Dave F.'s Profile

So, the band got a call: we're opening for Maceo Parker at the Boulder Theater.

Normally, I would be all atwitter at the slot. Opening slots like that are the best unpaid gigs in the world. Sue, you make no money, but you show up, set up, rock hard for like 50 minutes and then hang out in the green room pretending you're special or watch the show from off stage pretending you're extra special. If you're single, you might even get a half-way decent headliner-cast-off date for the evening.

Anyhoo, we had a bunch of other gigs already this week, and I was operating on my thrid consecutive day of 4 hours of sleep. It was catching up to me.

There aren't any blaring Starbucks signs between US 36 and the Boulder Theater, so I stopped at this Conoco for one cup of meager coffee. I popped inside, said hello to the nice chap and filled their medium-sized styrofoam (hello? I though Boulder outlawed that) cup.
I sifted through their collection of creamers, settled on simple half-and-half, added a packet of Splenda, dropped two bucks and headed out.

I pulled up to the Boulder Theater a few moments later--a full 30 minutes before load in.

I took a sip of my coffee.

In my life, I've tasted some fowl things. Spoiled milk. Cauliflower. Diet Pepsi. Once, when I was a kid, I fell off of a slide and another kid stepped backward accidentally on my face, filling my mouth with the taste of shoe-sole rubber and playground dirt.  

This sip of coffee most reminded me of the latter--after the shoe-sole rubber with the playground dirt on it had been boiled in a vat of liquid magma on the surface of the sun. It was the taste of burning. It wasn't that the coffee was ridiculously hot (which, of course, it was), but that it tasted. Like. Burning.
Like the inside of a solar flare.
Like chewing on charcoal.

In short, it was simply undigestable. I poured the coffee out of my car window and leaned back for a moment, tired, too early to set up and too late to go anywhere else. After what should only have been a moment, my phone suddenly rang.

"Dude, where the f**k are you!?"

Oh sh*t. it was 7:30. Load-in started 20 minutes ago.

Damn you, Conoco.

Damn you.

Dropped six Gs in two weeks there. Val, the retired-professor-cum-scooter-saleswoman is awesome. So's Cassie. In fact, everyone we dealt with seemed to really love their job and wanted to help people get onto the best scooter possible. They don't work on commission.

Best part? Been riding non-stop since I bought. ZERO buyer's remorse.

The only reason this doesn't get 5 stars is because it's in San Diego (which is German for "Whale's Vagina") and not in Denver.

This is quite possibly the greatest noveau diner in the universe. Went there twice in two days--we were staying a few blocks away.  The food was cooked perfectly, the portions were GARGANTUBUNGOUS and the cocktails stiff.

Complaints? Really, none. Our first visit was around 2 pm, so there was no wait; on our second one we made reservations and got seated within moments.  Oh, I guess I could complain about the fact that it's in San Diego again.

Dr. Karsh is likely one of the best Doctors I've ever had. Smart. Really smart. Brilliant bedside manner. A great all-around physician. Unfortunately, he's only there a few days a week and in HIGH demand.

The admins in his office, however, suck. Bedside manner of a collective group of Hermann Goerings. Telephone etiquette to make Qwest look good. Friendly as a school of barracudas.

Good Doc/Bad Secretary routine? Starting to get old. Fast.

UPDATE (5/20/08)
Saw the good doctor yesterday for a thing. The staff was actually pleasant. Perhaps things are on the up. I remain vigiliant...

Uber gay-friendly; on the weekends, straight-unfriendly (at least in the hotel bar). Nice view from the rooftop patio.

Rooms are decent--converted old world apartments. Sometimes, though, it seems "charming" is code for "dilapidated" here.  Rooms were clean enough. Not eat-off-the-floor clean. But clean enough to not freak out sleeping in.

Half a block from Balboa Park; few blocks from awesome shops in Hillcrest.  Still, too pricey for the amenities.