "we made it to the top" picture, as well as the other ones you'll see below.  This is usually how we have to do it, because at the top of most other mountains, there's... nothing.  It's the way we generally like to have it.

The building behind us is the giant cafeteria/restroom/gift shop thing that everyone crowds into for most of their time atop Pikes Peak.  I don't get it.  This particular sign is around back, where the train comes in.  It says "A summit photo is a lasting memento of your trip to this world-famous peak."  Oh, the Americans and their "world-famous" crap. 

This sign is around in the front of the building, closer to the huge parking lot.  This is the entire group that climbed the mountain with Scot (except his wife and child, who drove up for the occasion).  Even the dog, Floyd, came with us -- he had more energy than anyone.  One of the guys brought a bottle of 14er beer (brewed by Avery Brewing in Boulder) that we cracked and passed around to celebrate Scot's amazing achievement of 58 14ers in just two or three years.  

Pikes Peak pictures!

We managed to hit Pikes Peak on the last beautiful weekend of the year.  The aspens were just about hitting their peak, the weather was beautiful, and you could pee outside without fear of hypothermia.  Always nice.

After starting up the mountain at about 2:30 p.m., we made it to base camp just after dark.  The going was a little slower than we're used to because Scot's dad was with us, and he's got two very bum knees.  But he was an excellent sport and good company.  Once we got to our rustic cabin at Barr Camp, we fired up the wood stove, cooked our dehydrated dinner, drank a few beers, and settled down for some sleep.

We set out for the summit the next day.  This leg of the journey took longer than the first, but we made it just in time to catch the 2:00 train down from the top of the mountain -- we figured that a 13-mile hike plus an hour and a half drive would equal two very tired people the next day at work.  Plus,  I always wanted to take that train.

Here we are on the second morning of the hike.

Finally, above the treeline!

We figured if this woman could climb the mountain 14 times (okay, 13 non-fatal times), so could Scot's dad.  

I am a servant of the people.

I don't know if that's still valid if I'm a servant of the people for entirely selfish reasons, but there you have it.  A few months after I started at my current job, I volunteered to clean out the fridge every Friday.  We have four floors, with fridges on each one, so I just do one floor a week.  Easy.  I do this because I hate the following groups of people:

• People who bring their lunches in plastic grocery bags, then leave the bags in the fridge with one or two items in each bag.  Old bags get shoved into the back of the fridge by new bags, and soon there has built up along the back wall a sort of solid piece of refrigerator jetsam.  Terrible.
  
• People who can't be bothered to make a sandwich before they come to work, so instead they choose to bring a loaf of bread, a jar of mayonnaise, a bottle of mustard, a container of lunchmeat, a jar of pickles, and a small kitten (to keep them company while they assemble their sandwich).  Said sandwich materials take up about a quarter of the refrigerator volume.  Terrible.
  
• People who can't be bothered to throw a collection of single-serving items into a bag each day, so they simply bring a week's worth of single-serving items to work and store them in the fridge.  5 yogurts, 10 frozen meals, a slither of individual string cheeses (have you ever tried to stack up individually-wrapped string cheese in a refrigerator door?  Now you know why it's called a slither)... these people are probably my least favorite, because this behavior is the most premeditated and carries the least regard for fellow human worker bees.  
  

Anyway, I started cleaning the fridge once a month simply so I'd have a place to put my (reusable, single day's worth of food) lunchbox every day.  I love the measures that people take to keep their stuff from being thrown away.  They'll put their name on the item, maybe the date, or even a "Please don't toss" note.  None of this matters to me.  The only reason I sometimes show mercy is because I get a pang of guilt throwing away perfectly good food in a time of global food shortages and economic woes.  

But I didn't come here to tell you about any of that.  I came here to show you the funniest thing I've ever seen during a refrigerator cleanout.

What you are looking at is a single slice of American cheese, onto which "Anna" has scrawled her name in ballpoint pen.  Anna, I'd like to ask you something.  What are you saving that cheese for?  Do you really mean to tell me that you needed to save this cheese so much that you were willing to find a pen, walk into the kitchen, open the fridge, take out your cheese, and write your name on it?  JUST EAT THE CHEESE.