The King's Holiday
Long weekends are lovely, especially when you have nothing to do and no place to go. Resisting my usual urges to fill every minute of my spare time with activity, this weekend I helped celebrate the triumphs of America’s greatest civil rights leader by drinking a lot, buying new clothes, and being lazy, lazy, lazy.
On Friday night there was a free party with open bar at Mighty featuring many of the DJs from Kontrol. Originally Jeremy and I had planned on going, but after dinner and drinks with Kitty, and a chance to experience just how cold it was, we opted for fuzzy couple time at home in front of my gas fireplace. This past week we’d had hardly any time to see each other, so it was a nice bit of couple downtime (and such).
Saturday night brought us to Drunk and Horny once again, but this time there was the added treat of a shooting right outside and across the street around midnight. Richard the doorguy saw the whole thing go down and was so rattled by the experience that he could hardly talk at the end of the night. We walked outside to see the whole block taped off. Now that’s hip, baby. Jeremy had a decent night behind the decks, and his tag-team with Jeff went especially well - alternating tracks seems to be the way to go for these guys. Jeff was in rare form for the evening, with some extremely clean mixes. It was once again completely packed, leading me to believe that the decline in November and December was merely temporary. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or regretful of this fact.
Sunday was brunch with Kitty and then off to do a little shopping downtown. Since Jeremy and Kitty were following me around in the underwear department of Macy’s Men’s Store talking about airbrushing cockheads, I decided to return on Monday to do my actual shopping. Some things are best considered in solitary meditation, like whether that sweater makes me look fat, or if those undies will give a nice presentation of my package.
Thanks to iii we had guest list privileges for the End Up’s “Super Soul Sunday” on, well, Sunday. I’ve not been to the End Up on a Sunday in a very long while, probably not since my period of extended unemployment in 2003-2004. It always seemed a bit on the tweaky side to me, being one of the few places available on Sunday night for that inevitable come-down. We got there around 9.30, as the crowd from the t-dance changed out and the househeads came on. It was a pretty high scene from all appearances, with lots of kids looking on the last legs of their epic weekend journey. Scott Wozniak and David Harness were tag-teaming, spinning through pretty conventional house with the huge black lady testifying, lots of tracks that sampled MLK, and then some really crazy tech house from the likes of George Vance (a little unsure of that name, since Jeremy got it from the DJ and then conveyed it to me under conditions in which my hearing was somewhat impaired). It was stuff with huge build-ups and very tweaked out rhythms, and it blew the minds of the dancers, who responded with shouts and whistles.
We left around 12.30 as Jeremy’s tummy began to bother him, and returned home just in time for him to make it to the bathroom, with a repeat performance at 2AM (and I was so grateful, as I toweled up the mess in the bedroom, that I could sleep in the next morning). We decided that the culprit must have been a Sparky’s turkey burger earlier in the day - so much for trying to eat healthy.
Monday I indulged in the updating of my wardrobe - thanks, MLK, for giving us a 40% off sale holiday. Future generations will continue to acknowledge your contribution to consumer capitalism. It’s been a while since I bought any new clothes, and this time it was nice to go out and buy some shirts and “furnishings” knowing I could actually afford it.
This coming weekend is Fur(ther)Con(fusion), though after the debacle of last year Jeremy and I have determined that we are only going down for the afternoon to see out-of-town friends, and then its back home. Last year Jeremy DJed to an empty room while, down the hall, kids were playing the most pedestrian trance and DnB in the world to a packed crowd. The secret? Make sure you’re in with the right clique and have furry social standing. We attempted to have some chemical fun, but I have sworn off hotel room parties and messed up, socially inept, sexually confused boys since then. And besides, there’s always better variety at any San Francisco club night.
On Friday night there was a free party with open bar at Mighty featuring many of the DJs from Kontrol. Originally Jeremy and I had planned on going, but after dinner and drinks with Kitty, and a chance to experience just how cold it was, we opted for fuzzy couple time at home in front of my gas fireplace. This past week we’d had hardly any time to see each other, so it was a nice bit of couple downtime (and such).
Saturday night brought us to Drunk and Horny once again, but this time there was the added treat of a shooting right outside and across the street around midnight. Richard the doorguy saw the whole thing go down and was so rattled by the experience that he could hardly talk at the end of the night. We walked outside to see the whole block taped off. Now that’s hip, baby. Jeremy had a decent night behind the decks, and his tag-team with Jeff went especially well - alternating tracks seems to be the way to go for these guys. Jeff was in rare form for the evening, with some extremely clean mixes. It was once again completely packed, leading me to believe that the decline in November and December was merely temporary. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or regretful of this fact.
Sunday was brunch with Kitty and then off to do a little shopping downtown. Since Jeremy and Kitty were following me around in the underwear department of Macy’s Men’s Store talking about airbrushing cockheads, I decided to return on Monday to do my actual shopping. Some things are best considered in solitary meditation, like whether that sweater makes me look fat, or if those undies will give a nice presentation of my package.
Thanks to iii we had guest list privileges for the End Up’s “Super Soul Sunday” on, well, Sunday. I’ve not been to the End Up on a Sunday in a very long while, probably not since my period of extended unemployment in 2003-2004. It always seemed a bit on the tweaky side to me, being one of the few places available on Sunday night for that inevitable come-down. We got there around 9.30, as the crowd from the t-dance changed out and the househeads came on. It was a pretty high scene from all appearances, with lots of kids looking on the last legs of their epic weekend journey. Scott Wozniak and David Harness were tag-teaming, spinning through pretty conventional house with the huge black lady testifying, lots of tracks that sampled MLK, and then some really crazy tech house from the likes of George Vance (a little unsure of that name, since Jeremy got it from the DJ and then conveyed it to me under conditions in which my hearing was somewhat impaired). It was stuff with huge build-ups and very tweaked out rhythms, and it blew the minds of the dancers, who responded with shouts and whistles.
We left around 12.30 as Jeremy’s tummy began to bother him, and returned home just in time for him to make it to the bathroom, with a repeat performance at 2AM (and I was so grateful, as I toweled up the mess in the bedroom, that I could sleep in the next morning). We decided that the culprit must have been a Sparky’s turkey burger earlier in the day - so much for trying to eat healthy.
Monday I indulged in the updating of my wardrobe - thanks, MLK, for giving us a 40% off sale holiday. Future generations will continue to acknowledge your contribution to consumer capitalism. It’s been a while since I bought any new clothes, and this time it was nice to go out and buy some shirts and “furnishings” knowing I could actually afford it.
This coming weekend is Fur(ther)Con(fusion), though after the debacle of last year Jeremy and I have determined that we are only going down for the afternoon to see out-of-town friends, and then its back home. Last year Jeremy DJed to an empty room while, down the hall, kids were playing the most pedestrian trance and DnB in the world to a packed crowd. The secret? Make sure you’re in with the right clique and have furry social standing. We attempted to have some chemical fun, but I have sworn off hotel room parties and messed up, socially inept, sexually confused boys since then. And besides, there’s always better variety at any San Francisco club night.