Girls Weekend In Denver

So you want to go to Denver? Excellent Choice.

My two friends and I had been on the hunt for a girls weekend excursion and while we were craving a beach getaway, the threat of Zika had me gently nudging them to places to the el norte. When we discovered that you can take a yoga class at the hipster mecca of Red Rocks Amphitheater for the low price of $12, we knew we had found our destination.

It was endlessly delightful to respond to the standard query of "what brought you to Denver?" with, "oh we came for a yoga class." Like, one class. Flying half way across the country for one hour of exercise. But it was totally worth it. I frickin' love Denver. I can't wait to go back.

What we did:

Yoga at Red Rocks - they have eight classes a summer and there is a very, very real chance I'll go again because it was an out of (white girl) body experience. An awesome flow, perfect weather, incredible music, free granola bars. If Heaven has yoga classes, they're all at Red Rocks.

(more) Yoga in the Civic Center Conservancy - if I was going to haul my yoga mat on an airplane, I wanted to make it worth my while. So I scoped out free yoga classes. Most cities have them (this is now my second free-yoga-while-traveling class, and I'm making it a habit) and it is a fun way to do something that isn't eating, walking, or napping.

The Flatirons (1 and 2) - we wanted a hike that was only going to take a morning but not make us feel like we hadn't accomplished anything. Flatirons was perfect. We ended up with a 30 minute detour (the trail marking is not great) and still made it up to the end of the trail within a few hours. There was some rock scrambling and it required a little Beyonce motivation, but we did it and it was totally worth it for the views, the sense of accomplishment, and the cheeseburgers we got at the end.

The Trading Post Trail at Red Rocks - after the yoga class we were not feeling particularly go-getter-y. This trail was perfect for some instagramable rocks and a leisurely "let's talk about our feelings" pace.

The first .3 miles of the Dino Ridge Trail - I demanded this because I love me some dinos. We parked right at the end of the road and took the 10 minute walk up, learned things, had a moment of awe over these being Actual Dinosaur Foot Prints, and walked back down. Skipped the crowd and the tours.

Improv at Voodoo Comedy - Improv and Podcast Superstar Mel Evans has relocated to the Denver area (much to the devastation of Chicago) and we saw her crush it so hard in some improv musical comedy.

What we ate and drank:

Lunch at Mountain Sun - If you're going to climb a flat iron, you deserve a cheese burger slathered in blue cheese. These were perfect. With delicious beers to boot.

Dinner at Work and Class/Working Class/Work and Release - (we could not ever actually remember the name of this restaurant) was exactly what these snobby-ass Chicago foodies wanted. Good cocktails, killer small plates, and no wait for a table. Everything was delicious but the mac and cheese, corn, and house salad were particularly scrumptious.

Ice Cream at Sweet Action - TWICE. No regrets.

Potions at Shine Restaurant - on the recommendation of a colleague we had some post-hiking potions. Good for an introspective giggle (do you need a restarter or a firestarter?) bad for being not particularly delicious. Though I'm sure they were good for our souls in a tetanus shot kind of way. 

Brunch at Rioja - This was the best possible last meal of the trip, but it also could have been the last meal of my life and I would have been okay. We picked it because of my companion's aversion to eggs (making brunch a challenge) - almost everything on their menu did not require a pair of sunny-side-ups to complete it which was perfect. The service was kind of garbage but you can redeem all manner of sins with free goat cheese biscuits and honey butter.

Where we stayed:

An absurd little Airbnb that stank to high heaven of the whacky tabacky (Welcome to Denver, I suppose). It was perfectly located next to a Whole Foods that provided the many, many kombucha varieties we needed for four days.

How we got around:

Frontier got us there. If you're 5'2", can pack light, and always have your own snacks, Frontier is not as bad as everyone says and was $150 cheaper than even Southwest. A tiny little Chevy Spark rental got us around. It was like a Harry Potter car, it fit into every parallel parking space we found and used like 6 ounces of gas the whole trip.

Other shout outs:

Golden Farmer's Market (and Izzybelle Chocolate Sauce), Union Station's new make-over, and Dirt Coffee.

All the words

Five years ago, this August, I pretended I was a photojournalist for 4 days. I won the right-place-right-time-right-parents lottery and got to "cover" the 2008 Democratic National Convention for a regional newspaper's blog.

Those four days were some of the most overwhelming, eye opening days of my entire life.

I cried, I barely slept, I fought and lied and sweet talked.

After those four days, I was ready to hang up this particular dream. Professional photographer had always sounded ideal but when I got down to the nitty-gritty, I realized I didn't have the patience, the stamina or the raw talent to do this day in and day out.

And if anything, it made me treasure amazing photojournalism more than ever. Not all amazing photojournalism wins Pulitzers (although, seriously? THIS). Some of it is never seen beyond the circulation of people who walk out to their driveways in the morning to pick up actual-physical-make-your-fingers-grey paper. That's fine.

Stories don't need to be widely circulated, or mass produced, or bought by AP to be well told, beautiful stories. They just need to keep existing.

Which is why this news from the Chicago Sun Times (which is actually from Gawker, because Chicago Sun Times won't cover their own story) breaks my heart and fills me with rage.

This will never work. They'll think its working but the adage about photos and thousands of words is absolutely true. Everything will be fake and shallow. Newspapers are going to die way faster if they continue to punch themselves in the face.

Seriously, what kind of dbag looks John H. White in the eye and say that he's been replaced by something teenages use to take dick pics?

4 Summers Later

Four summers ago, I was 23. And Barack Obama and all his friends, let me live out my wildest dreams.

I got to go to the Democratic National Convention and not just as a guest, but as a photographer - a career I had almost not even dared to dream about because it seemed so out of reach. It was one of the most exhausting, inspiring, eye-opening, amazing 4 days of my life.

Childishly, it let me, if just for a few days, believe in my dreams. I got to believe that I really could DO anything. And I realized that that was the theme of 2008 election for Barack Obama supporters. Hope. Change. Dreams.

Its been four years and I have been watching this year's DNC and I am flooded with both nostalgia - and a solid reality check.

This summer, the summer of 27 - has been much more bleak. I am not crushing hard on a boy I barely know. I am not enjoying the hedonistic life of a part time job and a city full of adventure. And I am most certainly not living out any dreams.

This is a summer of cold, hard reality. And watching this convention has made me realize that the election is mirroring that again this year. Its not about far-fetched dreams anymore. Its about keeping things real.

And if I have to live in this country for the next four years, I want Barack Obama's reality. The reality that will let my friends marry whomever the hell they want, that will maybe raise my taxes - but will raise everyone else's too, and the reality that will not only make health care accessible, but let me make all the decisions about my own body - no matter what.

I'm all grown up at 27 - I am willing to put my dreams aside because I know things are busted right now. But as I sit listening to these speeches - I am determined to live in the reality that the President has offered us. With any luck - we'll get back to the dreams soon.