#14

January 29, 2008 “It’s So Bright And Dazzling…” ver 2.0 – Edited And Expanded!

Ah, Northern California....I really did take for granted growing up somewhere this beautiful. And it really is, and in so many ways. But seeing it again now, through my jaded and cynical eyes, well....let's just say I've been struggling with the dichotomy here.
I last lived here when I was eighteen years old, so I suppose it's not at all surprising that I have no memory of the ugly underbelly, the reality behind the shiny, happy surface. And it's easy to get fooled by that surface: the liberal politics that formed my philosophies and the oh-so-socially-correct way they've enacted them here. And how gosh-darn proud they are of them. But when you scratch that surface, what do you find? More surface.
That thought was echoed by the Kiwi Couple we met last night, employees of Air New Zealand having dinner at a table in North Beach next to us. "People make fun of America because of California", the rather short but burly guy said, to my surprise because I had, frankly, thought it was because of Texas. "Why California?", I wondered aloud. "People here are so false", his sweet and considerably less-weathered companion answered. "So...I don't know..." "Disingenuous?" Yeah, that....
But I'm getting way out of chronological line here:Let's go back, way way back to Friday night after I got to Marin & posted my blog. Megan was already asleep & 'Nali was curled up on her bed, also asleep, I thought. I went out to the car - right outside the door - to grab a particular CD & went back in, without realizing 'Nali had followed me outside. I hadn't heard my favorite Waterboys song all day, so I put on my headphones & played it on my walkman. That song is exactly five minutes long. After it was over, I immediately realized 'Nali wasn't in the room, well, rooms..we had a suite kinda deal at the truly wonderful & always charming Inn of Marin. I went outside the room and heard the most godawful yelping coming from several doors down. I walk down & the noise is coming from an open door & I peek in & see a distraught asian family with my girl. She comes running outside as soon as she sees me, the woman seems panicked, the children seemed sleepy and confused but unalarmed, but the man was clearly pissed. After bitching me out about my rabid and frenzied wild animal of a cocker spaniel, it occurs to me to ask him how she got in their room. He said his wife heard her outside & opened the door & 'Nali forced her way inside. Uh, okay. I apologized yet again, assured them my dog would never be in their vicinity again & backed my way outta there. That guy was way too pissed. I worried about his wife; I figured he was gonna bind her feet or something after I left. I'd never heard 'Nali make noises like I heard before, though. God only knows what they were doing to my poor girl in there.
The next day we locked 'Nali in Dog Jail, though really this place was even more of a Dog Spa than the Stay 'N Play where I take her back home. Beautiful country out amongst little horse ranches and the ladies there clearly loved & understood dogs.
And went back & dressed to dance like hippies on fucking fire. Which we all did indeed do; some of us longer than others of us. Us: Megan & I, my dear friend Richard & his wonderful friends Carlos & Chris, princes all. We'd been having lots of rain, as I mentioned, but that afternoon & evening it cleared all up & Megan finally got her view of the bay coming over the Golden Gate from the north into the city. It even seemed to warm up some, but perhaps we were all just warm with love of the Grateful Dead & a nice red wine & a gorgeous evening in truly magical San Francisco. And because Megan & I are evidently Blessed of the Roadtrip Gods, we procured a perfect & singular parking place, a parking place seemingly meant for us alone. Not an inconsequential thing in a city like San Francisco, down by City Hall (a special historical thing for me - the scene of the White Night Riots back in the late 70's. I always love a good riot against a monstrous injustice, don't y'all? Google Dan White/George Moscone/Harvey Milk if you're interested in the story.)
From there, we walked several blocks across the city to Tommy's (? Forgive me, Richard, if I got the name wrong!), where the pre-concert Deadhead gathering was. It was a damn shame I wasn't hungry, because the place smelled like a carnivore's wet dream.
The concert was to be a Mardi Gras celebration, so all the partygoers were dressed accordingly. And all was shiny & happy & bright & dazzling & it was a beautiful night in San Francisco.
And then we went to dance like the proverbial hippies on fire that we were. The opening band was with one of the many and extremely talented Neville Brothers ( I think it was Ivan), whom I've always been quite fond of. And all was shiny.
And then Phil Lesh's band went on & the truth is that at this point my recollections are hazy and disjointed. And the thing about the Grateful Dead's music - and if truth be told, the reason I've never been a Deadhead - is that it is does tend to go on and on. And on and on and on. The venue we were at didn't allow going in and out willy-nilly (a perhaps ananchronistic structure at an event touting it's we're-so-free sensibilities) and smokers were therefore funneled and corraled outside in a pen much like the cows we saw at Point Reyes today. And by then, well, we were having some more rain & all was still shiny. But wet. Inside and out. I fell on my ass once, got grabbed in the crotch by some outrageously costumed asshole just passing by, fell again and evidently landed on my chin according to the the really nasty bruise there the next morning and what with all that and coming from the clean and quiet desert and my clean and quiet life, it all just was too much of too much and it kinda all went a little sour. The floats were awesome, though.
The world can indeed be bright & dazzling, but even San Francisco at a Deadhead show is not all shiny and happy.