Door Guy Chronicles - 5/17/2013

Over the past few years I’ve definitely sensed the feeling of community in this city slip away ever so slightly from various aspects of life.  From the Googlers who slip up and down the peninsula in their fancy bus, treating this city and its residents like a company-paid hotel on a business trip, to the dudes at the Fillmore who don’t share joints - despite clearing my throat at LEAST three or four times (guh!); San Francisco’s once, “we’re all in this together” hand-holding circle, feels more like a thing of the past.  How hippies talk about free love and smoking weed with the mayor or whatever.  Yet the size of our community and undeniable coexistence is always shoved right in my face every time a handful of people I know catch a cold or the flu bug.  I think of every Muni ride, public restroom and handrail not as just a petri dish of zombie disease, but a common thread that brings us all together.  I mention this because as I started my shift on Friday I casually asked one of our bartenders how she was doing and she replied, without a moment of hesitation or an ounce of shame, “ugggghhh, so sick.”  I guess I had never given it a moment of thought, but bartenders can be like those Muni handrails or ATM machines in the TL, potential petri dishes that remind us we really do belong to a community.

That being said, the number of people a bartender could be responsible for infecting in a community like San Francisco is astonishing.  I can’t blame ‘em, because it’s a profession that does not ever guarantee money, and you gotta get that paper; it’s just a helpless inevitability - because, you know, it’s not like we’re going to stop drinking in bars.  But it is terrible that so many dollars and man-hours will be lost because you had your fancy cocktail garnished by the wrong bartender.  Wouldn’t it be great to somehow solve this problem?  I’m more of an idea guy, so I’ll leave the logistics to the stars and the tides, but how about setting up a Kickstarter to send sick bartenders home?  Perhaps every bar has an account that patrons can contribute to, when a bartender comes in sick, something will happen (logistics) and the SICKstarter money will become available to reasonably compensate that bartender and send him or her home.

While I’m counting my millions, here’s what went down at the bar last weekend:

• A very attractive lady dressed like she had swankier plans than to be at my bar, walked out of the bar, looked around, caught eyes with me and gave me the come-hither’iest look I've ever received.  She then proceeded to say, “can I ask you a question?”  Excited where this might be going, I responded with a nervous, “umm sure.”  Only to have her put her arm around me and ask, “does the corner market sell blunt wraps?”  This girl is trouble.
• Some dog-walker dude passed outside the front of the bar with two dogs whose hair was shaved and colored; one to look like a lion and the other to look like a parrot.  I’m not very good with dog genres, but the lion-looking dog was totally badass, and he knew it.
• A bachelorette party was going on inside and I overheard the bride-to-be tell one of the girls, “…and you’ll get wristbands for an open bar at the El Dorado (in Reno).”  Thus establishing the setting for either the best/worst wedding ever OR The Hangover 4.
• A girl walked up to the bar, showed me her ID in her wallet and then asked, “do I have to take it out?”  Which I then responded with the obligatory, “that’s what SHE said” in the schmucky terrible joke that just has to be made voice.  Either I didn’t sell it well enough, it was just that bad of a joke or she had no sense of humor, but she didn’t crack a smile or even acknowledge that something had been said.  Whatever, obvious “that’s what she said”-s need to be acknowledged.
• Someone left a pint of puke perfectly filled to the top on one of the tables.  This should have bothered me a ton, but for some reason it was kind of adorable and reasonably considerate.  The only move here is to pretend like everything is cool, throw the entire thing away and reflect upon it fondly.

Door Guy Chronicles - 4/19/2013

Here’s something that’s impossible to do, try living in San Francisco and not drinking on a Saturday when the sun is out.  Even when you’ve fully committed to some sort of booze-less activity, all it takes is the slightest, most half-assed suggestion of maybe, possibly thinking about perhaps getting a beer at some point - and I can’t drop my bullshit plans to go hiking quick enough.

This is a problem when you have to work Saturday nights at 8pm.

This Saturday was particularly terrible and I was doing a pretty terrible job.  By 11pm I was visibly wilting like a drunk flower and was really kind of in trouble.  The kind of trouble where nausea and exhaustion, are just the tip of your hangover setting in, and you still have a couple hours in survival mode before having to do all the gross stuff that’s part of closing a bar.  Then my boss, the owner, handed me a Redbull – and I was almost immediately brought back from the dead.  Not unlike a scumbag Jesus.  Or just a dude named Jesús.

Redbull; other than gamers and people who don’t drink or do drugs and weirdly overcompensate with energy drinks, who woulda thought?

On to the good stuff from the weekend:

• Someone made a Boston Marathon joke.  Very niche audience for that type of “way too soon for a joke” comedy.  I have a feeling the chick he was talking to still banged him though.
• Two couples who had been doing coupley things with one another: happy hour, dinner, hand-holding, etc. – as they walked in, the two dudes hung back and asked if I could hook up peyote.  Seriously, in how many cities does that question casually get thrown around?  Arizona seems pretty weird, so perhaps some terrible city there, but who knows.
• Rule: If you have a San Francisco address on your driver’s license, you do not get to complain about a 1:30AM last call.  You live here, you should know that’s the deal; and so help me god, if you don’t go straight to the bar when I give you this information and fucking dilly-dally instead – get an STD*, please.
• Some dude exited the bar extremely angry as I casually chatted with the owner.  We asked what was wrong, in an attempt to remedy whatever issue this guy was having, and he yelled out, “two girls have been in the bathroom doing coke forever.”  Not really much we could do or say, so we apologized.  I’ve been suspecting that sort of activity on the rise at our bar, but I didn’t want to seem complicit so I acted all aloof in front of the owner, that’s when he told me to check out the top of the aluminum paper towel dispenser in the bathroom at the end of the night.  Sure enough, the most disgusting dried powdery snot glue – you people.

*not one of the terrible ones though, I’m not an animal   

Music Critics Are Dicks - Puke, Poetry & Imagine Dragons

I started writing a review for a band called Imagine Dragons a few months back and never finished it. I never finished it because by the time I got to thinking about what I would write, I felt like such a terrible dickbag that I fully severed my relationship with the music website I had been writing for, for over three years.

I just opened up the unfinished file because I saw that Imagine Dragons were playing at Launch Music Festival in Sacramento later on the year. Below what you will find is why I cannot be a music critic anymore. Something, musically, so inoffensive and not really all that evocative, one way or another, made me just spew bile all over it. Not even real “I just ate spaghetti” barf, just uneventful, acidic bile. No poetry whatsoever. So yes, I think there is something slightly beautiful about puke, but there is absolutely nothing beautiful about hyperbole just because.

I started out listening to each track and writing down my initial thought or feeling.  I got as far as track 11 before I realized I needed to stop, think about why I had predetermined that this album wasn't cool enough for me and walk away.  Who would you rather be: the guy raging balls, jumping up and down, grinning like a fool and screaming the words to every song with all your friends, or the skeptical dickhead in the back - arms folded, loudly sighing and making sarcastic comments with the person next to you that you wish you were fucking but don't have the balls to even try.  I know what I am.

Imagine Dragons – Night Visions 

1. Radioactive – car commercial edm puke 
2. Tiptoe – “let’s make an 80’s song”-said the transparent, soulless band with no identity 
3. It’s Time – oh I know why I feel like ive heard this song before, it’s one of those “I go to a cool church” songs 
4. Demons – throwaway 
5. On Top of the World – some sort of fucking Vampire Weekend walkabout tra-la-la bullshit 
6. Amsterdam – this kind of rocks, so why does it not really feel like it? 
7. Hear Me – not a terrible song 
8. Every Night – an actual terrible song 
9. Bleeding Out – this piece of music does not need to exist 
10. Underdog – hey, I would listen to this. Postal Service-y without the moleskin journal entries 
11. Nothing Left to Say - ehhhhhh.....

Door Guy Chronicles - 3/30/2013

This weekend was weird and shitty and I knew it was going to be weird and shitty because I can’t say no or compromise plans and obligations.  This isn’t the same thing as being unable to commit in search of that bigger and better thing; I just say yes to everything and then try to make it work.  So I knew this weekend was going to be a bit stressful, with work and play sitting on each of my shoulders trying to convince me to fuck the other thing - all the while time constantly being pinched at every corner.

I already have a problem with being way too metaphor-y, but seriously, I look back at my bank account now and can’t help but see the correlation between money leaving and time slipping.  $18 at Murphy Pub cost me 30 minutes of time, $60 ($64.95 after all the charges) out at that shitty liquor store across from Mitchell Bros; that cost me an our and half (and a little bit of dignity).

Despite trying to be two places at one time all weekend, it was pretty rad seeing  friends and getting super high before I went to work every night.  So I'll spare the term "shitty" for things that are actually shitty and just call it a bit of a clusterfuck.

• Some dude at the bar was pontificating outside on the whole “Tupac vs. Biggie” debate that hasn’t had a new wrinkle for over 10 years now, except he starting comparing that fictitious debate to an even fictitious-er Beyonce vs. Adele debate.   I’m only now realizing the obvious SAT question forming*, but I thought it was crazy interesting at the time that the dude was arguing Beyonce as Tupac and Adele as Biggie.
• That same guy almost fought one of our regulars**, who I’ll call “the Scientist,” after the dickhead scientist (one of those “im super smart and like to make other people feel dumb” guys) repeatedly called him a “moron” for his stance on religion.  Not cool to make fun of a person’s religious beliefs, but I like the family-friendly insults.
•  As I’m checking the ID’s of a couple walking in, the dude asks his girlfriend a question and she gives him a look and walks in.  His defeated response to me: “I love my girlfriend…(HUGE sigh)…she’s such a bitch. (Pause) She looks good, but…(another sigh)…so much attitude.  (Pause) All the time.”  Good luck buddy.
• One of the things I have in my notes is “barebelly guy in shorts.”  This isn’t ringing any sort of bell with me, like I said, I was pretty stoned.  And drunk.  Nevertheless, you can imagine what it was and believe it was pretty hilarious, or take it at face value and “barebelly guy in shorts” is still just kind of a funny thing.
  
  * Tupac : Biggie :: Beyonce : Adele
  ** Actually, both guys are regulars and I can see awkwardness in the near future

Door Guy Chronicles - 3/23/2013

My first weekend back at the bar since the bachelor party in Arizona, and for the first time in I think ever, time actually flew by while standing and watching other people get fucked up.  Having something I actually gave a shit about watching on the TV always helps, so the weekend’s NCAA tournament games were much welcomed (despite the fact that the only person I’m beating in the tournament pool is the guy who picked teams based on who he thought would have the most black guys – UCLA over Minnesota, for example). 

The other thing that helps time go by is showing up 30 minutes late and high as balls.  That’s what I did Saturday.

Sure, I got my wrist slapped a teensy bit, but it was worth it.  I enjoyed my night and it really helped mellow out the buzz I had from drinking the five previous hours.  That is, as we call it in the business, dedication to the craft.

Like I said, it was a lovely weekend:

• Because of the NCAA tournament, I’ve noticed people seem to be a little extra collegiate.  Somewhere in conversation someone asked me where I went to school and did that whole fake interested thing, just waiting for their turn to talk again.  So when I said San Francisco State, the person said what all new-jack assholes say, “I mean, that’s basically not even San Francisco, right?”  Don’t be this person.  San Francisco State was established in 1899, the Sunset IS San Francisco; you got here a couple years ago - Scoreboard
  
• I’m always secretly embarrassed for people who have birthdays in the 1990’s.  There was a group of about 20 of these people who showed up together, and all but two or three of them had ID’s that were cracked down the middle.  I know what it looks like when people use their ID to try and pick a lock or open a door, but I have no idea what causes this.  I hope I’ve stumbled upon some new drug fad thing the kids are all doing
• I saw a platinum blonde asian girl.  You don’t NOT notice something like this
• A dude came up to me and said his boyfriend was a 28-year-old law school student who didn’t have his ID, asking if I could make an exception and let him in.  Knowing exactly what my friend Tommy would say, I put the law student on the spot and asked, with what he knows about the law, should I let him in without ID.  He dejectedly said no, I shouldn’t.  I was going to let him in either way, but I really appreciated the honesty
• Learned that one of our regulars used to be a tour manager for Janis Joplin and The Grateful Dead.  This is the type of shit I love about San Francisco
• I love when our bartender from Pacifica has his friends come in.  There’s something great about the way bay kids getting hyphee can loosen up a crowd and liven things up a bit
• The scent of bacon wrapped hot dogs was looming - such a beautiful thing.  I’ve been calling them “Club Dogs” forever because they always have ‘em outside of clubs.  Is this a thing? Do other people call them “Club Dogs?”

Listening Party for Rolling Stone's 500 Greatest Albums of All Time

SXSW, the annual clusterfuck of musical hedonism in Texas is in a couple weeks and I'm not going this year.  Although I'm about a thousand times less butthurt about it than I should be, I still can't help but feeling a little like the 5th grader who can't go to the birthday party at Scandia.

In some ways, as a pseudo-journalist, the buildup to SXSW was my favorite part.  Researching artists, creating calendars, writing previews, RSVP'ing to parties; the preparation only further stoked the fires of excitement.

So this year, although I'm still getting a lot of the same emails, seeing the once exciting/now annoying Twitter updates and seeing all the tour schedules that all lead to Austin, I don't get to participate in much of the buildup that crescendo's at the end of the month.

In lieu of all that stuff I have decided to try and listen to all 500 of Rolling Stone's "500 Greatest Albums of All Time." (Article Here)

Not all at once, of course.  I don't want this to be a chore.  So I will be biting off a chunk of five, starting at #500, every couple days.  Lastly, I will provide a growing Spotify playlist with one of my favorite tracks from each album and leave a quick thought on each album in a posting kinda like this one.


500-496
500 - Outkast: "Aquemini" (1998) - Andre 3000 seems way harder in 1998 than he does now.  The skits are too long.  More Goodie Mob please.

499 - B.B. King: "Live in Cook County Jail" (1971) - Phenomenal recording quality, songs about boning, awesome.

498 - The Stone Roses: "The Stone Roses" (1989) - This must have been some cutting-edge shit in 1989.  Not gonna pretend I've been up on The Stone Roses or anything, but this album has an interesting jam-out element, very much a "festival band."  They will be great at Coachella.

497 - The White Stripes: "White Blood Cells" (2001) - The first half of the album rules; I kinda got bored by the end.

496 - Boz Scaggs: "Boz Scaggs" (1969) - Totally underrated.  I can see why every aging hippie burnout talks about Boz Scaggs.  Definitely belongs in your "classic rock" database.

Door Guy Chronicles - 3/2/13

Sometimes nothing really exciting or noteworthy happens on a given weekend.

I guess that's just going to happen.

No drunk falls, no exposed insecurities, no tears; hell, not even a funny joke. And that's totally ok.  Sometimes the things we should be noticing aren't going to be so obvious.  Obvious is usually tacky and only occasionally funny. 

Nevertheless, I've noticed a few things about the world of bouncing that may not seem obvious right away.  I'm starting to recognize patron archetypes; the random dude that's going to want to bro-down with me, the uptight white chick in her Tory Burches or the "what? I can't drink outside?" dude--probably the most conflicting one to deal with because I have been that dude as recent as this week.

Point is, the little things, they matter people.

• Saw an unusual amount of people who were born on 9/11...bummer dudes
• You can make any serious conversation between two German speakers sound like they are planning a "revolution"
• Since part of my job is doing "the Charlie work" I've come to hate engagement parties of all shapes and sizes.  All the nonsense party accessories are an amazing pain in the ass to clean after soaking in booze for five hours.  And no one ever asks me if I want a cupcake.  I really think my ability to "mouth" any-sized cupcake in one bite is going severely unnoticed.
• Saw an Indian dude walk up to a group of people outside the bar and ask for a cigarette using the line, "I love Jews, I'm from LA, I'm totally a 'Hin-Jew'" (pause, pause, pause aaaand silence).
• A girl and my bar manager having a conversation that went like this:
• Girl: so, the truth is there's another guy
  Boss: what!
  Girl: I mean, we haven't been romantic or anything...
  Boss: so just like, BJ's then? (completely serious)