The real differences between Curtis Park and Washington Park

What great weather today! I rang the first sign of spring in with a bike ride over to Washington Park and back. Every time I choose to ride down Cherry Creek Path, and at Wash Park, on a spring day like this, I wonder what the heck I was thinking? Simply too much traffic on that narrow path, it is just bedlam sometimes. Groups of cyclists riding two-across pacelines on the bike path? Pure douchery. As are people walking three-across with absolutely no attention to other trail users. And don't get me started about the Jeep Wrangler I saw sitting in the middle of Cherry Creek near 13th today. Oh, the shenanigans! But during a couple of white-knuckled laps around Wash Park, I began to think about how it is like two different worlds when I ride from the 'hood to Wash Park and back. I often think that I can't wait until City Park and Curtis Park becomes more like Wash Park... but it won't be all puppy dogs and ice cream when that happens. There are plenty of things I hope don't make the move over to our parks as the neighborhood changes. So, here, in my mind, are the differences between Curtis Park and Washington Park.

1. At Curtis Park, you're frequently approached for money. At Wash Park, you're frequently approached to sign some petition that is so important the future of the free world depends on your signature. 
2. At Curtis Park, people are pulling aluminum cans out of dumpsters. At Wash Park, they're just putting them in.
3. At Curtis Park, people walk out in front of cars and bikes because they're high as a kite. At Wash Park, people walk out in front of cars and bikes because they are narcissistic and/or on a cell phone.
4. At Curtis Park, you risk getting taken out by an off-leash Chihuahua running free. At Wash Park, you risk getting taken out by a puggle on a poorly-managed retractable dog leash.
5. At Curtis Park, you see dogs where a desirable breed was accidentally crossed with a less desirable one. At Wash Park, you see dogs where a desirable breed was intentionally crossed with a less desirable one.
6. At Curtis Park, you can get some of Denver's best Mexican food at the Creamery. At Wash Park, you are approximately 10 miles by the crow flies from any respectable Mexican food.
7. At Curtis Park, people will consume anything they can get their hands on. At Wash Park, people will eat anything, as long as it is organic, free-range, cage-, gluten-, and high-fructose corn syrup-free, or is called "Fat Tire".
8. At Curtis Park, people smoke because the cops have more important issues to deal with. At Wash Park, people smoke because their wife won't allow them to smoke in their half-mill bungalow.
9. At Curtis Park, people sleep outside because they're homeless. At Wash Park, people sleep outside to protest Wall Street.
10. At Curtis Park, you deal with annoying lines of geese that act like they own the park. At Wash Park, you deal with annoying paceline of cyclists that act the same.
11. At Curtis Park, if the police show up, you know someone got shot or shanked. At Wash Park, if the police show up, you know a game of cornhole must have gone terribly wrong. 
12. At Curtis Park, if you see an ambulance, again you know someone got shot or shanked. At Wash Park, if you see an ambulance, you know someone overindulged on vodka and Red Bull.
13. At Curtis Park, the people are incredibly naive about government and politics because they don't know any better. At Wash Park, the people are incredibly naive about government and politics because they are entitled. 

Personally, I still hope our parks (Curtis AND City) continue to evolve and improve. However, I'm the first to admit that their destinies potentially carry some pitfalls. Don't believe me? Spend a sunny Sunday afternoon at Wash Park.
Thanks for reading.

Who is more dangerous: My dog, or your son?

It creases me that when I'm out walking my dog that people in the neighborhood often grab their little kids and hold them away from my dog, frowning, as if my dog is vicious and poised to attack their kid. I'm going to do the same thing with my dog the next time I pass some thuggish-looking kid on the sidewalk.

Daddy Bruce's Corner

Thank you JT for turning me on to this beautifully produced piece about Bruce Randolph.

Daddy Bruce's Corner from Indie Media: The New Journalism on Vimeo.

Daddy Bruce's BBQ on Bruce Randolph

So I found something interesting today. Finally growing tired of looking at all the gang tagging adorning what I've been told was "The Bruce Randolph House" at 1629 East Bruce Randolph, I hopped online to request the city come remove the graffiti. I did a google search for the address, and came across a photo gallery from the Denver Public Library showing the home in better days, circa 1980:

Looks not unlike many of the independently-owned places over on Welton, and definitely a place I would have tried for some good local eats.

This guy must have been something more than a purveyor of smoke meats, however, to have a street named after him. So I did a little more digging and found this site that describes the importance of Bruce Randolph in our neighborhood. Turns out he was quite the philanthroper, regularly providing free Thanksgiving and Christmas meals to needy families, often serving up to 200 people. Here is a shot of "Daddy Bruce" himself, again courtesy of the Denver Public Library:

That's when I got even more sad about the old Bruce Randolph house, and of Bruce Randolph Avenue in general. What a shame that his home ironically has become the biggest eyesore in our neighborhood, and the stalking ground of black and Hispanic gangbangers attempting to stake claim to the block. And that the street named after such a wonderful person is a corridor historically filled with violence, drugs, prostitutes, and more.

I have no doubt that the future of Daddy Bruce's street will be very bright. It's not a question of if the prime commercial real estate and apartment buildings on the corner of Bruce and Franklin will be flipped, it is a question of when.

But the future of Daddy Bruce's house looks more bleak. The house is likely in the state where anyone with their right mind would scrape it and do new construction. That would be sad, but an improvement over the eyesore the current building has become.

In fact, the sooner this property is sold and either fixed up or demolished, the better. The house right now looks like a page out of a book on Broken Windows. But more importantly it is a disgrace to who Bruce Randolph really was. Thanks for reading.

Still alive... barely, it feels like sometimes

Gosh, I haven't written anything in so long. In all reality that is likely a good thing, as my Mom always says, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." I've always tried to shoot it straight about the ups and downs of living in Cole, while injecting some humor, and it has been very satisfying that a good number of people have found it entertaining, or even occasionally useful as they evaluate a move to Cole, Whittier, Five Points, Curtis Park, or urban Denver in general.

It still amazes me when I get an email from someone that read one of my previous posts... back when I had a sense of humor... asking me to write some more. It's a small success but one I find quite gratifying.

So where the hell have I been? Working, honestly. I don't work from home anymore, which has been the healthiest thing that could happen to me. I know a lot of the same frustrating shit still happens on my block, but I'm just not around to see much of it anymore. Living and working from my home, especially early on when it was pretty sketch over here was more exhausting than I ever realized. It took me getting out of Dodge to realize it.

Only downside is that I don't get as much material to write about.

By the way I'm writing this post from a hotel in Philadelphia. I can't sleep because while I feel tired, my body still thinks it is MST which makes my 12AM really 10PM. I mention this because this likely won't be the most well-written post I've ever made.

It's ironic--Our block, and Cole in general is so much better now than it was back in 2005 when we bought our home, but I've come to realize that I've simply hit my breaking point, and my existence here is less about hope and looking to the future as it is of simple survival.

It is an absolute certainty that the economic downturn and housing crisis set the revitalization of Cole back significantly... I'd bet on the magnitude of five years. We have it pretty darned good on our block, but there are still two very cute houses on our block that fell into foreclosure and are looking for the right owners. They've been sitting vacant for over two years. Things would have happened so much faster around here without the recession. But oh well, could have been worse, we could have bought out in Green Valley Ranch and seen the value of our house drop by half, rather than pretty much stay the same as it has since we bought it.

I'm tired of waiting for Cole to change, but we're sticking it out. It's all we can do. Otherwise all the shit we've put up with and I've written about would be for nothing.

On that note, a couple on our block that bought soon after we did just moved away. They couldn't sell their house so they just rented it out. But they had hit their breaking point, more so than I. In fact, when they first moved here, they were involved with the neighborhood association, helped us plant street trees, and were optimistic about the potential of their investment. But over time they too got tired of the grind of living in the city and just ran out of patience.

Since we moved here, this makes three households (that we know of, in our circle of friends) that have come and gone after having less-than-palatable experiences in Cole. So to my critics--Suck it, I'm not the only one that doesn't see Kentucky Deluxe bottles, baby diapers and spicy Cheeto bags littering the street as the sign of a "vibrant" neighborhood I'm proud to call home.

Who is still on the block? Our friend's next door neighbors, who with a back yard full of trash and aluminum cans, music blaring, 8 people living in their 2 bedroom house, four cars monopolizing the on-street parking on our block, and a steady stream of checks from the state to sustain them, were a big reason why our friends finally moved out.

It is in fact downright amazing what is finally happening around here. We have a wonderful, locally-owned and operated neighborhood bar and grill in Jakes, the transportation hub on the near horizon (which will include reconfiguring the klugey roads on the north end of the neighborhood, and the passage over to another potential neighborhood gem, the Platte River, which is psychologically an eternity away from Cole given how difficult it is to get over there, by foot or by bike. We just learned of a European-style market coming nearby, and while it is a small thing, a new Dollar store in the Down-and-Out Supermarket building, which is the first corporate chain to show up in Cole since Burger King.

Anyone with more patience and tolerance than I would be making a wise decision to buy in Cole right now. They sure won't have to put up with the crap we did, nor wait as long for profound progress.

But we just moved here too effing early, and honestly, as a result, I don't know if I'll ever recover my faith and hope that Cole will one day be a safe, clean place where I'll want to reside, and perhaps raise a kid. At this point I know I'll be a homeowner here for some time, but I just might jump ship and just be a slum lord until I can get a couple of nice yuppies to rent our house.

I'm even more committed to stay after Saturday, when one of the gang-banger kids on our block (living in the house I mention above) randomly started yelling at me, calling me a "snitch" and telling me to "get off (his) block". This household has had numerous problems with numerous of the "new neighbors" including the couple that just bailed. But somehow, I've been branded as the guy that calls the cops, which in all reality is only about 10% accurate (and I've admitted to them when I was involved). I have absolutely no idea what he's yelling about now (in all reality, the last thing that I know happened was his sister calling the city suggesting that we left our recycling tote out in front of our house too long, hindering her family's ability to park their cars--Seriously). There are at least three new white households on our block in the last year, but of course, it must be me that "snitched". No matter the fact that I've been traveling and been away from home about 90% of the time for a year now, and likely wouldn't even know if he was selling WMD's to Iran out of his slammed Dodge Stratus.

But that entire household has had a huge chip on their shoulder since neighbors on the block started asking them to keep their two monstrous rotweillers from barking 24/7 and their baby's baby out of the street. Guess America isn't really the land of the free anymore.

This incident confirmed for me how short my fuse is anymore, as I let the little knucklehead pull me into a profanity-laden shouting match. Stay classy, CNM. I've been looking the other way for quite a while now, and ignoring when he says shit under his breath, but apparently have/had reached my breaking point. It's not good.

Probably a good time for me to ride off into the sunset too, before I get shanked or get a brick thrown through my front window, as a former neighbor experienced before we moved to the area (they were the reputed "snitches" at that time).

But I won't, I can't. I am committed to being here when he and his... um... OK I'll bite my tongue... family pack up and leave. I'll hopefully be home that day, sitting on my front porch with a Martini in my hand. That day, if and when it comes, I could be drinking Purina Dog-Chow-Infused-Vodka, and it'll still be the most satisfying cocktail I've ever had.

CNM