Weekend, bloody weekend
The recipe for part of my Saturday night: a few dozen friends, local rock band, a house in Eagle-Vail, two cameras, a handful of producers with experience in film. Mix well with: a makeup artist, fake blood, raw meat brains, dying houseguests, and a free keg.
I was attending a murder party, a half-staged, half-real scene that was being recorded for my friend’s music video. The full moon that was partially covered with eerie clouds cast a perfect light on the decaying leaves that littered the ground. It also set the mood for the storyline of the video – a house full of endangered revelers enjoying live music while, one by one, they were slowly being murdered by a psycho killer. It was a perfect night for horror and the party guests who were running around with bleeding body parts seemed at ease. After witnessing a death by bong and being filmed rocking out to a live original song, I called a cab and headed into the Village. Unsurprisingly, Vail was as dead as the chosen victims at the video shoot. But, my well-trained and unearthly sense of all things fun found the most happening scene.
It happened to be a birthday party that was well underway. Shots were flying and boozing chants were being chanted. The end result for the birthday girl reminded me of how my last birthday concluded. My most recent celebration of birth wasn’t pretty; it was the end of the season and the whole valley had exploded with debauchery. I mean this in the most literal way, there wasn’t a night in the last few weeks of spring skiing that I didn’t encounter a pile of vomit, in public view, that had been left by some extreme apres-attendant. Gross, but true. My festive and celebratory pub crawl down Bridge Street included me on stage with Phil Long, singing a stirring rendition of “Tiny Dancer” to a crowd of the valley’s finest cougars. Seriously, we were belting out the tunes like they were written for us. And you can only imagine where that kind of night took me.
Lucky for me, I wasn’t going to have a replicate night of that birthday extravaganza. One hour and another cab ride later I was home, tucked under my covers dreaming of my favorite Sunday activity – breakfast – and dreading the weekend’s end. Monday would bring an early wake-up call to a long week for this eight-to-fiver. Fortunately, the weekend will come again soon enough.
So, dust off your vampire fighting-crucifixes, and head to the Sandbar for Friday the 13th. It’s a benefit event for a Vail local, a good cause, so decide on a designated driver now, come out and give me something to write about. There will be live music and if you’re lucky you may catch a repeat performance of my past Friday: shot-taking and booty shaking. Cheers!
E-mail comments about this column to email@example.com.