Like the nerd who finds himself making out with the bodacious cheerleader, Denver can’t believe what it’s gotten itself into. The celebrities alone have cost the big print dailies an extra $11,457 a day in BOLD FACE TYPE. And Penny Parker and Bill Husted have actually had to create B lists because their editors refuse to shrink their columns’ type to the size and width of the classified ads page. I mean, when Sean Penn, Val Kilmer, Spike Lee, Susan Sarandon and Quentin Tarantino (to name only a few) start showing up on the same day, where do you squeeze in the less glamorous suspects like Madeleine Albright, T. Boone Pickens and Chris Moore?
While the degree of lavishness has dropped somewhat from the massive throw-downs of Monday night, the free top-shelf booze continues to flow freely and the food is more than above average.
In general, Denver is getting schooled, hard, about what it means to party. The all night schedule, premium alcohol, name brand bands and yes, the clothes. At no time has Denver’s nonchalance about attire be put in such stark relief. Blue jeans? Puh-leeeze. The last time Denver’s night clubs saw so many tailored, three-piece suits was, well, never. Ant virtually any party, you’ll find more suits, ties and wingtip shoes than you will in all of the 17th Street law firms combined. It’s amazing what Armani and Channel can do to improve the scenery.
To paraphrase George Clinton (any relation to bill is purely on a soul level): “Ain’t no party like a Mile High party ‘cause a Mile High party don’t stop!” And such has been the case in Denver. Just within the relatively tight confines of downtown, bars are full till last call and then the beautifully dressed denizens of Inside the Beltway go foraging for more at the several after hours parties that have been going strong until at least 3 a.m., when I just can’t take any more and get on my bike for a sobering ride to my borrowed room in the Highlands at Brad and Erin’s house.
— James Burrus, Yellow Scene Magazine
More DNC coverage here.