Durango

Double-el has an eye for the surreal.


She got the chance to focus it at an extraordinary thrift store in the corner of the little shopping center north of the Budget Inn.

With Jimi Hendrix and Elvis Costello.

Her fascination with the culture's ability to convince women they need to look a certain way prompted us, decades ago, to do a show (at my gallery) called Poodlemania. Poodles, womens' canine equivalent, require coiffuring. And pussy, or even better, pussyass, really needs sparkling-blue eyes. All this from the masters-of-pedophilia; with downcast eyes she's ever-ready to do his bidding.

Then there was this Radiant Cat.

Bought & Paid for by the Durango Herald.

You're ready for ennything iffn you gots yer meat an' yer paintbrush.

A cute video for you gun enthusiasts...(WARNING - Writer & Director is a Double-el)

https://youtu.be/4T41M7cCqsU










Acerbic kulchur-critic. Have you ever SEEn anyone so smug?!!!

At Jean Pierre's (Double-el)

And after months of hunting, I found my five-dollar hat at the Humane Society Thrift across from Walmart. (Note gusseted pantleg.)

Photographer Jake Quinones is a contributing editor to Overland Journal. He took the photo below on Sept 15, 2014. I was camped on the Taos Steppe when Jake came by scouting destinations for his tour company, New Mexico Backroads.  Although barely 9:00 in the morning, when Jake proffered a Santa Fe Brewery stout, I set my spliffoes (the poochy part from whence cats' whiskers protrude) and proceeded. It served as the blog banner for several years. (Mentioned by Mark Johnson in Comments.)

I still had Eggbert, my 1999 Chevy (Suzuki) Metro hatchback.

10-Minute Play Festival - Durango

The Durango Arts Center is on the SW corner of E 8th & E 3rd
at: 802 E 2nd Ave, Durango, CO 81301

There is a nice gallery with work by local artists. The gallery owner has a good eye and all the work is unique and interesting. http://durangoarts.org/



About the Ten-Minute Festival
They do an international call to playwrights for short pieces. A 20-person review committee chooses 100 or so which are winnowed down by a dozen or so writers, drama professors, directors and people with backgrounds in live performance.

Performances/rehearsals are held through June & July and are open and free to the public. From the free performances, 6 are chosen for The Festival. (Another cool thing is that from the summer presentations a grand prize winner is awarded $500.00 and another award for $100.00 is given for a script (I think).)

Festival tickets are $12.00 per person. The actors are from diverse backgrounds, some with Broadway (New York) experience; some who were in their high-school drama class and now, after retiring, are looking to return to the stage. All were excellent!!

The pieces were diverse, but the overall "feel" revolved around intimacy and inter-personal interaction. If you're in Durango next summer, I highly commend.

But the incredible experience that made the whole thing was the two people sitting next to me. When we arrived the only remaining seats were in the front row at the base of the stage. In the seat next to me, the guy had gotten the role of the conductor in the upcoming presentation of The Polar Express. The woman behind him, a friend, was conniving to compete with him; she had no stage experience but has lived a dramatic life and felt she'd be a natural.

When we arrived she was saving the seat for The Conductor. I put our coats down and when she leaned forward to let me know the one next to mine was "saved" I asked if she'd keep an eye on our stuff while I went for libations. She agreed and I went off to fetch the wine and beer. Upon returning I thanked her and asked what her fee was. She jokingly replied, "Popcorn." Before she could say more, I turned and hurried back to the concession stand where I got a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of water. After handing them to her I reached down to pick up my coat before sitting down and saw the beer lying on its side.

You would no doubt have gasped in awe at the speed with which my martially-arted reflexes brought up the bottle. Simultaneously, I was astonished to see the cup, wedged between the two chairs, half full of beer. They, the cup & bottle, serendipitously positioned themselves so when the bottle tipped over it poured into the cup. I couldn't believe it and spent the next 43 seconds feeling the chair and checking the floor to confirm that not a drop had escaped!

And that, my friends, is what keeps me going....Numinosity, I call it.


Epilogue:

The Chairs Guardian characterized herself as a WOW - Wise Old Woman. When I asked her the meaning of life she said: Don't worry about it. Just have a good time.

So there yuh go folks.

(But next time I think I'll put the beer someplace safer.)

Flat Tire

Not Fat Tire (Fat tire is a popular beer), but the one that sounds like Trixie greeting the Smirket Girls (see below). Perhaps I've mentioned, smirket is Michelle's childhood word for a black cat. 

Dana and Fox (in the box) after having been "greeted" by Trixie with a long, wet Snaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!

It turned out the road I was gonna camp on last night soon deadended at a ranch. It was dusk and too late to find somewhere else so I headed back up the road to where I'd camped the prev night. THIS time though I saw the sign that designated the beginning of the dispersed camping...6 miles sooner than I'd driven the night before. It all stems from the ambiguous wording that reads "NO CAMPING FOR NEXT 8 MILES (7 miles past Animas Overlook)." It's 7 miles to Animas Overlook and the dispersed camping sign -- which I missed seeing the prev night -- is a mile further. I interpreted the sign to mean you had to go 7 miles BEYOND Animas Overlook.

Then it happened. I looked about expecting to see Trixie hovering in the night sky, but as the right front of the car dipped down I realized what had happened. I came to a stop right at Animas Overlook. And even in the darkeling gloam my headlights picked out the well-placed blazingly yellow NO CAMPING HERE sign.

Bonsai, a.k.a. Trixie, having a cuteness seizure

I whupped out the jack and other tools, put down a tarp and in less than ten minutes someone stopped to see if I needed help. I complained that my therapist wasn't answering my calls but I seemed to be coping pretty well. I thanked them and sent them on their way, changed the tire, saw the sign about dispersed camping and found a nice place.

This morning I went to the tire shop my intuition had spotted yesterday afternoon. A lady who's lived in Durango for 25 years said it's the best. She had recently bought some Nokian tires, the ones made by the Finland company that: "operates the only permanent winter tyre testing facility in the world (Wiki)." She had, over the years, been to three other places, but come back to JP's. The guy said the sharp-pointed shale cuts like a knife. Even more so I'd say looking at the irreparable, inch-long gash in the sidewall. $92.00 later -- mounted, balanced, and old one "disposed" of...out-the-door, as it's known -- and I was on my way.

On my way up to last night's campspot, before the flat (BTF), I stopped at Junction Creek Campground to see if there might be a quiet spot. While perusing the map for potential sites the C.G. host and her sidekick came rolling up in their golf cart. Beaming like a mule eatin' sweet taters, she asked if I was lookin' for a campsite. I said yeah, but I didn't like people, especially children, or dogs, or radios and slamming car doors. Undaunted, she confabbed with her partner over which sites were available and might be appropriate. Then, with ebullient enthusiasm, we went off tuh see 'em. 

The first site was directly across from her 5th-wheel where I could, she said, if I wanted, charge my laptop (both batteries were down). The next, for $2.50 more, had electric...I could charge to my heart's content. There were several others, but the one that sounded the best, which she thought was available, was taken. I told her I liked the one across from her and we headed back.

By the time we pulled up to her place (it's a BIG C.G.) I'd had time to think...and realized I couldn't do it; too many children, dogs, radios, generators, people....suburb in the pines.

I gave 'em $5.00 for their patience (she said they'd put it toward their beer fund), my card, bid them goodnight and trundled off to have a flat and find the best tire store in Durango.

It's all good.

Tricky Ricky Rocks

It's rare, in this age of gray t-shirts and khaki shorts, to meet anyone whose sheer exuberance...

After poring over the maps I settled on Junction Creek Rd. A little before Junction Cr Campground (god preserve me) the decision loomed...Forest Road 204 or 205. 204 said NO CAMPING FOR NEXT EIGHT MILES (7 miles past Animas Overlook). It HAD to be good. 

Six miles past Animas Overlook I encountered Rick. He was working on his trailer and, having just finished oiling the wood and tightening the screws in the board ends, was about to lay some carpet to further protect it. Retired from computer programming, he'd bought the Bounder six months earlier; the trailer was new too.

Too steep to Hike

This was a wide spot, hardly more than the length of the Bounder. I was curious about how he'd managed to get facing downhill. "It was a six-point turn", he said...meaning it took six attempts. He described how, at one point, he was trying to go back but nothing was happening. When he got out to see if maybe there was a rock he discovered he was up against the mountain.

The dropoff is like the upside, almost straight. He stamped his foot to show how he'd checked the edge for firmness before pulling up to it, but admitted he wasn't totally convinced; the fact that it'd hold him didn't guarantee the motorhome.

Flaunting its patina and pumping its forearm - Mercedes rules, maaaaaaan!

There was some annoyance with the Forest Service. They'd said the road was accessible to all; that there were trails where he could ride his (motor)bike, and there was dispersed camping. Well, there *was* dispersed camping, but the boulder at the 6.8 mark was a formidable impediment, even for Rick. As for trails, you couldn't hike on these hills, let alone ride a bike.

As I turned to go he said his wife had finally told him, after 30 years and some children, she'd never loved him. But, he added, he'd reached the point of being able to say it out loud so he knew he was getting over it.

I'm still wondering how he got the trailer turned around.