Democrats here this week might want a clue about what the Gonzo meant.
You may have noticed our mountains. They’re not a screen saver. They’re real and wonderful, with some of the last great reminders that — no matter how many backstage passes you’ve snagged for Thursday’s rapture — we all are pretty small.
Colorado takes its Rockies as seriously as D.C. takes its roll calls. We petition on bike paths and goad our candidates to summit 14,000-foot “fourteeners.”
This doesn’t mean you need to climb every mountain. Mark Udall has that covered.
But at least know what’s at stake when big oil asks to scoop from our wilderness oil shale that pound for pound yields as much energy as a potato.
“We may not make it to the mountains each weekend, but we aspire to,” Project New West’s Jill Hanauer says about what it means to be a Coloradan. “We like to know that wilderness will be available to us and our children. … That keeps us choosing to live here.”
Closer to town, visitors might want some advice from locals.
“Relax. There’s no need to watch for cow patties,” says Democratic consultant Rick Ridder, a D.C. transplant.
Consider nixing your bolo ties. They’re embarrassingly Ben Nighthorse Campbell.
And don’t count on hailing a cab, even in downtown Denver. We don’t have that many.
This should console the Calvinist enviro-goons who will be monitoring your carbon footprint.
Democrats have the audacity to hope that in four days they can atone for decades of environmental fickleness by asking you to offset your air pollution and walk rather than ride at 5,280 feet in August.
Don’t worry, they’ll assure you, it’s a dry heat.
Freaked about the image of Democrats munching on corndogs, party proctors even drew up guidelines against fried foods that might wilt the image of the “greenest convention ever.” Now that’s change we can believe in.
Let’s be clear. No matter how softly you tread this week, Coloradans can’t be swift-boated into believing this powwow will save the planet.
So nosh on. Remember that Rocky Mountain oysters aren’t actually seafood. And feel fortunate our lawmakers finally repealed our red-state blue law banning booze on Sundays.
John Hickenlooper, Denver’s beer-brewing mayor, has spent a year begging for convention money and promising to put Denver on the map (as if Rand McNally had left us off all this time).
You’ll either be comforted or horrified to know that he has trained his police force to expect protesters to throw human excrement. That’s the same department Thompson called a “gang of vengeful, half-bright cowboys with a vicious reputation for brutality.”
The Hick reached rock bottom last month when a B-list lounge singer messed with the lyrics of “The Star Spangled Banner” during his State of the City ceremony.
So in a nod to our martyred mayor, please get the words right.
Please drop some dough, liberally.
And feel free to use the term “world-class” as often as possible.
“What a world-class (fill in “city” or “Vespa scooter”) you’ve got, Mr. Mayor,” would work nicely.
Or, should his police forget that free speech applies even a mile high: “I notice the world- class way that officer is using his billy stick on that protester.”
Susan Greene writes Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Reach her at 303-954-1989 or greene@denverpost.com.
