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Welcome to the city of conditional love. You know about Denver's 300 days of sunshine a year, right? But nobody ever talks about the other 65 days, which are consumed by blizzards, tornadoes, wildfires, drought and calamity. The temperature here is mild, except when it isn't. Average precipitation is moderate, all of it coming in a single dump of snow that paralyzes the city for several weeks. We are the City of Trees, but in the post-blizzard weeks we become the City of Busted Trees (also the City of 10,000 Lakes). In the summer we bake in the cruel sun, except when we're pelted by guinea pig-sized hail. Our airport is terrific, except when it sucks. And did we mention the ever-evolving convention center, the wonderful freeway improvements known fondly as "T-Rex," and our very own Colorado Rockies? No, no, the pleasure is all ours. Well, mostly.


Best Fact About This State to Tout to Conventioneers

Forget the snowpack. Colorado is awash in less ambiguous liquid assets, a fact noted by the American Association for the Advancement of Science when it welcomed 6,000 members to Denver for a convention this year. True, the brainiacs acknowledged, Denver is the most educated city in the U.S., also the "thinnest" city in the "thinnest" state. But what's the most important stat for convention-goers? Colorado produces more beer than any other state.

Best Fact About This State to Tout to Conventioneers

Forget the snowpack. Colorado is awash in less ambiguous liquid assets, a fact noted by the American Association for the Advancement of Science when it welcomed 6,000 members to Denver for a convention this year. True, the brainiacs acknowledged, Denver is the most educated city in the U.S., also the "thinnest" city in the "thinnest" state. But what's the most important stat for convention-goers? Colorado produces more beer than any other state.


Smile and say "Cheese." In 1935, Louis Ballas, owner of the Humpty-Dumpty drive-in in northwest Denver, put a slice of cheese on a hot burger, and the rest is history. The world's first "cheeseburger" - a term patented by Ballas -- is honored with a small memorial at 2776 Speer Boulevard, now the parking lot of Key Bank.
Smile and say "Cheese." In 1935, Louis Ballas, owner of the Humpty-Dumpty drive-in in northwest Denver, put a slice of cheese on a hot burger, and the rest is history. The world's first "cheeseburger" - a term patented by Ballas -- is honored with a small memorial at 2776 Speer Boulevard, now the parking lot of Key Bank.


You'll learn things reading Steve Owings's new book, Colorado: A Silly Guide to the Centennial State, that you never imagined. For example, "The city's night life is best viewed from LoDo (lower downtown). Once teeming with vagrants, panhandlers, prostitutes, and abandoned warehouses the area has been rejuvenated with the addition of Coors Field, Starbucks, Planet Hollywood and numerous other attractions designed to separate you from your money just like the panhandlers and prostitutes used to especially since one mocha latte at Starbucks now costs a little more than a night with a hooker." C'mon -- that can't be true! After all, LoDo doesn't have a Planet Hollywood. But Owings's book -- published by Cabin Lake Publishing out of Colorado Springs -- offers dead-on satire on the Centennial State, if no useful information. At all.
You'll learn things reading Steve Owings's new book, Colorado: A Silly Guide to the Centennial State, that you never imagined. For example, "The city's night life is best viewed from LoDo (lower downtown). Once teeming with vagrants, panhandlers, prostitutes, and abandoned warehouses the area has been rejuvenated with the addition of Coors Field, Starbucks, Planet Hollywood and numerous other attractions designed to separate you from your money just like the panhandlers and prostitutes used to especially since one mocha latte at Starbucks now costs a little more than a night with a hooker." C'mon -- that can't be true! After all, LoDo doesn't have a Planet Hollywood. But Owings's book -- published by Cabin Lake Publishing out of Colorado Springs -- offers dead-on satire on the Centennial State, if no useful information. At all.


After selling the city on redevelopment of the Platte Valley, just think how soon-to-be-ex-Denver mayor Wellington E. Webb could excel at unloading all of those unsold lofts now cluttering up the riverfront. When showing prospects the properties, WEW could demonstrate how those high ceilings accommodate even his big shoulders. Closet space for oversized tennis shoes? No problem. Act now, and he'll throw in a Rolodex full of valuable crony contacts with each signed contract.
After selling the city on redevelopment of the Platte Valley, just think how soon-to-be-ex-Denver mayor Wellington E. Webb could excel at unloading all of those unsold lofts now cluttering up the riverfront. When showing prospects the properties, WEW could demonstrate how those high ceilings accommodate even his big shoulders. Closet space for oversized tennis shoes? No problem. Act now, and he'll throw in a Rolodex full of valuable crony contacts with each signed contract.
To further protect the Webb legacy along the Platte, Her First Ladiness needs to come to the aid of the one big clunker in her hubby's redevelopment scheme: the failed Ocean Journey, soon to become a theme park where relatives of your entree swim while you eat. As a gracious greeter, handing out menus and urging patrons to consider the shark du jour, Wilma Webb could help the hungry forget the aquarium's murky history.

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