The Milk Dude Is A Lady

Q. I walked across 5th Avenue this morning and was almost run over by some crazed tennis mom driving a black Lincoln Navigator. The bitch's brat daughter--maybe 8 years old if that--rolled down her window and flipped me off. Fuck it. I can't take living in this insane city one more day. What's it like living in small town Colorado? -- Getting old in NY

BPA.  Glad you asked. And if you ever see that bitch again, two words: Nail gun. Now about your question. Some people say, "Don't live in the past." Seems we have no choice here in Longmont. It's probably a plot by the City Council to keep things just the way they are, and—in fact—always have been, since the days when small farm boys sat mesmerized by the Navajo Chief test pattern on their snowy black and white TV. 

My milk lady can kick your tennis mom's ass.

They let you keep chickens in your yard in Longmont. In its wisdom, The City recently upped the per household limit of the noisy cluckers from 2 to 12. I wouldn't be shocked to learn that they did this to make sure every house is entitled to receive the recommended daily allotment of a dozen eggs.

Longmont may also hold the world record for the number and variety of parades per year. Memorial Day. 4th of July. You'd expect those. Not far enough for Longmont. How about a Main Street Halloween Parade that  looks like an entire mental hospital of clowns broke out and took over the town? Or a Holiday Light Parade, complete with parachuting Santas? Yes. There are people here who spend their entire year planning their one special parade. But you can always put in less time if you're one of the impulsive types who throw together a spontaneous parade. When the fires struck Boulder last summer, it only took a week to throw together a 3 hour fire-safety parade, complete with every spare fire truck in the county (that wasn't at the fire) built between 1898 and 2010; a pass-the-bucket water brigade competition to put out a controlled burn in the town square park; and my personal favorite: the firemen's demonstration of how to extract a bloodied crash dummy man and wife from a crushed Chevy Blazer with the jaws of life. Kids loved that.

In Longmont, you never know who will come knocking at your door. Grade school kids in snow outfits offering to shovel your sidewalk for a measly five bucks. The bear-like UPS man wearing shorts and a short-sleeve shirt in a  below-zero morning when ordinary human beings would have frozen stiff as an ice sculpture in mid-stride somewhere between the curb and the porch. The "meat man." Yes sir, he's got fresh grass-fed beef cuts and just-shot-skinned-and-cleavered deer steaks right there in his truck.

Of course, Longmont also has high-speed Internet, Home Depot, three craft breweries, a craft whiskey distillery, dozens of good restauarants and all the modern conveniences. But just when you start to think you're living in 2011, look who else shows up at your door. Say hi to the milk lady. And by the way, she could take out that tennis mom for you with one homogenized jug 'o swingin' hurt.