This is how utterly shitfaced our bartender is: He’s considerably more drunk than I am, and I’m in 1:30-a.m., slumped-over-the-bar, double-fisting-PBRs kind of shape. But I’m happy, and so is he. I can tell from the way he grins and laughs every time he over-pours one of Darren’s whiskey and…
I have a very simple policy about eating meals while drinking: I don’t. Not, at least, when my goals for the night include over-inebriation. Snacks and appetizers? Fine. But big, juicy bacon cheeseburgers with jalapeño cream cheese and a side of fries? Sweet Christ, never while boozing, and never, ever…
I’m a sucker for fish, which I like watching (tank), catching (fly) and eating (raw). But I don’t eat what I catch, nor do I enjoy seeing fish that I’ll soon be served being taken out of a tank. As with beef — I don’t adopt the cows I’ll later…
The Photo Atlas is already into its second or third song by the time I get to the Marquis Theater (2009 Larimer Street). Adam Lancaster, who runs Morning After Records, the band’s label, meets me out front. We head straight for the bar and order two of the club’s signature…
Ooh la la! When I first moved back to Denver from New York, I spent a lot of time at Bistro Adde Brewster’s, the Cherry Creek hot spot run by Adde Bjorkland and Duey Kratzer, now the proprietor of Mondo Vino. I had too many exceedingly wild nights there and…
We almost take the scooter from my place to Highland. But then Sean has last-minute reservations about riding without a helmet, and regardless of how engaged-to-a-beautiful-girl he is and how comfortable and happy I am with my hetero relationship, there’s still a certain amount of awkwardness when two dudes share…
As I walked toward Sengers on the Fax, a homeless person who’d strategically placed himself near the entrance asked if I could “help out.” After living in New York for years and finally figuring out that “help out” means “give me money for drugs and booze,” I came up with…
I’m pretty well sauced on Guinness by the time Sean and I get to Charlie Brown’s Bar & Grill (980 Grant Street). The eighty-odd-year-old bar tucked into the Colburn Hotel & Apartments — a famed ’40s hangout of Beat hipsters Neal Cassady, Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg — is packed,…
With the exception of especially festive nights, when I do shots, or sushi outings, when sake is just what’s happening, I pretty much drink beer. There are a number of reasons for this, a major one being that I’m lousy at pacing myself. What I mean is, if there’s an…
I hate working out, and I hate people who say how much they love working out. To me, working out is a necessary evil — like taxes, dating and menstrual cycles. So when I heard there was a gym called the Anti-Gym, I got excited: I thought working out there…
It’s almost 9 p.m. when I hear Jesse call my battle name, Drewstroyer, from across the room. Immediately feeling sick to my stomach with first-time anxiety, I set down my second can of Olympia and wade through the crowd of fifty or so competitors and spectators. As I take a…
While many people remember their first kiss, I remember the first bar where I ever ordered a beer. Back when I was far too young to drink — legally — my high school gang would spend hours on the Emerald Isle patio overlooking the Cherry Creek Reservoir, our bodies slathered…
“Is this the shithole?” our cabbie — whose name I won’t use because I’m pretty sure he’s driving without the proper licensing — asks as we pull into the parking lot of Music Bar (4586 Tennyson Street). We’re packed four deep in the back seat (with another one in front),…
Every time I walk into Sputnik, I’m reminded of one of my favorite jokes. “Hey, have you heard that joke about hipsters?” “No, what is it?” “Well, of course, you haven’t heard it!” It’s beyond cliche to say that Sputnik is ground zero for hipsters. I’m surprised that instead of…
“Black eyes don’t count,” Mike tells me from three stools over — by which he means, “Black eyes aren’t a big deal.” But from where I’m sitting, the golf-ball-sized swelling surrounding his bloodshot eyes and extending well onto his cheekbones sure looks like a big deal. Combined with his lacerated…
I would have liked living in the 1930s. Big bands headed by Duke Ellington, Cab Calloway, Benny Goodman, Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey and Count Basie were in their heyday, playing at famous clubs like the Savoy and the Cotton Club. And it was the golden age of luxurious ocean liners:…
I have every intention of drinking on my first trip to Barricuda’s (1078 Ogden Street), but it doesn’t happen. I glance longingly at the beer taps — Swithwicks? No. Guinness? Huh-uh — but can’t talk myself into a cold one. I make eyes at a Bloody Mary two tables over…
Ms. B.J. mumbles an apology to no one in particular because the beer’s not chilled enough, but Sean and I don’t mind. It’s already started to cool off outside, and we’re at B.J.’s Port, 2801 Welton Street, to enjoy ourselves, not complain. So we pour the contents of our first…
Take your best shot. A couple of Saturdays ago, a friend and I headed to the Kiowa Creek Sporting Club in Bennett, site of the Independence Institute’s ATF party, which celebrates alcohol, tobacco and firearms. But not necessarily in that order: Even though I wasn’t driving, I’d been given strict…
It’s never been about slumming. Or kitsch. Or camp. No, Barbara Middlebrook drinks at the Ace-Hi Tavern — a dive bar right down to its shag carpet and cash-only policy — for the same reason that she looks forward to walks down Main Street during breaks from her job at…
Fear of flying. There are a few places in town I’ve always wanted to try, but they don’t seem like the kind of spot a woman should visit alone. And so every time I drove past the Piper Inn, I felt like I’d had my wings clipped. I’d been driving…
Everybody has a really good first bar story. Often it’s a tale about a group celebrating somebody’s 21st birthday by seeing just how close people can get to death and still be fine the next morning. Sometimes it’s a saga about using a bad fake ID to sneak into the…
