Notebook: Updates, we got updates
By Greg Campbell
1:05 a.m. MT Apr 16, 2008
Due in no small part to my heavy lobbying and patronage, I’m happy to announce that a survey of local journalists has yielded a clear winner in the “Official Unofficial Fort Collins Press Club” contest I started in this space a few weeks ago. Is it any surprise that it’s the Town Pump, that cozy little closet of a tavern on North College Avenue next to the barber shop and the alley leading to Old Town Square? Considering that I blitzkrieged my colleagues in the local media with my survey question, I got only a handful of replies, but they were from the People Who Mattered in any event. And of course, my hope is that anyone in the working press will come to call the city’s oldest and smallest bar their home away from the newsroom. The idea all along was to come up with a place for reporters, cameramen, photographers and even those microphone-boom guys (whatever they’re called) to wander in for a drink and perchance on a fellow Fourth Estater. Anyone who is familiar with this column knows that I’ve considered the Town Pump my Editor’s Annex for going on six years now, so I’m glad I don’t have to change my habits too much. Even my wife is smart enough to tell a source of mine, while taking a phone call for me, “If you can’t find him at the office, try the Town Pump.”
The plan now is to get an inaugural council together to christen the place ... however, just typing the words “inaugural council” makes the whole concept seem like too much work, so how about I just announce that the Press Club is open for business commencing Thursday after—or before, if you want to make it more fun—whatever deadline you’ve got to grapple with that day. I’ll even by a round of Jell-O shots for whomever can produce a business card proving they work in the media, Mayor Billy being the special exception to that rule since he’s kept me in business with some pretty nutty stories over the years and I figure I owe him at least a Jell-O shot for torpedoing his ambitions to travel to Finland. It’s too long and sordid a tale to recount here ... but show up on Thursday and I’m sure he’ll regale you of it.
Off the record, of course.
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Another update worth mentioning is that, unlike other times when I’ve kvetched about my lack of ambition in terms of physical recreation in this lovely playground we call home, I’ve been on something of a tour of various health clubs around Fort Collins since writing my last column. My beloved Old Town Athletic Club is still my gym of choice at the moment, but I figured there was no harm in seeing what sort of variety was out there amongst its competitors and so I’ve been begging free days at clubs all over town. One observation is that I think I’m out of luck when it comes to finding a place that combines everything I want out of a health club in one location, which in no particular order is something like: two pools, one for laps and one for relaxing in the sunshine; a sand volleyball court; racquetball courts; state-of-the-art weight machines and an ample selection of well-cared for (you’ll see why that’s important in a moment) free weights; a rock-climbing wall; a sauna; a steam room; tanning beds; massage therapists; a huge selection of cardio machines, which aren’t my cup of tea but which are needed to provide the right kind of manic-workout atmosphere; a cafe; and—so that my wife and I can finally join the same club—a roster of high-intensity early-morning group classes that will make Marine Corps boot camp seem like broken-hip rehab at the old folk’s home. Lastly, it has to have just the right architectural style and interior decoration to set the mood. You know, modern and feng-shui-y. Maybe a few potted plants.
I didn’t realize how important that last touch was until visiting one particular gym over the weekend, one that will remain nameless. The free weights looked like something I would weld in a buddy’s garage from loose diving ballast and their actual weights were painted on the side with what looked like Wite-Out. They looked like Jack LaLanne made them in 1936. The machines creaked with rust and some were so old I didn’t even know what they were for. The walls were pitted, the carpet unraveling and the free weight area was littered with loose medicine balls rolling about dangerously underfoot, and bungee cords and weight belts slung hither and yon on the equipment. It was like Vince Vaughn’s gym in Dodgeball, but more depressing. I felt like I was working out in someone’s basement. Thanks, but no thanks.
I haven’t hit every place in town—nor had I really planned to—but since I seem to have gotten some momentum out of whining about being willfully sedentary, I might as well.
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Lastly, since this column seems to be themed around updating old columns, I mentioned here a while back something about my discussion of conflict diamonds at a university function in Kentucky. I’ve been tapped again to discuss the topic, this time after a viewing of the movie “Blood Diamond” at the kickoff meeting of CSU’s fledgling Amnesty International Chapter. The screening will be at 6 p.m. in the new Academic Village on Pitkin Street, room 100-B. It’s free and open to the public, so I hope to see some of you there. Mahalo.
