Back in the day in Aspen,

I got dosed at 'Ruggerfest', my date went missing, and the Godfather of Soul made it alright.

I'd only been to Aspen once or twice before college, considering it a place for actors, wealth, and privilege that most Colorado natives chose to avoid. But when a second round of housemates moved into The Boulder Big House, I became friends with a bad-ass, skier, hippie-chick, named Meredith, who'd gone to high school in Aspen, and ended up renting the small room upstairs.

Mere was smart and feisty, enrolled in CU's Journalism School, and one of the first Jewish people I'd ever known well. Before moving to the Rocky Mountains from Michigan, her dad had been a successful orthodontist, trading his dental chairs for plow trucks to start a high-dollar VIP snow removal service, using middle-of-the-night shovelers bailed from the Pitkin County drunk tank.

Mere's dad was super-cool, and every time a big group of us would show up unexpectedly, he'd hurry to set out piles of extra pillows and blankets, insisting his delicious, made-to-order hangover breakfasts be eaten before allowing any of us to leave the next morning.

That's when Aspen became our go-to place for:

• Ski weekends,

• Music festivals,

• Birthday or New Year's celebrations,

• and of course, Ruggerfest

Turns out Ruggerfest was a world renowned International Rugby Tournament held every fall, (called ‘Druggerfest' by the locals) where hundreds of die-hard rugby fans and Aspen socialites mixed around the public square, guzzling craft beer and pink champagne, sharing key-bumps of cocaine and hits of ecstasy, as brawlers from across the globe battled it out on the pitch. You didn't have to know the first thing about rugby, (me) because the scrum was so close you felt like you were part of the action; and spectators were regularly hit by clots of mud, grass, and if they weren't paying attention, an out of bounds player.

As soon as a match would finish, giant six-foot-something beasts from places like Australia or South Africa, would literally walk off the field directly into one of the surrounding bars - that gash on their head, or split open shin dripping blood all over the floor, mixing with muddy footprints they’d tracked in.

During one unforgettable Druggerfest weekend, Merle Saunders and the Rainforest Band headlined legendary music venue: Belly Up, where Meredith's best friend from high school (a girl named Sabrina) somehow got the address of the house party the band was playing afterwards.

Huge double wooden doors opened a random stone mansion setback in the trees, and something dripped on my head as we stepped inside. More unknown liquid hit the back of my neck and hands as a bunch of snickering shapes tried not to be noticed, crouched behind a railing on the shadowy second level landing.

"Need some more Vitamin A?" they taunted.

Ducking and running for cover, Sabrina took things way too lightly, speculating we'd just been dosed with LSD, explaining that all the cool kids in Aspen called liquid acid 'Vitamin A'.

She snickered a devilish look, nonchalantly wondering how hard we were going to trip, and after a few hours zoning-out jam-band style in a dark sunken living room, we maneuvered our way onto the free shuttle to Snowmass Village, and stayed up all night talking and laughing, before enjoying multiple plates of French toast and breakfast potatoes.

***

Another memorable night in Aspen, was New Year's Eve 1992, when a big group from Boulder took advantage of a party being thrown by some rich guy named Charles, who happened to be dating Sabrina, (the Vitamin A girl).

Up I-70, through the Eisenhower Tunnel, passing Breckenridge, Copper Mountain, Vail, and Beaver Creek, taking a left at Glenwood Springs through Carbondale Valley, our 4-car caravan finally arrived at Meredith's dad's house in Snowmass.

• Car One : Me, my date Keenan, Jana, and her date Crazy Allen

• Car Two: Funny Bunny Alice, her boyfriend Barclay the Third, and her best friend Sonja the Lounge Act

• Car Three: Meredith, Erica, and her date, Milton (heir to his grandpa's soft-serve ice-cream fortune)

• Car Four: Tra-Ling (Restauranteur and complete boss) and her boyfriend Doug/Charles (his name was really Doug, but he preferred to be called Charles)

Jumping the shuttle and finding our way to the classic alpine chalet, our large unruly group quickly took over the upscale gathering, downing trays of catered hors d'oeuvres and cocktails as fast as a bunch of idiot college kids could.

A few different drugs got passed around before heading out to the clubs, where I quickly became separated from everyone else, wandering through balloon-filled ballrooms and glitter-covered dance floors, happily out of focus, thinking everyone was Mariah Carey.

Just before midnight, Jana and I gleefully spotted each other across a bar, and we squealed and hugged, making a big deal about me being lost for so long.

She led me outside, where along with the entire town of Aspen, our group had gathered on the red-brick pedestrian mall, ready to count down the remaining seconds of 1992.

Ten-nine-eight-seven-six-five-four-three-two-one!

Fireworks illuminated the snow, splashing bursts of pink, orange, and gold sparkles over stands of dark forest, while bottles of champagne appeared out of nowhere, and everyone hugged and kissed, before spontaneously bursting into that sad familiar song: 'Auld Lang Syne'.

Before I knew what was happening, rich party host Charles had pulled me in close to his chest and was planting a long, fantastically hot, kiss on my lips. I tried not to respond, but DAMN (!) when a guy like that kisses you unexpectedly, it's hard not to like it.

I stepped back as everyone made uncomfortable eye contact, Sabrina glared accusingly, and Keenan just laughed.

Pretending nothing weird had just happened, I faded back inside, losing myself in the abyss of an anonymous pulsing dance floor, and when the harsh lights of closing-time came on, I kicked a few plastic cups out of the way and joined some of the Boulder group outside on a snow-covered sidewalk.

Becoming colder and more annoyed the longer we waited, stomping our feet to stay warm as clouds of hot breath swirled the air, we watched the bar crowd thin and disperse, finally deciding Keenan and Charles must've already gone to the chalet without telling us. And the entire freezing walk back, we grumpily planned how to punish them.

But at the top of the steep wooden stairs, the house was dark and empty, and everyone's moods changed from pissed, to mildly concerned, speculating where the guys might be, and throwing out different theories...

-maybe they went to get something to eat

-maybe they were still in one of the (closed) clubs

-maybe they'd found an after hours party

-maybe they were taking the extra long way home

But the later it got, with more time passing into the wee hours of nothing being open, we really began to worry, and darker theories began to swirl...

-maybe they'd been mugged

-maybe they'd been drugged

-maybe they'd wandered into the forest and gotten lost

-maybe they'd been attacked by a bear or a mountain lion

-maybe they'd been in a fight and gotten arrested

When the sky turned pink, most of us decided to go back to Mere's dad's house to see what he thought we should do about our missing friends.

Just when we'd finished telling him the story and were ready to call the police, the phone rang.

It was Keenan (!) who couldn't have sounded safer and happier, laughing over loud band music, telling me not to worry... because after he and Charles had been debating college football at the bar, they'd decided on a whim to take a private plane to New Orleans, to see the National Championship Sugar Bowl.

WTF?

(Not a scenario we'd imagined.)

There were no words for how pissed we all were, that they had just disappeared like that without a trace , but Keenan played it off… innocently claiming they couldn't find anyone before taking off in a taxi from the bar… and that they had a super-short departure window to make the flight.

Nothing to do but eat pancakes and go home.

***

The absolute BEST time ever though, was one glorious Colorado summer weekend at the 'One World Music Festival', held on the side of the Snowmass ski hill, graced by the vocal stylings of the one and only GODFATHER OF SOUL.

Riding a chairlift over runs usually groomed for snow, now full of wildflowers and sunshine, we got off at the top, and carted blankets and beer coolers back down, looking for a good spot to set up.

The entire day was reggae music 'mon, and for several hours, the hillside of festival-goers passed bowls and joints, lolling in the good vibes of Jah Rastafari - soothed by the music of Yellowman and Black Uhuru - together in one love.

But then....

Called back from our dazed group meditation, a singular voice screamed through the amps,

WHHHHHaaaaaaaaaoooooooooooooAAAAOOOOOOO!

So completely different sounding than every other set we’d heard that day, the unique singer wasted no time instructing us to:

Get Up!!

GET ON UP!!!

Automatically we did as told, jumping to our feet as a tidal wave of funky energy washed over the mountainside, and James Brown and the Bittersweets, (a group of legit backup singers and dancers packed tightly into sequined blue-satin dresses) and the best fucking horn section of all time took us on a wild-ride to soul town.

Everything changed the minute his singular voice ripped through the air like a groovy call to prayer, and the entourage of sexy dancers and pinstriped musicians took the stage.

As much as I love a peaceful reggae jam, there's nothing better than funkin’ and groovin' with all your heart, on the good foot, with thousands of other people doing exactly the same thing.

It was one of the best moments of live music experienced this lifetime, and whenever I hear his signature sound, I long for America in the Nineties, when things weren't so dark and divided.

As depressing as it gets sometimes, we should try and heed the Godfather's wise words, telling us to….

Get up offa that thing,

And dance 'till you feel better

Get up offa that thing,

And try to release that pressure.

(here's hope for a brighter future)