“Of so little weight are the greatest services to Princes,
when put into the balance with a refusal to gratify their passions.”
This is a quote from Gulliver’s Travels, by Jonathan Swift. I’m reading it for a book club I joined with my local book shop, Symposium. Yep, I’m getting out there…mixing with the people. I decided to join something, enroll in something, etc. to bring something into my life that isn’t work.
Tonight was the first class. I’ve never been part of a book club, so I wasn’t really sure what to expect. My friend Inga warned me not to let the pseudo-intellectuals tell me what to think. I wondered if the discussion would be over my head or if the class would be full of book snobs. I attended, I contributed, I made a couple of pretty good points (if I do say so myself), I even quoted the text at one juncture. *She beams with self-pride* I felt smart. I felt part of something. It felt good.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Áfram Ísland!
I just had a really fun night in San Francisco, which couldn’t have come at a better time, because I’ve been in a total funk about the City by the Bay…
This night’s adventures began, of course with the company of my friend Inga, the Icelandic lovechild herself, who, through a friend at work, found out about the cool free showing of an Icelandic documentary about an Icelandic band called Sigur Rós who tours Iceland. I was half expecting some Nordic version of This is Spinal Tap, but was pleasantly surprised…more to follow.
We met up at our favorite “haunt,” the Westfield Centre, for a quick bite, pre-screening. The crew consisted of Inga and myself, Inga’s work buddy, Jeremy, and Jeremy’s friend Fred, whom we discovered quickly was French, and managed to use this bit of information against him, for our amusement, for the duration of the evening.
The movie was being shown by this organization that holds these free RSVP events, where you email your rsvp to participate and then line up to enjoy the free activity, first come, first served. So after dinner, we sauntered over to mezzanine to line up. This is where one might wonder how many people would line up an hour and a half early on a Monday night to watch an Icelandic documentary about an Icelandic rock band. You’d be surprised.
So we were several…several people back in line, hands in our pockets, making each other laugh, listening to the bouncer-esque person yell as he paced the line about what i.d.s we should have ready to go and how our bags should be open and other security measures and precautions while we waited for the doors to open. In line, I learned a few things:
1. A “murse” is a purse carried by a man. (Mezzanine doubles as a gay club, so these are the people that would know.) I think I prefer the term Man-bag.
2. Áfram Ísland is Icelandic, and translates to, “Onward Iceland!” Inga was teaching us Icelandic phrases in hopes that if we were too far back in line, the bouncers would have no choice but to let the country folk of the very subject of the evening in to enjoy the festivities.
3. It does actually feel okay to give a homeless person some spare change. I get pan-handled all of the time and never give anything up. Tonight, I did, and I’m happy for it.
So the line began to move and we, and our bags, passed the security inspection. Mezzanine is a giant space. The main floor was covered with rows of black metal folding chairs set in front of a giant projection screen. We were led past this seating by the boy pair of our posse upstairs. Upstairs is a hip loft space…low ceilings, red lighting, full bars set up in the corners. The railing edge of the upstairs space overlooks the main floor and the movie set-up. Jeremy and Fred the Frenchman show us past all of this into an area where three big flat screen televisions line the wall, and cushiony black leather couches are in rows facing the screens like something out of a rap star’s home theatre on MTV’s Cribs. Inga and I were left to man the couch while the fellas bought us a round.
The film was fantastic. It felt like you were watching two parallels run perfectly even with each other. On one hand, you got a glimpse at this band, who like other groups of musicians, are cool and talented and make some good music. And now that you know this story about them, it makes you think perhaps you should buy their albums and wear a Sigur Rós t-shirt. On the other hand, the photography was beautiful and the entire documentary is laced with amazing shots of Iceland…lush green rolling hills, cool, clear streams and waterfalls, tiny horses, traditional sweaters, beautiful blonde people…this side of the film had us all running out the door making plans for purchasing airfare to Iceland now…before we go to bed….we’ll just do it.
And once you’ve seen such a piece of art, and enjoyed a couple of cocktails with such lovely company, the last thing you want to do is let the fun end there…so on we went, to Farmer Brown, a “soulfood” place in the same neighborhood as Mezzanine. I put “soul food” in quotes here because the restaurant was trendy, upscale, and inspired by soul food, but not in its core a true soul food place. (i.e. plaid tablecloths, greasy food, ketchup and syrup on the table with the salt and pepper…Southern table staples…were not present) However, that being said, it was damn tasty and fun. The menu item of note for this evening was their Bay Shrimp and Cornmeal Poppers served with a spicy remoulade and a little microgreen salad. Which we ordered a second plate of. Conversation was good, I tasted Pastis for the first time, we were silly on southern-inspired cocktails, and I laughed…a lot.
We entrusted Inga with the drive home…the long way home as it were…Noe Valley for Frenchie, Eddy and Divisadero for Jeremiah and then Alamo Square for myself. A drive through the Mission District was necessary to begin our path and somehow this led to a David Bowie sing-a-long and the renaming of the Mission to “The Mish.” As in, “Let’s roll down our window at the next stop sign and ask the people on the corner, what’s goin’ on in The Mish?” Music streaming out of the windows as four white kids dance happily in their seats. I don’t think it would have gone over too well in “The Mish,” but it makes me smile again just writing this. We dropped Fred off at his Noe Valley home on a steep steep hill, then swung by Jeremy’s where we ran in to get a power tool (I’ll save this for another blog) and so Inga could use the restroom on a square toilet, then home I went.
It was just one of those nights, where you stumble in…sleepy and tipsy. And as you are getting ready for bed, you periodically burst into laughter at a memory of something that was said or a face somebody made and you fall asleep, hoping that you’ll get to hang out with all of these people again sometime, and see what happens. Maybe we’ll go to “The Mish.”
Áfram Ísland!
This night’s adventures began, of course with the company of my friend Inga, the Icelandic lovechild herself, who, through a friend at work, found out about the cool free showing of an Icelandic documentary about an Icelandic band called Sigur Rós who tours Iceland. I was half expecting some Nordic version of This is Spinal Tap, but was pleasantly surprised…more to follow.
We met up at our favorite “haunt,” the Westfield Centre, for a quick bite, pre-screening. The crew consisted of Inga and myself, Inga’s work buddy, Jeremy, and Jeremy’s friend Fred, whom we discovered quickly was French, and managed to use this bit of information against him, for our amusement, for the duration of the evening.
The movie was being shown by this organization that holds these free RSVP events, where you email your rsvp to participate and then line up to enjoy the free activity, first come, first served. So after dinner, we sauntered over to mezzanine to line up. This is where one might wonder how many people would line up an hour and a half early on a Monday night to watch an Icelandic documentary about an Icelandic rock band. You’d be surprised.
So we were several…several people back in line, hands in our pockets, making each other laugh, listening to the bouncer-esque person yell as he paced the line about what i.d.s we should have ready to go and how our bags should be open and other security measures and precautions while we waited for the doors to open. In line, I learned a few things:
1. A “murse” is a purse carried by a man. (Mezzanine doubles as a gay club, so these are the people that would know.) I think I prefer the term Man-bag.
2. Áfram Ísland is Icelandic, and translates to, “Onward Iceland!” Inga was teaching us Icelandic phrases in hopes that if we were too far back in line, the bouncers would have no choice but to let the country folk of the very subject of the evening in to enjoy the festivities.
3. It does actually feel okay to give a homeless person some spare change. I get pan-handled all of the time and never give anything up. Tonight, I did, and I’m happy for it.
So the line began to move and we, and our bags, passed the security inspection. Mezzanine is a giant space. The main floor was covered with rows of black metal folding chairs set in front of a giant projection screen. We were led past this seating by the boy pair of our posse upstairs. Upstairs is a hip loft space…low ceilings, red lighting, full bars set up in the corners. The railing edge of the upstairs space overlooks the main floor and the movie set-up. Jeremy and Fred the Frenchman show us past all of this into an area where three big flat screen televisions line the wall, and cushiony black leather couches are in rows facing the screens like something out of a rap star’s home theatre on MTV’s Cribs. Inga and I were left to man the couch while the fellas bought us a round.
The film was fantastic. It felt like you were watching two parallels run perfectly even with each other. On one hand, you got a glimpse at this band, who like other groups of musicians, are cool and talented and make some good music. And now that you know this story about them, it makes you think perhaps you should buy their albums and wear a Sigur Rós t-shirt. On the other hand, the photography was beautiful and the entire documentary is laced with amazing shots of Iceland…lush green rolling hills, cool, clear streams and waterfalls, tiny horses, traditional sweaters, beautiful blonde people…this side of the film had us all running out the door making plans for purchasing airfare to Iceland now…before we go to bed….we’ll just do it.
And once you’ve seen such a piece of art, and enjoyed a couple of cocktails with such lovely company, the last thing you want to do is let the fun end there…so on we went, to Farmer Brown, a “soulfood” place in the same neighborhood as Mezzanine. I put “soul food” in quotes here because the restaurant was trendy, upscale, and inspired by soul food, but not in its core a true soul food place. (i.e. plaid tablecloths, greasy food, ketchup and syrup on the table with the salt and pepper…Southern table staples…were not present) However, that being said, it was damn tasty and fun. The menu item of note for this evening was their Bay Shrimp and Cornmeal Poppers served with a spicy remoulade and a little microgreen salad. Which we ordered a second plate of. Conversation was good, I tasted Pastis for the first time, we were silly on southern-inspired cocktails, and I laughed…a lot.
We entrusted Inga with the drive home…the long way home as it were…Noe Valley for Frenchie, Eddy and Divisadero for Jeremiah and then Alamo Square for myself. A drive through the Mission District was necessary to begin our path and somehow this led to a David Bowie sing-a-long and the renaming of the Mission to “The Mish.” As in, “Let’s roll down our window at the next stop sign and ask the people on the corner, what’s goin’ on in The Mish?” Music streaming out of the windows as four white kids dance happily in their seats. I don’t think it would have gone over too well in “The Mish,” but it makes me smile again just writing this. We dropped Fred off at his Noe Valley home on a steep steep hill, then swung by Jeremy’s where we ran in to get a power tool (I’ll save this for another blog) and so Inga could use the restroom on a square toilet, then home I went.
It was just one of those nights, where you stumble in…sleepy and tipsy. And as you are getting ready for bed, you periodically burst into laughter at a memory of something that was said or a face somebody made and you fall asleep, hoping that you’ll get to hang out with all of these people again sometime, and see what happens. Maybe we’ll go to “The Mish.”
Áfram Ísland!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)