111 Minna Street
(first Friday of the month)
left a voicemail saying he'd been at 111 Minna
since 5pm. It was now 10pm. I hesitated. Meeting someone who has been drinking
for five hours when you've just woken up from a kip is no fun. So, I stalled.
Best to wait until the happy dancing fools are happy and dancing. Then you
can avoid ridiculous conversations altogether. And just dance. I arrived
at midnight. I just danced.
Marco and his friends left. Marco said he was leaving because otherwise I'd just say I was staying, then I'd leave in ten minutes and he'd be left getting drunk on his own. I guess that's happened before. Didn't really matter anyway, because he was already drunk and so I went back into the club on my own. Fun, fun, nothing is so much fun. Me thinks.
Except, the first person I saw when I walked in the door was VC guy who tries to kiss me in public places much to my chagrin. Fortunately, I have new ugly hair and was sporting a pair of silly pink aviators and so he didn't recognize me from my usual hobnobbing, dot-qualm event outfits. Phew.
The club was full but not packed. The fools were dancing. They had smiles on their faces. The crowd? The Palo Alto grown-ups. Dinner in the city at some hip joint in the Mission, one glass of wine too many, and now they were off to a "club." More than one VC was spotted, handcuffed to the starched oxford shirt. Kate Spade too-boxy handbags were on the dancefloor clutched under armpits. The boys stuck with the boys, the girls stuck with the girls. Everyone seemed shy. But the music was good (DJs Franky Boissy and Julius Papp), and I, for one, had a ball dancing.
Though I'd hate for the night to end there. Translate: good warm up for the city folk, good night for the valley folk. All in all, a fine, tame, pleasant evening. 5/7/00
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