By Isa Jones
By Mary Willson
By Brian Turk
By Drew AIles
By Taylor Boylston
By Bree Davies
By Emerald O'Brien
True story. When I was in college, a girl asked me to kill her. Right after sex. I'd known her for about three hours (we'd met at an open-mike poetry reading). There was none of that post-coital cuddling for this gal. She said, "I just don't feel anything inside anymore. I want to float down a river and die. Will you kill me?" Still panting and sweating, I sat up and thought, "Holy crap, man, this chick is gonna pull some Exorcist shit any minute now." I should've known better: I was getting danger signs all night, one being that she said she was a social worker who worked with kids who were sexually abused by their siblings, and the other being a black-and-white poster in her room of Skinny Puppy's singer, who looked like he had shit smeared all over his chest à la GG Allin. Except that it was peanut butter, someone informed me years later when I shared this story.
As I was hastily putting my clothes on, still breathing heavily, she apologized for what she'd said and then put her head in her hands and started talking about how the devil passes from one person to another. I was buttoning my shirt as fast as I could, and then I remembered I'd left my bike in the back of her car. I was about ready to write off the bike, but then she reminded me of it. She put on her robe and slippers, and once I got my bike, I hopped on it and pedaled home so fast I nearly passed out.
A few weeks later, I ran into a gal I knew who lived in that same apartment building. She said she'd run into "that weird chick" and that she wanted my phone number so she could call and apologize. But what was really bizarre was that my friend saw the weird chick with a guy who could've been my evil twin.
Well, turns out I've got a few twins out there, including a guy who's a friend of Summer, the bartender at Blondie's Firehouse (3435 South Inca Street, Unit B, Englewood). When she told me I looked a lot like her friend, I thought about telling her about my fling with Satan's daughter. Instead, I told her how a lot of people tell me that I look like someone they know. I've also had people approach me thinking I was someone else — like a drunken guy who was convinced I was Francis Ford Coppola. "I'm a little man. He's a great man," I told him, referencing Apocalypse Now.
Once I'd recovered from my girl-who-wanted-me-to-kill-her flashback at Blondie's, I was able to focus my attention on Like Crashing Pianos, the alt-rock trio that was playing that night. The place brings in bands every Wednesday and Friday and hosts karaoke on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
During a break, I was looking at all the fireman paraphernalia (helmets, jackets, axes and masks) around the joint when a guy started pulling a red thong over his jeans. The dude had obviously downed a few beers, and he'd just bought the thong from a guy who was selling shirts and thongs with silk-screened sayings. After getting a few of his buddies to try on the thong, too, he came over to me and said, "Okay, now you gotta try it."
"Dude, I'll break the thing," I said.
"Go on. Just try," he said, holding out the thong, which had "Got MILF?" printed on the front.
"Aw, hell," I said, and grabbed it.
After struggling to get it over my boots, I pulled the thong up about as far as it would go, then took it off. I'd stretched it all to hell. The guy gave it to the waitress, who put it on over her jeans, then gave it to another guy, who put it on his head. Just fun and games at Blondie's, a sports bar that shoots straight. And the gals hanging out here seemed fairly "normal" compared to, say, someone you might meet at a poetry reading.
Club scout: The Illusions in Sound music and art festival kicks off at Cervantes' (2637 Welton Street) on Saturday, February 23. Hardcore electro purveyors Jackal & Hyde will headline the event, and a dozen DJs, including Brian Howe, Schmid-E, Ascension, Matthew Orloff and Lea Luna, will lay down the house and psytrance beats. Bunny of Rabbit in the Moon headlines the second part of the festival on Saturday, March 8, at the Oriental Theater (4335 West 44th Avenue). Local artists will show abstract, surreal and psychedelic art at both venues, along with live painting on stage.
Also on Saturday, February 23, at 2 p.m., three finalists — Richard Pedretti-Allen from Texas, J. Mark Anglus from Oregon and Matt Venzke from Virginia — will compete at this year's Beerdrinker of the Year contest at the Wynkoop Brewing Company (1634 18th Street). The event is free and open to the public. And later that night, don't forget Westword's own Artopia; find details in the supplement in this issue. Finally, the Robusto Room (9535 Park Meadows Drive, Lone Tree), which just celebrated its sixth anniversary, has kicked off a live comedy night featuring Dick Black every other Sunday.