Mission Mission

I have come to realize that I’m really good at party-planning, and hope to get into the Event Planning Industry very soon. One of my specialties is a great ear for what sets the mood of a party. My motto is just because you like a song/album does not necessarily mean it should be played at this particular moment. So when I was loosely invited to DJ at an early slot at the Beauty Bar by a friend (since the normally scheduled “northern soul” DJ moved his set to Kimo’s), I jumped feet first into coming up with a three-hour set of my favorite genres: soul, oldies, oldie-reggae, disco.

My expectations of being a good DJ were exceeded. Dancing started happening around 8:30pm and lasted non-stop until 10:30-11ish. People I knew, people I didn’t know, shrieks of happiness, a look of parco gonfiabili amazement on my husband’s face, sweating, pushing through the crowd, laughter, happened right before my eyes – and all because of me, my music, and booze. It’s the best feeling that I’ve felt in a long time. When I told people I was DJing on Thursday, they all gave me the sarcastic response, “Oh – with iTunes?”. But I used a combination of, yes, iTunes and CDs. When the “real” DJ came in and started setting up his equipment, it included a direct line from his iPod to the stereo system. Oh, and a large Abe Lincoln hat.

I was invited back to DJ again, so next time I might tackle punk, electronic, funk?

Now, event design companies – REPLY TO MY RESUME! Or someone give me some money so I can have my own business. And then I’ll be your competition.

Whoever reads my posts in the blogosphere might think that I am a mean, pretentious person. But I’m truly not – many things I call out tend to be true! Just two days after posting “Bars in the Mission: Beauty Bar & Delirium”, I received a text message from my co-worker who recently moved from her home town of San Diego to San Francisco. I quote: “We’re going to Puerte Allegre for margaritas and Mexican food, then we’re going to hit up a few bars.” Now, I keep my blogging hidden from parco acquatico gonfiabile my co-workers, for fear they might discover my awesomeness, so I doubt she read my blog post. However, I must make a slight retraction in regards to the Beauty Bar. I have been there a few more times since the post (for Black Lip Jared’s DJ set and Detroit Soul Thursday), and I must admit that before 10pm, the bar is pretty cool. The people are decent, the bar is not crowded, and the place isn’t stinky. They also have some cool music. The shitty DJs and the “mission ghetto” (as some of the regulars call the clientele) arrive after 10pm. So Katie’s Love-Hate relationship summary: go for Happy Hour, but not for a night out.

Bender’s after their fire. (Don’t worry, they’ve remodeled and reopened.) Originally Uploaded by mission75

Bender’s Bar is a bar in the Mission that is normally overlooked because of its “far away” location at 19th and S Van Ness (it’s around the corner from Beauty Bar). This is the perfect place for curing those Happy Hour Blues. Happy Hour Blues are when you and your coworkers go for a drink at a bar you would never set foot in if you weren’t going to happy hour with your coworkers. It’s hard to all go out for drinks at these places because: 1) either you’re a dive-bar drinker (Bud, Fat Tire, Jack Daniels), or you’re a beer nerd (Death & Taxes, Celebration, Old Portrero) and most happy hour places only cater to one or the other; 2) Happy Hour Bars also are usually cramped in the first place, but 3) then you add 4-8 people in your crowd trying to talk over and to one another, crawling over people to get drinks, and you ultimately end up sitting cramped in the corner talking to only one person instead of a few — and isn’t Happy Hour a team-building experience?

Bender’s is nothing like a Happy Hour Bar, but it would be perfect for Happy Hour crowds. For starters, it’s HUGE. There’re lots and lots of booths, tables and long booth seating. There’s a great selection of divey and beer nerd drinks (Johnny, the owner and bartender is a long-standing and respected employee at the world-famous Toronado). There’s also good cheap bar food! I hate when you wake up after a happy-hour drink-turned-binge-drinking night with rot gut.

I propose that Happy Hour crowds travel just a little to a great bar instead of the closest, mediocre financial district/SOMA blah. Bender’s is only three blocks from BART, and if someone doesn’t want to walk those three blocks, you probably shouldn’t be drinking with them.

Thriller 25 originally uploaded by allanhough

There’s nothing more titillating than seeing posters of the best album ever on a sunny Valentine’s Day. I think I’ll bust out my Billie Jean moves tonight after the aufblasbare rutsche party (if disproportionate nipples and vomitous crime scenes turn you on, this is the perfect Valentine’s Day aphrodisiac).

I used to live 1.5 blocks from Dolores Park in a converted garage apt. The ceilings were eight feet high, only one small window overlooked the dark breezeway, and the exhaust from our neighbor’s motorcycles (which were kept a few feet from my bedroom) would provide me with many hours of uninterrupted sleep. I kept my sanity by spending every waking moment lying on my blanket in Dolores Park. Now that I live in an Outer-Mission-giant-bay-window-and-15-foot-ceiling apartment, I don’t lounge in Dolores Park as much as I’d like.

Yesturday was one of those really warm February days and I spent the afternoon eating sandwiches, playing gin (I won 3/5), and soaking up the sun. Not only did the day make me daydream about summer adventures in the coming months, but it refueled my love for San Francisco. The Public Marching Band provided great pre-spring music while parading around the park with hats and instruments. Maybe I won’t move to Manhattan after all.

Even though I have lived in the Mission for five years now, the first time I had a famous bacon-wrapped hotdog was last October. It was five beers in on a 12-beer night. It was deliciously disgusting. The mix of chewy bacon wrapped around beef entrails and smothered in mayo churns my stomach even today. Maybe it’s because girls don’t have that love for bacon that boys do. Or maybe it has to do with the fact that after eating said hotdog, I went to a friend’s dance party which led to the tell-all bacon-wrapped hotdog fart. Fortunately, most of the people at the party were vegans, so they couldn’t tell what or whom it came out of. But my bacon-wrapped-hotdog-eating partner-in-crime shook his fist at me from across the room. Maybe one day in an alcohol-induced trance, the smell will be wiped from my memory and I’ll be able to eat one again. Sigh.

Beauty Bar, San Francisco originally uploaded by charlotte.wright

I’ve noticed the droves of young females who spend their nights at Beauty Bar. It’s mainly young undergrads who’ve recently migrated from Southern California to a three-bed share in the Tenderloin. Their version of the Mission is meeting friends at Puerto Allegre for uninteresting margaritas and enchiladas, then shaking their shoulders with some date-rape shirt to some sub-par DJ at Beauty Bar. A few months go by, and they’re standing in the cocaine line at Delirium wondering if the douchebag in the corner with the purple kerchief sitting pretty on his scruffy, smelly neck is checking out her American Apparel sangria-colored tights. Do these tourists make the Mission, or does the Mission make the tourist?