Institutional Knowledge

Here's a disconcerting thing that happened today: I went to SuperTarget, that bulwark of crass commercialism where it's Christmas every Saturday -- at least, it feels like it when it comes to fighting for a parking spot. As I traveled the rows farther and farther from the door, I thought, "Jeez, I'm being pushed all the way to Mervyn's." Here's the thing: Mervyn's, a discount store, hasn't been there for months, and the space above the door that should read "Mervyn's" in huge blue letters instead is covered with a banner that says "AVAILABLE" and lists a phone number. So someone who moved to Denver today would never realize what had been in the empty big-box space next to SuperTarget.

Here's another thing that happened today. As I went through Westword, our freebie indie paper (which is far inferior to The Independent, its Triangle doppelganger), I found the following statement in a letter to the editor. This was a letter lamenting the dearth of good steak restaurants in Denver, which is slap in the middle of cow country. Here is the excerpt, with credit to Jan Nerone of Denver:
...In the quiet moments, I dream of Char-Grill. Ah, the Char-Grill. I once lived right next door to Char-Grill #1. Its beefy aroma would waft up to my loft apartment and lure me outside in my jammies to worship at the altar of the cow. Nothing brings one back to reality quite like an old-school burger and a shake so thick that it scoffs at the puny straw.
Char-Grill!!! I know exactly where Char-Grill #1 is! It's on Hillsborough Street, on the right as you come from the Capitol, just past the turn onto Glenwood Avenue toward our favorite coffee spot, Helios. Suddenly the memories of working on the night desk came back. Late-night Char-Grill runs. The lump in the throat forms.