October 20, 2012
Well, one good night out deserves another. I woke up with the growing couch crowd in the Richmond on Saturday. It was the first day that most of the crew didn’t have work. That means brunch! We went out for fancy egg sandwiches, which turned out to be fancy savory waffles. They were good, but I can’t keep spending this kind of money for the whole trip. I have to be smarter and not so free spirited. Eh, we’ll see what happens.
That night we went out on the town at about 4:00 in the afternoon. There was a festival celebration at Clarion Alley where bands were playing all night. But first, we went to a Mad Hatter themed tea-party. It was very welcoming and had no problem conversing like individual people who were aware of other people’s existences. It should be weird to all of us that that is a rare thing to find in the world of today. I have grown tired of organic balls of self-consciousness who only see the world in such a limited first person perspective. I’m sure that’s part of the reason that sparked the move in the first place.
They pieced together costumes for those of us who did not have one. Everyone could look you in the eye and wanted to connect. There was no sense of the invisible barrier between people, you know the one we assign to everyone in each passing moment that subconsciously decides how well we are going to get to know the person standing in front of us. Of course, that could just be my euphoric state of mind. There were several vials reminiscent of a “Drink Me” from Alice and Wonderland. They were very dangerous. I had two.
A slurry of night later and we all found ourselves separated in to two parties which came back together hours later, and somehow became loosely affiliated with the most amazing party we could have hoped for. It was full of good music, good dancing, and amazing people. It was a self proclaimed “Queer Party” of Balmy Alley in the middle of graffiti central; good graffiti too. There were images of the community and elements and people arranged in such a specific social commentary on the neighborhoods they live in. I could not make out all the intricacies, but the images of cops busting kids on the street sporting SF Giants gear while simultaneously sharing a café mocha frothing with whipped cream elbow to elbow with well-to-do dog owners was not lost on me.
The party house had two stories, clouds were hanging from the ceiling, music pumped all night in the red sweaty room, and skin was not scarce. It was amazing. There were costumes, there were people in just in just underwear, and there were two bars. The early crew left at around 2. We left at 3:30 with the party still kicking behind us. I would like to stress that this approaches a full 12-hours of partying. Most people have an eight-hour workday, but we put in half a day of overtime. We work hard.