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Volume 3, Issue 20
September 27 - October 10, 2001
SAVING GRACE
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PETE'S KITCHEN
1962 East Colfax Avenue
The convoy of various freak mobiles thumped and bumped along Colfax,
led by my tribal emblazoned yuppie bus boasting the words "Colorado
Associated Artists" along both sides. We were all
packed up and heading across town for
Denver Tattoo dot com's second annual
tattoo convention at the Holiday Inn. I was
talking with one of the other vehicles in
our parade de macabre via cell phone
regarding our destination when I was hit
by a wave of panic! The last time I was
forced to belly up to a hotel feeding
trough, it was about 20 bucks for a dried
out piece of chicken cadaver covered in
some indefinable quivering gelatinous
mass. And although I'm always up for
writing a scathing review about a horrible
dining experience, I don't get paid
enough to intentionally poison myself to
do so. I figured we had better stop for sustenance
before we were trapped in over-priced
overcooked dining hell. I had to
think quickly: what kind of a place would
we be able to get decent food without
frightening the local environs out of their
wits? Then there it was, the preferred
eatery of tattoo artists and musicians
everywhere, Pete's Kitchen! I made a hard
left that almost caused the entire group to
collide with one another but after honking
of horns and screeching of brakes we managed
to park and head inside.
Although
words cannot truly explain the motley
nature of this crew I will try to convey the
shadow of darkness that fell over the
establishment as we entered. I held the
door open as lovely little Aimee, our resident
dark angel, sauntered in stopping the
hearts of the majority of the restaurant
patrons. Some hearts stopped due to the
vampirophobic fear of being bitten, but
most aortal fluttering, I'm sure, was
caused by the hopes of a biting as opposed
to the fear of one. Needless to say, corseted
and layered in vinyl, she was as always
a sight to behold.
Just after her, Dave sort
of lurked through the door. I'm not sure if
it's an actual lurk or if its just kind of a
tired gait due to the 12-pound logging
chain attached to his wallet. Nonetheless,
he tends to get a few looks since he is as
pierced as you can get without interfering
with radio signals--although from time to time
you can catch bits and pieces of KBPI
broadcasts when he passes out with his
mouth open.
Jeff Benson made his
entrance offering a surreal dichotomy in
rock-and-roll nostalgia. The necessary
ingredients in this DNA stew would
include equal parts Ozzy Osborne and
Wolfman Jack, zest of Rob Zombie with a
little Texas Toad Lickers to taste. Boil it all
over an open flame until it screams like
Henry Rollins then give it a tattoo gun and
unleash it on the unsuspecting public.
Behind Jeff, strolling in with his usual "no
autographs please" vibe was Chad a.k.a.
Smokin' Mad Chad (don't ask) who aside
from being one of our more talented artists
is also an aspiring rock star. Gel seems
more of a lifestyle than a hair care product
for him. Luckily, we were able to talk him
out of wearing the striped spandex pants
and glitter boots on this trip. Otherwise people
might have thought we were weird.
Finally, Porno Jim made it through the
door wearing his usual deeply concerned
look. It's this "I can't find my wallet with the
winning lottery ticket in it" vibe and it
always makes me panic a little every time
I see it. Porno didn't pick up his handle
from being a perv (although he is kinda
quiet, and you know what they say about
the quiet ones). He got the name from a
much less exotic fact; his former gig was
working in a smut hut.
All this said you
can imagine how this group entering a
middle American dining establishment
could leave the patrons in a mass of huddled
hysteria. But at Pete's we were welcomed
with open arms. We found a large
booth and ordered our drinks. I decided on
a cup of Pete's hair-raising coffee, with
plenty of sugar so as to be sure to incite
hallucinations while driving.
When it
came time to ordering our food I opted for my
usual, a double breakfast special with two
extra eggs. What this actually entails is
about a half of a pound of fried potatoes,
eight strips of bacon, half a dozen eggs and
four slices of toast. Everything was awesome
just like always. Someone ordered
gyros and I heard similar rave reviews. We
ponnied up the tab and headed back out on
our tattoo pilgrimage.
Once we arrived at
the Holiday Inn we encountered a new
level of the strange and unusual. Lots of
very conservative business suit, decorative
pin-wearing types. It turns out that the tattooed,
decorative facial jewelry wearing
types were sharing the hotel with a miniature
doll convention of some sort, now
that's entertainment!
We filed down the
long hallways being passed by various
forms of the cleaver family for what
seemed like hours. Then at long last the
tiny tributary of normality
emptied out into a vast lake
of freakdom. Freaks, Geeks
and Tweaks as far as the eye
could see. The rest of the
crew headed for our booth,
but since I wasn't there to
work I just started milling
around in my usual mindless
manner, shaking hands here,
hob-knobbing there. There
was a very good turn out considering that
most Americans were glued to their TVs
in horror all week. It was easy to tell that
no one here had forgotten what was going
on outside our little tattoo haven, as there
were plenty of American flags waving
grim reminders at every turn.
I entered the
portrait of myself that Jeff did on my inner
bicep in the competition. Partly because of
the tattoo but mostly so I could have a
legitimate excuse to flex onstage in front
of a crowd. Jeff didn't win with my piece
(some people just don't recognize greatness
when they see it) but he was among
the winners with a couple other pieces he
did, as were a couple more of our C.A.A.
crew: Scottie Deville and the aforementioned
Porno Jim. So all in it was a great
event for all involved, especially us, and all
fueled by mass calories courtesy of the
cholesterol wizardry of Pete's. And if you
want to get a visual on some of the crew
I've described they can all be found at:
www.emporiumofdesign.com A
www.noctul.com
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