Just shy of it’s 150th anniversary, the Rocky Mountain News has published it’s final edition today. This is the paper I grew up with, and now it’s gone.

I delivered the Rocky as a kid for years. I remember the early mornings before school, opening the paper bundle, which was still a little warm on the inside from the printing press. I remember the distinct smell of the ink on the newsprint, and the smell of a freshly opened bag of rubber bands. The number of mornings I walked my route listening to my walkman and tossing papers to the doorstep of my loyal customers. I delivered the paper on Christmas Eve, during the height of the Blizzard of ‘82, trudging through more than 3 feet of snow to get the Rocky in the hands of it’s subscribers. Some defining moments happened while delivering the paper…

I earned myself an all-expense paid trip to Florida, visiting Epcot, Disney World, and I was able to see a space shuttle launch to boot - all from selling subscriptions back around 1984.

In 2002, I freelanced a few book reviews for the paper, which books editor Patti Thorn graciously published. My first one can be found here.

There’s a sense of loss now that the Rocky has gone - actually feeling more than just a little choked up about it. This is sad in so many ways beyond just the loss of over 200 journalism jobs and the passing of a Denver icon:

It’s a cry that things have already changed.

Now it will be a matter of which new pioneers will fill the gaps left behind by the passing of the paper. Traditional media is getting hammered by the current economic crisis, and many institutions are not so fortunate as to have the steely resolve to make it through. The death of the Rocky indicates the storm directly overhead. The storm is tattering many things beyond just the long-standing business institutions. Now it’s a matter of seeing what’s different come next light - after the storm has passed.

For a great video presentation on the closing of the Rocky, follow the link.

Good bye, old friend.

Have a happy Mardi Gras celebration, if you intend to enjoy one…. 

…so I’ll be taking the night off and enjoying a number of over-the-counter, and other folk remedies to shake this thing.

Note: Celestial Seasonings “True Blueberry” Tea  rocks: Take 2 tea bags + a generous squeeze from the honey bear + a splash of milk = a Purple Haze.

Yum.

I used to have horrible nightmares. I’m talking the kind that resulted in waking up screaming bloody murder. Several trips to childhood therapists and neurologists who hooked electrodes up to my scalp while I was asleep yielded what was probably a conclusion anyone who knew me could have drawn: This kid’s mind is just super-active. 

Fast forward 33 or so years and you have my daughter Gillian experiencing exactly the same thing: There have been a few occasions recently where I’ll be sleeping prior to coming in to do my shift and Little G will begin to moan in her sleep, ramping up quickly to a bona-fide nocturnal freak out complete with the underpinnings of what some might mistake for demonic possession. In the hazy daze of being rattled awake, I’ll go in to find my daughter in an extreme state of distress. Once she starts to come to and realize it’s daddy, she calms down enough to express that she’s had a nightmare. The regular theme of the nightmares as of late are what sound like hellhounds: Angry dogs with red eyes and lots of saliva dripping from exaggerated fangs. They’re only active at night, and apparently their nails make quite a racket on the tile floor in our kitchen. For the most part standard, garden-variety creatures from my childhood bad dreams, but it was those red eyes that troubled me.

 After dinner tonight, Gillian matter-of-factly informs me that she will - in fact - be having another nightmare this evening, and the dogs with the red eyes will be the protagonist of these dreams. Fortunately, in the dream she described for tonight, the dogs will simply be lapping up table scraps under our kitchen table (this scenario being a result of a recent attempt to downplay the intensity of the dreams these critters have been appearing in - turn them into hellpuppies, or something like that.) Then the wellspring of evidence percolates up into our interaction: She grabbed an action figure that at one time belonged to me. I somehow acquired Skeletor (remember Masters of the Universe?) on a band road trip to Arizona years back, and it ended up in her toys. As Gillian holds up Skeletor, she says that this “guy” is kinda scary, and it hit me: Skeletor’s red eyes are the fuel for the nightmares that include the hell hounds and their red eyes! Eureka! That had to be the ticket - it was in fact the proverbial smoking gun. I’d cracked the code, recovered the Maltese Falcon, so to speak. I mean, look - he’s got a kind of angry look about him don’t you think?

So, in a moment of parental intuition, I decided to “modify” Skeletor and make him a little bit more user-friendly for a four-year-old.  I went to the cupboard in the kitchen grabbed one marshmallow, went into my office, acquired a Sharpie pen, and got to work.

When I was done six seconds later, I’d  created a creature that should result in less frightening mental cinema: Enter Happy Head - Slayer of Nightmares.

I won’t know until tomorrow if my idea made things better, but for the moment, I’m going to pat myself on the back and consider it a job well done.

I am live. I have a forum within which to express my insights on virtually everything. This could be dangerous… I’m going to ponder the possibilities and begin scribing my thoughts within days, so check back often. In the meantime, have a Coke and a smile. Cheers!