Popination Micturation
a series of unhinged personal essays disguised as pub reviews. Today: Great Divide Brewing Company.
What, you may ask, was I was doing out in the area of East downtown Denver (slang term of RiNo) the other day? and thereby found myself exploring around for a fresh Popination as I was out anyway? Well, I needed to go get my freshly healed new knuckle tattoos touched up at the Little Black Church, and so I did what I always do: I checked my map to see what potential Popination possibilities (the PPPs?) were within walking distance.
A short walking distance preferably, as RiNo is a patchwork when it comes to rough or nice neighborhood—you can walk a full scary block clutching your tactical pen in your pocket (just me?) dodging twitching street folk, turn a corner and then it’s suddenly nice. I guess that’s how gentrification do. Today, I found there was a taproom for one of my favorite local craft beers less than a block and a half away from the tatt shop, so that was my choice. I could smell this place before I crossed the street: that’s how you tell it’s a real actual active brewery that makes the stuff as well as sells it.
Great Divide Brewing Co.
I’m surprised I never came down here before in my working-in-Denver days, but then I guess I was always closer to central downtown or LoDo than way out east. More Terminal or maybe Rock Bottom than all the way out here. But I was glad to find this little branch of teh Great Divide brewery, as I do like a few of their flavors, and have done for a long time. Back in my sweet tooth days when I was more a stout or porter person, their many variations on chocolatey coffee-y Yeti were (and still are when I’m in the mood) delicious dark delights. And their Titan IPA has long been my go-to when imbibing at Slattery’s, so that’s what I picked on this trip.
Inside, there stood a lovely wood bar and cozy decor with lots of natural light spilling in making God-beams everywhere, an inviting-looking room in the back past the row of GABF medals, and permeating the whole small place, the rich toasty malty astringent smell of brewing beer. I took a seat at one end of the bar, at the other end of which stood the very friendly bartender, having a warm chat going with two blokes holding court at the end of the bar who looked and sounded like they’d been there all afternoon. I was served promptly withal, and heaved a contented sigh as I sipped and took the place in, snapping a pic or two surreptitiously. What a comfy, homey, 3rd-placey corner of RiNo the Great Divide is. I sipped slow, and ordered another.
As I nursed my Titan, applied another layer of protective moisturizer on the fresh tatts, I scrolled through my socials’ coverage of the Met Gala. Not only is the event itself a beacon of hope in this age and area that seems so bleak when it comes to the arts, the theme this year also perked up my vision that we’ll get through this. On the one hand, the event is one of the hugest fashion/wearable art events in the world, and is held as a giant fundraiser for the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute. Which means this ostentatious and strange spectacle of wearable wonders is not there first to congratulate celebrities the way, say, an awards ceremony is; it’s a way to make money for education and art. Which, good god don’t we need that in this day of budget slashes for arts and sciences alike, yeeesh…
But the other thing about this grand showcase was the theme for this year. It was all centered in Black Dandyism: Black histories of fashion from a few different eras of culture and times past, into today. Talk about a wonderful way to celebrate what Black American beauty and fashion has been and is (and will be), and what a ballsy choice for display into the face of our openly racist administration. Yes. Thank you. Resistance takes on many forms, and God works in mysterious ways, right? I was also thinking: now I’m no sociologist but I do pause to wonder, if we’d had a more peaceful governing body in place, maybe one headed by a Black woman, would they have picked this theme? Something tells me that in an inclusive system, they wouldn’t. This feels like a beautiful act of… not war, exactly, but conflict. Resistance.
I want to also quickly side note about the conclave and its pope-choice: that too gave me a tiny glimmer of the hope with wings, but sitting there at the bar that hadn’t happened yet. But I did feel a similar hesitant spark from that, too. Maybe more on that later.
As I sat, sipped, and scrolled, a young couple came in inquiring after the brewery tour and I thought how lovely an idea for a mellow afternoon date, and how good it is that things like this are happening again in the world after the stagnancy of the pandemic lockdown especially.
My knuckle tattoo is on my right hand. It says Hé là ! which was the exclamation uttered at the end of the ballad duel in Cyrano de Bergerac, but is also just a thing that’s said in (especially a French) sword duel. It’s the whole feeling and concept of La! that I talk about in my explanation of fight scene genres, here. It’s the phrase that means swashbuckling, and winning that duel. And now it’s scripted on my sword hand. And if I punch someone (after it heals) it’ll be that much more of an impact. Not that I’m planning on it, but. Hey. These days? You never know.
NOTE: I do not encourage physical violence as a solution to anything, usually. Even injustice. It’s much better to stand up in a nonviolent way. As a martial artist, I am of the practice of dispelling conflict before it turns into anything physical. Works better for all involved that way. Love thy neighbor, and etc. But. Stewing in milquetoast is also not how anything good gets done. So like… anyway. You know what I’m saying.