Christy Finally Goes to Colorado. Part I.

With all the ease in the world we decided to take the band on tour, to one place. Denver Colorado. Having earned $35 (by passing around a hat) we figured we had enough money to finance our trip! And so we set off for Colorado with two guitars, a banjo, a churango, a tiny tamborine, and a new name: Albuquerque Boys Choir (we don't have a myspace yet, but look us up soon).

Albuquerque Boys Choir (Bethany, Christy, Stef)

Arriving at the Pitchfork co-op was surreal. We walked in the door and I recognized everything. First the smell, then the posters on the walls, and the dirt on the floor, and the man sleeping on the couch (a guitar tucking him in like some wise and sturdy blanket.) It all sunk into me with such but-of-courseness that I giggled all the way up the rickety stairs to the attic library.

We slept there and in the morning got to know Denver in the best way possible: picking up food for Food Not Bombs. Bethany, Stef and I piled into the truck with Eric. I use the word "piled" entirely on purpose. The passenger seat was not affixed to the floor in any way. It was wonderful. We then headed to the markets that give donations to food not bombs. I believe that this is the best way to shake hands with a city. Here's why: A) Often when you go to a new place the majority of your interactions with human beings involve money. B) It feels much better to pull up to the backs of grocery stores in a big brown truck and politely ask where the huge pile of free food is waiting. Everyone smiles as you lift box after box of perfectly ripe tomatoes and one-day-past-expiration-date crates of soy milk into the back of your truck. They dig around and shout things like "hey I found some eggs you could take! And how about an amazing fuckload of beautiful grapes?" (No one actually said fuckload, but I felt like they were saying it. And fuckload was the most beautiful bountiful word ever uttered). We were gifted a small mountain of bread, a bursting bag of pastries, pears, boxes of the world's most lovely peppers, clove after clove of garlic, and miles of smiles...




We brought back our moving van of food and got to sort it, chop it, taste it, and cook it! There is nothing I miss so much about living in co-ops as chopping mountains of vegetables on huge cutting boards with 3 or 4 other people.




At some point we drifted away for naps and band practice and evening came.

The Legendary Explodin' Jesus Christs opened up the evening with some soon to be hits. The band consists of two of the co-opers, a piano/alternately guitar, and a very small casio keyboard. They're lyrics are really to dirty to repeat here, but in person are hilariously appropriate. After the rousing show we were nervous about our soft harmonies and folky acousticness, but it went off very well. And we had them dancing by the end! I want to make more dance music just to see people dance!

After the show the night imploded into the usual sort of co-op party activities: a bonfire (eggs being fried on top of), bottles of wine, banging on pots, throwing things out of and at windows (Bethany attempted to push someone out of a window, but the only victim was a potted plant), a game of sardines (Swooning with melancholic reminsings I encouraged everyone to sing "Row row row your boat" while we hid in a tiny room together in the dark),

--Note: Of course, nothing compares to playing Sardines in the JS when it was closed down, what with the rats, the hobos, and all of the ghosts standing invisible in the hall--if you know what I mean.

and an unexpected trip into the night to play zombies on a play structure across the street.
Then sleep on a library floor, and morning.

As we left I noticed the clouds were exploding in ways I have never seen before.