zen and the art of transportation
As I was walking back from my morning jaunt to get get coffee this morning, it occurred to me I really really love public transportation. I like the whole communal thing, the convenience, the romance of it all. Perhaps it is a remnant of my time in the big city, but dare I say I kind of prefer it over most things when I am headed out for the evening. The other thing is, without a car, and with that option, well, I can disappear whenever I want, which is pretty often actually.
This is not to say I wouldn’t take a car, if say, you had one to give me. I would really really like one. But not for Denver, no. This place is entirely commutable during regular daylight hours. Well, all places I would go to right now are easy to get to via bus or light rail. Or bike…or by foot. I was using the gps on my phone last night to walk from one event for Denver’s first Friday art event to another one which was 2 miles away. As I was letting my phone guide the way, I realized I totally miss walking. I mean, yeah, I was getting up at the asscrack of dawn to go walk in Wash Park every single day, but I recognized that when your size 6 jeans are falling off your ass, you should maybe calm down on the activity all of the time. But in NY, we walk–we walk miles and miles every day because unless you are insane, you don’t have a car there (trust me, I had three living there)…
But if I did have a car here I would be gone, off to the mountains, hiding in a cabin near a lake somewhere, compulsively camping or leaving for new adventures. If only I were independently wealthy I could really go places. But I am a normal girl and that’s the way the cookie crumbles.
Yea, so I went to the First Friday Art Walk last night, hopeful and bedazzled in my little cherry dress, or rather my first Friday event here, and–man you art folks…need some help. I have heard that the art wasn’t really the point of it all, and that it largely was unimpressive, and dare I say that was the first artist’s tour I had been to where I definitely would not want anything. For free even. Granted I saw maybe 20% of it…but there was a lot of missing vision, and for the most part it seemed that people were going through the motions but nobody was excited about what they were doing, nobody was really passionate talking about their art. It was definite ho-hum affair. I think I might need to have an art show, I felt so inspired, but not the kind of inspired people usually get when seeing art, but in a “oh man, I’ll show you how to do it” kind of way. That’s also on the 6 month list, somehow, some way.
So I have been getting needles shoved in my ass, back, feet, hands arms face, whatever, for a while now. Aside from the cafe I go to every day, this is my only other splurge, my only other regular adventure. My acupuncturist is the best. I have lived without shoulder pain for going on 8 weeks now. When I went in to see him yesterday and he saw me he was like “how are you?”
“I am fussy, I hate everyone. I am not happy,” I said. This was after my Republican rant, and some other funny realizations I had yesterday. (Speaking of which, nah, I will hold off on that for now).
“I see that. You do seem a little off today,” he continued…making me wonder how he would know anything when I had said very little to him.
And he shoved needles into my face and hands, and I walked out a new lady.
So today I am going to see him again, to learn some things about the barefoot doctors program he has running on every Saturday in August. I am missing one session when I am going to NY, but I am going to be a regular fixture there at least for this month.
You should check this man out. The first question everyone asks me is “is he Chinese, or Asian even?”
No, he isn’t. But he has a very lengthy list of credentials you can view by reviewing his website here–if you have pain of any kind (emotional physical etc) you haven’t found any real relief from and you live here in Denver or the greater metro area, I highly recommend him. He is a magician. I have never ever been able to score this kind of long-lasting relief. Not from vicodin. Not by smoking copious amounts of marijuana, not by praying–nope.
Shove some needles in me and we are good to go. Everything else, not so much.
