Monday, October 29, 2007
Paul Addis At It Again: Caught Trying to Torch Grace Cathedral
Wow, that Paul Addis sure loves to burn things down; this time he was nabbed in an alleged attempt to burn Grace Catheral. Perhaps all the praise heaped upon him for his Burning Man "prank" gave him an inflated sense of his own abilities and status. In any case, this "hero" now faces four pretty serious counts here, and I wouldn't be a bit surprised if his $25K bail from Nevada got revoked (nice way to pay back all those folks who helped you out, Paul).
Event Review: Halloween Saturday from the Marina to the Mission
This weekend started out as a quiet one for the boyfriend and I, with our major Friday night activities including him remixing tracks in Ableton while I attempted to clear Nazi gun emplacements from a small Italian town. This was all calm before the storm, however, as Saturday took us from a wedding at the Presidio to a serious rave-up of a party in the Mission, with a death-march from the Marina to the Castro, explorations into the world of alpha-numerics, and a visit to the vomitorium all in between.
The wedding was for our friends Matt and Lisa, who I have known since I first moved to The City in 1999. They were part of my original crew of party peeps, all of us recent transplants to the city who were drawn here by the .com boom and managed to hang on through the subsequent bust. They first met at a Thump radio party (I believe it was X-Dream), and have moved on since then to buying a house and having dogs, so it was about time they actually got married. The reception turned into a reunion of sorts, since our table was all old friends who I haven’t seen for quite a while, and one of them just happened to have several pills of 2-CB he wanted to share with us. After sitting through the requisite drunken speeches, terrible slow jams from the DJ, and the cutting of the cake the boyfriend, Kitty and I finally took off from the Presidio officer’s club around 9.30. Thus begins the death march.
Woe to the person who needs a taxi at 9.30 on a Saturday night; we called both DeSoto and Yellow, and were told “we’ll try to get a car out there.” Well, trying just isn’t enough; after twenty minutes of waiting we knew we’d be stranded there unless we could find a taxi ourselves, so we hoofed it off toward Lombard Street. When I saw the first sexy convict trying to hail a cab, I knew we were doomed; every corner was filled with sexy nurses, sexy tennis players, sexy convicts, sexy vampires, and all the guys in bad wigs and cow costumes who accompany them, trying to get a cab. We walked up Fillmore and finally were able to get a bus to Church and Market, and after a few more blocks of walking were able to find a conveyance up the hill to home. Total travel time from the Presidio to Castro: one hour and thirty minutes.
We went through a rapid costume change, took the blue pill, and headed out to a costume party at Liberty and Valencia, fortunately within walking distance of the apartment. We passed plenty of costumed folks on our way, but arrived just in time to see most of the people we knew headed out the door; we had mis-timed our arrival by about an hour, so that much of the party was moving on the next destination. We came in, had a drink, and I collapsed on the couch for about twenty minutes; even if everybody else was going to another party, I had to stop moving for a little while.
There’s nothing like the hassles of dealing with transportation on a big party night, and the general guido atmosphere of the Marina on a Saturday night, to put me in a bad mood; combine that with drinking a couple Jack and Cokes, and then ingesting a quantity of substance with which I heretofore had no experience, and you have all the ingredients necessary for whipping up an nasty case of indigestion. Sure, things were looking kinda sparkly, and I could see the wallpaper starting to swirl around, but it was difficult for me to make the mental move from “jeezus, what a fucking pain in the ass this is,” to “oooh, cool, I think I’ll stare at the wall for a while.” After all, I had just dealt with the squealing sounds of the Marina, been crushed on a slow moving bus, and was pretty fucking tired after miles of walking, only to arrive at the party and find that it was starting to wind down.
My evening’s salvation came with the arrival of Sister Viva L’Amour who whisked us off to a “dance party” over on Oakwood. Along the way I worked on getting my tripping walk down, a formidable feat since the sidewalk seemed to now curve out along the edges, and everything had a fuzzy shimmer around it. While I made it to the party okay, and was even starting to feel a bit giddy, my stomach had other, increasingly insistent, ideas about what it wanted to do.
The party was off the hook, with dancing, DJs, a courtyard with faerie lights and “In the Mouth of Madness” projected on a wall. Thinking that my problem might be a need to move past a certain boundary state, I decided to augment my alpha-numeric with a vowel, but ten minutes later I was involved with an intimate examination of the groundcover in the courtyard garden. Yep, squirming, writhing biomass, check, here, have some freshly digested nutrients. Having purged my system (and, unfortunately, all the effects of the second pill), and been handed the requisite napkin, beer, and stick of chewing gum, I was now ready to party.
We stayed and danced until almost 2.30; the crowd was absolutely fabulous, the small dance floor packed with costumed revelers, the tracks were total monsters (though the second DJ’s mixing left something to be desired), and I can honestly say I have not enjoyed any dance event in months as much as I enjoyed the few hours we spent at that party. I had a moment of thinking back to the underground raves of a few years ago, when it was all about getting together with friends for a big party and dancing, and I realized: fuck the big clubs, fuck the name-brand DJs, fuck the scenesters and their ambitions, fuck bottle service, all of it was but an attempt to simulate the energy and straight out fun of this scene, where gay boys and straight girls danced together, where you could puke in a corner and no one bats an eye, where your friend can come and move a dancefloor with the records he’s been spinning in his bedroom, and where everybody leaves thinking “man, what a great party” and spent n’ary a dime to be there.
The Mission and Castro were still bustling with activity when we left, and though our night was far from over, I had no desire, and no need, to go in search of any more partying. Halloween is the holiday of mischief, of random encounters with the strange and bizarre. We had embraced it from the moment we left the Presidio, both treats and tricks were handed out to us, and the veil between the worlds had been raised.
The wedding was for our friends Matt and Lisa, who I have known since I first moved to The City in 1999. They were part of my original crew of party peeps, all of us recent transplants to the city who were drawn here by the .com boom and managed to hang on through the subsequent bust. They first met at a Thump radio party (I believe it was X-Dream), and have moved on since then to buying a house and having dogs, so it was about time they actually got married. The reception turned into a reunion of sorts, since our table was all old friends who I haven’t seen for quite a while, and one of them just happened to have several pills of 2-CB he wanted to share with us. After sitting through the requisite drunken speeches, terrible slow jams from the DJ, and the cutting of the cake the boyfriend, Kitty and I finally took off from the Presidio officer’s club around 9.30. Thus begins the death march.
Woe to the person who needs a taxi at 9.30 on a Saturday night; we called both DeSoto and Yellow, and were told “we’ll try to get a car out there.” Well, trying just isn’t enough; after twenty minutes of waiting we knew we’d be stranded there unless we could find a taxi ourselves, so we hoofed it off toward Lombard Street. When I saw the first sexy convict trying to hail a cab, I knew we were doomed; every corner was filled with sexy nurses, sexy tennis players, sexy convicts, sexy vampires, and all the guys in bad wigs and cow costumes who accompany them, trying to get a cab. We walked up Fillmore and finally were able to get a bus to Church and Market, and after a few more blocks of walking were able to find a conveyance up the hill to home. Total travel time from the Presidio to Castro: one hour and thirty minutes.
We went through a rapid costume change, took the blue pill, and headed out to a costume party at Liberty and Valencia, fortunately within walking distance of the apartment. We passed plenty of costumed folks on our way, but arrived just in time to see most of the people we knew headed out the door; we had mis-timed our arrival by about an hour, so that much of the party was moving on the next destination. We came in, had a drink, and I collapsed on the couch for about twenty minutes; even if everybody else was going to another party, I had to stop moving for a little while.
There’s nothing like the hassles of dealing with transportation on a big party night, and the general guido atmosphere of the Marina on a Saturday night, to put me in a bad mood; combine that with drinking a couple Jack and Cokes, and then ingesting a quantity of substance with which I heretofore had no experience, and you have all the ingredients necessary for whipping up an nasty case of indigestion. Sure, things were looking kinda sparkly, and I could see the wallpaper starting to swirl around, but it was difficult for me to make the mental move from “jeezus, what a fucking pain in the ass this is,” to “oooh, cool, I think I’ll stare at the wall for a while.” After all, I had just dealt with the squealing sounds of the Marina, been crushed on a slow moving bus, and was pretty fucking tired after miles of walking, only to arrive at the party and find that it was starting to wind down.
My evening’s salvation came with the arrival of Sister Viva L’Amour who whisked us off to a “dance party” over on Oakwood. Along the way I worked on getting my tripping walk down, a formidable feat since the sidewalk seemed to now curve out along the edges, and everything had a fuzzy shimmer around it. While I made it to the party okay, and was even starting to feel a bit giddy, my stomach had other, increasingly insistent, ideas about what it wanted to do.
The party was off the hook, with dancing, DJs, a courtyard with faerie lights and “In the Mouth of Madness” projected on a wall. Thinking that my problem might be a need to move past a certain boundary state, I decided to augment my alpha-numeric with a vowel, but ten minutes later I was involved with an intimate examination of the groundcover in the courtyard garden. Yep, squirming, writhing biomass, check, here, have some freshly digested nutrients. Having purged my system (and, unfortunately, all the effects of the second pill), and been handed the requisite napkin, beer, and stick of chewing gum, I was now ready to party.
We stayed and danced until almost 2.30; the crowd was absolutely fabulous, the small dance floor packed with costumed revelers, the tracks were total monsters (though the second DJ’s mixing left something to be desired), and I can honestly say I have not enjoyed any dance event in months as much as I enjoyed the few hours we spent at that party. I had a moment of thinking back to the underground raves of a few years ago, when it was all about getting together with friends for a big party and dancing, and I realized: fuck the big clubs, fuck the name-brand DJs, fuck the scenesters and their ambitions, fuck bottle service, all of it was but an attempt to simulate the energy and straight out fun of this scene, where gay boys and straight girls danced together, where you could puke in a corner and no one bats an eye, where your friend can come and move a dancefloor with the records he’s been spinning in his bedroom, and where everybody leaves thinking “man, what a great party” and spent n’ary a dime to be there.
The Mission and Castro were still bustling with activity when we left, and though our night was far from over, I had no desire, and no need, to go in search of any more partying. Halloween is the holiday of mischief, of random encounters with the strange and bizarre. We had embraced it from the moment we left the Presidio, both treats and tricks were handed out to us, and the veil between the worlds had been raised.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Help Otto!
Otto Schutt is one of those scenesters everybody seems to love, and unfortunately, he needs lots of it right now, having been diagnosed with colon cancer (really, just about the worst kind you can get, and he's got it bad). There have been some great fundraisers for Otto, with Space Cowboys, Opel, and many other crews getting together to help him through this, both spiritually and financially. If you want to help Otto, check out his website and hit the PayPal link.
Your Saturday Guide for October 27, 2007
Ah, Halloween, the last big party party before we head into the nesting season. I've had some really fun times out at big Halloween parties, most notably Tantra's SoMarts party about two years ago, but this year I've got a wedding at 5PM, and will probably be headed for a house party thereafter. I'm sure that there will be huge to-dos at Ruby Skye, 1015, and all the other usual locales, but here's a select list of things I might check out if I wasn't already occupied.
Space Cowboys at Temple
Featuring the Drumattic Twins (Finger Lickin') performing live. Main room with Space Cowboys DJs Brad Robinson, the Geometrist, Mancub, 8Ball, Rrrus, Kapt'n Kirk, Ernie Trevino, and Brett Pinkin. Catacombs with Evil Breaks DJs, Aaron Jae, Bam, M.O.D., Athena, and Special Guest Son of the Electric Ghost from Texax.
10PM - 6AM
$10 in advance and at the door for the undead and the living in costume, $20 for everybody else
Temple, 540 Howard Street between 1st and 2nd
Opel Presents Night of the Living Bass at Mighty. With Dylan Rhymes (Lot 49, UK) and Elite Force (Used & Abused Records, Lot 49, eliteforce.co.uk / UK), plus Opel residents Syd Gris, Hoj, Melyss, + ICON, Spesh, Fred Funk, Alain Octavo, Scottino, Dirtyhertz, Tamo, DJ Hill, Vinkalmann, & MACE.
Discounted pre-sales on sale for $15 HERE.
10PM - 4AM
Mighty, 119 Utah Street
Honey Sound System Underground with Mauricio Aviles
No other details, so hit the link to check the Honey Sound System website the day of the party.
Spektikal at Shine
A new tech-house party start-up, the (unfortunately named) Teknosexual crew will be hosting their first party at Shine, with Dead Seal (Auralism), J.Phlip (The End Up), Barclay (Next Door, Hawaii), The Dirty Duo (Alibi, Anu), Jaime James (Fahrenheit 360).
9PM - 2AM
FREE before 11 and all night in costume, $5 after and without costume
Shine, 1337 Mission
FilterSF at Anu
Live PA by resident Kontakt, with special guest Butane (Alphahouse, St. Louis/Berlin). Best bef for your deep minimal techno fix.
9PM - 2AM
$5 before 10.30, $10 afterwards
Anu Bar, 43 6th Street x Market
And for your Sunday recovery, how about a FREE psytrance day party in Golden Gate Park? Starting around 10 or 11 AM, Marx Meadows off 26th in Golden Gate Park.
Space Cowboys at Temple
Featuring the Drumattic Twins (Finger Lickin') performing live. Main room with Space Cowboys DJs Brad Robinson, the Geometrist, Mancub, 8Ball, Rrrus, Kapt'n Kirk, Ernie Trevino, and Brett Pinkin. Catacombs with Evil Breaks DJs, Aaron Jae, Bam, M.O.D., Athena, and Special Guest Son of the Electric Ghost from Texax.
10PM - 6AM
$10 in advance and at the door for the undead and the living in costume, $20 for everybody else
Temple, 540 Howard Street between 1st and 2nd
Opel Presents Night of the Living Bass at Mighty. With Dylan Rhymes (Lot 49, UK) and Elite Force (Used & Abused Records, Lot 49, eliteforce.co.uk / UK), plus Opel residents Syd Gris, Hoj, Melyss, + ICON, Spesh, Fred Funk, Alain Octavo, Scottino, Dirtyhertz, Tamo, DJ Hill, Vinkalmann, & MACE.
Discounted pre-sales on sale for $15 HERE.
10PM - 4AM
Mighty, 119 Utah Street
Honey Sound System Underground with Mauricio Aviles
No other details, so hit the link to check the Honey Sound System website the day of the party.
Spektikal at Shine
A new tech-house party start-up, the (unfortunately named) Teknosexual crew will be hosting their first party at Shine, with Dead Seal (Auralism), J.Phlip (The End Up), Barclay (Next Door, Hawaii), The Dirty Duo (Alibi, Anu), Jaime James (Fahrenheit 360).
9PM - 2AM
FREE before 11 and all night in costume, $5 after and without costume
Shine, 1337 Mission
FilterSF at Anu
Live PA by resident Kontakt, with special guest Butane (Alphahouse, St. Louis/Berlin). Best bef for your deep minimal techno fix.
9PM - 2AM
$5 before 10.30, $10 afterwards
Anu Bar, 43 6th Street x Market
And for your Sunday recovery, how about a FREE psytrance day party in Golden Gate Park? Starting around 10 or 11 AM, Marx Meadows off 26th in Golden Gate Park.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Your Friday Guide for October 26, 2007
Cosmic Gypsy Happy Hour with DJ Mak at the W Hotel
Get your lounge groove on with DJ Mak in this swank hotel bar.
6PM - 8PM
No cover
W Hotel, 181 3rd Street x Howard
The Jaded Gay DJ Recommends: Charlie Horse at the Cinch
Best place to go out and have a cheap drink while being entertained by drag queen antics. Recently voted Best Drag Show in San Francisco by the SF Weekly! Music by DJ Dirty Knees and Bearzbub is more rock and new-wave oriented, but at least it won't interfere with your conversation. Check out my latest review of Charlie Horse at The Cinch.
9PM - close
NO COVER
The Cinch, 1723 Polk Street (between Clay and Washington)
Fag Fridays at Pink
The second night of Fag Fridays at their new location, with residents Rolo and David Harness, with guest DJ Honey Dijon (what's with this trend of drag queen DJs lately?)
10PM - "late"
Cover "TBA" (and what's up with that?)
Pink, 2925 16th Street x South Van Ness
The Jaded Gay DJ Recommends: Lights Down Low at Club 222
This installment features guests The Young Americans, Rev DJ Dr Davidson, and Miss Toats, with resident DJs Sleazemore, Rchrd OH! and now "hosted" by Billy C. Check out my previous reviews of Lights Down Low.
10PM - 2AM
$7
Club 222, 222 Hyde Street x Turk
Monthlies and One-Offs
Shark Attack!
Residents 0rko, Rubyacht, Starr (Bondage-a-Go-Go), Macro spinning "Electro/Progressive/Techno/Grime/Popdancecrap."
9.30PM - 2AM
FREE before 10, $5 after
Julie's Supper Club, 1123 Folsom x 7th
The Jaded Gay DJ Recommends: Honey Sound System at The Transfer
No muss, no fuss, just bangin' tunes from Pee Play, Ken Vulsion, and Robot Hustle.
9PM - 2AM
FREE before 11, $5 after
The Transfer, Church and Market
Get your lounge groove on with DJ Mak in this swank hotel bar.
6PM - 8PM
No cover
W Hotel, 181 3rd Street x Howard
The Jaded Gay DJ Recommends: Charlie Horse at the Cinch
Best place to go out and have a cheap drink while being entertained by drag queen antics. Recently voted Best Drag Show in San Francisco by the SF Weekly! Music by DJ Dirty Knees and Bearzbub is more rock and new-wave oriented, but at least it won't interfere with your conversation. Check out my latest review of Charlie Horse at The Cinch.
9PM - close
NO COVER
The Cinch, 1723 Polk Street (between Clay and Washington)
Fag Fridays at Pink
The second night of Fag Fridays at their new location, with residents Rolo and David Harness, with guest DJ Honey Dijon (what's with this trend of drag queen DJs lately?)
10PM - "late"
Cover "TBA" (and what's up with that?)
Pink, 2925 16th Street x South Van Ness
The Jaded Gay DJ Recommends: Lights Down Low at Club 222
This installment features guests The Young Americans, Rev DJ Dr Davidson, and Miss Toats, with resident DJs Sleazemore, Rchrd OH! and now "hosted" by Billy C. Check out my previous reviews of Lights Down Low.
10PM - 2AM
$7
Club 222, 222 Hyde Street x Turk
Monthlies and One-Offs
Shark Attack!
Residents 0rko, Rubyacht, Starr (Bondage-a-Go-Go), Macro spinning "Electro/Progressive/Techno/Grime/Popdancecrap."
9.30PM - 2AM
FREE before 10, $5 after
Julie's Supper Club, 1123 Folsom x 7th
The Jaded Gay DJ Recommends: Honey Sound System at The Transfer
No muss, no fuss, just bangin' tunes from Pee Play, Ken Vulsion, and Robot Hustle.
9PM - 2AM
FREE before 11, $5 after
The Transfer, Church and Market
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Another One Bites the Dust: End of The Workout?
Back during the summer I was very enthusiastic in my review of The Workout, a monthly excursion into noveau disco from Baron von Luxxury, Johnatron, Pozibelle, and special guests. They moved from Le Duplex, arguably the worst club space in downtown (about which I have heard nothing in months), to House of Shields, and as recently as last month were still doing their monthly. Now, however, I find no listing of them for this Thursday, and no mention of any upcoming events on their blog, discoworkout.com (but lots and lots of cool MP3s for those of you into that sound). These guys were putting together a fun vibe, and I hope to hear about another of their events soon (I have seen Johnatron on the bill for some other events, so keep an eye peeled for their going's on around town).
Monday, October 22, 2007
The Best Laid Plans
Saturday night Kitty, the boyfriend and I all had tickets to go hear Superpitcher at Temple. It was one of those last-minute things that I put together on Thursday, thinking that a) it would be cool to hear Superpitcher, even though I’m not that huge a fan b) it would be a good chance to check out this new club. As it turned out we didn’t make it, for a combination of reasons that Kitty aptly summed up later in the evening as “our passive-aggressive way of saying we don’t want to go,” and which made me think more about the balance of expenditure and reward involved with being an active clubber.
I should preface by saying that I’m usually only good for one big night out a weekend, unless I have substantial chemical assistance, but that kind of weekend is something I can only manage psychically and physically on a quarterly basis, if that often. Friday night at Heat was a big night for the boyfriend and I; we certainly drank enough, and were both really tired after walking halfway there from the Castro, dancing all night, and then walking halfway back. I had to get up and out the door on Saturday to finish a couple large homework assignments, and when I went back to the bedroom to say goodbye, the first works the boyfriend spoke to me were “I don’t think I’m going to want to go out tonight.” The stage was thus set for at least part of the play that would unfold later in the evening.
Whenever the boyfriend decides to stay home it puts a bit of a damper on my party spirit, for reasons I hope are obvious. I love going out with my friends and have had some great nights without the boyfriend, but for a party like this, where I was unsure of how things would go, having him along makes a big difference to me, if for no other reason than having yet another person I can kvetch with. I thus went through the rest of my hungover day, trying to solve a Javascript homework assignment through the use of pure brute force, feeling like I actually just wanted to stay home and play with our new Xbox 360.
Kitty came over early and we all ordered Indian food, which would turn out to the major source of the evening’s undoing. After dinner, in prep for going out, Kitty also treated himself to a party favor. I suspected that this would turn him into a bowl of jelly in about three hours, at which time we would either have to find a good chill space to pass the time at the club, or leave. Since I was going “sober” for the evening I was a little anxious about managing this aspect of things, which may have contributed to what happened next; not suspecting anything was wrong I went into the bathroom and, instead of doing what I thought I was going to do, I threw up dinner. Twenty minutes later, the boyfriend was in the bathroom experiencing some gastrointestinal issues of his own. By this time it was about 9.30, right when I thought we should be leaving, and right about the time that Kitty was beginning to feel some effects. I sat, he sat, we all sat and waited to see what would happen with our respective systems. Around 10 I puked again, but by 10.30 was thinking well, maybe if I can get some air and walk around without getting sick, I’ll make it. So we took a stroll down to 24th and Noe, and by the time we got back I was like “yeah, right, okay, I’m ready to go now.” At which time Kitty said “I just need to sit down and collect myself for a few minutes.” Well, a few minutes turned into about three hours, during which we hung out and watched The Simpsons movie instead of going to hear Superpitcher.
On the one hand, I felt really, really lame – I mean, I couldn’t get it up to get out on a Saturday to hear a major recording artist in my favorite genre of music? But I also realized that I really didn’t want to go out, and the reasons had as much to do with what I anticipated for the evening as they did with the general crappiness I felt after throwing up bad Pakistani/Indian food. The main negative anticipation was about money; I knew that on Friday night I had pretty much blown my budget for the weekend, though I had only bought about six drinks (not all for me), and paid for a cab there. Knowing that I would have to take a cab there and back for a total of about thirty bucks, plus probably about four drinks at downtown prices, made my wallet start to hurt. The other major negatave anticipation was about just being tired; I’ve been to enough of these “until after hours” shows with big names to know that they don’t usually put the headliner on until about 2AM, meaning at least 4AM until I got home. And then I was worried that we would go through all this to get down there, only to find it kind of a lame show, or we would variously be unable to deal with the situation (this is a club with bottle service, after all) and turn around and come back after only an hour or two.
Against these negative anticipations I had very little in the way of positive ones, and this is what made me realize something important about the nature of club life for me; the negative anticipations are usually countered by the ease of the situation, and the amount of effort required to participate. If I know that it’s just about dressing up, going out, hanging with my friends, dancing, and coming home when I’ve had enough, then I can overcome a lot of inertia to get myself out the door. But when expense, difficulty in getting to the club, and the potential of dealing with a non-fun situation comes up, I find it harder to motivate myself. In general, I prefer the smaller club party over the big celebrity hoe-down because it’s easier to match my expectations against what actually goes on. Though the boyfriend and I agree that we want to go out and hear more live music, which generally qualifies as a big event, there’s a different relationship to the event when it’s about a live performance, rather a big name DJ.
The other factor, of course, is that I just wasn’t excited about this event, and I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about why that was. When I used to go out to undergrounds on an almost weekly basis I was always excited, mainly because I had some idea of what to expect, but also because going to those events made me feel like part of a community. Going out to a big club night makes me feel like a sheep about to be fleeced; the bottom line is always about how much money can be extracted from you while you’re inside, and this why they do things like not putting the headline on until late – the longer you’re there, the more you’ll drink. On this occasion, despite my interest in the peformer, I just wasn’t that enthusiastic about the idea that he was largely the magnet for attracting all the money out of my pocket.
I’ve pretty much avoided the big club scene for a while now; I can’t remember the last time I was at 1015, I’ve never been to Ruby Skye, and I don’t know that I’ll make it to Temple any time soon. Instead, I think I’ll turn my attention back to those small events where I feel more like I’m taking part in something, where my presence means more than just another fifty bucks in the bar till, and where there is enough anticipation of something fun, innovative, and exciting to get me out the door even after I’ve barfed twice.
I should preface by saying that I’m usually only good for one big night out a weekend, unless I have substantial chemical assistance, but that kind of weekend is something I can only manage psychically and physically on a quarterly basis, if that often. Friday night at Heat was a big night for the boyfriend and I; we certainly drank enough, and were both really tired after walking halfway there from the Castro, dancing all night, and then walking halfway back. I had to get up and out the door on Saturday to finish a couple large homework assignments, and when I went back to the bedroom to say goodbye, the first works the boyfriend spoke to me were “I don’t think I’m going to want to go out tonight.” The stage was thus set for at least part of the play that would unfold later in the evening.
Whenever the boyfriend decides to stay home it puts a bit of a damper on my party spirit, for reasons I hope are obvious. I love going out with my friends and have had some great nights without the boyfriend, but for a party like this, where I was unsure of how things would go, having him along makes a big difference to me, if for no other reason than having yet another person I can kvetch with. I thus went through the rest of my hungover day, trying to solve a Javascript homework assignment through the use of pure brute force, feeling like I actually just wanted to stay home and play with our new Xbox 360.
Kitty came over early and we all ordered Indian food, which would turn out to the major source of the evening’s undoing. After dinner, in prep for going out, Kitty also treated himself to a party favor. I suspected that this would turn him into a bowl of jelly in about three hours, at which time we would either have to find a good chill space to pass the time at the club, or leave. Since I was going “sober” for the evening I was a little anxious about managing this aspect of things, which may have contributed to what happened next; not suspecting anything was wrong I went into the bathroom and, instead of doing what I thought I was going to do, I threw up dinner. Twenty minutes later, the boyfriend was in the bathroom experiencing some gastrointestinal issues of his own. By this time it was about 9.30, right when I thought we should be leaving, and right about the time that Kitty was beginning to feel some effects. I sat, he sat, we all sat and waited to see what would happen with our respective systems. Around 10 I puked again, but by 10.30 was thinking well, maybe if I can get some air and walk around without getting sick, I’ll make it. So we took a stroll down to 24th and Noe, and by the time we got back I was like “yeah, right, okay, I’m ready to go now.” At which time Kitty said “I just need to sit down and collect myself for a few minutes.” Well, a few minutes turned into about three hours, during which we hung out and watched The Simpsons movie instead of going to hear Superpitcher.
On the one hand, I felt really, really lame – I mean, I couldn’t get it up to get out on a Saturday to hear a major recording artist in my favorite genre of music? But I also realized that I really didn’t want to go out, and the reasons had as much to do with what I anticipated for the evening as they did with the general crappiness I felt after throwing up bad Pakistani/Indian food. The main negative anticipation was about money; I knew that on Friday night I had pretty much blown my budget for the weekend, though I had only bought about six drinks (not all for me), and paid for a cab there. Knowing that I would have to take a cab there and back for a total of about thirty bucks, plus probably about four drinks at downtown prices, made my wallet start to hurt. The other major negatave anticipation was about just being tired; I’ve been to enough of these “until after hours” shows with big names to know that they don’t usually put the headliner on until about 2AM, meaning at least 4AM until I got home. And then I was worried that we would go through all this to get down there, only to find it kind of a lame show, or we would variously be unable to deal with the situation (this is a club with bottle service, after all) and turn around and come back after only an hour or two.
Against these negative anticipations I had very little in the way of positive ones, and this is what made me realize something important about the nature of club life for me; the negative anticipations are usually countered by the ease of the situation, and the amount of effort required to participate. If I know that it’s just about dressing up, going out, hanging with my friends, dancing, and coming home when I’ve had enough, then I can overcome a lot of inertia to get myself out the door. But when expense, difficulty in getting to the club, and the potential of dealing with a non-fun situation comes up, I find it harder to motivate myself. In general, I prefer the smaller club party over the big celebrity hoe-down because it’s easier to match my expectations against what actually goes on. Though the boyfriend and I agree that we want to go out and hear more live music, which generally qualifies as a big event, there’s a different relationship to the event when it’s about a live performance, rather a big name DJ.
The other factor, of course, is that I just wasn’t excited about this event, and I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about why that was. When I used to go out to undergrounds on an almost weekly basis I was always excited, mainly because I had some idea of what to expect, but also because going to those events made me feel like part of a community. Going out to a big club night makes me feel like a sheep about to be fleeced; the bottom line is always about how much money can be extracted from you while you’re inside, and this why they do things like not putting the headline on until late – the longer you’re there, the more you’ll drink. On this occasion, despite my interest in the peformer, I just wasn’t that enthusiastic about the idea that he was largely the magnet for attracting all the money out of my pocket.
I’ve pretty much avoided the big club scene for a while now; I can’t remember the last time I was at 1015, I’ve never been to Ruby Skye, and I don’t know that I’ll make it to Temple any time soon. Instead, I think I’ll turn my attention back to those small events where I feel more like I’m taking part in something, where my presence means more than just another fifty bucks in the bar till, and where there is enough anticipation of something fun, innovative, and exciting to get me out the door even after I’ve barfed twice.
Another One Bites the Dust: No More Starfucker at Deco
I received an email this afternoon informing me of the end of Starfucker at Deco. This is kinda odd, as I wasn't aware that I was on an email list for them, and I thought this night had died weeks ago anyway. Deco is a great club, one of my favorite places in the Tenderloin, but I'm not really surprised that this party has come to an end, since there's not that much to distinguish it from anything else happening on a Friday night. The email itself is kinda telling:
One of the things that killed this party is it's Friday night spot. Between Manhunt, Craigslist and the other Friday parties going on, people have many sinful choices in SF.
So the things that Starfucker compares itself to are hook-up sites; the message then goes on to tout the "shameless cruising in our basement" as a main feature of the last party. I would suggest that this is the reason that the party died; if all you've got to really offer is a hook-up scene, there's lots of other ways to do that, and I don't think that this is what people are looking for right now. From my conversations with people, they want fun, a sense of excitement, good music, and a place to dance. The 1970s model of the gay club as a sex scene seems to be losing some of its luster now (when was the last time you heard anything about a Bus Station John event), while the events that are picking up are those with more emphasis on style, music, and a "scene." I hope that whoever takes up the new Friday night slot at Deco realizes this and plans accordingly.
One of the things that killed this party is it's Friday night spot. Between Manhunt, Craigslist and the other Friday parties going on, people have many sinful choices in SF.
So the things that Starfucker compares itself to are hook-up sites; the message then goes on to tout the "shameless cruising in our basement" as a main feature of the last party. I would suggest that this is the reason that the party died; if all you've got to really offer is a hook-up scene, there's lots of other ways to do that, and I don't think that this is what people are looking for right now. From my conversations with people, they want fun, a sense of excitement, good music, and a place to dance. The 1970s model of the gay club as a sex scene seems to be losing some of its luster now (when was the last time you heard anything about a Bus Station John event), while the events that are picking up are those with more emphasis on style, music, and a "scene." I hope that whoever takes up the new Friday night slot at Deco realizes this and plans accordingly.
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