How many imperial pints make a shitload? November 19, 2007 2:52 PM   Subscribe

Denver Meetup a success. News at eleven.

Another good one, folks. Much fun was had by all. Many significant others were met. We were kicked out of the upstairs by silly basketball fans claiming they had prior arrangements, but we made the best of it. I think I saw a camera somewhere in the mix, so let's see the proof.

In other news, even though I probably shouldn't have driven, I kept the windows down, put on sunglasses, and blasted Charlie Parker all the way home. That somehow kept me safe. So I'm still alive, if anybody was wondering. Also, looking at the receipt, I think the waitress undercharged us at least three of the beers I drank, but who's counting?

Thanks, guys. We should do this more often. Monthly wouldn't be too hard, and would be lots of fun. I'm lacking in excuses to drink too much. Of course, the holidays are coming up, so that'll probably change, but it's still always nice to get away and see some social life. Y'all are fun to hang out with. I've been among no other group of people, for example, where my Pere Ubu t-shirt is roundly recognized.
posted by koeselitz to MetaFilter Gatherings at 2:52 PM (3 comments total)

This post was deleted for the following reason: Follow up in the meetup thread, yo. -- cortex

What was that all about?
posted by Steven C. Den Beste at 3:25 PM on November 19, 2007

SCDB: it's an example of failing to remember the order:

1) take meds.
2) post to MeTa.
posted by boo_radley at 3:44 PM on November 19, 2007

item: It's nice you had fun. Having fun is good for the heart, as is making it home alive when you're drunk behind the wheel of a car.

The realization that I shouldn't be driving hit me as I was trying to park; it wasn't conscious on my part, and if it had been, I'd have taken the bus. I underestimate my lightweight nature; I had five beers over the course of four hours, which I didn't think would have the impact it did. But it wasn't really excusable. I don't mean to imply that it was.

Check out the text up at the top of this page. It talks about meetup posts being left open for a criminally long amount of time. You know what your post did? Your post bumped Ufez Jones' Dallas meetup post right off the front page of Metatalk, meaning the chance that more than four people will show up is even less than it was before. If only four people show up, I'm coming to Denver knowing full well that in Colorado they hate Texans even more than the rest of the world does, and I'll be telling every ski bunny and Bronco that'll listen that YOU invited me.

Wow. Never noticed that text before. I guess I was too busy looking at the MeTa sidebar, where meetups are posted in bold right up until they happen.

For the record, I really like Texas, and even though I was raised with the congenital biases, I grew out of them. Most Coloradoans dislike Texans out of provincialism; if we travelled around the country a little more, we'd probably realize that, if we had to pick sides, we'd probably be happier lining up with the Texans and not the east or west coasts. I'm a Western guy, and I really think it's all the same when it comes down: Texas, Colorado, and New Mexico are probably my three favorite states. In fact, I was saying at the meetup that I'll probably end up moving to Texas in the next few years.

shit. I just noticed you mentioned wearing a Pere Ubu shirt. All is forgiven, as Thomas & Co fucking rule.

Almost exactly four years ago, I was living in Santa Fe and working the night shift at La Posada, a hotel downtown. I was the security guy, which basically meant I just had to be there and do the rounds every hour. I got a lot of reading done, but it killed my social life, and I found it a bit more alienating every day. I also started noticing that I hardly ever dreamed, and when I did, my dreams were washed out and featureless.

Anyhow, after a few months on that shift, I noticed while kicking around on the computer one night that Pere Ubu was playing the next day in Albuquerque an hour down the road. This excited me a good deal, and it was fortunately my day off, but I had a class the next day, and knew that I'd have to fudge the sleep a little bit. So I managed to drive down to Albuquerque a little early and pass out in my old Volvo for about two hours just down the street from the show.

I didn't have any kind of alarm clock, but I started awake to the sound of a passing car horn and noticed that the show had started ten minutes before. I shook off the sleep and staggered across the street and into the club, the Launchpad, which somehow seemed hazier even than a smoky bar should be. I don't really know what I had been dreaming about, but it just somehow seemed like an extension of those dreams: the droning, primal rhythms laced with the odd, high-pitched rantings of a fat, fat man on a stool. I wandered to the front and leaned against the wall behind the speaker watching the odd spectacle: David Thomas, who seemed older and fatter than he was in the pictures I'd seen, with scraggly facial hair and a dirty beret, perched on a stool with a notebook, reading off lyrics with an assembled host of old and young musicians around him stuttering along through the music.

New Pere Ubu is better than old Pere Ubu. It's not as angular, not as punk, and not as confrontational, but it's still strange, and it still touches a nerve that hardly any other music does. David Thomas is in touch with something that people like Cormac McCarthy and Samuel Beckett tried to write about; he expresses this odd, alienated, detached honesty that will not stop moving forward, even in the absence of 'framing' or 'context' or 'meaning' or 'civilization.' But I obviously wasn't experiencing it that was; I was just standing there, wideeyed and hollowhearted, turning over the image of this chirping man in my mind. I knew he'd been through the years of industrial Cleveland and years of being a Jehovah's Witness and who knows what else; and it all brought him there, chirping and crooning those odd, carefully-selected words from a notebook.

After the show, I felt like I should buy a shirt, so I wandered up to the front where Dave was selling them out of a cardboard box on the edge of the stage. A twentysomething girl, looking extremely hip, was there, buying several shirts and CDs and gushing effusively at Dave, who looked tired. She kept insisting to him that he was a genius, and finally reached a crescendo: "YOU are a GOD! Your music is SO INCREDIBLE! You are a LIVING GOD!"

He sighed, shook his head, and said: "Don't say that, please."

She looked incredulous, and couldn't think of anything to say for a moment. Then, she screwed up her mouth, and sneered: "Fuck you!" and stomped off.

We both stood there for a few moments looking uncomfortable. Then I asked for one of the black shirts in medium.
posted by koeselitz at 4:34 PM on November 19, 2007 [1 favorite]

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