Tis the season for a super-queeny, super-juicy nightlife gossip column. Plus: DJ Ken Vulsion, I Love Cochina Tonga's!, more
SUPER EGO This is gonna be one of those super-queeny "I do this, I do that" gossip-type columns because some of you schadenfreudanistas have been poking me relentlessly for that — and, well, happy Kwanzaa ladies! Here's the tea.
Honey Bunny This is the name of my new favorite cocktail, basically an Odwalla with tequila (OK, carrot-orange juice with agave syrup, cayenne rim, and fancy tequila, no homo), at "trying a bit too hard but cheapish and open late, yay" new BBQ joint Southpaw (www.southpawbbqsf.com) in the Mission. Unfortunately, my ex choked on his steamy beef brisket while we were dining there — and no, even though he's a famous porn director this is not a lame joke about swallowing. I'm not Gloss magazine! One hilariously executed Heimlich and an extended hospital stay later, he's OK. The moral is: bring your ex here if you want to kill him. The cocktails are delicious.
Cassy-o-pee-a? About an hour into British-Berliner minimal house goddess Cassy's ace set at Vessel (www.vesselsf.com) in Union Square a couple Thursdays ago, dancers were treated to a supremely strange two-fer. Suddenly the lights went on, and one of the obviously inebriated promoters got on the mic yelling something about "toilets!" and "Cassy made you all take a shit on the dancefloor!" This went on for about 10 minutes. (Cassy deserves the Nobel Peace Prize for smiling politely and not decking this dude.) Luckily, a more cogent person took over and explained that the plumbing had backed up — and the entire party was being moved to Monroe (www.monroesf.com) in North Beach. Anyone for shared taxis? The switch actually went off without a hitch and ended up costing nothing, although I lost my favorite faux-fur in all the hubbub. Anybody seen a Honey Badger muff?
Where the fuck should I go for drinks? Blackle it, it's cute.
Project One.2 Potrero Hill's already pretty brill afterhours club and gallery Project One (www.p1sf.com) just tore off the bandage from a wee nip/tuck — and she looks good now, with the turntables no longer blocking my way to the bathroom for refreshment. Hopefully the promotions will get a revamp too, so I'll actually know what's going on there in time to tell y'all.
Nobody ever suspects the butterfly I finally made it to Monarch (www.monarchsf.com), the slick new venue from some of the OM Records and late Triple Crown club folks, yet another redo of the former Pow!, Lit, and The Room space. The Room, like the movie of the same name, had a rep as being one of the worst things ever — but unlike the movie, not in a supremely enjoyable, cult-ready way. Monarch must have burnt some sage in there or something, because when I descended from the sparkling lounge area to the just-right basement dance floor, DJ Marcus Worgull from Wuppertal, Germany, was whipping a totally fun and colorful crowd into a deep tech-house froth. (Go see Luna City Express there this Thu/22.) Best of all, there was so much bass I could feel my clothes, which is exactly how I like it. Just in time, too, since one of my other favorite sweet spots, 222 Hyde, is closed for a remodel until next year.
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