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Happy new hangover
EVERY SEVEN YEARS or so, New Year's Eve falls on a Saturday night. And so do you – right off your Baby New Year sequined platform boogie-woogie shoes. Sweetheart, it's a mess. Fireworks explode, champagne sloshes, cell phones vanish, and your huge crush of the moment finally plants his glossy lips on yours for a too-brief midnight kiss in the men's room – before he rushes off to find his "real" girlfriend. Sigh. Big-name DJs descend on SF like a vinyl flock of Blue Angels, door prices skyrocket, and people like me work you out of $60 worth of froufrou girly drinks. New Year! It's the week afterward in which your club cracks really start to show, opening you up to all sorts of whispered suspicions in the workplace. Remember: Coworkers are just bitches with a shitty job. They'll take you down in a second if they get the chance. Especially the ones in cable-knit. New Year's is no excuse to them. The last thing you need is another watercooler's worth of flagrant speculation on the bags under your eyes, or a giggly shitstorm of IMs about how you got so much damn glitter up the crack of your peekaboo ass. You need to know how to cover your blurred tracks in style, the natural, non-FDA-approved way (this is Hippie City, after all). In what is fast becoming a cherished Super Ego tradition, welcome to "Hangover Makeover: New Year's Edition," the half-assed lowdown on postrevel homeopathy. Please keep in mind, though, that you'll be taking beauty advice from an obnoxious young tranny-chaser who "beat rehab." Like Congress, I refuse to be held responsible. Are you a "high roller" looking to ride the latest SF-Vegas wave, dropping a cool $90 to partake of Levende Lounge's ultraslick Vegas Baby! 2006 celebration, with all the Siegfried and Roy impersonators and Sin City cocktails that entails? Not to mention the jazzy-house blasts of legendary DJs Mark Grant and Capitol A. You may find worry lines etched in your forehead when you realize you've blown your month's paycheck on tipping the delicious BlackJack Showgirls. Forget Botox – you can't even afford BART. Hit the restroom and drape some lukewarm chamomile tea bags over your brow for quick, topical relief. You may no longer look rich, but at least you'll look somewhat pleasant. Maybe you're a delirious househead willing to squeeze your sweaty way through the crowd at the Salted New Year's Eve celebration at Mighty, just to throw your hands in the air and scream to DJ Frankie Feliciano from NYC and local legend David Harness? A little white vinegar will get those pit stains out of your favorite Upper Playground T in a jiff. Or maybe you're an eager ex-raver who'll be reaching for that candy-flavored rainbow all night at 1015 Folsom, to the hyperactive strains of DJ Paul Van Dyke? After all that twirling, your feet may be too swollen to squeeze back into your Circuit City sales associate oxfords. Snag some ledum palustre pellets from the same health food store you get your American Spirit yellows at, and down them liberally during your floor breaks. (Bonus: may also get rid of that acne.) The clink of crystal flutes, the jolt of misfired party horns – the painful-looking stretch marks that result from amateur belly dancing. This may be what awaits you (among all the fabulously over-the-top Middle Eastern cultural tributes) at Medjool's New Year's Eve 2006. Oh, sure, you'll have a fantastic time rolling your hips to the "exotic" tracks of wildly handsome DJs Nader and Aykut, but your vessel-burst thighs will be streaked like a Colorado sunset. Gently massage in vitamin E to take the crimson out. And please don't do the fake finger-cymbal thing on the dance floor. Even I can't help you live down that one. Finally: water, water, water (and for telltale ass glitter, a dab of mineral oil followed by masking tape). But, of course, the best remedy for a party hangover is to grope your unsteady way toward another one. I would say the "hair of the dog that bit you" here, but most of you borderline Liberaces prefer small, hairless breeds, and "dander of the Xoloitzquintle that cringed" sounds waaay too petite for your morning-after. So just go to another party already. Might I recommend my pal AstroBoy Jim's completely crazy club kid blowout Revolutionary on Jan. 7 at the Endup, with DJs Tommy Sunshine and Keoki? Believe me, no one could look too out of sorts there. It'll be a hangover epiphany. Fond farewell I must bid a misty, tipsy, big gay adieu to my favorite club columnist (and brutha from the otha side of the Detroit River), Ken Taylor. His Synthetic Pleasures column has provided a year's worth of highbrow yin to my oft-dangling Super Ego yang, and I thank him for making the past year such a blast. Of course, he's leaving me for a bigger job with better opportunities and more glory. Whatever. Just like a man. Levende Lounge's Vegas Baby! 2006, with DJs Mark Grant and Capitol A, takes place 7:30 p.m.-closing, 1710 Mission, SF. $90. (415) 864-5585, www.levendesf.com. Salted New Year's Eve party, with DJs Frankie Feliciano, David Harness, Jay-J, and Julius Papp, takes place 9 p.m.-6 a.m., Mighty, 119 Utah, SF. $40 advance, $50 door. (415) 626-7001, www.mighty119.com. 1015 Folsom's New Year's Eve party, with DJs Paul Van Dyke, Jerry Bonham, Taj, and Dyloot, takes place 9 p.m.-9 a.m., 1015 Folsom, SF. $60. (415) 431-1200. www.1015 .com. Medjool's New Year's Eve 2006 party, with DJs Nader, Aykut, and Dr. T, takes place 9 p.m.-2 a.m., 2518 Mission, SF. $50 advance, $75 door. (415) 260-9920. www.aykutevents.com. Revolutionary takes place first Saturdays, 10 p.m.-6 a.m., EndUp, 401 Sixth St. SF. $10 before midnight, $15 after. (415) 646-0999. www.theendup .com. E-mail Marke B. at superego@sfbg.com. |
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