Denver, Day 1

The Fabuloso El Vez

JetBlue rules. I barely remember taking Air France as a teenager and thinking that was the ultimate in consumer aviation, but hot damn! Believe the hype, people.

Arrived earl-lay in the mornin' yesterday and kept going until we absolutely dropped. Before even checking into our lovely hotel suite we made the all-important Chipotle stop, followed by an even more important nap. Met up with the extremely adorable, outgoing, and single Max, who is a pilot-in-training. He's lonely, girls. You probably wouldn't miss anything about NYC (or wherever you live)if you were this mensch's hot yiddishe momma, you know.

Superfly, Max, and I had got some delish eats (World's Greatest breadsticks, Fat Tire beer, and walnut pesto ravioli with olive oil and shaved fresh parmesan) at Pasquini's and then headed over to the Bluebird Theatre to catch El Vez's Merry Mex-Mas show.

Oh, sure it's a campy show, and the socio-political stuff is at times grating. But for pure showmanship and cheeky fun you'd be VERY hard-pressed to out-do El Vez.

The crowd in Denver was an interesting mix of punks, aging hipsters, yuppies and friends and family members of the band. It wasn't overly crowded, no one acted like a jackass (well, there were those El Vez groupies shrieking up front...), we got a seat with a table on the balcony, the smoking ban passed (finally!) in Denver, and the line for the bar was non-extistant.The show was awesome,I highly recommend you check out the tour schedule to see when they're gracing your hometown's independent music venue. I looked and looked, but didn't see anyone I knew, although I thought I saw old dirty Colin.

As exhausted as we were, a trip to Club 404 was a must: I hadn't seen my best friend, who I will call LuLu in an effort to protect her privacy. Unfortunately, she had shitty news to share with me and I'm now very worried about her. She and I have been through so much together and are so close that we can go years with little contact and still pick right up where we left off, as if we'd just been to the nail salon together that afternoon. I know she'll be all right but I worry anyway. It's my goddamn right.

As we left the bar, who should I see but Colin, the skinny, Irish, bad-tempered Waldo. He looked at me, blinked, said, "Howreyou, honey?" and went back to being dirty old Colin, the bar fly in training. He's 30, maybe. Oy.

I don't know how we made it back to our hotel without driving off the road and sleeping peacefully in a ditch, but we managed. Today is another whirlwind day in Denver and I'll likely post more later.

No apologies if this bores you, sucka.