When the Roomie and I don’t get out of the apartment until 6:30 on Friday night, and I need to make a club run that closes at 7, things aren’t looking good. But this should be a lesson to you all….if it starts off poorly, put your head down and keep going. 27 minutes later, weaving through traffic and disobeying almost every traffic law available to disobey, I pull up at the club with three minutes to spare, greeted with, “I knew you couldn’t be too much later,” by Craig.
After that, I spend a fruitless hour with Roomie trying to find a troll doll or chia pet or sea monkeys to satisfy ransom demands made for my juggling balls. Although, I’m slightly worried…I haven’t yet been able to hear them on the phone to confirm that they’re still alive. From the failed Walgreens we head to Brig and X’s place for their going away party. Being that the invitation said 7, I’m there at 740 or so and we’re some of the only ones. I’m worried that they’ve been stood up by everyone until I’m told, “we put that so that people would get here around 830 or 9. Glad they told me.
Za, T, Windy, Xena, ChengJ, Brig’s parents and brother and a whole other cast of characters from jobs and school past show up to make rounds. I’m downing rodkas out of 8 oz red cups as fast as I can, knowing I need to leave around 9:30 to make it before I get shut out of Chaz’s party. Right about that time, I get Maurod on the phone who comes to get us and takes us over to the Anti-Saloon Establishment, a non-descript town hall looking place from the outside that actually houses Bourbon and Branch, a funky speakeasy type establishment that carries out a number of house rules and menu limitations to keep it that way.
When you approach, you wouldn’t even think to knock on the door. But when you do, they open and ask for a password. I give it to them and we step inside a dimly lit restaurant style place. They take us to the back, open up a bookshelf and let us into the library, where floor to ceiling bookshelves stack books as well as liquors of every taste and variety. Multiple types of tequila, bourbon, whiskey, and vodka, as well as a selection of fresh juices and other 1920s period mixers. No coke, cosmos or long islands at this bar. The walls are thick red wallpaper that you might have seen in a brothel
In order to stay in once you’ve used the password, you better not use your cell phone or your camera, and speak easy. When we show up, Chaz, Gavroche, Sam, Mau, Damie, Albert, JH, Miller and his girl, Vic, the usual suspects are already there. About a third of the bar’s population is our crew, and it’s all mixed drinks including a pretty spectacular pomegranate martini that I have 4 of. My most enjoyable conversation of the night surrounds the merits of a bar that won’t allow the use of a camera to document the laughter. I like the no cell policy, but for a photophile like me, the no camera thing can kill.
Inside, Mau introduces us all to a very lovely blonde that, if I didn’t know any better, would have thought he had been dating for months. They’re holding hands, kissing, generally being a couple. Yet, when he tells me about her, he mentions that he met her that day on the street. Either this is truly love at first sight, or they went to some awesome pre-parties before showing up here.
Outside, I want to smack Gavroche after a particularly boneheaded move in my mind. It starts when a bum wearing a kippah comes up asking for a lighter. I hand him mine and he disappears into a store front a few spots away. When he returns, he’s talking about needing money and offering to sell us shot glasses for 1 dollar a piece. Alan asks him what God he worships and the man tells us Adonai. Alan pulls out a five dollar bill and gives it to him. The man says, “you are Jewish too. And smart.” He then asks us to call his attorney on the phone. During this exchange he mentions that he went to USC’s Business school, “Oh, Marshall?” I ask.
“No, a marketing degree.”
“You said business.”
“A business degree, yes.”
“From Marshall?”
“Don’t talk stupid.”
“But that’s the USC business school.”
“Before that.”
He then tries to give us the shot glasses for a dollar. I look at him and he’s still holding the five dollar bill Alan gave him. In my mind, we should have 3 to 5 shot glasses for that donation. I ask for my lighter back. He hands me his. I tell him that’s not mine, and he returns mine. I leave the conversation.
When I get back out there with X twenty minutes later, they’re still talking to this guy. He’s now lapsed into waving around a black flag with skull and crossbones all over it and generally cursing us. X starts yelling at him, which I can’t really control. It’s an untenable situation, and as he gives what I can only describe as the evil eye, he walks into the street, stopping oncoming traffic as he waves his flag. X yells after him, “Fuck you, you’re gonna die!”
He continues glaring and crossing the street, horns honking at him everywhere. We start looking for a cab and the doorman comes up and tells us he’ll get us one. X is wary and says, “Just be real, how much is it going to cost us.” The doorman, who apparently works for the bar, seems a bit offended and says, “I work here, you can give me whatever you’d like, but you don’t have to pay me anything if you don’t want to.” Somehow, they settle on 5 dollars as the amount.
Once Roomie, X and I are in the cab, we tell him Hayes and Clayton. “H-A-Y-E-S”. As he gets closer, he asks, “Clayton and ?” I have no idea that this is about to turn into the cab drive from hell as the driver attempts to use the fact that English is his second language in order to pretend he doesn’t know where we want to go. As mentioned above, X has already spelled out the name of the street once.
“Hayes.”
“Haight?”
“Hayes. H-A-Y-E-S.”
“Oh, ok, Hayes.”
X says, “Yea, I usually spell it for people.”
I laugh and say, “yea, I only heard you spell it twice.”
We then sit there and watch as he drives past Clayton. We tell him, “Hayes and Clayton, make your next right.”
He drives past Cole and I tell him, “Make your next right.” I now get the distinct impression that he’s acting stupid in order to jack our cab fare. I tell him again, the next right, and he says, “Hayes and Clayton?” He’s literally about to drive past Stanyan and take us into the park when I’m fed up and not going to let him play around anymore, “Right, here. Make a right.”
This is an order that no language barrier could block and he makes a right. I tell him to go to the next light, make a right, go two blocks down and stop. I get out hoping that X doesn’t give him too much of a tip. I end my night eating kit kat bars and jalapeno chips before passing out.
Saturday, I get a completely personalized Nini’s breakfast from Katie…blackberry milkshake, and a Joe’s special with chorizo, cheese and fresh tomatoes. It’s incredible. After the ensuing food coma, I head up to the Giants game to watch the last game that includes a pre-party at 518, as they move next week. It’s bittersweet…instead of playing Beirut, I drink a 40 by myself while ChengJ and Topher Grace play Streets of Rage 3 for an hour and a half.
At the game, the buzz of the crowd is electric as everyone is waiting for history. Although, for me, one of the most entertaining moments of the game comes when Armando comes in. The boos and contempt for Blonitez is amazing, considering he’s been gone for months. But the crowd boos him like it did when he pitched for us, and I tell the people around us that we should be cheering as he has to represent the best chance we have of winning the game. A guy behind me with an Illinois sweatshirt asks me what all the noise is for, and I explain to him Blonitez’s illustrious past with our team and his recent history.
While we don’t get the runs off of him, we do turn a 3-2 9th inning deficit into a 4-3 win, and I go home thinking that, hey, with this many ballgames left in the season, why shouldn’t we be able to make a play-off run? We’ve blown 10 game leads in the last half before, why shouldn’t we be able to make one up?
Guess only a few more months will yield the answer to that!
