It’s a Sunday evening. I’ve spent most of the day doing food related chores. Grocery shopping. Making beef and broccoli in a crockpot. Prepping for my first-ever attempt to make my own beef jerky. All this is being done sober to boot. I know, I know. How can this be a Beer n’ Loathing post if there’s no beer involved?? Well, I’ve been cutting back. However, the seemingly ridiculousness that is me toning the beer back pales in comparison to the time of year that I decided to do it: this week is GAB motherfucking F. What a time to be toning it down, right?
Well, as the title spoiled, I’m not going to GABF this year. Not as the press. Not as a regular run-of-the-mill pedestrian drunk. Not as anything. I’ve flirted with the idea of not going for a few years and finally decided it’s time to see what it’s like on the other side again. Don’t be fooled by my casual tone. I had the opportunity to get tickets and I really fucking wanted to.
This will be the first time in like six or seven years that I haven’t gone to this festival and I’m approaching a decade since I first heard about it and all the beer drinking glory that it is. I can almost guarantee I’ll be even more torn once the real festivities start gearing up. Friends will be in town from all over the place, events are going up all over the goddamn place (for the most comprehensive list I’ve seen to date, check out Porchdrinking.com’s excellent Denver Beer Beat; if an event is happening, they know about it) and the city of Denver is going to swell with the influx of beer and brewery personnel for at least a week.
So what am I going to do? Probably some kara-fucking-oke. Maybe check out a ping pong tournament. Maybe check out a tapping. Maybe I’ll break down and buy a ticket at the last minute. Who knows, man. I’m my own boss during GABF for the first time in over half a decade. Maybe I’ll just run up and down the streets of Denver with my middle fingers in the air, holding onto fists of this jerky I’ve been inhaling smoke from for the past two hours and do a modified Bart Simpson butt dance in front of the convention center. Despite feeling like I know I’m about to miss out on some amazing shit, the freedom of knowing I can still do whatever I want is very, very liberating.
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But damn, man, a ticket could be easy to get. NO. I MUST STAY STRONG. Really, GABF is that addicting. Plenty of beer nerds and hardcore taste junkies have given it up because of it’s size and commercial success, but to those of us who like to wander around in a haze and build on that haze with single shots of beer, GABF is basically the black tar heroin of evetns. No one ever really quits. The little voice in your head is always prodding, C’mon. Just one last time. Then you can be done forever.
Yeah right, little invisible gargoyle. Whatever you say.
If you’re going to GABF, have fun and make it your most memorable year. If you’re not going, I hope you’re not shaking too hard.
