Super Ego

Super Ego: clubs, nightlife, parties, bars | SF Bay Guardian

Patty meltdown

Las Vegas nightlife: wretched or wrecked? Plus: Lady Tigra gets the electro claws out
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superego@sfbg.com

SUPER EGO Clear the runway! Clear the runway! She's got a Target elastic waistband and too many Walgreens L'Oreal home highlights in her shag — and she's about to crash-land drunk off her Lucite Shoe Pavillion fuck-me pumps and into my $30 Blue Lotus powertini, with guarana extract, caffeine, taurine, and B vitamins 3, 5, 6, and 12. Somebody call Grey's Anatomy on her jiggly, glitter-thonged ass, stat. Save me, Dr. McCreamy! Save my exorbitant cocktail!

Nightlife 911!!!

Hi. Read more »

Amscray

Electro-cumbionics at Zizek, flying fur at Beast, and more breathless nightlife hits
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superego@sfbg.com

SUPER EGO Sorry to sound so breathless this time around, nightlifers, but I've got a couple of hot caballeros waiting on me in a beat-up Camry outside, and, you know — meter's running. I swear I'll sprinkle some cybernetic glitters on your Facebook if I get back — poke me — or scam us up some apologetic kumquat caipirissimas from the Americano. If you're lucky, I may even stop spewing hot chunks of drama long enough to let you get a word in edgewise. Read more »

Accidental tranny

Trannyshack drags its gay ass to the finish line, and DJ Cheb i Sabbah takes another fab global leap
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superego@sfbg.com

SUPER EGO Guilty! I'm totally real-time guilty. Yeps, frenz, I'm that spastic whore on the dance floor whooping like a neon cough, flinging my Mary Kate triceps up when a thump drops in the mix. If a club has one of those heinous black lights at the door, I sneak in the back so no one spots the glowing spunk on my skirt or my phosphorescent VCR. I always ask for extra antioxidant-rich lychees in my pomegranatini, to offset the American Spirits. OK, I've blown the DJ. Read more »

Video Mutants: Rave damage

Artist Ryan Trecartin's efflorescent video spasms key into club culture and cube the Internet death code
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>>Click here to read Marke B.'s interview with Ryan Trecartin

superego@sfbg.com

SUPER EGO "Hey Skippy, PattyMay is here. In. This. Room."

"Oh god, it's true! PattyMay is in this room."

"Yes! Tell him I am here. I am PattyMay, and I am in. This. Read more »

Say w00t

Out with the old, in with the noodle: Surya Dub's worldy, intel beats
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superego@sfbg.com

SUPER EGO So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good-bye, Ms. 2007. Don't let the 404 error smack your red-soled Christian Louboutin–clomping, MySpace bisexual ass on the way out. And take your tired $500 embroidered jeans, Belgian sunglasses, Hollister panties, Affliction Ts, and fake Bape reeking of your mama's Target fabric softener with you — you know, the one with all the circa-2004 Louis Vuitton rainbow logos on it.

Screw you, Marc Jacobs. Bite me, DJ Tiësto. Read more »

Enjoy your corn bread

Sandra Bernhard loves SF and young gay women
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superego@sfbg.com

SUPER EGO "You know, I like to sit around in my hotel room after the show in my bra and panties and say to somebody, 'Get me a Rémy Martin with a water back, goddamn it! Thank you.' I know they like it, and I do too."

OK, I wish my life were like that — I'm allergic to cheap cognac — but holy crap. Read more »

Hotlines

Serious nightlife shit going down. plus: Nightlight Music, Tormenta Tropical, and Tiefschwarz
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superego@sfbg.com

SUPER EGO Gurl, my phones have been ringing themselves right out of my brand-new Safeway paper bag purse. The pink one, the silver one, the little lavender one I usually keep tucked in my Dita Von Teese fringed mesh teddy — they're all off the hook, jingling like sequins in daylight. Bitches are chatty — scandal for the holidays, how novel — and you know I'd rather gag on Josh Groban or jack off to the L.L. Read more »

Pyramental

SoMa music and production school gets students into the digital recording now
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superego@sfbg.com

SUPER EGO Books are cool, and they can make you taller. Often they even tell you things, things you never thought you'd want to know. They're like platform heels that talk! Read more »

Crazy quilt

The forecast in Clubland
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superego@sfbg.com

SUPER EGO I like weather. It's everywhere this season. But it's also all over the map: patches of drizzle here, swaths of squinty sunlight there, chilly threads of breeze, and a soft, wet batting of fog. Should someone call People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals on dog days? Are Indian summers racist? What color Converse matches my knockoff Burberry umbrella? Weather's so confusing!

Fortunately, the forecast in Clubland is much more predictable: crazy, as usual. Read more »

The Viz

Gettin' visual on the dance floor
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superego@sfbg.com

I had a third eye once. It rolled off my forehead at a '93 rave in an abandoned Detroit airplane hangar and across the huge cement dance floor, barely missing getting squashed by hyperkinetic Canadians and nitrous-giddy kiddies swarming after an airborne fleet of inflated latex bananas. People wore bigger shoes back then, so I panicked slightly and gave chase. Read more »