My friends and I all graduated college in the late 80s and the early 90s. The early 90s signaled a change for us. We started to think that milk crates were no longer acceptable as part of one's home decor. It was time to start acting a little more grown up. We did have fulltime jobs after all.
By this time Das had become Martuni's, or something like that. Another fave place was 181. Yes, that is the address of the place. (The last I know it had become Polly Esther's.) I once stayed away from the place for two years but the door guys still remembered me -- something my friend I was with that night found insulting because she knew the owner. I told her, "Owner, schmowner. It's all about knowing the guy who works the door at a club." Actually what she found insulting was that they gave me, and not her, passes to the VIP room.
181 Eddy Street
I don't know if the photo does the place justice, but it is in the middle of the Tenderloin. The Tenderloin is not somewhere I would normally want to be after dark. Gertrude used to drive frequently and she didn't like to pay for parking. (There is a manned lot directly across the street from the club. The club also has valet.) I would beg and plead always offering to pay for the parking myself. But no. Gertrude would find a space on the street, often two to three blocks away, and we would have to walk to the club. Sometimes we had to stop at a corner to wait for the light to change. Oh, the looks we would get from the working girls.
Around this time the Mission became a hip place to hang as well. By the mid-90s I was living in the Mission and so had plenty of time to explore the neighborhood. (I had meant to go back to take pictures of some of my faves but my friends will tell you I have a mild case of ADD.) I still go back to visit every now and then -- maybe this weekend. The last time I was out and about in the Mission was for one of my CL dates back in November of '04. (I was going to link to Online Misadventures but apparently this date was so boring, I chose not to write about it.)
When I lived in SF, North Beach was another fave neighborhood. It is also the place that put an end to my true partygirl behavior. One can only stay out til the wee hours of the morning for so many years. I am surprised that I really remember much about my days in North Beach.
In the height of my North Beach partying, my friend Shrew came to visit. She just couldn't understand how I could afford to go out so often. I took her to my then home away from home. At the end of the night, when I got the tab from the bartender, she insisted on helping to pay. I said, "Why? It's only $12." That is when she began to understand how I could afford to go out so often. The simple truth was that I didn't have to pay for everything. Still don't. I live in fear of the day that I will have to pay for everything myself. I guess that's why there is botox and plastic surgery though. Oh yeah, and Miss Clairol. Don't ask me how much it costs to play your favorite tunes on the jukebox either. Didn't pay for that as well. A good night in North Beach meant getting home some time around 6 or 7 in the morning. Carrying sunglasses was crucial.
One Saturday night in North Beach I started out here at about 9:30 in the evening...
LaRocca's Corner -- Where the tourists meet the locals.
and ended here around 10 a.m.
Gino and Carlo, or G&C for short
That was extremely rough as I knew that I was supposed to be meeting the Irish boy I was dating at that time Sunday night for drinks. I blame the Aussie and Kiwi rubgy players. Rugby players are always my downfall. That also reminds me that I swore I would start going to games. Hmmmm. That could be a whole new series.
I still make occasional appearances in North Beach -- and the cocktails and songs are still free.
Oh, and Happy Cinco de Mayo! I definitely do not plan on acting like a grown-up today, especially since my college roommate arrives for the weekend from SoCal.
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