My Day Downtown.

I love the city.

I knew this even before I lived in Denver, a realization gleaned from family vacations to Washington DC or Los Angeles. As such, when I finally began putting "180 S. Garrison St. Lakewood, CO 80226" as my address, I was elated. The feeling hasn't diminished.

I've always found it hard to place my finger on exactly what it is that captures my imagination in the busy, dirty metropolitan areas of America. After giving this much thought, I've decided to not worry about it. Do I really need to know why exactly I'm wired this way? After all, I've always found I don't like poems as much after I've been forced to dissect and analyze them.

That being said, I woke up this morning and decided something in the time between when I rolled out of bed and when I took the obligatory morning leak - I'm going to spend today downtown. I had been to the heart of the city two nights before for our Classy Date Night with the Boondocks girls* and I had realize during that time that I had neglected visiting the epicenter of Denver for some time.

After showering and drawing up a schedule for the day,** I gathered the necessary items:

-Longboard

-Lenin, Stalin, and Hitler - The Age of Social Catastrophe, by Robert Gellately

-The Next Christendom - The Coming of Global Christianity, by Philip Jenkins

-Wild Swans - Three Daughter of China by Jung Chang

-The Bible (New King James Version)

-Drumsticks

-Blue "Sherwin Williams"3-gallon bucket

-Brimmed hat

-iPod

-$2 Cash

-"Free 16oz Jamba Juice" smoothie coupon

-Notebook

-Pen

Having acquired all of these, I packed them into the backpack, hopped on my longboard, and left campus.

Belmar Shopping Center

I boarded from CCU to Belmar and encountered my first surprise of the day. The usual quiet, completely long-boardable streets of Belmar were crowded with people and tents, all smelling of pasta and grilled meat. There was a festival, "A Taste of Italy," going on. I waded through the crowd somewhat clumsily, holding my longboard in one hand and my bucket in the other until I arrived at my destination - the brightly colored storefront of Jamba Juice. I entered the store, immediately taking in the cool air and scent of fruits. Approaching the counter, I smiled at the barista*** and whipped out my free smoothie coupon.

"Hello!" I said

"Hi, what can we get for you?"

"Well, yesterday I had the White Gummy. What other secret ones do you have?"

"Uh," she looks over at her co-worker before continuing, "we have the Pink Star and the Strawberry Shortcake and... uhh..."

"Okay, I'll have the Pink Star," I reply, sliding her the coupon.

The Pink Star is okay. Not nearly as good at the White Gummy. As it were, I left the store sipping on the tangy drink. As soon as I cleared the masses of wanna-be Italians, I tossed down the longboard, leapt on, and headed down Wadsworth Boulevard to the nearest bus stop for the 16L route.

16L Bus

The 16 Limited route goes on westbound Colfax Avenue to Civic Center Station, downtown. I grew familiar with the 'Ol 16L (as we city-folk call it) earlier this year when I had to commute downtown daily for my job with Environment Colorado. I boarded at the Colfax and Wadsworth stop along with a cross-section of American citizens. There were two businessmen in clean, pressed suits and holding briefcases. There was a family of Mexicans, all laden with grocery bags. There was a white, amorous couple wearing clothes from The Gap. There was a group of four members of the ICP.**** And there was me, wearing my yellow "Clash of the Classes" t-shirt, Jake's old Etnies backpack, carrying a longboard and a blue 3-gallon bucket.

We rode down Colfax for about a half hour, stopping every block to exchange passengers. Everyone on the bus was subjected to the ICP hooligans' profanity-ridden conversation. A younger, attractive woman boarded the bus about fifteen minutes into the ride and, due to the scarcity of seats, was forced to stand near the group of miscreants. The group began talking about her, not bothering to lower their voices. After about five minutes of this degrading presentation of American culture (God bless the USA...) I stood up, walked to the back of the bus, and told the lady that my seat was open. She didn't say anything, just walked to the front and sat in the vacant chair. All four of the guys were looking at me as if I had just shouted, "I think you guys have the combined IQ of an old sneaker." Which was the desired effect. I smiled at them nodded, and asked cheerily, "how are you guys doing today?" They didn't answer, just glowered at me and, after a few seconds of silence, began commenting on my attire in the same challenging tone they used to discuss the young lady. I didn't mind... I was more or less used to it. One advantage of going through public high school.

The bus finally shuddered to a halt at Civic Center Station and I hopped off, tossed down my board, and weaved through traffic to the 16th Street Mall.

The 16th Street Mall

Hands down my favorite place to be, 16th street consists of fifteen or so city blocks of all pedestrian (and mall shuttle) traffic. There's always stuff going on, and tons of shops and restaurants line the street. Unfortunately, there is a strictly enforced "No Skateboards, Rollerblades, or Bikes" rule so I was obligated to pick up my board and walk. Fortunately, there are free mall shuttles that endlessly patrol the street, so I hopped on the nearest one and headed down to Larimer Square, and The Market.

The Market

This is where I spent most of my day. The Market is a local food vendor/coffee shop, deceitfully large given its minute front entrance. I found a nice table in the corner, right by the bread rack and the coffee beans shelf, whipped out my stack of books, and started reading.

It turned out be be an extremely productive four hours. I read all the required text for two of the three books I brought (and put a sizable dent in the third book,) reflected on a few Psalms, and enjoyed the sights, sounds, and smells of the bustling marketplace. I grew to love The Market. The workers were all extremely friendly, most with dreadlocks and tattoos. From the snippets of conversation I caught while taking frequent study breaks, I came across the feeling that they were about to get off work and go straight to a protest against the illegality of pot or the practices of Big Business. It reminded me once more of my job at the beginning of the summer, as my fellow canvassers exhibited the same air of upbeat activism.

After a I closed Lenin, Staling and Hitler - The Age of Social Catastrophe with a triumphant thud, I realized two things. One, I was famished - save for the Pink Star smoothie and the iced coffee I had bought during a reading break from the coffee shop, I hadn't ingested anything all day. Secondly, my legs felt like Jell-O due to a lack of activity. I remedied both of these at once by heading back to 16th Street and Chipotle.

Back on 16th Street

I went to the Chipotle at 16th and Wazee and quickly wolfed down a large burrito. I sat at the bar facing the window and watched with awe and wonder as the city moved and shifted. Mall shuttles came and went. An occasional police car rolled by ominously. A group of street canvassers for Greenpeace, clipboards in hand, walked by talking to various mall-goers. A daring young man zipped by on his fixed-gear bike, risking the large fine should he be caught riding on the mall. A man with liberty-spiked hair laughed and slapped the behind of the young woman walking beside him, much to her delight. A little boy ran by, giggling hysterically, as his mother chased him furiously down.

I love the city.

After I had ingested the entire burrito, I tossed away the trash and headed up the mall to scope out my favorite spots. The first was, predictably, occupied. You see, contrary to the everyday observer, busking (as it's called) requires quite a bit more than just 'banging on a bucket on the street corner.' First, you need to find a good bucket. My preferred one is the orange Home Depot multi-use bucket. They're by far the strongest and produce a variety of tones depending on where you hit them. The white buckets with the "Do not let your child reach into this" warning on the side are the worst; poor sound quality and unbelievably fragile. The one I had on me - the blue "Sherwin Williams" bucket - was decent. It was durable, but the playing surface was warped, making drum rolls hard to perform. In addition, the rim (which produces the highest-pitched tone) curled down if I hit it too hard.

Secondly, you have to find the right street corner. There are a few coveted ones - California & 16th and Larimer & 15th stand out. Some you avoid like the plague, such as 16th and Glenarm, where "loitering" is prohibited.

Lastly, you have to correspond your desired corner with other street performers. For example, the dreaded hand-drummers^ were on 16th and California, which ruled out my second choice of 16th and Stout. Two percussion routines in a row means bad business for both groups involved. You have to space yourself out in order to maximize the interest level and consequential propensity to give of your audience.

All the being said, I settled in on 16th Street between Curtis and Champa, right by the opening of an alleyway, and started up. I was there for one hour and walked away with $45 in cold hard un-taxable cash.^^

Satisfied with the day's events, I longboarded to the nearest Route 16 bus stop and headed back to campus. As the large, smelly bus pulled away from the curb, I looked over my shoulder at the shrinking Denver skyline.

I'll be back to see you soon!

Thanks for reading,

-Daniel K

P.S. I realize this blog had nothing to do with "CCU, UNR... faith, and intellectual fear." Sorry, but when you finally break through writer's block, you try not to be picky.

*I'm living in freshman housing, and as such I get to participate in these awesome activities. The Boondocks is the Ghetto's sister stairwell, so we took them out for a night on the town on Thursday.

**Yes, you heard me right. It took up a whole page of notebook paper and was entitled "Things to do while Downtown."

***I couldn't think of what else they'd be called... Smoothie-smiths?

****Shaved heads with pigtails, bright orange pants, Multiple lip piercings... the whole nine yards.

^There are four or five of these guys. They all bring a bongo or other hand-drum and play for HOURS on end. They're also kinda jerks.

^^I've considered dropping out of school and traveling America busking instead. What job right out of college pays $45 an hour?