Yesterday afternoon, I didn't actually get underway with my trip to Boulder until hours later. For a while, I was thinking I would just skip the library entirely, and go when it was time for the play. I just wasn't ready, and there was stuff I wanted to do online.

I emailed Ran Prieur, and informed him of my dumpster diving trip that was laregly inspired by stuff he wrote. (And yes, he has sent me a nice reply back. I'm thinking I'll most likely get around to responding to it sometime later today.)

I caught up on a bunch of yanthor.net content. I don't remember what else I did. Oh, I hooked up my printer, but I didn't actually print anything. I was lacking paper, and I didn't really need to print anyway.

Oh, oh, oh! And I installed the piece of free furniture I had obtained! It now occurs to me that my free furniture acquisition was probably taking place at close to the same time as somebody else's furniture grab.

Earlier, when I had been leaving my mom's apartment, I didn't even have to be looking out for dumpster goodies to see the discarded desks and shelves sitting on the ground next to the apartment complex's dumpster. I went over and examined them, and found a nice small minidesk, with a little compartment to store stuff on one side.

It's too low to sit at, but it turned out to be just the right size to fit next to where I'm sitting right now. The top of it arches over Rygel's case. The printer is on top of it. The little cupboard is right next to my chair, and I can lay other stuff on top.

It's actually also in pretty decent condition. The only wierd thing is that the back side consists of cardboard stapled on. That part is out of sight though, so it's really a non-issue.

Eventually, at around 15:00, I was getting restless enough that I decided I was ready to leave. The car was very hot, but rather than turn on the air conditioner when I got in, I rolled down my window. The breeze coming in felt great.

This went contrary to my conditioned behavior. When I was a child, I always used to want to roll down the car windows, especially when it was hot. My parents would rarely let me do so, because they said it would let out all the cool air from the air conditioner. Even when I was allowed to roll them down, the windows in the back seat would only come down halfway. I hated that.

But for some strange reason, as I became an adult, I started adopting the same behavior of my parents. Keep the car windows closed in summertime, turn on the air conditioner at full blast, and let it do its magic until the car cooled down a few minutes later.

Not today. Radio blaring, I let my arm hang out the window at the stoplight. The car was comfortable within 1 minute instead of 10. It doesn't have to take 10 minutes for the car to cool down.

I left the windows open, even as I jetted down 36. (This part may not have had a more adverse effect on my gas milage than the air conditioner, but I was having too much fun to worry about it.)

My first stop was not the library, but Tobias's old favorite car wash. Though there is now one that works just as well in a similar manner in Westminster, this was for old times sake. At 3rd and Canyon, it was past time for this to happen. Vacuum, spray, brush wash. Got rid of all the little crap on the carpet, the mud that was caked around the front fender, the layers of dirt dried on to the sides.

Much better. Next stop was the Boulder Public Library.

I went up to the counter, told the clerk that I had once had a library card at this place some years ago, but had misplaced it at some point, and wondered what it would take to get another one. She asked if I had an id with my current address?

I did have an id, but it did not have the address where I am currently staying. She said they would be able to issue me a temporary card today, which would last for 1 month. If I could bring in some kind of proof of my address -- a piece of mail that had been delivered there -- then the card would be converted into a permanent one.

I thanked her, took the temporary card, and wandered into the stacks of books.

I was disappointed that a library of this size would have such a limited selection of the works of Philip K. Dick. I could only find 2 of his novels on the shelves.

I pulled one of them out. Mary and the Giant. I read the first chapter, and decided I wanted to check it out.

Before leaving, I looked in the database, and discovered that this library did indeed have several other Philip K Dick books listed, but their status was checked out.

I took my book with me outside across the Boulder Creek. I thought about reading it outside, but then I just wanted to lie back and rest. I found a bench to sit on, and laid flat on top of it, listening to the sounds all around me. The people, the water, the cars.

I stared at the giant screensaver in the sky. It appeared to be running a highly advanced fractal-based particle animation algorithm, on a display with such high resolution that I had to wonder whether it was actually real.

On top of a mostly blue background, it featured clustered patterns of white pixels, drifting around and colliding to constantly form new and moving, ever evolving shapes. I was mesmerized. Then I let my eyes close, but I didn't sleep.

I thought back over the events of the past few years. I remembered that the one thing I had really hated most about being fired from eSoft was not even the loss of income, though that did hurt too. No, the thing that stung the most was that, with the exception of one person who kept in contact with me through outside channels, I completely lost touch with everyone I had known there.

The admonishment on my last day had been that I was to make absolutely no attempts to contact anyone working within the company. Don't email, don't phone, don't write. Not through anything owned by the company, at least. Though the email part probably would have been nearly unenforcable, at least without enacting draconian Big Brother style surveillance on their remaining employees, I decided to abide by it.

As Joss Whedon likes to teach us over and over again, actions have consequences. These were mine.

Then I thought forward to another place I where had been employeed. I jumped up off of the bench. I knew what my next stop would be. I had to go there.

Though my term at this one hadn't been nearly as long, and I hadn't really become good friends with anyone, there was no such adminishment barring me from going back to visit these people. In fact, every one of them, including the manager, had expressed sadness that I was leaving. I had said I would come back to visit them from time to time.

I thought about the months, realizing that it had been almost a year since I set foot in the place to retrieve my last paycheck. How time goes by. It was now time to keep my promise.

I drove down Arapahoe to King Soopers, and felt an eerie sense of deja vu as I parked in my usual preferred space, walked in, and looked around.

The place was running like it always did, with a big line of people waiting at the service desk, the open cash registers swamped, and hordes of mindless shoppers hurriedly making their way in and out.

Taking a right, I slowly made my way in the direction of the deli, but I didn't go all the way there. Not right away. I lurked around in the produce section, making myself invisible, and carefully checking out who was on duty.

The first entity I spotted was easy to identify. A man, probably in his late 50s or 60s, was working the counter. You might not guess it by looking, but his ideal vacation spot involves a flight to Thailand, a beach, and the rest can be left up to the imagination.

There was also a fairly attractive dark skinned female working behind the counter, but she was not familiar.

When I saw someone walking out from the back room, and realized who it was, my heart sank. I had to back away. Even though I was invisible, I didn't want to watch any longer. I hurriedly turned away, and made for the aisles.

This was the guy who had quit, and sworn he would never return. This was the one that was going to learn to live in the wild with a tribe in up in Montana. He had made some of his own clothes using animal skins. He was a hard worker, but he hated the deli. What was he doing back behind that counter?

I wandered aimlessly toward the northern end of the store. A person passing out samples distracted me from my thoughts, and asked if I would like some free mints. "They're sugar free."

I said sure, why not?

She handed me a handful of tiny little packets. I slowly walked on, examining one of them. I read the ingredients, and was somewhat mystified.

I turned around, back in her direction. This was going to have to be done delicately, but my curiosity was too great. I momentarily devised a simple way to get around the lame training that all employees in the place get on their first day.

I spoke again to the fairly short-statured, middle aged woman who was probably in her 40s. "Excuse me." I got her attention again.

Now I needed to do everything in my power to let her know, without explicitly saying so, that, (1) I'm not a mystery shopper spy, (2) No matter what she said, there was no way she was going to be ratted out.

"I'm sorry, I was just wondering something. You probably don't know this either, and I'm just idly curious. You said that these do not have any sugar. Do you know what the sweetener is instead?"

When she turned back to look at one of the packages, I had my answer. Welcome to the King Soopers school of customer service! She had been trained well. Instead of just giving a simple answer to a simple question, she had to go scrambling.

My question was not phrased as, "What is the sweetener?" Instead, I had said, "Do you know what the sweetener is?" I didn't even care if she knew. There was no reason she should. She had not been told. But the rule says that you never use the word "No" when dealing with a customer. Uggh.

She read over the package herself, and then I started to hear the closest thing to honesty I was going to get. "Oh, well doesn't it say?"

It was time to let her off the hook. "Don't worry about it. I'm not worried about it." I took one out and put it in my mouth. "And thanks a bunch for your help." I wasn't joking.

She shrugged, smiled, and said that maybe next time she would try to find out first. Not her fault.

For posterity's sake, and maybe so I can do a bit of research later, the ingredents listed are: "Sorbitol, Natural and Artificial Flavors, Magnesium Stearate, Acesulfame K, Sucralose, Lactic Acid, Calcium Lactate, Blue 2 Lake."

Possible candidates: Sorbitol. I'll have to find out what that is. Magnesium Stearate. ??? And "Sucralose" sounds like it's trying to be sugar.

Interesting little things to note are that Aspartame, was not listed, nor is its common branded name. Also, as readers of Fast Food Nation are already aware, under FDA rules, literally up to dozens of unknown compounds can be grouped into the "Natural and Artificial Flavors" veil. Lovely, ain't it?

Now I was ready to head back toward the deli. I returned to the produce section to lurk. I didn't want to walk up when it was busy. So I waited.

I found some apples, and put two of them in a produce bag. They were labeled as organic. I guess that's supposed to make me feel like they're safer to eat than other apples, and maybe they are. But really, how would I ever be able to tell the difference?

Things at the deli looked like they were about as quiet as they were going to be. There was one man ordering some sandwich meat from the case. I walked up to the counter and stood silently next to the prepared foods case.

Within moments, the old man turned around, and started with the standard, "Can I help you?" He had started speaking before he could even see my face.

I cracked a smile, and then he recgonized who I was. We chatted for a bit. He asked how I was, and what I was doing these days. I said I was now working at a tech startup in Denver called X13.

The would-be wilderness guy had started to pull the cart of trash out. S, got his attention, and said, "Do you remember B?"

When he saw who I was, his face lighted up in a smile, and he asked how it was going. More fill-in talk ensued. These were good people. I was glad I had come back.

S asked what I did at the new company, and I said I was a programmer.

"You know how to program? Well, I guess you were under-utilized here."

I hadn't revealed much of about myself at all most of the people I worked with while I was there. I guess maybe I was afraid, and didn't want them to think I thought I was better than them because I had been an exhaulted tech worker during the boom, fallen from grace. I see now that such fears were silly.

I replied, "This place was good for me at the time. For a while." I meant it.

He nodded in recognition. To punctuate the visit, I ordered a half pint of chicken grape salad. The chef makes it in the store, and I know the quality to be pretty good. Among the prepared-in-store items, it is one of the most popular.

I took my items to the front, and ran them through the self checkout. Manning the self-checkout area was the same man who often had done it when I worked there. I nodded on my way out. He smiled and said "thank you." I don't know whether he recognized me or not.

I went to my car, sat in the driver's seat, and began to eat my food. Now this was becoming reminiscent of my old lunch breaks. Eating in the car. Listening to the radio. To complete the experience, I tuned to NPR News and Information.

But this was not like it had been back then. I kicked off NPR, and found some listenable music on the FM dial. For one thing, I had never bought chicken grape salad before. The stuff was too damn expensive. The tiny little half pint container I had bought today had cost nearly $3.

I remember how hungry I was every time after I finished a shift. I mean fucking HUNGRY. There was no way I was going to be buying nice stuff like chicken grape salad, because to get enough to fill myself up, I would need to get much more of it or something else, and I couldn't bear the thought of spending an entire hour's wage just on lunch.

Instead, if it was after 1900 (as it often was when I worked the 3-midnight shift), I would load up on the half price discounted hotbar items. I'd make one of those meals, and I'd dish it up myself. (The rules said you had to have somebody else ring you up to pay for your food, but there was nothing about who could to dispense it.)

Since the $5 meals were discounted to $2.50 after 7, I could eat reasonably well on the cheap. Technically, they included 2 pieces of fried chicken and 2 entrees, but exactly how much of each entree goes in wasn't specified in the contract. Suffice it to that my styrofoam container would be filled to capacity every time. That way, I could also have some leftovers to snack on after work.

The week before I quit, they changed the rules. No more half price discounts after 7 o'clock. Everything could only be marked 1 dollar off the regular price, at most. That wasn't all. The regular price of the meals was then raised to $6, even as the chain began launching an advertising campaign about lower prices, better values.

Sometimes, 2 + 2 does equal 5.

Having finished my chicken grape salad, and one of my apples, I pulled out of the parking lot, and let the cool breeze coming in the window wash over my hair. It was now 18:15. 45 minutes until meeting time.

I drove west on Pearl Street. I wasn't really sure what I wanted to do with the rest of my time. There wasn't really enough to do much. Maybe I should just go over to Fairview early. I circled around to Broadway, and headed south.

As I passed the Pearl Street mall, I saw one place I wanted to go, and there would be enough time to do it.

I found a parking space at the top floor of a parking garage, and was lucky to have gotten it. It was a tight one. Must be a busy day on the mall today, the 1st of May.

I walked to the ground floor, and headed straight to my latest destination. At the corner of Pearl and Broadway, I crept down the stairs, and a little taste of heaven met me. I was euphoric.

The incense of the Lighthouse Bookstore entered my nostrils, and I just stood there, letting each moment wash past. My sensory perception sensitivity was still amped up to the max. This was the place to use it.

I looked around at a few of the many books on Buddhism, Shamanism, Paganism, Psychology, alternate realities, UFO's, auras, and other mystical topics. I would guestimate that a good 80% of them were probably bunk, written and sold in an effort cash in on the gullibility of the New Age movement. But there is some good stuff amongst it as well.

I flipped through a few of the books, that then remembered that today, I wasn't here to read, or to buy books. I was here to experience. I looked carefully at the statues that rested on the top shelves. Buddhas, Dragons, Goddesses, Egyption things, ancient sacred aanimals. They were exquisit.

I eyed the prices on some of them. Way out of my range right now. But for the first time, I could see the appeal of why somebody might pay so much to have a silly statue to decorate their home. They bring with them a sense of peace, wonder, or humility. And they are beautiful.

I sniffed some of the scented candles, and relished it. Since I have a deviated septum, usually at least one of nostrils is plugged up at any given time. But not today. They were both in full working mode.

I strolled around a couple more times, and decided that the moment was ready to end.

I bid the attendants at the front desk fairwell before walking up the stairs and out.

I returned to my car and headed for Fairview High School.

Since both parking lots had signs indicating they were reserved for specific groups, I parked at the edge of the street a block away.

I strolled over to the school, and regarded it. I had never been in this building.

Presently, Yoda pulled up and parked in the senior lot. Jaeger emerged, and greeted me.

He said the rest of his family would be arriving at 19:15. It was 19:00. I suggested that maybe he could give me the tour, since this was the first time I had ever set foot in this place.

He did so. I got to see the slanted diamond that was the student center. The center of the building where all the lockers were. We looked at the 2004 class picture, spotted Captain Logan and one of his friends next to him (who has also had roles in some film productions I have been involved with), and 2 black people out of however many hundred whites there were.

We walked around the diamond, and he pointed out the foreign language, math, science, biology, and other departments. We looked through the glass double doors at the school library, which appeared to be rather large.

Then we returned to the area outside the auditorium, and looked at pictures of the cast and crew while we waited for the rest of the Logan family to arrive.

(Chronologically, this rambling is continued here.)