By Brad Lopez
By Tom Murphy
By Noah Hubbell
By Inkoo Kang
By Dave Herrerra
By Josiah M. Hesse
By Britt Chester
By Noah Hubbell
A few weeks ago, a cousin told me about The Pick-Up Artist, this reality show on VH1 where a dude who calls himself "Mystery" and a few of his buddies teach ordinary guys how to pick up girls. Although it's hard to take anything seriously when it's coming from a guy wearing black fingernail polish and biker goggles, I started watching the show. And because all the talk about microcalibration and AMOGs (Alpha Male Other Guys) was somewhat confusing, I went to Mystery's website and downloaded his "Magnus Opus Report." But it turned out to be a 56-page PDF document peddling his 21-DVD, 13-CD home-study course, which was supposedly worth thousands of bucks. No thanks.
Mystery's scam reminded me of the book by porn star Peter North, a guide to picking up chicks called Penetrating Insights that I bought more than a decade ago. Even though it's now out of print and going for $125 online, I wasn't about to dig through my house to find it. But I remembered that North recommended grocery stores as good places to find girls — especially the produce section. I could swear he wrote something about grabbing a vegetable, maybe a summer squash, and then asking a gal if it was a good one. Seems to me that nothing screams "perv" like asking a girl what she looks for in a squash. In fact, I once heard about a guy actually flashing a girl in a Safeway produce section.
Bars would seem a much better place to meet women. And since a guy recently told me that the Brickhouse Nightclub (9262 West 58th Avenue, Arvada) was a big meat market, I headed up there last Wednesday for ladies' night. I knew that I probably wouldn't meet my cello-playing, glasses-wearing dream girl who's read the complete works of Hunter S. Thompson and listens to Keith Jarrett, but I figured I'd find someone to talk to.
But when I got to the joint, the band Wishdoctor was playing loud enough to fill a room eight times the size of the Brickhouse. Although I knew there was no chance in hell of having any kind of conversation, I stuck around long enough to drink a beer and look over the few remotely attractive women in the place. The hottest one was with a guy at least a foot shorter — and then there was the gal wearing the Broncos jacket over an Avs jersey. Again, no thanks.
I left and drove down the road to the 12 Volt Tavern (7514 Grandview Avenue), which could be Arvada's answer to the Lion's Lair. A sign next to the front door reads "Hippies Use Side Door" — but of course, there isn't a side door. As I walked in, Merle Haggard's "Silver Wings" was playing on the jukebox. I thought about taking a seat next to a solo skinny blonde wearing a visor who was talking on her cell phone, but something didn't feel quite right. A minute later, though, she walked up to me and said, "I know you; I'm sure do. I don't remember where I met you, but I know I've met you before."
"Uh, maybe," I said.
"They keep kicking me out of this place," she said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Oh, I don't know."
I looked at her. She was kinda hot, but weird hot. Then she sat down on the stool next to mine and pressed her knee against my thigh. "Look," she said, "can you give me a ride home? You can hang out at my place for a while. I've got booze."
So much for me making the first move. Still, this was way too easy.
"I just want somebody to talk to," she said, almost like she was about to cry. "Just give me a ride and we'll talk."
I didn't know what the hell to say. I started moving my mouth, but nothing came out.
"You're not a cop, are you?" she asked.
"No," I said. "But sometimes people think I'm one."
"It's the glasses," she said.
I looked at her again, still struggling for something to say. Finally, she just gulped down her drink, slammed the hi-ball on the bar and said, "I'm walking home. If you want to talk to me, meet me outside."
I took another swig of PBR, waited a few minutes to make sure she didn't come back in, then asked the guy a few seats down if he knew what the hell was up with that gal. The woman bartending overheard, came over and told me, "Oh, she's just a little crazy."
I stayed for another beer at the 12 Volt and really started to feel at home. Still, I thought maybe it was time to do some late-night produce shopping.
Club scout: The Shelter (1037 Broadway), which has been closed for remodeling since July, will kick off its weekly Friday house nights with DJ Chris Fortier at a grand reopening on Friday, December 7. While we'll have to wait until then to find out exactly what owner Regas Christou has done with the place, we know that a new lounge and sound system have been added on the main floor. A block away, DC 10 (940 Lincoln Street) just launched its Glam Saturdays, with entertainment ranging from a lingerie fashion show to salon makeovers. From 9 to 11 p.m., there's no cover, with two-for-one wells and $4 Jägermeister shots as specials.