Archive for the denver Category

Behind the Ogden and Over to the Cheeky Monk

Posted in bar, beer, blog, colorado, denver, music, review with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 6, 2010 by tymora42

We set out onto the Denver night with the focus of seeing David Rhinehart at a house concert hosted by as place called, “Behind the Ogden,” which was by the plum de nom, behind the Ogden. The venue was not a real venue at all, meaning it was devoid of licenses or even chairs for that matter, but it had drinks, a performance space, and music. It also had a table of vintage, and soon to be vintage, americana materials neatly arranged around the CDs of the artists for sale. The centerpiece was a table diner style ketchup and mustard rack. Instead of the condiments there were, very confusingly I should add, a single bottle of Wonder Bubbles. This home did not look like the type of home that would be very accepting of some stranger walking in and blowing bubbles all over their wood floors. Believe me, I was tempted.

Recently, a girl my roommate invited over noticed my construction and decoration of faerie wings. They freaked her out. In a juvenile, third year psychology major mindset she rationalized the creepiness with mental disorders fresh from her most previous classes. One of those, among other upsettingly judgmental accusations, was that I had age identity issues. I accept the truth of this to an extent. Much of my writing has reflections of it. Daily I struggle with the modern quarter life complex of being an adult, yet maintaining a youthful demeanor and playfulness. In extreme cases it is difficult for me to find my fit. Tonight was no different. At the house concert I felt too young to be there. Passing the Ogden and the Fillmore on the streets I felt too old.

Eventually I could stand it no longer. I took the soap outside to play. The evening air had the right amount of humidity for bubble perfection. Surprisingly, I did not take their hula hoops for a spin. When the music started again, I laid out on the cool, soap scum free, wood floors. The atmosphere was very church like. Rhinehart slowly brought the energy up a notch, keeping it in the tolerable realm for the stoic audience, then back to comfort. He was holding back. Only during the “Murder Song” did he reveal his desires to cut loose a little more. The song was still slow but the content, a man who killed his wife contemplating the life┬átaking of the widow next door, breached. I would have liked to see the same show with a rowdier crowd.

Afterwards, we crossed the streets of children at the Tech N9NE concert to the Cheeky Monk, a belgian style bar with Dubbels, Trippels, Saisons, Kwoks, and ales from left to right. I was not so much in the mood for drinking until I had the fried pickles. The waitress brought me a glass of sweet and sour cherry mash called Kasteel Rouge. It was good. Really good. I must also mention that they are the only bar I have ever been that had Delirium Tremonds on tap.

More than the street with the kids trying to be all grown up in their hot pants, dreadlocks, struts, and puking in corner trashcans; more than the adults trying to be kids with their do not disturb bubble containers, vintage paraphernalia, choral recital halls in living rooms, and sleeping in designer sheets; the Cheeky Monk was my place with my people. They served us quality. the wait staff stooped to our level of immature dialogue, and they let us make noise sitting outside on the patio. They would have had no problems with us blowing bubbles and nobody needed to puke in the waste bin.

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