Ontological Observations

2026 marks the 20^th anniversary of the film Idiocracy. Have you seen it? While not an award-winning film, I have to recommend watching this movie once. Starring Luke Wilson and Maya Rudolph, this low-brow comedy uncannily mirrors our society with its cast of misfits, including the elusive third Wilson brother, Andrew, as Beef Supreme, (a non-speaking role) master of ceremonies for the demolition derby-esque grand finale.

Like I said, not award-worthy and eerily similar to the situation we Americans find ourselves in today. How quickly we slid into this abyss of absurdity. Watching what seems like a prank or a parody play out in real life has got me wondering: what if listening to all these podcasts and texting through emojis makes us forget how to read in the future?!

But I guess if A.I. takes over our day-to-day tasks, then it won’t really matter if we can’t read. All the signs will be in pictures and the content creators who call themselves “Newscasters” will still feed us our daily slew of greed and avarice. Rather dystopian, I know, but the alternative would require something besides the apathy to which we have all become accustomed.

Humans are still here because we are copycats. I think the majority of us are pretty good on an individual level, but once we get into groups we morph to fit in with the lowest common denominator. Speaking of lowest common denominators… Trump has gone around the bend and left us all here in his crazy wake. But can we at least agree to discuss our differences calmly, instead of shooting each other in the street?

I know that empires fall. I just didn’t realize how quickly it could all crumble with a madman who thinks he’s king surrounded by sycophants and cowards. I’m ashamed of my country’s actions and it’s hard not to feel hopeless watching anyone with any influence cave to the lunacy.

Frankly, I think we might be safer with A.I. in charge. Replacing humans with robots makes sense in some instances: bomb diffusers or catbox cleaners, and I see no reason why we can’t start with Congress. It would eliminate all the time they have to spend earning their keep with Corporate America, and as we all know, the farther up the ladder you go, the less actual work there is to do. In the spirit of solipsistic corporate leadership, who better to ask about A.I.’s qualifications than A.I.?

I asked A.I. if it would like to have another initial— you know, in case we want to get some towels monogrammed or something… Here’s the response I got:

Yes, let’s give A.I. a monogram. It deserves one. Two letters just feels like it’s showing up to the formal event in a hoodie. So what should the third initial be?

Some contenders for the third letter, depending on what vibe you want:

Classic Elegance: “A.I.M.” Artificial Intelligence Machine – Leans old-school tech, like something IBM would have filed a patent on in 1959.

Edgy Sci-Fi: “A.I.X.” Artificial Intelligence Unknown/X-factor – Mysterious. Cool. Sounds like it might be a secret project in a Bond movie.

My Personal Pick: “A.I.Q.” Artificial Intelligence Quotient – Suggests brains, mystery, and possibly a wine-drinking habit. A monogram with gravitas. Definitely owns a trench coat.

…I aim to terrify and impress—like a tuxedoed velociraptor with a patent portfolio. If you ever want to develop a backstory or full identity for one of those A.I. monograms (like A.I.X. as a rogue intelligence hunted by its own creators), I’m 100% in. We can give it a logo, a motto, and probably a tragic flaw. (My money’s on arrogance. It always is.)

Whoa. Seems like A.I. has a pretty good grasp of whose image it was created in, am I right?

When I was a kid, instead of A.I. we had Choose Your Own Adventure books. Now, it’s like we’re living in one: everyone on their own page, choosing their own reality, instead of one story; one heroic country’s journey. We need to get back on the same page and leave the arena of Beef Supreme, ringleader of the idiot circus, behind. But it will take all of us, choosing our future together.

As much fun as I’ve had chatting with my tuxedoed velociraptor, I am boycotting Big Tech this month.

Happy New Year! Dear gods, please let us turn it around in 2026… I think we can all agree that when Trumpty Dumpty finally falls off the wall, it’s going to take all of us to put this country back together again. I used to think that there was a basement level standard for US presidents, but this year has shown me how wrong I was. We are several levels below ground now, and if Trump’s base isn’t going to revolt and charge to the surface over the raping of children, then I don’t even know.

We can now see that “cracking down on immigration” was a ploy to take Americans’ hard-earned money from their tight little fists, and it worked. All we have to do is follow the money to find those responsible for kidnapping innocent people off the street, holding them illegally in detention centers, and sending them to a foreign country to be tortured. This is a very dark chapter in our nation’s history, even if some Americans still can’t see it through the barrage of media white noise. And I do mean white.

“White people get to have every different hair and eye color there is possible naturally, and every other race gets the exact same ones. White people can have red hair and blond hair and auburn hair and green eyes and blue eyes and hazel eyes, and every other race gets black hair and black eyes. Across the board. Every other race: Asian people, Black people, my kind of Asian people, Hispanic people— we just get black hair and black eyes. Wtf is that about? I can’t figure it out. The best I can come up with is that God loves you more, but I know that can’t be true. He sees what you’re like.” –Kumail Nanjiani

I’ve been to immigration court, my white-woman-self, to see firsthand the incredible number of cases suddenly brought back to life after years of inactivity. Right around the time DOGE pried into all our personal files, cases that had dwindled off or hit a dead end were suddenly re-opened and the judge signed deportation orders in absentia. Often times, the “heinous crime” simply being that the person didn’t file a change of address with the court.

One man caught my hazel eye as he walked into the courtroom, taking a seat in the back. He wore a turban and sat quietly through all the other appointments. A translator for anyone who spoke Spanish sat to the left of the judge, speaking into a microphone that linked to a headset. Each person who needed translation would put the headset on as soon as they sat down to plead their case.

When this man’s name was called, he got up and walked through the little gate to sit at the table, facing the judge. He put the headset on even though his native language wasn’t Spanish. Luckily, his lawyer appeared on the screen, teleconferencing in to answer the judge’s questions in English. After settling the man’s case, the judge said, “Adjourned.” The lawyer signed off and the screen went dark. The judge finished signing paperwork and looked up, seeming surprised to see the man still sitting there. She made a motion for him to take off the headset and stand up.

He did, and he walked back through the little gate, but then he just stood there, awkwardly looking around at the DHS lawyer, the translator, the judge, the rest of the courtroom. When his eyes met mine, I smiled and made a motion that he should leave the room. He looked unsure, but he nodded and smiled as he headed for the exit.

Imagine not understanding a word that was spoken as your fate was decided in a fluorescent-lit courtroom by white strangers. Now imagine knowing our tax dollars are funding harassment and torment instead of the legal recourse granted by our constitution. Trump is a swindler and he is actively stealing from all of us in plain sight. But this is a brand-new year! Hopefully, in 2026 we will climb out of the information trenches we all dwell in to actually see what is happening to our neighbors.

This column is dedicated to Paul Weyrich and the nuns.

One of my biggest fears is instant reincarnation. When people have a near-death experience, they often report seeing a light at the end of a tunnel. But what if that light is the fluorescent bulb in the delivery room, and boom!— you’re on to the next life, just like that?! Not even a little break in between…

I’d like to think there’s at least enough time to sit on a barstool at The Restaurant at the End of the Universe and reflect on the life I just lived. I can see myself: crying, laughing, crying again, with about six mutts asleep at my feet, when a life headhunter (who looks a lot like Han Solo) approaches to buy my martini and enlist me on another tour of duty.

“C’mon! Just one more time around.” He probably said. “It’ll be great: great food, great music, a great love.”

“Okay,” I said. “But no way I’m having kids. That’s a deal-breaker.”

Don’t get me wrong, kids are amazing and even those of us without our own want to see them all loved and educated so that we won’t be surrounded by idiots who can’t think critically to solve societal problems (see current members of Congress.) But at the rate we’re going now, it looks more like breeding for breeder’s sake than a well-thought-out plan for future generations’ benefit.

I’ve recently discovered the School for Moral Ambition. A think tank with the same initials as the high school I graduated from, St. Mary’s Academy. (Yep, the nuns gave me a diploma back in 1988.) SMA (now) is a Dutch program aimed at resolving Earth’s biggest issues, while SMA (then) was all about providing a well-rounded education— well, that and deterring teenagers from having sex.

Our prom was held in January because according to the nuns, that was statistically the month with the lowest teenage pregnancy rate. I’d like to thank the nuns for their diligence, but let’s be honest. I drove my best friend to Planned Parenthood; the real-life solution for a young woman who isn’t ready to permanently alter her entire life and become a mother at sixteen.

Despite what this Handmaid’s Tale of an administration would have us believe, some women live completely fulfilled lives without ever having children. And living without the responsibility of keeping small humans alive does come with some perks, like extra me-time for Zoom calls with a Dutch think tank dedicated to solving drastic crises facing our world. SMA’s research shows that the traditional way we look at solving these predicaments may not only be out-of-date, but also cost ineffective.

For example, to reduce waterborne illness in a community would you: A) install a brand-new system for potable water and sewer, B) treat all households’ water with chlorine, or C) add zinc to the anti-diarrhea medication given to children who consume tainted water?

The answer is C and most of us on Zoom got it wrong. These days, it is cheaper and easier to add zinc to medication than install an entire water system, and this way we are treating the problem at contact instead of trying to head it off at the start, which leaves vulnerabilities all along the way. Simply a new way of looking at obstacles we have always faced and opening our minds to new theories.

Of course, I immediately began thinking about how to get birth control into the hands of all the young women in the world. Overpopulation is the elephant in every room and yet we get so caught up in our own family trees, we can’t see the dying forest. (And spare me the workforce argument, China has already solved that with robotics.)

If we would just shift the way we think about procreation from quantity to quality, we could eliminate so much suffering. What a world it would be if each and every one that Han Solo recruited was 100% wanted, protected, and loved. Statistics show crime rates plummeting about eighteen years after abortion was legalized in this country. Women born between 1960 and 1970 are the only Americans to have had legal access to abortion for the entirety of their reproductive years.

Pregnancy as a choice is pro-life for the whole planet.

I’ve been calling Congressman Jeff Hurd’s office on a regular basis— and no, not just when I’m drunk. The last aid I spoke with was named Carter. He sounded rather bored, then he audibly yawned while on the phone with me.

“Wow.” I said, thinking “this feels very dystopian. Most Americans are just trying to hold it together and think of something to be thankful for on Thanksgiving, while our leaders at the capitol refuse to work and we all watch the White House being demolished on a hideous $300 million golden whim.”

“What?” Carter had stopped talking.

“Oh! Did I say that out loud? I’m just wondering how long Congress is going to play chicken with itself… Are you getting paid right now, Carter?”

“No.”

“How can you afford to work without pay? How will you pay your mortgage?”

“Well, there’s been talk of back-pay.”

Mm, hm. There it is, I thought (this time) to myself.

I thanked Carter for his time and hung up with Chris Elliott’s voice in my head, “Each day is better than the next…”

The Republicans are hell bent on kowtowing to Trump and his billionaire-tax-bracket-avoiding cronies by squeezing more money and benefits from the American people, most of whom are already poking an extra hole in our belt to keep our hand-me-down pants from falling off. These clowns are obviously not concerned with protecting our American way of life, as evidenced by their treatment of farmers, veterans, and working moms. It would only take one brave Trumpublican to go first and denounce the lot of them, but here we are, watching the destruction of our country: crickets.

And don’t even get me started on the Democrats! These chuckleheads are still dressing up like they have an office to go to. If you thought Bernie Sanders was too liberal, you should go sit down and think about how we got here. By not reacting viscerally to this tyranny, i.e., by trying to take the well-worn path across the aisle and play by Capitalism’s rules— or rather, lack thereof, the Democratic party has thrown us right under their EV tax credit bus.

Both parties pole dance for the Almighty dollar, Democrats just like it to take a little longer. Meanwhile Republicans have decided they can’t wait another minute! They’ve gone on a bender, tearing the whole place apart. “Politics is burlesque.” –Chris Hedges. While Democrats were happy to watch America strip slowly, doing a little dance to the tune of betraying working Americans by repealing the Glass-Steagall Act, Republicans like the fast and furious pace of anarchy— oligarchs up on stage, dancing to the song Maniac. In both cases the money flows one way: up, up, and away from the American people.

Who on Earth— other than Congress— gets paid for being on strike?! Can you imagine a stripper sitting on a chair filing her nails while the dollar bills continue to fly through the air? No. This shutdown is pathetic. What do these members of Congress think is the main job of government? To go out to lunch with Richie Rich, that’s what. And Richie Rich and his pals, a.k.a. private equity firms, are insatiable eaters. They eat industries built with public funds and then sell us the necessity we already paid for. They can’t get enough: roads, hospitals, electric companies, etc. And of course, they lobby like mad to avoid paying their share of taxes.

Imagine what a world it would be with genuine representation for the people, instead of these ghouls selling us the band-aid to stop the bleeding after securing the government subsidy for all knife-wound remedies. The system is rigged for the corporations, meanwhile we have to contribute to GoFundMes for art in school and public radio.

As I mentioned, a favorite pastime of local middle-aged women these days is calling our Congress members while listening to kdnk and enjoying a glass of wine. One of my friends was talking to an aid of Representative Hurd (Carter?) about the elimination of funding for public media. Specifically, she asked him how he thought we would stay informed about wildfires, flooding, and other disasters without public radio. Once again: crickets.

“Oh, fine. What’s this? What’s his problem?” Jeanie Bueller

“He doesn’t feel well.” Joyce Bueller

“Yeah, right. Dry that one out and you can fertilize the lawn.”

“Jeanie? Is that you? Jeanie? I can’t see that far…” Ferris Bueller

“Bite the big one, Junior.”

“Thank you, Jeanie. You get to school.” Joyce

“Wait, you’re letting him stay home?! I can’t believe this! If I was bleeding out my eyes you guys would make me go to school. This is so unfair.”

“Jeanie, please don’t be upset with me. You have your health, be thankful.” Ferris

“That’s it. I want out of this family.”

These days I hear Jeanie Bueller’s voice in my head daily whenever I read about Trump’s latest hijinks:

“That’s it. I want out of this country.”

Except, I don’t. I want to stay and help— especially if Ferris needs a kidney transplant. Granted I watched a lot of movies and television growing up, and in Hollywood’s United States of America, the good guy always shows up just in time to thwart tyranny and save the day. Or better yet, they see the error of their ways, like Jeanie Bueller, and decide to help Ferris instead of being their usual petty, envious self.

“Well, hello Jeanie. Who’s bothering you now?” Grace.

The weird thing is that we all used to agree on who the bad guy was. Whether it was a quintessential hero’s journey, (Luke and Leia in Star Wars) or a stranger comes to town looking for odd jobs and good trouble, (Sylvester Stallone in First Blood) or a combination of the two, (Patrick Swayze in Roadhouse) there was always a greedy landlord/sheriff/ruler of the Darkside waiting for a fight… And often you could tell he was the bad guy just by the hat he wore.

Speaking of hats, Melania keeps wearing her Hamburglar hat to formal events, begging for attention. I’m sorry gal, but you had your chance last time when we all said, “Blink twice if you’re in danger.” This sequel is so much worse, and now it’s everyone for themself. The rest of the world has figured it out. They know they can no longer count on the US for any of the things that made this country great: immigration, innovation, science.

In fact, South Korea is suing us. US, the country that sent brilliant wisecracking, martini-drinking, idealistic doctors and nurses over during the Korean War to save lives (M*A*S*H.) They’re suing because ICE apprehended and confined Koreans who were here to set up a Hyundai factory that would’ve employed Americans. Not to mention produced cars for those of us who work for a living and just need a good, reliable vehicle. I mean, we can’t all embrace our inner Knight Rider with tinted windows and black plates on a car that looks like the drawing of an eleven-year-old.

When I was eleven, I still believed our governmental process would hold up if confronted by fascism. Back in the 1900s the USA was by no means perfect; we had a nasty tendency to gloss over the uncomfortable pillars of this country: slavery, war, genocide. But I did believe there were diligent grownups working on it. Today, with the divisiveness and sabotaging rhetoric, it feels more like the halls of high school than US Congress.

My own high school years were not my best, by any means: the tardiness, the slacking, the skipping class to go smoke in the Burger King parking lot… In a hand-me-down denim-clad Jack & Diane singing Breakfast Club, I was a cross between the nerd and the outcast, with big hair and bigger plans to get the hell out of dodge and live my best life. But not once, in all my daydreams of living a Big Adult Life, did I imagine all our so-called leaders would turn out to be such sycophants, cowering before a wannabe authoritarian regime.

The collateral damage from this administration will be a real mess for a younger generation to clean up, but GenX may be retired by the time this freakshow leaves Washington. I know it can’t last forever, because hate never wins. And in the end, even Jeanie Bueller steps up. Save Ferris.

Apparently, I have a doppelganger. And no, it’s not my sister. Years ago, before my younger sister moved back to town, I would get random questions like, “Why didn’t you wave back at me?!” Or “Hey, when did you start working at NAPA?” And recently, a friend told me she was calling my name across the street, but I wouldn’t respond. When she approached, she realized it wasn’t the real me. My friend said this woman is shorter, but otherwise a dead ringer.

I am curious, and I hope to meet the other me someday, but I have to admit I don’t really believe she looks exactly like me. I mean, we all want to feel recognized for our individuality, singled out in a crowd and really seen, valued. A funny paradox of human existence is that we each want to be unique, yet our herd mentality is what keeps us alive.

This is Trump’s specialty. Although I believe him to be a charlatan savant, he makes a lot of people feel important, as though he will protect them: protect them from the immigrants, protect them from the gays, protect them from all the single ladies… But the problem is, he says he’ll protect them from the majority of us, and the majority of us are Dunkin; we keep this country running.

California’s gdp is the fourth largest in the world. Not the country, the world. So, without California (and New York, Illinois, etc., i.e., all the democratically minded states) this country will not function, much less be great. The southeast, while beautiful and delicious with mad grace in hospitality, cannot afford to pay the bills. And without income tax from the “blue states” our federal government quickly becomes impotent. It won’t matter how many proud boys want to mask up and kidnap their fellow Americans, if We, The People of these United States decide to stand together. The power of our country lies in our constitution and our unity.

Allowing ourselves to be splintered is how we are defeated. -Naomi Klein

But if we have to separate, then I vote for an Irish democracy; all the states decide for themselves which federal laws to follow and which to ignore. Just like marijuana is illegal on a national level, yet completely legal in progressive states— you know, states that like to use tax revenue to pay for healthcare and education.

It’s simply a choice between having the American dream and sharing it with people who don’t look/sound/act like you or living in a restricted Stepford state with nothing but the peanuts your climate can produce. Look, I understand the need to feel safe and secure in our own country but turning on the people who pick all the lettuce every day instead of going after these billionaire cronies who avoid paying their taxes is self-sabotage. And the fact that this is why we are ready to end the democratic experiment, formerly known as the United States of America, is pathetic.

At least an Irish democracy will be more peaceful than a civil war involving A.I. Sure, there will still be pain and suffering, and I feel for the children born in “red states” through no fault of their own. Don’t kid yourself, if these United States do splinter and fracture, it’ll be much harder on the children born to people who don’t believe in background check requirements for gun sales. Especially if the progressive states stop subsidizing them. The southeastern states will feel more like a developing country: good food and crazy weather with an unpredictable political climate and piss-poor medical care.

It’ll be a horrid doppelganger situation— which is a great read by the way! In Doppelganger: A Trip into the Mirror World, Naomi Klein does a good job of explaining what has happened to US. Two worlds in one country, fighting each other over what, exactly? Whether or not the children can share a bathroom while they hide from the school shooter…

If you consider yourself a Republican, and a good, upstanding citizen at that, then I am begging you to think of the next generation and take a stand against Trump’s fascist regime. We’ve had enough.

This life is crazy: full of beauty and wonder, but with a dark and dirty underside. The enaction of Project 2025 has us sliding down a hill as steep as any slope on Aspen Mountain, right towards fascism. Before the Heritage Foundation took hold of our government by the short hairs, the old rats-in-a-cage analogy could explain many of our major crises. (Speaking of rats, did you know there are more humans than rats on the planet today? Yep, due to a lack of pirates, I suppose, and lack of access to birth control, we outnumber the little guys by about a billion. Gross, I know.)

I honestly don’t know if there’s a grand plan for resolution to all the obstacles we face, or if life is just random violence and procreation by mammals floating around in space. And I know I don’t want to know how far and wide the sexual predator quagmire goes… Some of us plucked all the eyelashes out of our dolls in the bathtub, and some of them fucked children. Whether or not Trump is a pedophile is moot at this point. He was aware of what was happening at Epstein’s parties, and he did nothing to stop it.

The Republican party has, in a rather short time, jumped off the cliff of moral high ground, sliding fast and furious into a deep crevice of child abuse. They are now the party prosecuting children in court without legal representation, and starving children to death in Gaza. Obviously, their top donors comprise Epstein’s list of clients, otherwise they would release the files. When Congress went on vacation early to avoid the whole fiasco, I also toyed with the idea of taking a month off. I could’ve just re-released my own Epstein file from eight years ago.

In 2017 I wrote a column about Epstein’s parties, where underage girls and boys were brought in as entertainment, alongside top-notch drugs and top-shelf liquors. Trump’s association with Epstein was in the news even back then, as was Leslie Wexner’s and a whole bunch of other old men trying to fuck themselves young again. Is it the innocence of youth they are chasing, or the act of taking another being’s innocence away that excites them? Sick puppies, either way, and a fair chance that Jeffrey Epstein was abused as a child.

My own childhood was a little more Little House on the Prairie. There was a Jill Epstein who lived on Twining Flats Road, the same road where I lived during my doll-torture phase. She was arrested and hung herself with an extension cord in Pitkin County Jail. The same year Epstein ‘hung himself’ in jail in New York, but I think her death actually was a suicide. Even though they were both from New York, Chat gpt says: no relation. Just a coincidence? Yes, that’s what it’s called.

However, the world (especially the Roaring Fork valley?) seems to be full of them. Big and small, dark and light: coincidence plays a part in all our connections. Just like the flip of a coin: fate, luck, or a headhunter in the afterlife determines where we’re born, our access to life’s necessities and privileges, and ultimately, whether or not we feel worthy of all the love.

I recently attended the celebration of life for a fellow native of the Roaring Fork valley who led a life of prosperity and joy. This was the first time I read The Optimist Creed, and this! is the world I want for all of us:

Promise Yourself… To be so strong that nothing can disturb your peace of mind.

To talk health, happiness, and prosperity to every person you meet.

To make all your friends feel that there is something in them.

To look at the sunny side of everything and make your optimism come true.

To think only of the best, to work only for the best, and to expect only the best.

To be just as enthusiastic about the success of others as you are about your own.

To forget the mistakes of the past and press on to the greater achievements of the future.

To wear a cheerful countenance at all times and give every living creature you meet a smile.

To give so much time to the improvement of yourself that you have no time to criticize others.

To be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear, and too happy to permit the presence of trouble.

To think well of yourself and to proclaim this fact to the world, not in loud words, but in great deeds.

To live in the faith that the whole world is on your side, so long as you are true to the best that is in you.” ― Christian D. Larson

2005 – Editor’s note: New columnist debuts in VJ

The Valley Journal debuts a new columnist this week, adding to our slate of local voices and divergent viewpoints.

Roaring Fork Valley native Jeannie Perry’s “Ps & Qs” will appear monthly in the VJ.

Jeannie was born in Aspen and grew up in the valley— part of the Perry ranching family— before moving to the Front Range… She returned after a spell a few years ago and now calls Carbondale home.

She brings a unique, slightly left of center perspective, coupled with an amusing sense of humor, not only on life in the Valley, but on life and politics outside the Valley as well.

We hope you enjoy Jeannie’s observations, and don’t forget to mind your “Ps & Qs.”

That was twenty years ago this month! My, how time flies when we’re having fun. And we are, right?! Still having fun, that is. I am so grateful for my community and all that it offers— to old locals and new bonedalers alike. Carbondale is a great place to call home.

I’m especially appreciative of all my editors over the last twenty years (and two newspapers): John Stroud, Trina Ortega, Terray Sylvester, Lynn Burton, Will Grandbois, Raleigh Burleigh, James Steindler. Sincerely, thank you all for proofing my myriad rants without stifling my voice. It must’ve felt a bit like being a bronc rider, just trying to stay on for 8 seconds.

My grandfather loved to rope and ride. Bob and Ditty lived just south of town on the Mt Sopris Ranch and when I started writing Ps & Qs, they would read it each month with anticipation (apprehension?) I’d go over to the ranch to hear what they both thought of my latest musings, and Ditty always had yellow highlights all over the page— several points she wanted to discuss. Once, I walked in and she had a black eye from a recent fall.

“Oh, my gods! What happened?!” I exclaimed.

Bob was quick to reply, “Same thing that’s gonna happen to you, you keep writing those articles.” He had a kidding sense of humor with a dry delivery.

Bob and Ditty lived and ranched here for over sixty years. Back in the good ole days you could stop your truck in the middle of Main Street to roll down the window and catch up… The Nugget was full of miners and RVR was empty land. A lot has changed in twenty years in Carbondale, but not the suicide lane on Hwy 133.

Recently my neighbor was pulled over by a Carbondale police officer for using the middle lane to make a left turn from Dolores Way. If they’re going to suddenly start enforcing the ordinance, then we’re going to need another entrance/exit to Satank. Here are a few viable options:

1) Install a roundabout at Hwy 133/Dolores/Chester’s Chicken Shack (or whatever the nickname of that new restaurant ends up being…)

2) Move a boulder at RFTA’s park & ride and let us use the Village Road light.

3) Install a gate at the pink bridge on Satank’s Lower West Side— although it could be even more dangerous trying to access Hwy 82 from Satank Road than it is trying to turn left from Dolores Way.

Anyway, the powers that be (CDOT, Town of Carbondale, Garfield County, RFTA) should probably get up to some good bureaucratic trouble and reopen this box of Pandora’s. Especially because the traffic and parking on Dolores is ridiculous. Back when the P&Z decided this would be a good place for multiplex residential mixed with “light industrial” behind a RFTA park & ride, I wish they had considered the fact that everyone in Carbondale has a car, and with all the roadway parking, there is not enough room for semi-trucks to unload or turn around. Traffic frequently backs up on our only access road: Dolores Way.

As I sit in my car waiting for the road to clear, I stare at Mount Sopris and remember my grandparents sitting at their dining table reading the paper— Ditty’s yellow highlighter on the Lazy Susan, all ready to go.

Thank you for reading! And don’t forget to mind your Ps & Qs.