That was title of the 1979 Time Magazine article about Boulder Colorado. Naturally, I decided to go to college there. Mostly to get as far away from home and my Goldwater Republican parents as possible. I stayed in Boulder over the summers, to avoid conflicts. It was a different city when the college wasn’t in session. I think we met Morris the first or second summer.

They called it Guyana Punch, and the Guyana Parties at Morris’s place on The Hill were legendary.
Everyone brought a bottle. Liquor, any kind was acceptable. Everclear, 151 rum and vodka were the foundation. Water, KoolAid and assorted juices and fruits were added, and the party was off and running.
Somewhere during the evening, sheets, tabs, and assorted microdots always found their way into the punch, and everything got colorful and weird.

Music. Usually Grateful Dead tapes from some show someplace that was “the best trip ever”. Great times. Great people. Great music always makes the scene.

When the punch eventually ran dry, and all the places to buy real beer were long closed, literally hundreds of people tripping their balls off wandered off into the Boulder night on their own psychedelic adventures.
I remember one night after Morris’, we ended up smoking weed with these girls at this witches coven house down the street. At least I thought they were witches.

At some point, my buddy Adam turned into The Devil during the Stones Sympathy, and I wandered off, caught up in one of those trips, where facing one’s own fears turns into battles with demons and dragons. My roommates spent hours looking for me. I spent hours looking for me, too. Eventually I wandered home I guess, because I woke up there the next afternoon. Nobody remembered and dragons or witches but me.

All things must end. Eventually, the Guyana Parties did too. Morris, the Cat who threw the parties (and probably always dosed the punch) moved on to who knows where. Times changed. We grew up.

The Boulder scene changed a lot when the cocaine started rolling into town. Coke and acid really don’t mix. It changed the party. The whole scene, and not for the better.
You don’t threaten to kill people to get more acid or mushrooms, but with meth and coke, lots of liquor…you never know.

Things melted down. People ended up in jail. Everyone was a narc. Nobody could be trusted. Eventually, I was glad to be out of the hip-meet-to-trip delusion. Every trip ends, I guess. Everyone I knew got out alive, so I figure it’s a win.

I’ve stumbled into a lot of crazy party scenes since, and sooner or later the mood always gets heavy. It’s all fun and games. Then they change the meds, some new people change the mood, and everything changes with it.

Not usually for the better.