Popination Integration

A series of unhinged personal essays disguised as pub reviews. Today: Ratio Beerworks. …or maybe Horrid? Or Alabasterd Productions? Or Firefly?

The Uber driver was worried.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” he asked, as he turned another odd rusted out corner between a few warehouse-looking fenced off buildings in the back end of Acoma street. 

“Pretty sure, yeah. Though I’ve never been here before,” I replied, right before he and I both spied the shrub-lined walkway leading up to the door of Ratio Beerworks, like a  precious gem in a gumball machine ring setting. This rough warehousey area didn’t actually surprise me—so many new breweries in my experience, in Boulder and Westminster especially, tend to be in these big steelworks, with exposed pipe- and ductwork in the ceiling, all metal stools and counter surfaces, and big vats in the back where the beer gets made. Which makes sense, if you think about it; why not use a big warehouse so you can make the beer on site as well as sell it? It does mean that these breweries usually can’t sell food, but hey. The food truck craze is still that, and one thing that warehousey type places do have is plentiful parking. 

I was on my way to perform in an unfamiliar venue, with an unfamiliar burlesque troupe, and thought it’d be fun to pre-game at an unfamiliar brewery, especially because where I was going was not a bar, but a BYOB event that was taking place at a little horror and goth themed gift shop called Horrid. Which was apparently within walking distance of Ratio, so. And the place was indeed one of those wide open, all-steel, bench-seating and burnished aluminum bar type breweries. And they did brew their beer onsite, and therefore had growlers as well as cans available to take. 

There was a roomy and sunny patio outside, which is where most patrons were hanging out when I arrived. It looked too bright and hot for my pale self, but it was done up kind of like a beer garden, and looked like a nice place to spend an afternoon, if sun is your thing.

El Dorado indeed.

Ratio Beerworks has two establishments in Denver, but I hadn’t been to either one. I tried a gold colored IPA that the surly tapmaster recommended (called, fittingly, El Dorado), and when I chatted with him about the differences between East and West coast IPAs, he warmed up quite a bit, even waxing poetic about a new peach sour they just tapped. I tasted that too, and, like most sour beers, I liked it immensely, for about the three sips that constituted the sample, but knew I wouldn’t enjoy a whole pint of it. But I hung out for a bit, enjoyed my pints and the big Lichtenstein-esque murals on the walls, before strolling on down to Horrid to get to my performer call.

Insert your Lichtenstein parody dialogue bubble here.

There was a set of stocks set up outside Horrid, which I took as a good sign of the mood of my night to come. Inside, there were tons of gewgaws, tchotchkes, apparel, and accessories in a horror and/or gothic theme, all arranged tastefully atop hardwood floors, giving the teeny boutique a warm feeling. I made my way to the back room where the little stage and audience was set up, and this guy greeted me:

Another sign of a good time about to be had.

The show was an all-burlesque tribute to ill-fated cult favorite sci fi show Firefly, and I was playing Captain Mal, sipping on Jack Daniels to George Thorogood’s classic “I Drink Alone.” I had a pretty good approximation of the Captain’s part-cowboy, part-Han Solo outfit, and I took bits of it off each time the kitten (who played love interest Inara) came onstage to shake her head exasperatedly at me. If you know the show, you know what I’m talking about. The audience was thrilled—their reaction was way up there, and I think it might have been because I was the only one (besides the bloodied vaudeville strongman act) that wasn’t super feminine presenting, and also used comedy in my piece.

But before the performance, there was time to get dressed and get ready, and that meant going down into the dressing room. And I mean down: the producer of the show did warn me that the stairs were steep, but this? This, I did not expect. 

Is…is that blood? On the walls? 

The show itself was the sort of true old-school burlesque show—an actual homage and parody, an impersonation strip show. It was a fun time, and I actually got another gig from that performance, from a producer who attended, needed a replacement burlesquer, and was impressed by my acting. Which is interesting, isn’t it—she wasn’t impressed by my dancing, or my beauty, or my choreography (though I’m sure she liked those things too or she wouldn’t have asked). But she specifically mentioned how good an actor I was. I dunno, I think it’s interesting to ponder, and it certainly verifies what I’ve known about my own theatrical skills: that I’m very good at the outside-in style of acting, more than inside-out. Having others point this out is comforting—it’s easy to get caught up in my own head and my own nonsense, even in performing arts, so in this case, having some outside verification is helpful. 

Though I never once tripped on those Victorian crypt-like stairs, up and down from the green room, I did manage to trip over the invisible cement curb which constituted the front portico outside Horrid, after the show was all over and I had ordered my Uber and was chatting with some audience members who were trying to tell me how impressed they were with my performance. My falling on my ass and ramming my shoulder into someone’s car at the same time didn’t seem to diminish their level of appreciation, and I was more embarrassed than hurt (though I do have a lovely yellowish bruise on my upper arm today). 

But, as a naked Mal said at the end of the Firefly episode called “Trash,” (and as I said at the end of my act, to honor it), “That went well.”

“Yep. A good day.”

Take a moment with me and admire this person’s Freddy pants.