sǝuoſ ǝuıɥsunS

Yesterday afternoon I was feeling real bad. My mouth was on fire, and I couldn’t feel my face. An expensive trip to the dentist left me in more pain than I was when I went into the office, I was hungry (so hungry) but couldn’t eat, and just wanted to die. Oh, baby there’s nothing worse than mouth pain. I picked up my prescription for antibiotics, got a bottle of advil and went home, took my pills and went back to bed.

When I woke up the swelling in my gums had gone down, and I felt a little better. Adam L. stopped by and dropped of these gargantuan boxes of blank CD’s I’m supposed to duplicate my DJ mixes onto. He and Poroshat are getting married and I’m playing three five hour sets with Michael Sultan in Mexico at their wedding, and it’s going to be a set of Cd’s to give out to everyone who attends. It was good to see Adam, and his kind, happy face left me feeling like I wanted to go out, I wanted to eat, I wanted to ride my scooter.

So I made a couple phone calls and connected with Calvin and Ryan. I ate a veggie taco, carefully chewing on the other side of my mouth, and drank a large carrot juice. The whole tortilla chip thing was attempted, and immediately abandoned. Dude. Quel pain! Ouch. Then we went over to the Evil Empire for espresso and conversation. I saw Rodnie and Anjia, who work there, and took a couple phone calls. It was still early, but I was already holding onto my face and wondering if I shouldn’t stay home. “Dude,” I told myself “All you do is work, you always stay home. C’mon throbbing tooth, let’s live a little.” My mouth didn’t protest, so the three of us hopped onto our scooters (Me on my Vespa, and Ryan and Calvin on his Aprila) and roared through the misty San Francisco night.

There’s nothing in the world like riding a 200 cc Vespa through the deserted streets of San Francisco. Nothing. It is love, longing, dangerous, exciting, and alive all at once. We flew up Franklin Street and cut across to the tenderloin, SF’s center of debauchery and tragedy. We parked right out front, because that’s how you park when you ride a scooter, you just slip your machine in between cars, and hop off, and went into the 222 Club. Tonight was Back 2 Back, an evening with Garth and Jeno.

The 222 Club is small, and dark, and dirty. Perfection. The music was crazy and classic, eclectic and broken, trippy and amazing, it was pure filth, and I was in heaven. I did a little disco kung fu, and brought my energy level up as high as I could, raising my hands, clapping my hands, cheering on Garth when the tunes were mixing, roaring for Jeno when the haceed was sneaking in from below, and just reveling in the night. Adam and Poroshat showed up, Derry showed up, Lailoni was on the door, it was Sarah’s birthday and she’d paid all her friend’s way into the club and tab on the bar, she was a handsome woman, but it was pretty sad really to see a beautiful woman paying for her birthday party, wanting some release, but spending it up at the door with her cell phone out texting people she barely knew to get to the club, and not too many of them really sticking around. You can’t have an ordinary life, and a filthy life at once. They just don’t go together. Derry was moving through the crowd, talking and almost hosting, Juile was talking outside all excited because I was Sunshine, Lalo showed up and it was superb to see him again, women were lined up, dancing, and hovering over the huge fan on the floor, Garth was upright, mixing and dancing, Jeno was tucked below the decks digging through his records, they were going one for one, maybe two for two, but it was back to back for true. For me, it was perfection. Dancing, connection, emotion, all cloistered in a tiny dark club full of people I don’t know. Just getting my groove on, and letting go of anything and everything. It was beautiful.

I noticed that people really don’t understand what it is to go for it anymore. People seem to have been dulled and blunted by alcohol, and bad parties over the last 10 years. Standing around waiting for a song you like, or dancing half-heartedly because you’re shit-faced, or supposed to dig the dj. It’s a sad thing to see the spiritual muscle of willingness get flabby and weak. While dancing in a dirty basement may be a vice, celebration and energy being moved around at will is truly a virtue. For the first time in a long time I moved to the music without comparison, it took about 20 minutes, but I dropped the conversation from my thoughts. The past as I knew it was gone, and I was here, now, in motion.

By 1:30 am we were hungry and ready to move forward. We kept trying to leave and go get something to eat, but then someone would lay down a jam, and we would stay. In the end I was dancing by the door, totally reluctant to leave, maybe even embarrassing myself a little. It feels so good to let my cynical mind fade, and just feel my body move. But the time had come, and we split.

First we went past Ryoko’s, a late night Sushi restaurant where they play eighties classics in a deep dark room and serve amazing food, but they were closed. Then we roared over to the Globe for something a little fancier. Calvin spotted Wolfgang Puck eating there late one night. Fancy-pants. Sadly, they’d stopped seating for food at 1 am. So we stood together on the sidewalk, I was smoking a cigarette, and decided to head over to Orphan Andy’s, the old stand by. We tore up Market street into the night, back into our neighborhoods. We ate breakfast and then went our separate ways. I was sure to thank my friends for such a wonderful night out.

Fuck I love San Francisco. It’s so goddam great to be alive.