duck-shaped pain

31 December 2001

Woke up late, since we had been up to 4 in the morning or so, testing out the chocolate logs. Went to Pete's for breakfast/lunch -- H. had a cheese omelet and I another gyro. I suggested we thrift some more, thinking that there could be some more vintage clothing or disturbing bear mugs out there. But we finally decided that we were only up for something much, much easier than thrifting: the mall. First we went to The Mall I Used To Work In, milling about and visiting the big kitchen store, where I explained how food mills work. Then we drove out to Ski Lodge: The Mall, where we actually bought things. I picked up a stretchy wooly plaid dress (my first piece of brown clothing, ever) and H. bought some shoes, a coat and some bags.

We wanted to start drinking before the show, so we stopped and bought some wine on the way to the hotel. We hid the two bottles deep in our collection of newly purchased items, since the hotel had put up a big sign in the lobby that morning, notifying guests that were not allowed to bring in their own alcohol. The only authorized drinks were those purchased from the hotel (at greatly inflated prices) and that all contraband liquor would be confiscated and destroyed. We didn't think they were going to harass or strip search anyone over mere beverages, and we were right -- our wine bottles made it to the room safely.

Getting ourselves to the room proved to be more difficult, though. When we arrived, the lobby was a total zoo, filled with people checking in, walking around or standing with party hats on. The ratio of sparkly pants to normal pants was unnatural and upsetting. This hotel holds some overpriced New Year's Eve party and a lot of the attendees also stay the night there, so as to ensure the shortest staggering distance possible later in the evening. It had been very quiet there the previous two days, so the amount of commotion was a bit disorienting.

To control things, the hotel was requiring that all guests wear these little wristbands in order to go up into their rooms. They had mean-looking suited people stationed near the elevators to ensure that no unauthorized people got into to them, and God forbid, started wandering the halls or using the ice machines for free or something. However, we had no wristbands, since no one had told us about them. We were accosted by one of the elevator guards, who eventually let us through, but warned us that we would need to pick some up in order to return to our room later. We both thought this was insane -- we'd been there two days already, and it would have been nice to have been informed of this earlier.

Drinking in the hotel room was okay, since a fancy room means actual glasses to drink out of instead of flimsy plastic tumblers. The cork on my Riesling came out smoothly, but the cork on H.'s pinot grigio refused to cooperate. Not helping things was the ineffectual corkscrew that we had just bought at the liquor store. We didn't want to invest much in one, thinking that it only had to work for us twice. Which was hoping too much, as it turned out. It never opened the second bottle, which we ended up attacking with some scissors, eventually pushing the cork into the wine. But they were both good, however, corky.

Got dressed. Headed up to the Bluebird for the show. All buses were free for New Year's Eve, so we didn't even have to bring change along, thus avoiding the otherwise inevitable drunken quarter hunt at 3 in the morning.

Playing that evening was S.'s band, doing their usual NYE show. This year's appearance was a bit different, though, for it marked the last time that this particular incarnation of the band would play together. So it was a big deal.

We got there and started the drinking. We got drink tickets, which may or may not have been used -- I spent a wad of money while I was there, but it was incongruous with the number of beers I drank, so who knows. I'm usually the person driving, which means I have to limit myself. But it was a) free bus night b) a special occasion and c) one of the last occasions where I would have money before spending it on school and cutting back my hours, so I felt free to do whatever.

H. and I had been talking some this trip about this really annoying person we know, M., who I keep running into whenever I'm in Denver. H. has had more direct contact with her than have, unfortunately, since my time with her is usually spent in the company of S. Which means I never have to do the one-on-one thing, which is good, because I would have stabbed her in the hand with a fork by now. We had discussed the possibility of running into her on this trip, and who decided to come over and say hi before the show? You know it. We took shifts dealing with her before the music started.

Besides M., H. also had to deal with some scary fans of the band who had traveled for hundreds or thousands of miles just to see this show. Weird, obsessive fans -- the types who would write creepy love songs dedicated to their favorite member of the band. I really admired H.s aplomb in dealing with these people. I would have just ran and hidden under the nearest rock.

The show was great. The audience was different from that at any other Denver show I've been to -- people were actually pleased to be there. No scowling, no attitude, no one doing the Indie Rock Dance. [2] Just a bunch of yelling and dancing people. I danced and yelled right along with them.

The show ended with more yelling and then there was an immense battle between the theater staff and everyone else. The former wanted people to leave and the latter did not. H. (who was sad, being that this was the end of an era and all) and I (who was drunk) kept struggling to stay inside where the band was. At one time, I was outside and she was inside. Then I was inside again. Then outside. Finally, she and S. came outside and we parted ways and tried to find the bus back to the hotel.

While on the bus, we noticed that we were hungry, which was not a surprise, since we didn't eat dinner. All the 24-hour places on the way back were packed, though, so we decided to just ride the bus to the only convenience store in downtown. Which was also busy.

We bought some stuff -- the only thing that was really memorable were the nachos. They took a while to find, though, since they were some really non-obvious place and we just weren't up for hunting. Finally, they were located, and we bought that and some other yellow stuff and some sort of bar and some cigarettes.

There is no bus from the store to the hotel at that hour (3:30 a.m.), so we walked back, braving the cold and the sleet and the numerous fellow revelers also walking around aimlessly. During the trip back, I gave out my first piece of New Year's good cheer -- some guy came up to me on the 16th Street Mall and asked me if I would give him a New Year's hug. I told him I was out of them.

Back to room. Nachos good! TV bad! Bed soft!

1 January

This day was blessedly uneventful.

We got up and checked out, amazing ourselves with the sheer amount of crap we had managed to purchase in such a short trip. The guy at the front desk tried to charge us for room service, and after H. told him no, we gladly sat down in the lobby to wait for S., who was staying at a bandmate's house elsewhere in the city. I got home coffee and a paper that I couldn't concentrate on, and reflected on how good it felt to sit down.

We waited for a while, marveling at the outfits other people in the lobby were wearing (even though it was 30, maybe 40 degrees outside, there was a guy hanging out wearing sandals and no socks. Accompanied by a Tony the Tiger t-shirt. Both on a grown man.). S. arrived, and we went in search of food.

Not much was open downtown, but the one place that was open was good: Dixon's. I'd never been there before, since it had always looked too expensive for me (I was unemployed a lot when I lived in Denver), but I was wrong. Everything on the menu looked good, and I had a hard time deciding. I went with the eggs Florentine, S. had the Greek scramble, and H. had cheese-stuffed peppers. They had good coffee and the booth we sat at was big and comfortable -- the only problem was the staring people across the aisle. Don't try to convince me you're looking at the art above our heads, lady. It was a great meal.

After lunch, we felt like more sitting still and more being quiet, so we went down to the Tattered Cover again. Which was nearly empty. It was so nice. No noise, nobody running around, just big couches and a lot of books and staff that don't mind if you take a nap or sit in one place for a very long time. Which is what they did.

Miraculously, I didn't buy any books, but I'd already bought a bunch this trip, so it didn't matter. H. bought a few books, and I think S. did, too. Or not. I was pretty tired from all the sitting around at that point. After that, we went and fetched H.'s luggage and bid adieu.

The rest of the day was uneventful: driving to my mom's apartment, eating noodles for dinner, bathing, sleeping. The next day I drove back home and slept some more.

[1] See the previous entry for the first part.

[2] Leaning against the wall or bar and nodding. Or looking at your shoes. Or writing in your journal.

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