Popination Immolation
a series of unhinged personal essays disguised as pub reviews. Today: Post Brewing Company
On buses, meth, long commutes, the passage of time, and overindulging in the name of sanity. Or is that safety?
I sat there for about an hour, over an IPA and a shot I didn’t really want, in what seemed like an impossible quest to get an uber home to Centennial (when it finally arrived, it was in the middle of rush hour and cost nearly a hundred bucks). I had been up to Boulder visiting my parents over a rosé and some calamari at Corner Bar, and found that the Boulder bus terminal had once again been closed up, this time interminably, on account of meth fumes in the air vents. The big public library downtown had to shut down for the same reasons.
That’s how we live now: public transportation where I live has been decimated during and since the pandemic, and it hasn’t recovered yet; not to where it once was anyway. Back in the 20-teens, I commuted by bus and light rail 3-4 times a week, from my home in way-out-east-Boulder (Gunbarrel) to downtown Denver and sometimes DU, which is farther South. At the end of my stint at Front Range Community College, there was more than one semester there where I would commute from Boulder to downtown Denver (anywhere between an hour and 2 hours by bus), teach a class at Metro, come back after a visit to Terminal bar for lunch briefly, (another hour or so) switch out my school supplies at the Birdhouse, and get on the bus to Longmont (between 45 minutes and an hour) where I’d teach two classes back to back. By the time I staggered in to Oskar Blues for a pint to unwind those evenings, I was exhausted beyond burnout. I did this twice a week, and then also taught two back to back classes on Saturday mornings. Plus online courses for DU. Once I started seeing my partner, I would add his place in Centennial to my back-and-forthings, and by the time Covid locked me down at his place, mid-semester of 2020, I had been bus and light rail commuting back and forth about four times a week. Now?
Well now I live in Centennial with my partner full time, and all my regular teaching and other work (like this writing nonsense) is all online. Movement classes are usually shorter term workshoppy type things and so I just end up ubering to those, and performances are once or twice a month and so, same. Part of me does wish that my especially Gunbarrel-living self had uber back then but maybe it’s for the best. But my point is: nowadays, the Denver and (obviously) Boulder bus terminals are so dangerous that even I don’t feel comfortable waiting for a bus at either place—I’d rather cough up the chunk of change to take an uber.
And so there I was, a couple weeks ago, nursing a decent session style IPA, watching my little app try and find me a car, sitting huddled at the far side of the bar where the only outlet was so I could keep my phone from dying mid-uber-order, and musing that it’s strange I never come here those rare times when I am visiting Boulder. I remember the Lafayette suburb one, plonked in the middle of a field, was frequented by my at the time estranged husband in our Lafayette theatre days, but I was never invited nor welcome to attend those pub times, so I didn’t get to know this place well. That’s their flagship pub, the one where they actually do the brewing I believe, but they opened a smaller branch right near Corner Bar in downtown Boulder a few years ago. Both of them are called:
The Post Brewery
Post’s subtitle is actually “chicken and beer” since they’re known as much for their stellar fried chicken as they are for their tasty microbrews. I’m an IPA guy, like I said, and so I always order the Townie when I’m there. It’s not my favorite ever IPA, but it’s their most enjoyably drinkable selection, since, as a brewery, they only offer their own taps. They do something special with their frying process, too—I don’t know details (and am not doing research, remember) but I do know that they have a way of doing a gluten-free fried chicken that is crispy and so good that they won awards for it. I have indeed nibbled on a little of their chicken and it’s the most perfectly fried thing I think I’ve tasted (besides the daikon fries at my local Hapa but that’s a whole ‘nother story).
The last time I was here was a while ago—I had invited two singers over to the Birdhouse to rehearse a new act that I’d choreographed: “Two Ladies” from Cabaret. They’re both in their twenties and I was not quite fifty at the time, and I found, as the three of us posted up (!) at the Post bar afterward, that I was in a sort of Elder Weirdo sort of role, as we all three drank like 25 year olds and I realized how long and seasoned a life I had led compared to them. I ended up telling life stories that they were interested in, and such. I don’t know why I found it strange, but I did. Then again, I’m usually pretty taken aback when anyone expresses interest in hearing things about me.
One of the two singers was actually a former college student of mine from a few years back—they had dropped out and then went back. Studying music. They’d taken the basic Freshman Comp classes from me and kinda fell in love with Jenn-land and ended up taking my two theatre movement classes too. I hadn’t seen them in a while, until Blue Dime Cabaret’s regular opera singer moved away. So they started with us by singing and kittening,* until they fell in love with that too and took lessons and now they’re doing burlesque all over the place (including with us). Funny, that. Spans of time.
*In burlesque, a ‘kitten’ is a stagehand, usually an apprentice or someone new to burlesque, but not always. A kitten’s job is to place sets and props on stage before each act, and to clear dropped clothing and such after each one. Think running crew, but with cute little outfits and kitten ears. Sometimes if a kitten is a man, they’ll be called a tomcat, and once we had a kitten that was a crocodile instead.
How people change. How bus stations change and then close. It’s okay—I don’t need the commute anymore, myself. But I feel for those that do. Or are we all just trapped working from home still? Except for all these bartenders at my popinations?
Can’t think of anything else to add about Post to my post. And the uber has just pulled up. Gotta go, or I’ll be charged a fee.