Spies of Today: April 18, 2006

B: Once again, we headed out to see what Denver had to offer spies like us. Our identities were dutifully concealed behind complex disguises, and of course, action was bound to follow. I believe we started somewhere around the Purple Martini, which is now a hotel bar for that fabulous Westin with its fluffy beds so much like my own. Except for its complicated entry, calculating miami-in-denver interior and terribly annoying canned club-esque music, the place suited us just fine. We ordered the special, and Henry took pictures for posterity.

But the night had just begun. Leaving the bar, we boarded the 0 down Broadway, taking on a willing collaborator along the way who saw past our masks, and to keep him quiet, we invited him to be our surprise guest and willing collaborator to the night's events. The three of us eventually exited at the Blue Ice. This Blue Ice had some enticing happy hour offerings, and we took full advantage, while M chatted up the adorable folks at the bar with their spiky mohawks and standoffish demeanors. Her confidential report described them as follows: "Don't look at me! Look at me [spiking hair]!" Lo and behold, as the presence of our new compatriots might have indicated, soon the dark chords of goth/industrial music were chiming, and skinny kids in tall black boots appeared out of nowhere (maybe that was the liquor in me not noticing), stomp-kicking their way around the dancefloor, hands in their pockets, bent over from the waists. About then, a devastating beauty of the city joined us for a little birthday hoorah. And we all took to the dance floor, clomping and spinning with Denver's sweet little goths.

Soon it was time to move on to new horizons. The birthday girl had arrangements to meet her associates at Vinyl, another local dance hall. Unfortunately, Vinyl did not have the spunk or sinister satisfaction that Blue Ice had to offer, and we found ourselves sitting with pouty faces in a cold, dirty room, as the rotating dj's competed to find out who could spin the most disjointed, undanceable sets. They both won. Alas, there were also scantily clad women about, peddling jaeger or some other nasty syrup posing as liquor. We tried to talk some sense into them, to give them the key to escape, but they would not listen. M made sure that some of their blow-up toys were no longer standing as we breezed out of the joint. Dance club: HA.

Results:
Blue Ice 8.5
Vinyl 0

M:

Our First Excursion: March 27, 2006

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B: Here's what I remember: we got all dolled up in our wigs and overalls, looking forward to a night of dancing and parties. 1st stop, we attempted to spend time at a local artists' event, but it just wasn't cutting it. Ducked out of there, and walked up Santa Fe looking for action. Unfortunately, the town, she was sleeping. Entered King Soopers grocery on Speer in cold desperation. Purchased candy for pep, danced to their muzac because something needed to be done. Out of there and across Colfax, we trailblazed our fancy selves down 15th, into the depths of downtown, now focused on finding a good hotel bar where we could, well, who knew what would happen? The sparkly new hotel across from the DCPA was not yet open, thus we were relegated to a very downtrodden Holiday Inn. The bar was even more so, and the crowd was a motley crew of middle-agers who all looked like they had narrowly escaped from a cousin's badly performed bachelor/bachelorette party. Still, they visibly leaned away from our corner, where we sat at a low round table, respectively sighing into our cocktails. They were not the adventurous types. I think a woman asked us if we were in some sort of act, and we appreciated that. Mariah got a priceless pic of a woman giving us an "oh lord" look at the bar. When we had enough of that scene, we ventured out to 15th, where we greeted newcomers to our fair city at the bus stop and take random videos of ourselves with Henry, who warmed up to me after a short while. Our bus, of course, never arrived, but J did, and whisked us home.
In short, we resorted to self-entertainment. Dance factor: 0

M: