At 12:08 this morning I unlocked the door to my apartment, dumped my bags in the middle of the living room and made a beeline straight for the computer. I didn't even care that I had to pee like a racehorse.
I needed my Twifix and I needed it bad.
When I left for Colorado with ML and his band for the Monolith Festival at Red Rocks, I took with me a slew of electronics - camcorders, cameras, laptops, blackberries, the whole nine yards - and was quite confident that I could blog away from the hotel (incidentally, this might have also been the reason why they searched the shit out of my bags at the airport - I mean, shit, I almost got a complimentary cavity search). I had such an arsenal of modern wizardry that I confidently assured Snarkier Than You that she wouldn't even notice I was half-way across the country instead of half-way across town.
I was wrong, as usual.
By the time I finally managed to get through to STY, she was convinced that this whole trip was a decoy for an intervention and I'd been thrown into Twihab against my will. The Sheraton at Denver West is apparently a black hole for technology. It's like those Verizon commercials--you know the ones where everyone acts all creepy and points out 'the dead zone'??? Yeah, that was my hotel. And who doesn't offer free in-room wifi these days?! You could get that at a HoJos or a Motel 8 anywhere in Jersey. I'd wager there are places you rent by the hour with free wifi! But not the Denver Sheraton.
Nevertheless, this did not stop me from sitting downstairs in the lobby every waking second I could, desperately trying to get a signal and cursing up a storm. I can assure you, I wasn't the only one hunched over some kind of device, begging it to work. The lobby was like a refugee camp of hipster musicians, each one silently (or not so silently, in some cases) pleading for Pitchfork Media page to just fucking load already.
Fuck Pitchfork. I needed access to Twitarded and it's blogroll. I can't tell you how torturous it was to read everyone's comments but not be able to get to the website from my blackberry. It didn't help matters that all the comments were some variation of "OMFGAHHH THAT'S THE MOST AMAZING THING I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!!! SQUEEEEEEE!!!"
I hated all of you.
I really had high hopes for this trip. I thought for sure that Mini Edward was going to get some kick-ass photos with Karen O., or maybe even Method Man (who was staying at our hotel) but as far as Mini-E photo ops went, it was a total bust.
And really fucking cold. In fact, Mini-E only came out of hiding once in awhile because I had to keep my hands tucked into my armpits for warmth (where's Jacob when you need him???).
At one point I was taking pictures of Mini-E during M. Ward's set when some kid came up to me and said, "May I ask what you're going?"
Well, duuuuuh, stoner boy. Polite stoner boy, but still... What does it look like I'm doing?
This interaction occurred after I discovered wine made me feel warm and fuzzy and if one glass was good then five would be stellar (er, what's that? drinking at high altitudes intensifies the effects? you don't say!). So I politely explained to him that I was taking a picture of my vampire action figure. For some reason, this response elicited a raised eyebrow. He asked why. I told him Edward Cullen was a fan of M. Ward. The eyebrow went higher. He asked where I was from, which kind of baffled me. I mean, what the hell does that have to do with anything? I told him I was from New Jersey and he asked me what I, and my little plastic friend, thought of Colorado. I said "awesome!!"
Then he made me repeat that like five times until I realized he was making fun of my accent. Stupid fucking hippie. I may have scowled at him but don't remember because a big gust of wind came out of nowhere and blew my dress up. I'm totally serious. AND it was the same fucking dress that I was wearing when I mooned everyone on the RW subway last week. I'm like Marilyn fucking Monroe but not sexy. That dress is cursed. It needs to be exorcised. The only good thing was that it was so cold I had my thighs clenched together like a vice grip. Seriously, if I had testicles they would have been lounging around in my stomach. I think every single text I sent to STY included some variation of "I'm cold, wet and miserable and am currently rethinking my anti-pants position."
Lots of wine + freezing rain = this fucking expression.
It was a good time, but Mini-E and I are glad to be back in New Jersey, where you can glom on to an internet connection from almost anywhere, your blackberry is more than just a paperweight with pretty buttons, and the temperature doesn't plummet like it did in the Eclipse "tent scene" every night.