A Soft Shining Growing Light...

A zen garden tucked into an urban oasis; in the desolate plains between the traffic-packed grey silhouette of I-70, and the quiet bustle of downtown Denver; a few hundred yards from both an abandoned taxi hub turned neon-conceptual-property-development, and the lonely, rusty midwestern railroad tracks that once transferred bums and poets alike across the country.  

The garden belongs to one of my favorite restaurants in the city, and my girlfriend and I were attending a charity event there on a cool summer evening last week, coincidentally annoyed with one another, as couples in love often can be. 

The event was benefiting a new urban farming initiative here in Denver, one that harvests fruits and vegetables from the front lawns of well-to-do residents who care enough to plant food-bearing plants on their property for looks, but not enough to use them for their actual purpose in life. The nonprofit group then shares their uncultivated crop with those in need of food rather than decor.

We spent most of our time meandering in the garden though; a peaceful reflective time. And we acquiesced to make up under the subtle glow from its Buddha nature.

The Queen of Five Points Jazz Festival...

I was hanging out at the Five Points Jazz Festival on a windy, overcast spring afternoon, slightly disappointed in the lack of food...

In previous years, the festival saw a plethora of authentic street food courtesy of local businesses and families, and it was the perfect accompaniment to the good tunes. Sadly, there was but one lonely bbq stand this year, punctuated by a long line of people, and it didn't look that great.

I settled down on the curb nearest the main stage on an empty stomach and listened to a very talented older woman sing and skat through the standards, putting on quite a show. The breeze had died down in the waning afternoon, the weather became pleasant, and in between songs the people passed my path and my attention. Its one of the best festivals I've been to and while the food was certainly one of the reason why (and sorely missed), the people make it what it is. One can get a true glimpse of Denver in Five Points from its residents, the old Western-bound spirit runs though its streets and through their veins.

Once the main stage set was over, I got up and began the short walk home for a bite to eat and a beer (something the Five Points Jazz Fest has always severely lacked). On my way, I noticed a makeshift sidewalk sign in front of a small chapel facing Welton Street. It was handwritten, and read Jam Session in Here.

The invitation was too enticing to pass up, so I went in and grabbed a seat amongst a crowd of about fifteen others, all of whom gave me the impression that they frequented the spot regularly on Sunday mornings. I smelt good food cooking in the back, and was relieved to know that people were still eating well at Jazz Fest, even though I knew it would be rude of me to ask for some.

The aforementioned jam session consisted of four old dudes: an old hippie on drums, an old pro on stand up bass, an old soul on congo drums (who I recognized from a drum circle I watched not that long ago. I wonder if they were practicing for the fest...), and a very old, broad shouldered general pounding old school tunes into an antique piano. They were playing my kind of jazz, 50's and 60's kind of stuff, and playing it raw and gritty, the way it should be in my opinion.

After a few sweaty songs, I happened to look away from the music towards the doorway and was pleasantly surprised to see a beautiful young woman's silhouette standing in it, her feminine curves bold against the setting sun behind her. She came in and smiled and I saw how truly beautiful she was. Her hair was done up in a big carefree afro that moved half a second after she did, giving her movements a slow-motion-like feel as she greeted everyone there but me. Her body was that of a dancer's, strong and womanly, and her kind smile lit up the room. She was sexy, she embodied American sexuality, and everyone was affected by it.

Despite the commotion she created, the Old General never looked away from his piano. But she had made her presence known to him in some other way, and he acknowledged it by calling out the next piece, a lively Latin jazz number. The beautiful young girl immediately stopped what she was doing and focused on the beat. She began to shake her shoulders to it, and the crowd started to cheer her on. She laughed and became shy, but with more and more encouragement from congregation, she gave in and kicked off her shoes and joined the band.

Before doing anything else though, she went up to each player and gave them a deep bow to the floor, all the while the samba beat droned on in anticipation. Her respects paid, she made way to center stage and let herself go, completely offering up her beautiful body to the mercy of the music and its players.

What followed was one of the most inspired improvised acts I've ever witnessed. She was a professional dancer, of this there was quickly no doubt, but her choices of movement, her reactions to the music and the crowd (which was, by this point, going nuts) was nothing short of a miracle. She frantically infused ballet, hip hop, latin, tribal; anything that seemingly came to her mind was effortlessly and expertly displayed through her body. Her energy radiated and It took my breath away, and in that brief moment, I fell in love with her. I wanted to anoint her the Queen of Five Points and shower her with all of life's riches.

The song came to a long and drawn out end though, and when the music finally stopped, amidst the still loud and boisterous cheering from the small crowd of which I was a part of, the Queen broke down in tears and left the small chapel emotionally and spiritually spent. She had given herself to us out of duty and now, she needed to rest.

I got up, and followed her on to the street, my heart still aching, and tapped her shoulder, not really knowing what to say. She turned to me with a welcoming smile that by then I had come to expect, tears still in hers eyes.

"That was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." I managed to say, but it didn't even come close to what I was feeling.

She wiped away her tears and smiled, even larger than before which I didn't think possible, and we embraced.

I held her tightly as she gently sobbed against my chest. Once she stopped crying, we looked into each other's eyes and said farewell. She knew and I knew that I had been knighted by her majesty that evening, and that I had to leave her, so I could go out into the world and fight for her.

Drum Circles on Welton St.

I've noticed lately, on warmer weekend afternoons in Five Points, some pick up drum circles on Welton St. and it brings a smile to my face every time I hear them. The other day, on my way to the store to pick up a jar of sweet relish (I like it in my tuna salad these days), I heard what must have been two or three groups playing, the effect of which was beautiful to me. The sound of so many drums resonated throughout the whole block in all directions, echoing and turning in on itself, creating new rhythms and time signatures literally out of thin air. It had a bass-like drone that I could almost feel and it created a wonderful soundtrack to the neighborhood.

Halfway walking in the direction of the store and halfway following the sounds, I came across one of the groups, tucked away in a small open garage and for a brief moment stood and watched. They were three older gentlemen, one playing three high pitched drums, one playing four slightly deeper drums and one holding, but not playing a single bass drum. I assumed the latter was the leader since he wore a whistle and an old school jumpsuit, the other two being dressed much more casually. And once the leader, who was clearly the oldest of the old group, noticed my presence, he banged his drum twice, signaling the other two into frantic solos.

While they impressively showed off their skills, the leader, his movements slow with age and deliberate with experience, pulled out his tuning tool and tweaked his instrument, chiming in every once in a measure with a tap or two. Then, suddenly with one loud bang he signaled the end of the performance; and the group was visibly pleased with the session, as was I.

I hope to see them again, and maybe then I'll ask to join in (I'm no pro, but I can keep up), or maybe I'll just bring a sixer to share with them and sit and listen. Either way, I definitely appreciate some tunes on Welton St., one of the hippest places in the country to hear jazz back in the day, it is sadly silent these days...safe for a few drum circles on a sunny afternoon.

Moderation in all but Moderation...

Eating a moderate amount of good food, drinking a moderate amount of good drink and walking moderate distances in the meantime is an affordable and agreeable lifestyle if done on a regular basis.

A Hung Over Thought...

"No one has ever been able to explain why the Doric Temple of Paestum is more beautiful than a glass of cold beer except by bringing in considerations that have nothing to do with beauty." W. Somerset Maugham

I stayed up very late last night drinking very strong beers and awoke this morning somewhat hung over. I regret nothing however, I find that good beer is beautiful and very much worth the trouble.

On the Light Rail with His Holiness The Dalai Lama.

"I think that there has been a change in my attitude towards myself and others. Although it's difficult to point to the precise cause of this change, I think that it has been influenced by a realization, not full realization, but a certain feeling or sense of the underlying fundamental nature of reality, and also through contemplating subjects such as impermanence, our suffering nature, and the value of compassion and altruism." H.H. the Dalai Lama The Art of Happiness 


I haven't thought about this quote or its author in a very long a time, too long in fact. It popped in my mind today, while riding on the light rail, on my way to meet my girlfriend at the eyeglasses store to help her pick out a new pair. My errand was a coincidence though, I had planned to take the light rail somewhere today and it worked out perfectly that she needed a second opinion; I've always enjoyed watching her shop. 

Truth be told, I've been a bit annoyed by other people lately, which bothers me because I don't want to be, and my trip was an attempt to remedy this problem. I don't exactly know why, but riding the light rail is very therapeutic for me. People on the light rail seem perfectly innocent, I can't help but feel a closeness to them and subsequently, the thought of being annoyed by them seems absurd. It might have something to do with the direct purpose of the situation, that we are all traveling to essentially the same place, in the same direction. 

Whatever the reason, riding the light rail puts me in a good mood. Case in point, at 18th and California, I watched a very small older woman plop herself down, dramatically, right in the midst of a group of high school kids who were obviously trying to prevent just that. She was all bundled up for the cold, and happy and full of energy. She gave me the impression that she was on vacation and when she took off her beanie, revealing a hip cut of pretty gray hair, she looked young and lively. 

She shook her hair and, almost mockingly, looked at one of the boys straight in the eye and asked "Is this ok?" 

"Yeah" he said. 

She proceeded to settle in, once again dramatically, like she was acting in a play, every move was accentuated with certainty. The kids were slightly taken aback but were quick to adjust and they soon continued their affront to society.

Two stops later the old woman was engaged in a riveting and loud discussion on facial piercing with the whole group of them, most of whom had proof of their expertise and let her touch their set jewelry, which she did with an almost childlike awe. Two or three stops later, they had all left, the kids and the older woman, happy and giggling, content with their differences rather than annoyed by them...

Soul Satisfaction...

To eat and drink with grace, that is, with elegance and appreciation for form and with respect for function, is good for the soul; the inexplicable self in all of us, who happens to know the meaning of life, but stubbornly refuses to let us in on the secret, instead only hinting at it, when it has been given what only it knows and needs. 


This is my opinion as a self-proclaimed student of the Philosophies of Food and Drink.