Screenshot 4/27/2013 @ 6:03PM MDT
(Click on image to enlarge).
By Max R. Weller
Read the report in the online Daily Camera.
Boulder Shelter for the Homeless is now closed for the season, there was no emergency warming center operated by BOHO last night, and there are always a few of the worst-behaved transients who hang around Boulder into the summer. The suspect in this case is almost certainly one of ’em. Kudos to the young lady for doing the right thing to protect herself!
Sadly, however, some people just don’t get it. A Facebook friend of mine posted the link to an article about the city council in Eugene, OR considering a designated area for temporary homeless camping and she added this comment:
Yay, Eugene, Oregon! I’m going to contact them on Monday to see if we can learn anything that will help Boulder make a similar decision. If there aren’t homes, at least there should be a place to sleep out that isn’t illegal.
Of course, I responded:
I camp out legally all the time, and have for the past five years. Apparently, because I don’t wallow around in any so-called community of the worst-behaved transients, committing all sorts of petty offenses and giving the finger to society, my experience is discounted by those of you who work in the homeless shelter/services industry. There’s a better way for the chronically homeless to get along, I’m living it, and apologists/enablers don’t have a clue.
These irresponsible, self-styled advocates for the sociopathic bums from Denver and elsewhere want one thing: Boulder’s Central Park and other city parks turned over to their unwashed clientele on a 24/7 basis. Never mind if they prey on the vulnerable, like the CU coed who had a narrow escape . . .
By Max R. Weller
The Daily Camera’s restaurant critic was led astray by drunken online commentators, but she sets ’em straight in this review:
“Through the years it seems the Dark Horse has built quite the reputation for providing fabulous burgers, and somehow, though not by actually providing delicious burgers, they seem to have held on to that.
“In fact, though there might be a Dark Horse lynch mob waiting at my residence after this publishes, I’ll go so far as to say the burgers at the Dark Horse are atrocious. Even frozen patties from Costco are infinitely more flavorful and delicious than what’s between the buns at the Dark Horse.
“Had our unenthusiastic server (who must have worked the late shift the night before, because she had all the charm and personality of a toenail) mentioned that the $4.89 Burger Madness special included only a plain burger or a burger with cheese, I would have saved myself the extra $2.50 I had spent on the Swiss and Shrooms Burger.
“Call me crazy, but five wilted slices of slimy, past-their-prime sauteed mushrooms don’t seem like a premium additional upgrade, especially since I picked them off rather than risking a foodborne illness. After three bites of the dry beef patty, I discarded that, too. It just wasn’t worth finishing . . .”
Want a good burger? The McDonald’s double cheeseburger is it, and you can buy a sackful of these tasty delights for the cost of a single pretentious Boulder burger! McDonald’s fries, of course, are the gold standard for sides.
I won’t consider Boulder, CO to be truly worthy until there’s a McDonald’s right next to a Walmart Supercenter on the site of the current overrated and overpriced Pearl Street Mall, the hangout of stinky and obnoxious transients from Denver and elsewhere.
See the results here.
By Max R. Weller
Excerpt from Chapter CIII of “Seven Pillars of Wisdom” by T.E. Lawrence:
Lazily and mildly I helped the Camel Corps in their long watering at the forty-foot wells, and enjoyed the kindness of Buxton and his three hundred fellows. The valley seemed alive with them; and the Howeitat, who had never imagined there were so many English in the world, could not have their fill of staring. I was proud of my kind, for their dapper possession and the orderly busy-ness of their self-appointed labour. Beside them the Arabs looked strangers in Arabia; also Buxton’s talk was a joy, as he was understanding, well read and bold; though mostly he was engaged in preparing for the long forced march.
Accordingly I spent hours apart by myself, taking stock of where I stood, mentally, on this my thirtieth birthday. It came to me queerly how, four years ago, I had meant to be a general and knighted, when thirty. Such temporal dignities (if I survived the next four weeks) were now in my grasp–only that my sense of the falsity of the Arab position had cured me of crude ambition: while it left me my craving for good repute among men.
This craving made me profoundly suspect my truthfulness to myself. Only too good an actor could so impress his favourable opinion. Here were the Arabs believing me, Allenby and Clayton trusting me, my bodyguard dying for me: and I began to wonder if all established reputations were founded, like mine, on fraud.
The praise-wages of my acting had now to be accepted. Any protestation of the truth from me was called modesty, self depreciation; and charming–for men were always fond to believe a romantic tale. It irritated me, this silly confusion of shyness, which was conduct, with modesty, which was a point of view. I was not modest, but ashamed of my awkwardness, of my physical envelope, and of my solitary unlikeness which made me no companion, but an acquaintance, complete, angular, uncomfortable, as a crystal.
With men I had a sense always of being out of depth. This led to elaboration–the vice of amateurs tentative in their arts. As my war was overthought, because I was not a soldier, so my activity was overwrought, because I was not a man of action. They were intensely conscious efforts, with my detached self always eyeing the performance from the wings in criticism.
I’ve greatly enjoyed this lengthy account of the Arab Revolt against the Ottoman Empire during World War I, and am almost finished with it. A few of Lawrence of Arabia’s biographers have stated that his book is egocentric, but I disagree. The passage above reflects a man who is struggling with feeling out of place in the world, quite a different matter than thinking the world revolves around himself; I empathize with Lawrence.
British Army Photo: Paris Peace Conference, 1919
By Max R. Weller
See the article from the Times-Call. You think Ms. ibarra looks bad now? Wait until the other inmates give her a major beatdown for stealing their Little Debbie cakes and other treats from the Adams County Jail commissary. The jailers may have to put her in isolation for her own safety . . .