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Every year it's the same old question: Where to go to see good fireworks in Denver? When we first moved here and lived in the foothills, we just went up behind our apartment complex where every city from Westminster to Aurora was laid out before us. One year while in Boulder we went to Folsom Field, a spectacular display, but watching it pressed up against 53,000 of my fellow humans was a bit more than I could bear. A few years ago we ended up in a park in the middle of Cherry Creek, our only companion in the audience a homeless guy sleeping under a bush.
This year MyFriendDeb's big scheme was to go downtown to watch the display at Coors Field. There were two glaring flaws with this plan, both of which we obviously ignored or there would be no story here: We had to go downtown, and the commencement of the celebration was heavily contingent on the conclusion of the baseball game. But MyFriendDeb was insistent, so off we went.
We boarded the Light Rail out in the 'burbs and it was already standing-room only. A nice-looking crowd, but for a tiny preponderance of American flag-themed sportswear (which to me is the fashion faux pas equivalent of wearing a band t-shirt to that band's concert. It's just kind of silly).
Then, the Insane Clown Posse got on, or more accurately, a group of teenage "Juggalos" (the name given to hardcore ICP fans, I learned); full facepaint, punked out hairdos, ICP t-shirts and bling, 4 guys and a girl. I don't know much about the Posse beyond appearing on the cover of over-the-top heavy metal magazines. While searching for images of them on the Web, the first thing that jumped out was that they are only two guys, and I'm not entirely convinced that two people can be considered a "posse." For all I know, Mr. and Mr. Clown might be fine musicians. As for the "Juggalos," far be it from me to condemn people for dressing like individuals (if you could call dressing exactly like your favorite pop icon being "individual") and expressing themselves so brazenly. However, I do take exception when personal expression crosses the line into obtrusive, obnoxious, quasi-violent behavior. These kids thought they were bad-asses, and they didn't care who knew it. It was physically impossible for any of them to utter a sentence without using "fuck" or "fucking" in it, preferably loud and often. We sat and stared at one with a shaved head except for a dozen little tiny pigtails sticking straight up from the top of it, his face obscured with two bandannas that formed a slit for his eyes. Tery murmured to me, "His parents must be so proud." One of the kids also carried a cardboard box with five 40-ounce bottles of beer, as if any of them came close to looking as if they were drinking age.
Whatever. We got off at Union Station where Deb immediately had to pee. This involved walking a considerable distance out of our way into the depths of the train station (my reasons for mentioning this will become apparent later). Then we walked forever back the other way to Confluence Park, our destination. There was already a sizable crowd gathered on the park's one hill, and we selected a spot with a perfect view of Coors. Deb had brought a tarp for us to sit on. I had worn a long-sleeved shirt, but Deb and Tery were in lightweight tees, and we all had shorts on. There was a blustering, steady wind blowing up the hill into our faces. The tarp proved to be excellent shelter from the breeze, however later it died down and was replaced by a more pervasive, insidious chill that the tarp was absolutely no match for. Intermittently, sprinklers would start up at inconvenient spots, forcing large sections of people to relocate quickly, and the tarp again redeemed itself. It was nice of the city of Denver to shut those off for the night -- judging by the throng, this couldn't have been the first year people thought of coming here for fireworks.
We arrived at about 7ish, so we had a good amount of time to huddle under our tarp, trying to ignore our feet and our butts falling asleep on the hard ground. It was just at dusk when I was looking around at all the people, chatting amicably with their neighbors and having a good time doing nothing. Little kids were playing together without bothering anyone, there were puppies and ice cream trucks and picnic baskets and wine. I was infused with a sense of warmth and community about humanity in general, and Denverites in particular. So I blame myself that just at that moment the Juggalos returned, plopping themselves down within a foot of us. Tery and I looked at each other, and I burst into hysterical laughter. Partly at the absurdity of it -- what were the odds? -- but mostly because I really wanted them to know I was laughing at them. The one nearest to me did look at me quizzically, but since I was looking at Tery he couldn't really prove anything.
They were even more annoying than they were on the train, which I wouldn't have thought possible. Since they were in the middle of the downward slope of the hill, they had a nice, big audience. They started in with their cussing, their posturing, their rough-housing. They were guzzling their 40s, screaming how they wanted to see "fuckin' mortars" instead of the smaller explosives being lit, talking very loudly about wanting to kill some guy or at least tying him to a bed and raping him, all with infants and toddlers sitting right there. Yeah, explain to me again why homosexuals are the biggest threat facing our society? These kids must be the product of those "family values" they want to protect so badly. No one else did a thing to shut them up. I prayed for a cop to come by. If I had a cellphone, I would probably have been sorely tempted to get one there myself. I really, honestly wondered what would be more offensive to the crowd, these goons or the sight of Tery and me holding hands (which we did often, as well as hugged a lot to try to warm up. Take THAT, Middle America!)
At one point another sprinkler went off, this one far down the hill, not really reaching anyone except for a light mist that blew off of it towards us. One of the Juggalos flew into a rage (or a pseudo-rage, as I'm sure it was only to demonstrate how bad-ass he truly was), charging down the hill at it and trying to kick it to make it stop. He only succeeded in drenching himself (and looking like a moron), and Tery said loud enough to be heard by them, "Your makeup will run." Again, the one closest turned to look at her but didn't say or do anything. Pussies.
Fortunately after the sun went down they got bored and wandered off and I forgot about them (temporarily. It was all saved up for this post, obviously). Lacking their brand of entertainment, we had nothing to look at except for the far-off displays that had already started. At Coors, however, the game continued stubbornly. It must have been doing it just to spite us, because Denver is normally a town that shuts down at 10 pm. At around 10:15 Invesco Field started theirs up. I suppose they were pretty, but because they were behind the hill and everyone stood up to turn around, we could only see glimpses through the gaps in the crowd. By now I was less concerned with seeing pretty lights in the sky than I was with fighting thousands and thousands of people to get back home on the train. We could see that Coors Field was packed, and there were easily a few hundred people just in Confluence Park alone.
Invesco's display ended and we stood there eyeing Coors balefully. 10:45 and STILL no sign of starting. Stupid baseball. At 10:50, Deb suggested we just call it a night, to my immense relief. We started hiking back to the Light Rail stop. We all had to pee, but Deb advised against using the park's restroom. We had to walk all the way back to the depths of the train station (remember?), walking right past a mostly empty train waiting to take off, which irritated me greatly until Deb finally explained that the facilities at the park didn't have any doors on the stalls, and people just came and went while you sat there, sounding for all the world like a favorite recurring nightmare of mine. Well, put THAT way... When we got into Union Station, apparently there was some problem with the men's room and they were all using the women's. I wouldn't have minded so much if not for the fact that the guys were leaving the seats up. When Deb tried to enter a stall a guy was leaving and not exactly zipped up all the way. Guys? If you're going to use the ladies' room, there are a few rules of decorum we try to follow in here. Pigs.
We got out and boarded the train, pleased as punch that we got seats this time. We kept craning our necks to see Coors, but STILL no action. We tiredly chatted a little as the train reached the next stop. I wasn't paying much attention, so it came as a big surprise when a tide of people burst through the doors, filling the aisle to overflowing in seconds. This was Invesco's stop. I looked out the window and the sidewalk as far as the eye could see was just a mass of churning humanity, all pushing desperately towards the train doors. I watched as an RTD security guard pulled people off the train because you aren't allowed to stand in the stairwell. Deb said she imagined it looked like the view from the last helicopter leaving Saigon.
The ride back was uneventful, if not a little sweaty from all those people. I was mildly disappointed that we didn't see the Juggalos one last time. After all that, we never even got to see what we came for. I think next year I am going to insist on a blanket, a more secluded vantage point, and a lot fewer gangsta rappaz.
This year MyFriendDeb's big scheme was to go downtown to watch the display at Coors Field. There were two glaring flaws with this plan, both of which we obviously ignored or there would be no story here: We had to go downtown, and the commencement of the celebration was heavily contingent on the conclusion of the baseball game. But MyFriendDeb was insistent, so off we went.
We boarded the Light Rail out in the 'burbs and it was already standing-room only. A nice-looking crowd, but for a tiny preponderance of American flag-themed sportswear (which to me is the fashion faux pas equivalent of wearing a band t-shirt to that band's concert. It's just kind of silly).
Then, the Insane Clown Posse got on, or more accurately, a group of teenage "Juggalos" (the name given to hardcore ICP fans, I learned); full facepaint, punked out hairdos, ICP t-shirts and bling, 4 guys and a girl. I don't know much about the Posse beyond appearing on the cover of over-the-top heavy metal magazines. While searching for images of them on the Web, the first thing that jumped out was that they are only two guys, and I'm not entirely convinced that two people can be considered a "posse." For all I know, Mr. and Mr. Clown might be fine musicians. As for the "Juggalos," far be it from me to condemn people for dressing like individuals (if you could call dressing exactly like your favorite pop icon being "individual") and expressing themselves so brazenly. However, I do take exception when personal expression crosses the line into obtrusive, obnoxious, quasi-violent behavior. These kids thought they were bad-asses, and they didn't care who knew it. It was physically impossible for any of them to utter a sentence without using "fuck" or "fucking" in it, preferably loud and often. We sat and stared at one with a shaved head except for a dozen little tiny pigtails sticking straight up from the top of it, his face obscured with two bandannas that formed a slit for his eyes. Tery murmured to me, "His parents must be so proud." One of the kids also carried a cardboard box with five 40-ounce bottles of beer, as if any of them came close to looking as if they were drinking age.
Whatever. We got off at Union Station where Deb immediately had to pee. This involved walking a considerable distance out of our way into the depths of the train station (my reasons for mentioning this will become apparent later). Then we walked forever back the other way to Confluence Park, our destination. There was already a sizable crowd gathered on the park's one hill, and we selected a spot with a perfect view of Coors. Deb had brought a tarp for us to sit on. I had worn a long-sleeved shirt, but Deb and Tery were in lightweight tees, and we all had shorts on. There was a blustering, steady wind blowing up the hill into our faces. The tarp proved to be excellent shelter from the breeze, however later it died down and was replaced by a more pervasive, insidious chill that the tarp was absolutely no match for. Intermittently, sprinklers would start up at inconvenient spots, forcing large sections of people to relocate quickly, and the tarp again redeemed itself. It was nice of the city of Denver to shut those off for the night -- judging by the throng, this couldn't have been the first year people thought of coming here for fireworks.
We arrived at about 7ish, so we had a good amount of time to huddle under our tarp, trying to ignore our feet and our butts falling asleep on the hard ground. It was just at dusk when I was looking around at all the people, chatting amicably with their neighbors and having a good time doing nothing. Little kids were playing together without bothering anyone, there were puppies and ice cream trucks and picnic baskets and wine. I was infused with a sense of warmth and community about humanity in general, and Denverites in particular. So I blame myself that just at that moment the Juggalos returned, plopping themselves down within a foot of us. Tery and I looked at each other, and I burst into hysterical laughter. Partly at the absurdity of it -- what were the odds? -- but mostly because I really wanted them to know I was laughing at them. The one nearest to me did look at me quizzically, but since I was looking at Tery he couldn't really prove anything.
They were even more annoying than they were on the train, which I wouldn't have thought possible. Since they were in the middle of the downward slope of the hill, they had a nice, big audience. They started in with their cussing, their posturing, their rough-housing. They were guzzling their 40s, screaming how they wanted to see "fuckin' mortars" instead of the smaller explosives being lit, talking very loudly about wanting to kill some guy or at least tying him to a bed and raping him, all with infants and toddlers sitting right there. Yeah, explain to me again why homosexuals are the biggest threat facing our society? These kids must be the product of those "family values" they want to protect so badly. No one else did a thing to shut them up. I prayed for a cop to come by. If I had a cellphone, I would probably have been sorely tempted to get one there myself. I really, honestly wondered what would be more offensive to the crowd, these goons or the sight of Tery and me holding hands (which we did often, as well as hugged a lot to try to warm up. Take THAT, Middle America!)
At one point another sprinkler went off, this one far down the hill, not really reaching anyone except for a light mist that blew off of it towards us. One of the Juggalos flew into a rage (or a pseudo-rage, as I'm sure it was only to demonstrate how bad-ass he truly was), charging down the hill at it and trying to kick it to make it stop. He only succeeded in drenching himself (and looking like a moron), and Tery said loud enough to be heard by them, "Your makeup will run." Again, the one closest turned to look at her but didn't say or do anything. Pussies.
Fortunately after the sun went down they got bored and wandered off and I forgot about them (temporarily. It was all saved up for this post, obviously). Lacking their brand of entertainment, we had nothing to look at except for the far-off displays that had already started. At Coors, however, the game continued stubbornly. It must have been doing it just to spite us, because Denver is normally a town that shuts down at 10 pm. At around 10:15 Invesco Field started theirs up. I suppose they were pretty, but because they were behind the hill and everyone stood up to turn around, we could only see glimpses through the gaps in the crowd. By now I was less concerned with seeing pretty lights in the sky than I was with fighting thousands and thousands of people to get back home on the train. We could see that Coors Field was packed, and there were easily a few hundred people just in Confluence Park alone.
Invesco's display ended and we stood there eyeing Coors balefully. 10:45 and STILL no sign of starting. Stupid baseball. At 10:50, Deb suggested we just call it a night, to my immense relief. We started hiking back to the Light Rail stop. We all had to pee, but Deb advised against using the park's restroom. We had to walk all the way back to the depths of the train station (remember?), walking right past a mostly empty train waiting to take off, which irritated me greatly until Deb finally explained that the facilities at the park didn't have any doors on the stalls, and people just came and went while you sat there, sounding for all the world like a favorite recurring nightmare of mine. Well, put THAT way... When we got into Union Station, apparently there was some problem with the men's room and they were all using the women's. I wouldn't have minded so much if not for the fact that the guys were leaving the seats up. When Deb tried to enter a stall a guy was leaving and not exactly zipped up all the way. Guys? If you're going to use the ladies' room, there are a few rules of decorum we try to follow in here. Pigs.
We got out and boarded the train, pleased as punch that we got seats this time. We kept craning our necks to see Coors, but STILL no action. We tiredly chatted a little as the train reached the next stop. I wasn't paying much attention, so it came as a big surprise when a tide of people burst through the doors, filling the aisle to overflowing in seconds. This was Invesco's stop. I looked out the window and the sidewalk as far as the eye could see was just a mass of churning humanity, all pushing desperately towards the train doors. I watched as an RTD security guard pulled people off the train because you aren't allowed to stand in the stairwell. Deb said she imagined it looked like the view from the last helicopter leaving Saigon.
The ride back was uneventful, if not a little sweaty from all those people. I was mildly disappointed that we didn't see the Juggalos one last time. After all that, we never even got to see what we came for. I think next year I am going to insist on a blanket, a more secluded vantage point, and a lot fewer gangsta rappaz.
