I went to one show in 1994 to be polite

My roommate had an extra ticket and I said yes the way you say yes to a coworker's improv show. I brought a book. I want that on the record: I brought a book to Red Rocks.

I did not open the book.

What got me wasn't the jamming, honestly — I didn't have the ears for it yet. It was the composed section of Antelope, that stacked ascending thing, and the realization that four people were executing something genuinely difficult in front of nine thousand people who were, at that exact moment, screaming about a man named Marco Esquandolas.

I have now seen 61 shows. My roommate quit after four. I send him a photo from the lot every summer and he sends back a single thumbs up.