BEWARE OF LIMBO DANCERS

It's true. Pride does go before the fall.

If man is five...(or apples, how d'ya like them?)

Thank you Jon Santer. Jon is my co-Header alumnus who now tends bar at various local bay area establishments. Jon is also a poor planner and a brief synopsis of this can be found at www.touchground.blogspot.com.
So I see that Jon is in the position to unload two tickets to the Pixies at UC Berkeley for Saturday. And yes I was scheduled to work. And yes I am unremittedly broke. But it's the Pixies. When in my life will I have the opportunity to see a band that not only helped form my high school experience but that I still listen to today? (Another good question is how amazing is it that a band who has not put out a new album in 15 years can still sell out shows three nights in a row?) I was talking, not two days ago, with a certain bartender I'm lucky to know, so Thursday night I head on over after work to Cortez where Jon is working to do the ticket/money exchange. At the Mondrian walled bar I enjoy two excellent cucumber gimlets and a dessert (later I may rant on the inability of bartenders in this town to do their job properly; to serve a palatable mixed drink when one does not feel like a beer or wine.) Jon's friends Jacques and Fernet soon make an appearance. The evening degenerates - wonderfully, hedonistically, "unexpectedly" - and I do pay for it the next day and beyond. Oola's, at 860 Folsom, is highly recommended for blowing through some cash. I hobble through Friday looking towards Saturday and the concert. My wonderful new bosses had consented to letting me off early and Fay, the recipient of the other ticket, and D. Wing (who ferociously Craigslisted a ticket of his own once Fay broke the news that she and I were going) picked me up and we BARTed over to the Berkeley campus and the Greek Theater. The Greek is, as implied, an outdoor amphitheater and a great venue for this kind of show. We decide to forgo our actual seats and make our way down to a tiered concrete area over looking the open front section. The opening band had nothing to recommend it and I spent that time instead being very amused by the number of people I recognized from the Mission and specifically one guy who I know I sold a hat to last week. Some smoke and funky wrought-iron trees holding the stage lights comprised the whole of the stage decoration and without too much waiting the band takes the stage. Happy, waving out to the crowd, they waste no time and move straight into "Debaser". Frank Black was jolly and sort of bouncing, Ms. Deal seemed rather self-contained and would slightly rise up on her toes towards the mike at the beginning of all her vocals. On several occasions she sidled up to the mike and just said "Thanks!" really ingeniously. At one point the guitarist did this weird reverb thing and broke into the theme from "Jeopardy" which kind of freaked me out because I had just started reading DFW's "Girl with the Curious Hair" that morning. Unfortunately my crossed fingers did nothing to bring about "Tony's Theme" but absolutely no complaints here from the songs or the performance. It all ended with "Gigantic" which, after much applause, really ended with the amalgamated "In Heaven," "Wave of Mutilation" (played interestingly enough for the second time that night), and another song, now gone from my mind. And except for some momentary wet-blanketness on my part, due to my then impending illness, it was a fucking fantastic evening.
I am now going back to bed and Toshire Mifune movies and Ben and Jerry's.

Desperate Fernet

So, this past Tuesday the lovely Brian Miller comes down into town after visiting the lovely Tyler Bradford in Portland. As he arrives just as I'm getting off work we go straight to dinner at Ramblas Tapas and dine on very nice sangria and quail (among other things).
Our next stop is at Amnesia, because they seem to have live music every night, with no cover, and has a nice intimate, rather red, ambiance. Live music, yes. Intimate, certainly. Besides the nice former BU student Sean who was bartending, it was just B. Mills and me. The aural entertainment for the evening was to be provided by karaoke. Hurrah! As it was still somewhat early Brian and I opted for several games of pool. On the most topographically diverse table I've ever played pool on. Balls would practically come to a halt and then suddenly veer in another direction with gusto. Brian seemed to have figured out the tables' tricks, but I was still floundering. Until "Desperado". Karaoke had started with little fanfare or enthusiasm; one lone soul was brave enough to make an attempt. His choice, "Desperado". Magically, with a truly unique rendering of this Eagles classic, I start sinking balls. Shots I never could have made even after years of practicing. Beautiful shots. Soon though, as always seems to be the case, the magic slipped from my fingers and pool cue. Probably due, as always seems to be the case, because the music beginning to be selected belonged to the decade known as the eighties.
So off again, to a venue where I knew there would be "live" music, and of a more pleasurable quality than what we had just been present for. To Bruno's for some Jazz Mafia; jazz instrumentals with some guy rapping over it all. Usually quite good. Plus two dollar Stella's and my friend Jon behind the bar also make this a choice stop. Brian and I enjoy the band, briefly converse with Jon the Bartender, have some Stella's and wait for Fay to join us. Fay arrives and to celebrate this confluence of North Shore natives I order a round of Fernet from Jon. Fernet is a classic old Italian guy drink made popular in San Francisco by the residents of North Beach which is San Francisco's Little Italy area. Firstly, Jon declines his shot (mal fraternitie). Secondly Fay and Brian now believe I am the anti-Christ for attempting to poison them and in such a disagreeable manner. Which leaves me with not just my shot, but Jon's. Two in a row is rough, no lie. This is the point in the evening where I COMPLETELY forget everything that happens after. I don't remember Fay leaving Bruno's. I don't remember leaving Bruno's. Nor walking up the street, finding my apartment, walking up the stairs (it could have been the elevator), nor getting in bed and going to sleep. I am gratified that there is one memory, that of brushing my teeth; thankfully, no matter how drunk I am, dental hygiene is still apparently a top priority. But I am not distressed by this missing span of time. Who knows what interesting and unusual things may have happened? I could have traveled to Bali to go bear-baiting with Senator Clinton and discussed the state of this country's health care. Who knows? Really, anything is possible and I like that thought.

http://www.brunoslive.com

Guys...

...are confusing.

14th and Castro

As you all know I'm a little bit crazy, so this will not surprise you. On my way to check out Amoeba on Haight (and yes, it may be the best music store ever) I have found a great produce store on 14th and Castro. Take a look at a map; really not my neighborhood. It's right on the corner and there is a large tree there from which they hang not only flowering potted plants, but bags of oranges and bunches of bananas; it's adorable. Plus the avocados are gargantuan, it's the cheapest I've come across so far, and as I was leaving with my little brown paper bag and a smile I was walking behind a 20-something guy, with short spikey hair in baggy khaki's, a sleeveless shirt, and flip-flops walking his little pug dog (remember this is in the Castro) when little doggy lags behind. The guy snaps his fingers twice and says "Adiamo, principessa." So now I have to get all my fruits and vegetables in the Castro, cheese in Noe on 24th, and these fantastic feta stuffed olives at Molinari's in North Beach. Crazy.

Yes, I was right.

I am not inherently a blogger; but maybe we will place the blame for my lack of posts on the fact that I have just finished my first full work week. The store is owned by a brother (Oleg) and sister (Elina) from Russia and employs myself, Daniel, Joshua, Greta, the soon departing Christina, and the also newly hired Tara. So we sell hats all day. And talk. And get to listen to whatever we feel like on the stereo; a sampling from this week has been Loretta Lynn, Johnny Cash, Blondie, and Greatest Hits from the 1950's. I enjoy it very much, the people are all great, there are, of course, several hats I'm coveting disastrously, every day that I have worked I've out-sold everyone else in the store, but I feel I may not be long for that world. It just may not be intellectually sustaining enough. I won't say what I may miss, but I may miss something.

http://www.adsHATS.com