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Summit Up

Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column that – although we may be extremely susceptible to them – would never admit to having a “brain fart.”

Just when, exactly, do you suppose this colorful appellation entered the American vernacular? We’re pretty sure this wasn’t one of Ben Franklin’s coined phrases (although he was probably searching for those words when somebody asked him why he thought it was such a good idea to fly a kite in a storm). Even as recently as the ’60s, people were probably having them, but weren’t calling them this: We recall a few episodes of the “Tonight Show” where Mr. Carson’s train of thought not only jumped the track, it derailed a few more going the other way.

We just can’t understand why someone would want to describe their brain as working in any fashion similar to gastrointestinal dysfunction. It only opens the door to suggest other related functions might be going on up there. Really, who wants to imagine a smelly bubble of air under their scalp?

And if there’s “brain farts,” why not “butt burps”? Maybe we’ll start calling our rashes (not that we have them often – honest) “flesh heartburn.” Tell your teen-ager, “Don’t worry, it’s not acne; it’s a “face riot.'”

You could say we’re being silly. Just don’t say we’re smelly.


An anonymous woman called Friday to report a disappointed Scum Alert!! Scum Alert!! She said Summit Stage bus No. 528 either needs a tuneup or a new injection system, because, as she was driving behind it, it was churning out smoke like nobody’s business (hmm, a “bus fart” maybe?).

We also should note that that particular bus is one of the fleet’s older ones. The Stage directors would also have you know that there’s a half-dozen or so new buses on order, and they should be hitting the streets later this year.

Let’s hope that happens.


Ellen in Keystone wants to know, “What’s up with the Dillon post office?”

She e-mailed us saying the mail carrier that serves her neighborhood sent out flyers double-checking to see if people really wanted their mail delivered. Ellen returned her form to the P.O. by hand. But then a package didn’t arrive, she went down to Dillon and they had neither the package nor the form.

While she was there, she observed something even more disturbing:

“An Hispanic couple came in to rent a P.O. box. They were asked to produce their lease agreement for their apartment, which they did. Then the Postal Worker wanted two picture IDs for the husband, which he produced. Then, when they asked to have both names on the form to receive mail he was asked to produce their marriage certificate. Would this have happened to a white couple?”

It always encourages us to hear such concerns from our readers (even though we wish there was nothing to be concerned about). We called the Dillon Post Office and they told us, yes, even if they were white, the couple would have had to produce that info. The thing is, postal people told us, they try to discourage people from sharing boxes; it leads to problems such as, “Hey, my roommate stole my check!” If people are married, but don’t have the same last name, then a marriage certificate can get past that obstacle.

Hope that shines a little light, Ellen.


Another dastardly Saturday! Feel free to have your mental breakdowns, momentary lapses of reason and cerebral seizures at, fax at (970) 668-0755 or just react that famous scene in Babel on the voicemail at (970) 668-3998 ext. 237.

We’re out to lunch, in a mental sort of way …

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