Best new name for Colorado's high-tech hub

Mile High-Tech

In late June, the Metro Denver Network officially unveiled its pricey new slogan design to lure high-tech industries to the Front Range. But somehow, we just don't think "Convergence Corridor: Technology With Altitude" is going to do the job. Fortunately, there's a perfectly good name available -- one with proven marketability -- that Denver's about to dump on the scrap heap. Mile High-Tech scores!

Best new name for Colorado's high-tech hub

Mile High-Tech

In late June, the Metro Denver Network officially unveiled its pricey new slogan design to lure high-tech industries to the Front Range. But somehow, we just don't think "Convergence Corridor: Technology With Altitude" is going to do the job. Fortunately, there's a perfectly good name available -- one with proven marketability -- that Denver's about to dump on the scrap heap. Mile High-Tech scores!
We paid for the fixup, so why wait in line to see the chief executive's crib when it's now online? There's nary a Big Mac wrapper in sight among the still photos of the Governor's Mansion offered at www.archives.state.co.us/govs/mansion/index.htm, but we do get a glimpse of a guest suite powder room (tub in background, commode not pictured). Almost like being there, but what would Bill Owens know about that? Eighteen months after he moved into the place, we hear his heart is still in Aurora.

We paid for the fixup, so why wait in line to see the chief executive's crib when it's now online? There's nary a Big Mac wrapper in sight among the still photos of the Governor's Mansion offered at www.archives.state.co.us/govs/mansion/index.htm, but we do get a glimpse of a guest suite powder room (tub in background, commode not pictured). Almost like being there, but what would Bill Owens know about that? Eighteen months after he moved into the place, we hear his heart is still in Aurora.

Wellington Webb's concerned about the legacy that his three terms as Denver mayor will leave for the city, and for much of this year, it looked like that legacy would focus on big buildings and very clean streets. As a result, many of Denver's homeless -- and their advocates -- felt like they were given the bum's rush. In June, however, Webb announced that the city would create a homeless shelter specifically designed for single women and families -- two groups shut out of most of the existing shelters -- that could serve up to 24,000 people a year. In addition, the city will subsidize a residential treatment program for homeless men with substance-abuse problems. We'd drink to that -- if it weren't politically incorrect. Cheers, anyway, to Webb.
Wellington Webb's concerned about the legacy that his three terms as Denver mayor will leave for the city, and for much of this year, it looked like that legacy would focus on big buildings and very clean streets. As a result, many of Denver's homeless -- and their advocates -- felt like they were given the bum's rush. In June, however, Webb announced that the city would create a homeless shelter specifically designed for single women and families -- two groups shut out of most of the existing shelters -- that could serve up to 24,000 people a year. In addition, the city will subsidize a residential treatment program for homeless men with substance-abuse problems. We'd drink to that -- if it weren't politically incorrect. Cheers, anyway, to Webb.
She may be a Boulder liberal, but Dorothy Rupert, a onetime high school teacher, has managed to get some things done during her fourteen years in Colorado's Republican-dominated state legislature -- nine in the House and five in the Senate. Rupert has worked tirelessly for civil rights for minorities, women and homosexuals, as well as for the well-being of Colorado's children. She has championed education and for years tried to create a House-Senate committee on children and families. Last year she was successful -- after years of wrangling -- in getting the legislature to outlaw the genital mutilation of young girls in Colorado. Though term-limited out, Rupert does not intend to go quietly into the sunset. She is still working for the renovation of the State Capitol, and she intends to remain active as an educator and organizer.

She may be a Boulder liberal, but Dorothy Rupert, a onetime high school teacher, has managed to get some things done during her fourteen years in Colorado's Republican-dominated state legislature -- nine in the House and five in the Senate. Rupert has worked tirelessly for civil rights for minorities, women and homosexuals, as well as for the well-being of Colorado's children. She has championed education and for years tried to create a House-Senate committee on children and families. Last year she was successful -- after years of wrangling -- in getting the legislature to outlaw the genital mutilation of young girls in Colorado. Though term-limited out, Rupert does not intend to go quietly into the sunset. She is still working for the renovation of the State Capitol, and she intends to remain active as an educator and organizer.

One day Ken Chlouber's dressed in a red, white and blue flag-patterned biker shirt with the sleeves cut off, helping Governor Bill Owens's skinny, citified son sit up on the back of a mule to promote Fairplay's Burro Days; the next he's sporting $1,000 lizard-hide cowboy boots and a $190 studded shirt from Billy Martin ("that drugstore-cowboy store, for the silk-underwear cowboy," Chlouber calls it), accented with some of Senator Ben Nighthorse Campbell's turquoise-and-silver jewelry. "I got reason," the Leadville Republican says of his very expensive duds. "When I was a kid and we were on the farm, my mama made my shirts out of chicken-feed sacks. I swore if I ever had money in my pocket, I wouldn't do that anymore. So I buy high-dollar shirts and boots, and the hell with the rest of it." That's the same bootstraps spirit the long-haired, gun-lovin', law-passin' assistant majority leader brings to the Colorado Senate, and he wants his image to match: "I represent western and rural Colorado, which by its nature is strong, tough, independent and resilient. I hope I'm the same way. What you don't want to do down here at the Capitol is to blend in. I want to be a piece of cotton in a sea of polyester. I want them to know I was here, and the day I'm gone, I want them to miss me." That's guaranteed, pardner.

One day Ken Chlouber's dressed in a red, white and blue flag-patterned biker shirt with the sleeves cut off, helping Governor Bill Owens's skinny, citified son sit up on the back of a mule to promote Fairplay's Burro Days; the next he's sporting $1,000 lizard-hide cowboy boots and a $190 studded shirt from Billy Martin ("that drugstore-cowboy store, for the silk-underwear cowboy," Chlouber calls it), accented with some of Senator Ben Nighthorse Campbell's turquoise-and-silver jewelry. "I got reason," the Leadville Republican says of his very expensive duds. "When I was a kid and we were on the farm, my mama made my shirts out of chicken-feed sacks. I swore if I ever had money in my pocket, I wouldn't do that anymore. So I buy high-dollar shirts and boots, and the hell with the rest of it." That's the same bootstraps spirit the long-haired, gun-lovin', law-passin' assistant majority leader brings to the Colorado Senate, and he wants his image to match: "I represent western and rural Colorado, which by its nature is strong, tough, independent and resilient. I hope I'm the same way. What you don't want to do down here at the Capitol is to blend in. I want to be a piece of cotton in a sea of polyester. I want them to know I was here, and the day I'm gone, I want them to miss me." That's guaranteed, pardner.

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