Spoonfed

| the 300 pound gorillas |

When I bought my downtown Denver loft nearly three years ago (2003), the loft market was still in a huge post-911 rut. My building, developed by a local guy, hadn't sold a unit in months. Yet construction in the neighborhood was still steaming forward at a frenetic pace, and still is today.

I worried that the loft market was being overbuilt, and that a loft might not be the best investment.

My friend and real estate broker pointed out two things: (1) this was going to be my HOME, and I should look at it as a home, not as an investment (and if, somewhere down the road, it became an investment, that would just be a bonus); and (2) East West Properties.

East West Properties is a huge real estate conglomerate with very, very deep pockets. They bought up all the land along the Platte River, and started developing it several years ago. First, they built the Riverfront Park, which consisted of a couple of loft buildings with room for retail shops to open up on the ground floor, and a large greenspace park, with running paths, playing fields, and plenty of room to run your dog. All with the muddy old Platte River running through it.

Their gamble paid off handsomely. The park truly is a park. Dodgeball leagues call it home, setting up kegs and playing nearly every night of the week in the summer. Dog lovers risk the $80-no-leash tickets every day, bringing bottles of wine to share in the evenings while their dogs frolic. Runners and strollers and bikers flow through constantly. There are some great little shops and restaurants (Ink cafe, Zengo, that great little wine place...) And the people who live in the loft buildings are now part of a real community.

Today, it's a flurry of construction and tall cranes as East West continues to build up the area with, yes, even more lofts. Million dollar lofts. And their pockets are so deep that they can start construction on these million dollar lofts without having sold a single one. Most local developers can't even break ground until they've pre-sold about 30% of a building --- it's just too cost-prohibitive, otherwise.

Which brings me back to the original point. East West's presence in downtown Denver virtually guarantees that the bottom won't ever really fall out on this market. While local developers might drop their prices, East West has the deep pockets to allow them to hold on, even in a tough market.

Sometimes the 300 pound gorillas are a good thing.

| crib with cool factor |

Just because you're going to be a parent doesn't mean you have to throw all style out the window.

We found a crib that is not only cool, but extremely practical for our loft, where every inch of real estate is highly prized: the Stokke Sleepi oval crib.

It's a rolling bassinet that expands into an oval crib -- no sharp pointy corners, no need for the crib to take up half the room -- that expands into a toddler bed, that expands into two chairs.

The two sort of goofy chairs go with the rounded changing table -- built for you to change the baby's diaper frontways, not sideways -- that transforms into a desk that transforms into a bookshelf.

Those Norweigans have got the really right idea. Pass it along, Josh Spear, arbiter of cool.

| the staying home trend |

60 Minutes reports that women are choosing to abandon the workforce in favor of being stay at home Mom's. The reporter, Lesley Stahl, and the woman doing a study on this phenomenon, are somewhat appalled that perfectly able, smart, educated women are choosing dependence upon a man rather than loyalty to a company willing to invest in them.

But isn't it their right to choose? "It's different to talk about their right than what's the right decision," says Hirshman, the author of the study. "As Mark Twain said, 'A man who chooses not to read is just as ignorant as a man who cannot read.'"

"These women are choosing lives in which they do not use their capacity for very complicated work," adds Hirshman. "They are choosing lives in which they do not use their capacity to deal with very powerful other adults in the world, which takes a lot of skill. I think there are better lives and worse lives."

It would be laughable if Ms. Hirshman were not so serious. Lesley laments the fact that women of her generation devoted themselves entirely to their careers, with unshakable resolve. That the next generation has figured out that they can have a career, then have some kids, then return to their careers --- well, the envy was palpable.

But aren't we the generation that they term "latch-key kid" was invented for? Didn't we learn something from that? That the act of raising another human being was, in fact, a worthy end unto itself?

| I drive an SUV |

Our fearless leader (GWB) is hosting Prince Abdullah at the ranch, no doubt using his Texas charm to persuade the Saudis to step up oil production, so we here in the You-united States can get a little wallet relief. The Saudis are promising to step up production, saying that they are "scared to death" that the high gas prices will lead to America developing alternative energy sources.

Good.

I hope gas prices reach astronomical levels all over. Maybe then America really will take seriously the need for alternative energy sources.

In California, where gas is creeping to $3.00 a gallon, their Democrats, along with the LA Times, are pushing a plan to lower gas prices by imposing a universal sales tax. A tax that would make everyone in the state pay for all those people in L.A. who insist upon driving Hummers and Escalades and Land Rovers. [I know. I live in a city with 10 million people, the worst traffic in the country, and the most pollution. I drive 60 miles round trip every day to work. Alone. It never snows here, and all the roads are paved. I'll get the most sturdy 4 wheel drive money can buy!] Even those people in San Francisco who don't even own a car, but take public transportation. Even the people who own little efficient foreign cars. Even the tourists from Missouri driving out to Disneyland in their station wagons.

Vancouver has a fuel cell car thing going. Here in Colorado, we have the Rocky Mountain Institute doing some good. Kids are thinking about this. As for myself, I am so getting rid of my Isuzu Trooper.

| pampered in suburbia |

It was the ghost of Christmas future.

My friend, married for 14 years, living in a tract home in Rock Creek, 3 kids, had a Pampered Chef party and invited me.

The Pampered Chef, as I would soon find out, is Tupperware for the upscale. Complete with the former accountant mom with 2 kids who needed a part time job, "look at me now, I just won a trip to Disneyland and am shooting for the Carribbean cruise, if you're interested in a great career like this, see me afterwards!" Complete with the catalogue of goodies and recipies and kitchen gadgets that you think, how on earth did I survive without this apple corer? Without this vegetable chopper?

I rushed out the door, no makeup, dressed in cheap khakis and a t-shirt and raced down Highway 36 to the neighborhood of Rock Creek. As usual, I got lost among the maze of streets, the houses that all look the same, and had to call. My friend, as usual, chastised me, "How many times have you been here and you get lost every time?"

The neighborhood ladies were all there, and all dressed to the nines, in casual Nordstrom chic. Every last one of them had squeezed their amazing post-mom bodies into $130 7 For All Mankind jeans, with the glittery swoosh across the ass. They all wore high stiletto heels, but left their shoes at the door, displaying their perfect mani/pedis. At least half of them had brand new pairs of boobs, too, sumptously displayed in V-neck shirts and cashmere sweaters.

I felt like an absolute schlub. And I'm the newlywed! Aren't I training for a triathlon this summer? I haven't yet had a kid, and these women are in better shape than me? They wear lipstick and mascara on a Monday night?!

I didn't really fit in with the chitchat, either.

Most of the ladies spend their afternoons and evenings carting their kids from one organized activity to another. My friend has 3 kids, and their activities, from what I gather, are typical: Kid #1, 11 years old, has hockey at the most ungodly hours of the day: practice at 5:30 am, game at 9:00 pm. Weekend away games in Winnipeg. Guitar lessons. Kid #2, 8 years old, has baseball and guitar lessons. Kid #3, 5 years old, has gymnastics, swimming lessons, and ballet.

My friend lives in her car. She is constantly carpooling them around. It's no wonder her house is spotless, no one is ever home to mess things up.

Another mom complains that her kids do nothing but gripe about gymnastics. They begged for it, and now they hate it and want to quit. She's paid through the end of the month, and then they can quit. They still like soccer, though.

When I was 6, I quip, I had to choose between gymnastics and piano lessons. I chose piano lessons, and was forced to continue taking them until age 14. My parents would not let me quit, even though I wanted to.

All conversation stops and the ladies look at me, aghast with pity. What horrible parents I must have had!

Then the Pampered Chef show begins. She fixes curry chicken lettuce wraps, using an enormous array of kitchen utensils and accoutrements. Where, I wonder, do these women store all this stuff? All her ingredients are stored in cute little glass bowls, just like Emeril uses.

"Mise en place," I announce, using what I learned in my cooking class, "Mess in place. Have your mess in place. I learned that in cooking school."

I am met with faces that can smile and glare at the same time. What kind of snob announces that she goes to cooking school?

She feeds chicken, apples, nuts, dried cranberries, celery into this contraption that chop-chop-chops; a little manually operated food processor. She cores the apples with a stainless steel corer that never requires cleaning. She presses clove after clove of garlic in the most amazing garlic press ever invented - your hands will never smell like garlic again! She cooks pizza on the one and only pizza stone you will ever need, all others are made with aluminum and will catch your oven on fire. She makes pancake batter in a heat-proof, lidded, handled, pour-spouted bowl. You can store your leftover pancake batter in the bowl. You can bake a cake in it. It's amazing and only $43.

When she gets to the cutting board, made of a special nonstick plastic that kills all bacteria, viruses and salmonella, I know that this is the item I must have. All the wood, plastic and other cutting boards I use, good lord, what kinds of poisons have I been allowing to live in my kitchen, they must all be thrown away immediately!

We're drinking from huge goblets of wine. The ladies are getting tipsy. We're eating cheese and fruit and curry chicken lettuce wraps that are pretty heavy on the garlic. The ladies are all griping about their husbands and what complete and total morons they all are. One mom sits in a lawn chair in her garage while her kids play outside, to keep an eye on them and make sure they don't run into the street. Just the other night she left them alone with her husband for three minutes and sure enough, the 7 year old ran into the street, and she said to her idiot husband, "See?????"

"It's not your fault," comforted another mom, "It's your husband's. Your son doesn't know any better."

A 7 year old doesn't know better than to run into the middle of the street unless his mother is sitting in a lawn chair in the garage with her eye on him?

All I want to do is go home and hang out with my husband. Thank God he's not an idiot or a moron with back hair like these women have married.

Everyone is filling out their order sheets. Long lists totalling hundreds of dollars. I have one measly cutting board, $13.50.

"That's all you're getting?"

"Well, I just got married, we got an awful lot of cooking stuff as gifts," I laugh nervously. No comprehension on their faces. "We live in a loft," I offer.

"Oh," they say. As if that explains everything.

"Would you be interested in hosting your own Pampered Chef party? You'll get a lot of stuff at 60% off! You'll get a free lotion and soap duo!"

No thanks, I say as politely as I can. I can't wait to get home to my husband.