At Least They're Committed

It wasn’t the farewell I wanted. I had it planned. The Palomino was going to be gone after this weekend and of course we had to say goodbye: To reminisce and toast the place and thank it for the great times we had there. D and I first stumbled into the bar/restaurant at 16th and Arapahoe after his company Christmas banquet about seven years ago (a gala affair replete with faux James Deans and Marilyn Monroes who maybe looked like the celebs might have had they not died before 40 and were at that time pushing 70). Yeah, we were escapees. But it was cool because Norm Clarke (Normandy) had said it was a spot that the Broncos hung out in and we were dressed to the hilt and it made us feel glamorous. It’s funny to think about it now because, well, it was just a place. A really cool place that Totsy and Moose and I would meet at after Tots had left the Rocky. She would tell me about her sexcapades and I would delight in my vicarious life. And Moose would tell me things not to ever let Tots know and she would do the same and I never did and it all changes anyway so it doesn’t matter.

I’d hoped my beautiful new friends would be there tonight because I’d introduced them to the $5 pizzas, half price apps, $3 mojitos and wine and beer. We’ve already made such excellent memories there! Maybe better than any of the rest. But they went to the National Western Stock Show Rodeo. WTF? Dorks. Strike one. Tots is there, too, riding Zeppelin I think unless he’s the horse who died, and Moose, well, he was outta there by 3 today. Strike 2. But it was OK, I mean, there were Darrell and Curt and me!

Jesus! The Palomino was packed. Seems word got out in LoDo that it was done for. Everyone had come to pay their respects, all with stories as heart warming and life changing as mine, I’m sure. No seats. Even as I walked in the southwest entrance the din was great, echoing down the crooked halls, past the elevators to the revolving door. So much noise. So many, many strangers. We stayed for awhile . . . nothing opened up . . . no waitress so much as nodded our way . . . we mumbled our goodbyes and went our separate ways. No happy hour. Maybe that was fitting. I don’t know.

Did you ever watch your best bud get married and walk away from you oblivious that you were even there? Did you go to a farewell party where the guest of honor was too busy entertaining cursory acquaintances to say a proper farewell? Did you talk to a dying friend having rehearsed what you’d say only to realize he’s too sick to understand? This felt just a little bit like that.

So, well, it’s f%$@ed up that the Palomino is leaving. It was only mildly pretentious and Brian will have a hell of a time searching LoDo for his big boned ‘girlfriend’ so they can allegedly suck face behind the building again. Anyway, it’s been fun, but now it will be just another of the myriad places that five years from now we’ll say, “I can remember when that corner had the Palomino and not just another Chinese restaurant cluttering the 16th Street Mall.” Eh, whatever. Wait a sec, I’m going to get some wine. OK, no friends around me, no family except for the Demon Spawn II fighting zombies on the big screen. Goodbye old friend! You were great . . . but kinda like men, there’s always another. Think I’ll try McCormick’s next.