Tag Archives: boulder

The Invasion of the Tomato Snatchers

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My $33 tomato venture has officially ended with the harvest of a third tomato, and the economics improved considerably, dropping the per-fruit cost to $11.

A green tomato plant in a pot with wooden stakes for support, placed beside a wooden trellis. In the background, a purple pot with a small plant and a green watering can are on a metal table.

I’m not calling it a successful business venture, but I learned to trust the division of labor and buy fresh produce from the food store.

I’ve heard that backyard gardening is a labor of love. I had optimistic thoughts of turning my brown thumb into a green one at the beginning of the summer.

Maybe I’m more of an arborist. The avocado tree has been doing much better. I’ve been nurturing a pine tree seedling that has survived for 18 months. It’s supposed to become a bonsai-worthy tree, assuming I can keep it alive long enough to find out. I’ll bring the pine tree inside soon.

A small potted plant with green shoots in a purple pot, placed on a table next to a bright green watering can.

Across the sidewalk, I’ve been tending a patch of milkweed. Monarch butterflies migrate through Boulder in the summer, and milkweed gives them a place to lay their eggs.

They’ve grown tall, and I’ve tied them up with strong twine to keep them from flopping over and avoiding the purge by over-eager gardeners who think it’s time for them to go.

Close-up of a green, spiky fruit growing on a plant, surrounded by large green leaves.

Now the seed pods are finally forming. This is where my gardening project takes a turn toward science fiction.

The pods resemble miniature versions of the seed pods in Invasion of the Body Snatchers. In the 1956 movie, the pods are the machinery of an alien invasion.

The body-snatching Pod People grow duplicates of sleeping humans, absorbing the person’s physical form, memories, and characteristics. When the metamorphosis finishes, the original human disappears, leaving behind an emotionless replacement.

My milkweed pods, I assume, have no such ambitions.

I think of them as little botanical spacecraft carrying the next generation of milkweed seeds. The Monarchs are doing their own version of biological time travel, arriving each summer to lay eggs on the plants that will feed their caterpillars, which metamorphose into the next generation of butterflies.

I wonder who is tending whom.

I learned that this summer in my little garden, I’m not much of a farmer. Three tomatoes isn’t much of a harvest. Gardening is about the few fruits of my effort and the satisfaction of having kept an organism alive through its lifecycle.

A colorful display of fresh vegetables at a farmers market, featuring green, red, yellow tomatoes, various types of eggplants, and a bell pepper arranged in cardboard boxes on a red table.

The pine tree is still growing. The avocado tree will have avocados in 20 years, and the milkweed is preparing its pods. The Monarchs have a nursery. I cut back the tomato plant, unaware that our business model had failed.

In the meantime, the farmers’ market runs through October.

From Taboo to Trendy: What Happened to Japanese Culture?

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I wandered through the Rocket Fizz candy store today, looking for a Goo Goo Cluster. On the way out, a shelf packed with Japanese candy sidetracked me.

Matcha Kit Kats.

Pocky.

Gummies in flavors I can’t pronounce.

A few days ago, I read about a Japanese convenience store opening in Longmont, Kawaii Conbini.

Part of me smiles.

Another part of me wonders, “What happened?”

I’m Japanese American. Growing up, my Nisei parents did not celebrate being Japanese. They tried not to attract attention to it.

America had spent years teaching them that being visibly Japanese was dangerous.

My parents belonged to the generation shaped by World War II and its aftermath. The U.S. government code led Americans to believe that the Japanese should be viewed with suspicion.

More than 125,000 people of Japanese ancestry were forced from their homes and sent to incarceration camps.

The lesson my parents learned was straightforward.

Speak English.

Don’t make waves.

Don’t draw attention to yourself.

Don’t give anyone a reason to see you as different.

The result was cultural amnesia.

The Japanese language disappeared from my house. Traditional customs faded. My parents encouraged me to become as American as possible.

I remember a time when Japanese food was considered strange. Sushi was exotic. Anime was niche. Asian products occupied a tiny corner of specialty stores. I packed my lunch when I was in junior high school. I never included maki sushi or teriyaki chicken, two of my faves to this day.

Today, the situation is the reverse.

Sushi is sold in supermarkets. Anime fills Comic-Con events. Japanese video games dominate popular culture. Japanese cars became symbols of quality and reliability.

People seek out Japanese knives, Japanese whiskey, Japanese electronics, and Japanese candy.

What changed?

The generations that fought World War II are largely gone. For younger Americans, Japan is not associated with wartime enemies. It is associated with technology, design, food, entertainment, and innovation.

Another factor is globalization.

When I was growing up, culture moved slowly. Today, a teenager in Wyoming can watch the same anime series as a teenager in Tokyo. A TikTok video featuring a Japanese snack can reach millions of viewers overnight. The world has become smaller.

That’s how I learned about Goo Goo Clusters. When I was in Nashville for a cohousing conference, I tried the caramel-peanut-chocolate candy for the first time. Prior to 1912, candy consisted of one ingredient. A Goo Goo Cluster was the first to combine a variety of ingredients.

America has changed, too.

The old expectation was assimilation. The goal was to become indistinguishable from everyone else.

Today, there’s a greater appreciation for cultural diversity. Americans are curious about differences rather than fearful of them. Food, music, language, and traditions once viewed as foreign are now opportunities to learn something new.

That doesn’t mean prejudice has disappeared. It hasn’t.

There’s been a shift, and the irony is impossible to ignore.

My parents grew up in a world where being Japanese made you a target. Today, consumers seek out Japanese products.

The candy aisle at Rocket Fizz may seem trivial, but standing there, I couldn’t help thinking about the cultural journey.

Maybe that’s progress, or a reminder that cultures survive when people are pressured to set them aside and wait for a new generation to rediscover them.

As I looked at those shelves of Japanese candy, I thought about my parents.

They spent much of their lives trying not to stand out.

I wish they could have seen a day when the once suspicious stood in line because they wanted a taste of what being Japanese had to offer.

Rocket Fizz did carry Goo Goo Clusters, but it was an expensive gift pack. I’ll wait to get one the next time I’m near a Cracker Barrel.

Elvis, Belly Dancers, F-15s, and the Bolder Boulder

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How the 10K road race turned a reluctant walking jogger into an annual participant.

Every Memorial Day, thousands of people from around the world flood the streets of Boulder for an event that’s bigger than a 10K road race. It’s not too late to register. I don’t know if there’s enough space left if all 5,000 of you sign up, but check out more information by clicking on the obligatory Folsom Hill shot.

The Bolder Boulder turns an ordinary Monday morning into a citywide festival where Olympians, walkers, musicians, families, veterans, and people like me all move together toward the same finish line.

I’ve never considered myself a runner.

Back at Carey Junior High, I spent a couple of years on the cross-country team. “Running” might have been too generous a description for what I did.

I survived more than I competed. Between the wheezing and side cramps, I learned, as a 14-year-old, that distance running requires a mindset I didn’t naturally possess.

Regardless, in 2002, I lined up at the Bolder Boulder starting line, soon after 9/11. Here’s a video I shot in 2008 with Elvis. Click on the mugshot from 2025.

I’ve returned every year since then and participated as a walking jogger, a determined and survivor.

I don’t train. The last time I tried to prepare for a race, I twisted my ankle and forfeited my entry fee.

I also carry a media credential, which gives me a different perspective on the event. Instead of focusing only on my own exhaustion, I pay attention to the thousands of stories unfolding around me.

That’s the real race.

Every year, I shoot short video clips along the route and stitch them together into a movie. The Bolder Boulder is a running event from Point A to Point B, combined with a street festival spread across six miles of Boulder neighborhoods. Click on the picture of the Howling Commandos to watch the 2025 non-race highlights.

Recording entertainment is part of my ritual.

The belly dancers on Folsom Hill always draw a crowd. By the time runners reach the top of the incline, many of us need spiritual encouragement.

The music and dancing deliver it.

A little farther along, Elvis appears near the 7-Eleven like a rhinestone-covered guardian angel watching over exhausted runners. You can hear laughter before you even see him.

Then the bagpipes drone before runners enter the stadium. That sound changes everything.

After grinding through the course, hearing those pipes echo in the distance feels cinematic, like a Mel Gibson movie.

The finish is near. The crowd noise swells. Your tired legs suddenly muster up a little extra energy.

Then you enter Folsom Field, where the Buffaloes play football.

Nothing prepares you for that moment the first time you experience it.

Forty thousand cheering fans fill the bleachers. Even if you had walked half the course, even if your knees hurt, even if you questioned your life choices around mile four, entering that stadium makes you feel like an Olympian.

The roar rolls down from the stands and wraps around you. Well-wishers along the rail share “high fives” with the runners passing by.

Everyone’s a champion.

The Bolder Boulder has something for everyone.

World-class elite runners and wheelchair racers from across the globe chase prize money and prestige.

Serious local athletes try to beat personal records. Costumed runners shuffle along in superhero capes. 

Walkers treat the race like a social event. Spectators camp in their front yards, grilling burgers before nine in the morning.

The event belongs equally to the front-of-the-pack Kenyan runner and the guy jogging in a banana costume while carrying a beer.

That’s why I keep coming back.

The race reminds me that participation matters more than perfection.

Memorial Day carries heavy meaning, with F-15s streaking overhead and paratroopers gliding onto the football field carrying flags.

The Bolder Boulder balances remembrance with celebration. It honors sacrifice while celebrating the joy of being alive and moving forward together.

If you’ve ever thought about doing the Bolder Boulder, stop overthinking it. 

You don’t need to be fast. You don’t even need to run much. You just need to show up. I took my mug shot selfie on the right three months after I got up from my deathbed, after six weeks in the hospital, and managed to make my annual Memorial Day rounds.

If I can finish the Bolder Boulder, half-dead and lugging a camera and an oxygen bottle, you can make it!

The course, the crowds, the music, the spectacle, and that unforgettable entrance into Folsom Field will carry you to the finish.