I haven’t seen my Brian in weeks and weeks, so last night, we grabbed dinner at Basil Thai and my suspicions were confirmed. My husband is married to someone else. Brian and I enjoyed a lovely meal and headed down the block to catch the end of the San Francisco Young Democrats meeting held in the back of Julie’s Supper Club. Just to give you an idea of what we’re dealing with at the SFYD, the meeting is timed to end just as the karaoke starts. Standing at the back of the meeting, Brian and I mocked the proceedings which, I shouldn’t need to tell you, are taken very seriously. Don’t even TRY to vote on the hotly contested Sergeant at Arms race and Party Planning Committee if you’re not eligible. Just because you went to the Christmas Party doesn’t make you eligible if you were too drunk to sign in. So don’t even try and vote. Seriously. You’ll be sent away. And even if you weren’t drunk at the Christmas Party but perhaps, in rehab in St. Helena, you’re just as NOT ALLOWED TO VOTE as the drunks.
You should have seen these eligible folks and their messenger bags lined up to cast their stapled Kinko’s copied ballots and as we giggled at democracy in progress, I realized that were this the San Francisco Serial Killers Consortium, I’d be throwing elbows to make sure my very serious and important opinions were known. Brian and I sat at the bar and watched Chinese soap operas with the bartender until the meeting ended.
Some gentleman running for California Young Democrats Parliamentarian had one of his minions passing out business cards. Emblazoned with the American flag, the card provided his name, his job title and his “U.S. Mobile contact number.” No international contact was offered, but Brian and I decided it was probably the same number with a “++011” in front of it. We wondered if he had international business cards with the appropriate satellite phone coordinates and instead of the American flag, the card held the image of the United Nations building with its flags of the world.
Once the ballots were counted, the karaoke began. It was clearly open to the public but the packed house of 20 people was mostly made up of SFYD folks who seemed too young to be in a bar. The karaoke host reminded me of the high school counselor from Freaks and Geeks, with his receding hair flowing down his back and atop his filthy t-shirt proclaiming the neon, “Support Single Mothers” over a silhouette of a stripper.
He kicked things off with “Life in a Northern Town” by the Dream Academy. Seriously. I’m not making this up. My husband’s husband got up and rapped, “Ice, Ice Baby!” working the length of the bar with great enthusiasm. This rap was no joke. When he got to the “Word to your mother” part, he shouted, “Word to Joanne Spotswood!”
The crowd dwindled as Brian and I watched the frightening man at the end of the bar engrossed in the karaoke song book. His arms covered in tattoos, this man was clearly alone and loving how his evening had turned out. I guess Julie’s karaoke night relies heavily on SFYD’s participation. Without last night’s election, there would have been 3 people rocking to karaoke, including mom jeans who sang “Lightning Crashes” by Live. Perhaps I was alone in my discomfort when she whispered into the microphone, “Her placenta falls to the floor.” No one else reacted.
Scary man seemed to have suddenly found the perfect song, chuckling with glee as he gazed at the song book. We were dying to know what he’d selected as clearly, it was going to be a doozy. Turns out, he tried to wow us with a Pearl Jam medley which is and has been for years, my official cue to leave. But not, of course, until after Supervisorial District 6 candidate Paul “Pop Rocks” Hogarth sang “The Rainbow Connection.” I mean, really. I’ve always got time to stick around for that…
*Oh you and your opinions. Nominate wonderful San Francisco treasures like ME for Best of the Bay here. Please. Okay, thanks...