From an “art party”, which pretty much consisted of a huge number of people cramming into a relatively small space that was already full of art. Some of the art was really very good, some was… well, I don’t know much about art. Anyway, it was fascinating. I was offered three different types of drugs in three different families (opiates, hallucinogens, and whatever pot is), but I didn’t partake of any. A simple, “No, thanks.” like an after-school special (except for the significant age difference). I did enjoy some bourbon that Steve F. let me mooch from him. Steve was very kind to me tonight. He was DJ’ing the party from the loft area, and noticed me off in the corner (sort of wavering between bored and depressed). He signaled to me to come upstairs and hang up there, and I am sincerely grateful for that. The view of the gathering was so much different from up there. For one, every woman who was baring cleavage had a full straight-down view from above. More than that, I could see the clusters of conversation, moving through the room. Groups of three or four, then one would turn and join another conversation. There was a huge rope swing that was suspended in the center of the room, and various guests took turns swinging across, some ploughing directly into some poor person who didn’t see them coming. Some got some pretty impressive swings going on it, and one very happy (and likely inebriated) woman hopped on in a skirt that flopped up as she rode the sweeping arc through the crowd.
There was a young and lovely latina with one lock of hair wrapped in thread – she was seeking a guy named “John”. The only description she could give was that “he had long hair.” Not much of a description in a San Francisco loft. She left around midnight, never finding “John” but successfully fending off a few hits. When the last band came on – I didn’t catch their name – the rockabilly / country sound got the several in the group swinging along in a bastardized country dance that I really can’t even describe. I remembered an interview with Squirrel Nut Zippers I heard once. The band said that “people would sort of dance in this charlestonesque fashion, the combination of every forties movie they had ever seen.” I thought of that watching them swing and do-si-do and occasionally try to line dance. What were these people watching? Hee-Haw and Urban Cowboy by the looks of it. But they were so happy. The band was quite good, and got a good rhythm running through the throng of onlookers. Then the cops came and told everyone to quiet down, so that was about the end of that. Only far more subdued DJ work a la Steve from that point on. Sarah – the hostess – passed out from exhaustion and alcohol and possibly some other ingested substance around 12:30ish, and then we drove back from the city… over the Bay Bridge, into Oakland. It was very nice of Dina to drive, as I certainly would never have been able to find my way around by myself, and additionally I don’t know that I would have had the initiative to go into the city without someone to guide.
I need to bathe and sleep. I smell of cigarettes and alcohol and sweat from the press of so many bodies and no ventilation. Yes, to sleep…