Utepils

a vocab word appropriate for the summer.

…and just right for my Popinations. Hey, maybe I can combine my Monday and Friday Musings into one bibulating memoirish thingie. I guess I already do that, don’t I. In fact, when am I not veering into personal essay, with anything I put up here, amirite. Even FCC, sometimes…

UTEPILS = OUT-PILSNER 

(I mean, that’s what I see. Right?)

I’m mildly obsessed with 3rd places: I find the phenomenon fascinating, and the thing itself has been such a vital part of my own life and work (and life’s work) that I like to continue my curious researches into what 3rd places are, what they mean, and how society changes for the worse when they’re absent. A good 3rd place is an essential ingredient for a person’s mental health, and is certainly necessary for a cohesive society. What’s a 3rd place? Go ahead and look at the above linked article—I go into detail about the definition there. Go ahead do that and come back—I’ll wait.

Of course, any active human being can see all the ways in which the first two places are often mashed cruelly together, and the 3rd place eradicated. This can happen for many reasons, from homework to overwork to working from home to domestic labor, or even in the ways our neighborhoods are designed and built. This unhealthy mashing happens to an even larger extent during a global pandemic, too, as you can imagine…

Let’s take this (3rd place) outside…

Where I live in Colorado, both my hometown of Boulder and in Denver where I am now, and really all across the state for the most part, boasts a robust patio beer culture. Why? I’d assume it’s because of the proliferation of two things here: one, the sheer number of breweries—especially Boulder, the HQ of such brewing greats as Charlie Papazian, has a new microbrewery (or wine bar) one every corner, it seems. Tons of breweries popping up (and closing) all over the place in Denver and its suburbs, too, which you know well if you’ve followed any of my Popinations each Monday. I don’t think I’ll ever be without a brewery on a Monday to write about /knock on wood/. The second thing? Sun. Colorado has, it’s said, 360 days a year of sunshine (yes, even in the winter), and so we’re all outside all the time. 

Well, I’m not outside as much normally, but funny enough I’ve been taking to the sun a bit more in my advanced age. Why? Dunno. Maybe I need more vitamin D? Maybe it’s because there’s so little walking in my regular getting-around and my body misses it? I love the idea of a beer on a patio, but I never want to sit outside. Is that an oxymoron? Maybe. Rooftop bars sound like paradise but the times I’ve actually hung out on one, I just get too hot or sunburned and it’s not really conducive to a nice time, for me. I am way in the minority on this, especially when in Boulder.

Boulder’s pub culture is hopping, as I’ve mentioned before. Most places on the Pearl Street Mall have patios of some kind, just ‘cos it’s such an iconic area, beautiful to look at, fun to people watch if you’re a resident, a total magnet for tourists, of which we get many. There’s huge rooftop bars like at Lazy Dog, Rio, and the West End tavern (only one of which I’ve Popinated before). Some of these come equipped with misters for the hottest days which I appreciate. On a roof, the bright Colorado sun is panting down your collar, and a mere umbrella don’t cut it. Also, the wind can be an issue here, no matter what the time of year.

There are excellent ground level patios for a pint of utepils as well: Corner Bar, and Mountain Sun are just two of these that I’ve written about before. Espresso Roma is one patioed place I should write about on its own: a coffee shop perched on a corner in the campus bar and food area, friends and I hung out outside there into the wee hours as high school students when we were still illegal to go into the bars but wired after hours of evening theatre practice. 

Boulder is known in part for its outdoor sports enthusiasts, too: cyclists and skiers and runners and such. So most of Boulder’s citywide events take place outside anyway. They’ve even got several yoga classes that take place at breweries, and if that’s not the most Boulder thing you can think of, maybe it’s the most Berkeley?

The Balcony of Sanity

Yanno, I was about to talk about the Balcony of Sanity here for a bit, but I feel like I’ve gone over this before, and at any rate I’ll be covering that academic hallway in Zoom form that took place during lockdown within my memoir, so let’s wait a bit for that. Suffice to say, the hallway outside Room 271 of the ARTS building on Auraria campus was a thronging 3rd place, and when lockdown happened, a version of it was created for Zoom. But the original hallway was inside, and therefore not about utepils. Though I may or may not have enjoyed one or two when sitting out on said Sanity Balcony…

This hallway was such a vital place for the Metro theatre students (and some of us teachers), that when we all were locked down at home during 2020, we couldn’t abide its lack. So my colleague took it upon himself to make a virtual version of the hallway, using Zoom. It was even titled ARTS 271 Hallway.

I’ve described my Before Times commute before, though at the moment I can’t recall in which pieces I have. But basically: I’d use bus and train to go from my little studio in Boulder to either teach in downtown Denver, or go to my partner’s place in Centennial, or both, and back, around 3 times a week. When the lockdown loomed, I was on my way back to my own place in Boulder and he texted me: Pack some clothes and come right back. They’re going to shut everything down. So I did. We were all commanded to stay in place no more than an hour after I arrived back at his place. The next day was St. Paddy’s Day, and we celebrated it on his balcony.

After, I would bring all my grading out there, and we’d meet for the Zoom version of the ARTS 271 hallway, and I’d write out there too, dodging the wasps and watching the parents in the complex run their babies up and down the street below. All of that may have kept me sane. 

Slainte, darling! I live here now; hope you don’t mind.

Today’s home patio is pleasant too, but it’s different (of course it is, it’s a different place). I feel like it’s less vital: like, less of a literal lifesaver, though spending time outside is probably literally life saving in fact now that I think about it, these days when my job is so sedentary and I’m not commuting but rarely. As long as I wear sunscreen. And my 3rd place pub across the street is known for its extensive, bar-including, dog-friendly patio, as it’s just down the street from a large outdoor concert arena venue. But I don’t know that I’ve ever sat outside there, even at the shaded outdoor bar.

Patio for studying, part deux.

I didn’t become this kind of pubquester in a vacuum—from early on, my parents’ epic outdoor parties gathered friends from far and wide. They’d come convene in the postage stamp sized backyard of our trailer and chat and sip cold beer and make grindingly difficult ice cream in our new contraption and put brats on the grill. I learned about the healing of camaraderie outdoors with good comestibles and conversation, something I continued on my own at coffee and friends’ houses once I grew up.

One of the highlights of those old family parties in the ‘80s was the hot mess of a volleyball tournament that would get set up at the field, which was a moderate sized cultivated field right in the middle of the trailer park, which meant a short walk just past the swimming pool to challenge summer-trained bare feet. They’d set up a big volleyball net on those big all-day afternoon family friend festivals, and rotate teams as the afternoon wore on, kids and adults (if you were big enough), with an utepils jammed into the grass against each pole that held up the net. Sometimes a parent or parent’s work friend would keep theirs in their hand and use their other arm for bumps and spikes. One hurt his finger when he attempted a one-handed set, though. Which I thought was funny, even back then.

---

And now, here I am on vacation, way up in the mountains, sipping a Colorado Native Pils on my MiL’s porch looking at all the bird feeders. I’ll go more into this experience in an upcoming Popination, but I thought it was a fitting way to finish this delightful vocab word up. It’s very good, as long as I drink it before it gets any less cold. The pils, I mean. The utepils.

Anyway. Long may utepils reign. And here comes summer, before we know it. Pop me one, will ya?