4

Drunk of the week: An open letter to Lakeview Lounge on Sheridan

The morning following my first adventure at the Lakeview Lounge, in mid-December 2008, I awoke feeling gnarly all over and wrote the following love letter:

Dear Lakeview Lounge: I like that time forgot you — that you have a functional Budweiser Clydesdales carriage globe-light; that your beer swag is, like, twenty years old; that your bathroom is a real water-closet hellhole. I like these things, for real. I like your patio overlooking Sloan's Lake, even though it mostly overlooks five lanes of Sheridan traffic. I like that your bartenders leave the register unattended to go smoke, and that the regulars throw dice and dollar bills at each other. I don't like that hot plates at potlucks ruined your shuffleboard table. Not at all. That's sad.

I eventually sent this letter, but can't say with any certainty whether it was received, let alone read. No response ever arrived, though I waited and waited, pining for validation of my feelings and desires. Down but not out, I recently returned to the Edgewater dive that time forgot — that the Internet scarcely knows by name and that the majority of Denver likely knows next to nothing about — only to once again feel my heart swoon down into my liver and back up through my throat, until it was all I could do not to drink my weight in sixty-ounce pitchers of ice-cold Budweiser and publicly display my affection in some incredibly inappropriate way. Instead, I wrote another letter, my final declaration of adoration. Once more, with feeling:

Info

Lakeview Lounge

Lakeview Lounge
2375 Sheridan Boulevard, Edgewater
303-232-2419

My Dearest Lakeview Lounge: I notice that in my absence you converted the warped and worthless shuffleboard table into a place for patrons to sit and set their drinks. Good thinking, though I still wish you'd had the hindsight not to fuck it up in the first place. Shuffleboard tables are to be cherished, carefully maintained, and your epically boner move — if I may be so brash — worries me. What inside your hallowed, wood-paneled walls will be the next to go? Surely not the peanut M&Ms dispenser, the one I cranked eight quarters into, filling a chilled pint glass and sharing until everyone's fingers were stained rainbow colors? Or the $1.25 bags of popcorn from the vending machine, which your run-ragged bartender so expertly sprayed water on (so every kernel would pop) before tossing into the microwave?

I still love Peconi's Patio so hard. Twice now I've noticed the sign in memory of your friend Peconi; I'm sorry for your loss, though I wish the plastic picnic tables weren't bolted to the ground. I mean, you're closed for all of five hours each day: Are you truly worried they'll disappear? I dig that your regulars know how to party. I have to admit, however, that I was slightly horrified when some dudes at the next table began giving their female friend wedgies. At first I thought that was crossing a line, but when she began stretching her pink thong past her ears and over her own head, I knew that shit was legit.

I know I said this already, but I really do worry for you sometimes, Lakeview. That one day I'll wander across town and find you closed. Then I remember how much ass you kick and realize we'll be together forever. I hope the idea makes you as happy as it makes me.

P.S.: I seriously almost vommed when I saw what was growing on the bar of soap in the bathroom. Just get some goddamn liquid Dial already. Sheesh.

Cheers to cash-only beers,

Drew

We use cookies to collect and analyze information on site performance and usage, and to enhance and customize content and advertisements. By clicking 'X' or continuing to use the site, you agree to allow cookies to be placed. To find out more, visit our cookies policy and our privacy policy.

Newsletters

All-access pass to the top stories, events and offers around town.

  • Top Stories
    Send:

Newsletters

All-access pass to top stories, events and offers around town.

Sign Up >

No Thanks!

Remind Me Later >