Wednesday, October 16, 2002

Last tuesday was boy’s night

Last tuesday was boy’s night out at the GAMH (with the notable exception of the exotic and lovely Helena).  I left work late and went to one of the Tenderloin’s best and cheapest Indian restaurants for some onion bread and some potato bread, and carried it through the sticky sordid streets to the venue.  On the way i was careful not to make eye contact with the noisy wasted bum trying to sell sunglasses out of his back pocket; some older dunderheads helped me out by engaging him in conversation, giggling at his anxious antix.  I got to the line and started eating; friends started arriving, a good group of hard partiers, 8 of us altogether.... the dunderheads were in line behind us, still chatting with the beggar, who was becoming increasingly agitated.  To keep my karma clear and that loud jerk away from me and my friends I gave an elderly crackwench half of one of my dinner breads; she didn’t eat it.  We were among the first people inside and took occupancy of a series of tables house right; a staff dude told us we’d be better off upstairs so we relocated and found no seats with a view at all.  So we moved again and got tables house left, which were just fine.  Without putting too fine a point on things, i was getting very warm and easily confused at this point.  The opening band, Estradasphere, was exceptional, much to my shock and gratification.  They played everything - boogaloo funk, gypsy guitar ballads, thrash klezmer.  At the break two of our party each got their cd, and also one from the sax player from the headline act, a huge muscular handsome wall of a man who walked right past us toward the backstage area - we flashed the cd to him and he stopped to mug for us, waved his hands and waggled his butt around, and gave Ralph a huge bear hug.  As Project Object took the stage, the funk quotient rose exponentially.  But two of our party were sinking fast.  One of us had to take another of us outside for a walk, or more of a sitdownon the stained sidewalk… our friend ran interference for him as the drunkards and losers stumbled over to him, ‘I’ve been there myself, gimme a dollar...’ Still at my seat, I noticed those two were gone when another friend’s head lolled against me; he was pale and sweaty and his eyes were closed.  Eventually he asked me to help him to the bathroom, where the men’s was locked but the woman’s was open; i stood guard for him for what seemed quite a long time, during which the other sick friend - now feeling better - found me and we passed the time.  When the presently sick friend emerged from the head he was still pale and shaky; we got him outside for some fresh air andimmediately a gent strolled up to sell us a tiny packet of brown leaves, ‘it’s the real shit, my last bag, sell it to ya for 10...’ i had to turn my coldest glare on him before he saw that we were not his market.  The pale boy got a little color back and we slowly walked to a corner store for some cold water.  As I strolled the aisles two enormously endowed streetwalkers eyed me, appraisingly i thought, but i was a bit disoriented myself; their chill-stiffened nipples followed me like second pairs of eyes - but i had a confused friend to help, no time to chat with the hired help… we got back to the theater for the second set, which ended at 1 am, by which time everybody seemed substantially better.  It was an excellent concert, but an even more noteworthy night.