superego@sfbg.com

SUPER EGO Hold my hair, Bethany — things are gonna get wicked. The Bay's set to undergo a massive new-bass invasion on Saturday, April 11, and I'm kind of freaking out about it, kind of having outfit trauma, and kind of fiending for a diet coconut juice. Is that postcolonialist?

Perhaps more pressingly: are the low-frequency freakinetics of abstract dubstep, turbo crunk, and future bass vanishing into the headphone red zones of download fanboys and nightlife intellectuals? Read more »

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ALTER EGO Yo, yo, yo waaasssuuuppp in the Sheez Franheezy! It's me, DJ Daddy Huf 'n Pufz, takin' over this Super Ego shit and giving you da club reals for reals! That sorry skinny faggot Marke B. had to go get his kneepads repadded or some shit — don't drop the soap on the 22, y'all — so I'm stepping in with the 411 in the 415 after dark. But first I gotta open a big ol' can of NO HOMO on this column, yo. You feel me, man? Fuck all that gay-ass gay and art school dropout shit B.'s always squealing like a little pink piggy about. Read more »

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Look about you, horny toad. Read more »

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SUPER EGO Adult contemporary is alive and well and thriving in Southeast Asia. I just touched down from a refreshing jaunt to that worldly hot spot: Cambodia a capitalist riot of beauty and pollution, untamed Laos a communist stoner's wet dream. Read more »

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SUPER EGO Is there any phrase lamer than "the future of dance music"? Every time I hear it, I flash unflatteringly back to the tagline for some horrid 2k5 Dutch hardcore trance Internet station: "The future of dance music ... pzew! pzew! ... is now — on Osterpoopen Trance-Radiogeschmacken Internet Stream-Schmeirtz!" Apologies, poi-twirling Netherlanders, but I do.

Future bass, a.k.a. lazer bass, a.k.a. Read more »

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SUPER EGO Hola, age of change. My 2K9 nightlife motto: less musing, more cruising — just watch out for the bruising, child. A few blurry dawns ago, out of nowhere, I got bopped full-on in the kisser by some drunk fool outside the club. Tragedy struck.

Luckily, my impeccable cheekbones are fashioned from silky Teflon and my major Ukrainian modeling contract survived intact. Read more »

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SUPER EGO Oodles of great blasts polished off 2008 — surely more heavenly reassurance that getting fucked up and fabulous is recession-proof, even if your outfit's from Discount Fabrics and your liquor is too. But my favorite New Year's Eve party wasn't one that "everybody went to," or even one I went to all at once.

Hunky Beau and I had just scrammed from our midnight toasts at an as-yet-unnamed new bar on Market Street when the jagged chimes of an amped-up Guitar Hero rang out in the busy darkness. Read more »

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SUPER EGO Blue! Red! Yellow! Green! Indigo Girls! (Ew.) This column is on a serious '90s flashback trip lately — as is the city's nightlife: witness delightfully grungeful monthly Debaser's climb to the top of the club charts (www.myspace.com/debaser90s) — dipping its toes into the perilous VH-1 waves of Clintonia. But hardly that icky! Read more »

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SUPER EGO When, oh, when, will someone acknowledge properly that Kinko's was responsible for rave — at least the good rave? So many legendary early 1990s parties sprang from adorable Apple IIe addicts frantically photocopying the two-toned fruits of stoned flyer-making labors at 3 a.m. onto Lift-Off Lemon and good ol' Lunar Blue. Read more »

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SUPER EGO Phew! I just adore being a second-class citizen again, now that Proposition 8 has passed. It makes me feel so edgy, so alt, so very underground. Thank you, Pope Pius the 5000th and the Angel Macaroni! I finally get to break back out my favorite little victim pumps — you know, the star-spangled ones with exquisite ruby handcuff heels — and shove my overwhelming gayness down those tender asshole bigot throats once again. Confrontational! Read more »