End of The Year Climax

So it is now February and I'm finally getting around to the fourth (or is it fifth?) installment of my California Vacation phlog (photo-blog).

As a Christmas present, my dear, sweet, and perpetually awesome papa bought me tickets to go see "The Flaming Lips, End of The Year Climax" concert at the Civic Center in San Francisco. The only thing more awesome than having a dad who will buy you concert tickets to stellar shows is having a dad who buys himself a ticket out of his own musical fruition to tag along with you! He may be in his sixties, but my dad is more hip than any pretentious, counter-culture wannabe, Buddy Holly glasses wearin' record store clerk out there.

The concert was on New Year's Eve's Eve, the 30th of December, so I figured I'd just get a cheap hotel room and ring in the New Year in San Fransisco with my compadres the next evening. On the drive down I snagged a picture of the Bay Area sunset (if you squint and enlarge the photo you can see the Golden Gate Bridge in the midsts of the blinding sunset) and I thought to myself for a mere moment, "California is so beautiful, I sure do miss these scenic drives."

But then, I noticed my dad had slowed down drastically and I then looked ahead into the abyss of cars and remembered, "Yeah, I don't miss the drives that much."


So the concert was positively phenomenal. How could it not be? The line-up consisted of "Cat Power" and "Gnarls Barkley" with the coup de gras being, of course, "The Flaming Lips." All three bands were effusive, majestic, and bombastically fantastic for their sets. The Flaming Lips did a pseudo-New Year's Eve countdown. Wayne's reasoning for that was, "You know, tomorrow is technically New Year's Eve, but fuck it! This town runs on it's own sense of time anyways!" If you've ever been to a Flaming Lips show, you know how orgasmic the imagery and spectacle they use is. Speaking of orgasmic, I told my dad prior to the concert that I'd buy him any shirt he so desired from the many merchandise stands that were scattered about. When we acquired our seats, I went to go get a beer and asked my dad if he wanted to come pick out his shirt. He just replied, "Surprise me!" I think I took his suggestion a little too literally. When I purchased my dad's shirt, I didn't really look too closely at the graphics on it. I bought it because it mentioned the specific date and venue of the show, and it was a nice color.

So I trot back to where we were seated and as soon as my dad unfolded it, he furrowed his brow with perplexity then stated, "Uhhh, I don't think I can wear this in public."

"What do you mean? The hell you won't! That cost twenty-five smackers!"

I inspected the picture on the shirt a bit more closely only to realize that it was an illustration of a purple woman bent over on all fours ejaculating (hence the "End of The Year Climax" tag) and the Flaming Lips were dancing in her "mist." I just howled with laughter, and told my dad he best wear it, to which he responded, "Ok fine, I'll wear it to the grocery store and to family functions."

I've learned my lesson. I will always carefully inspect everything I buy from here on out.

Unfortunately, I didn't think to take a picture of my dad's sordid t-shirt, but here I am posing enthusiastically with my ticket and my far more appropriate shirt:


The next evening, my dearest friends came down to meet up with me in our not-too-terribly seamy motel that was stationed on Broadway and Van Ness. We got dolled up for the new year and the inevitable and trite debauchery that was to ensue for the evening. Here from left to right lie the biddies, Chenelle, Me, and Sarah:


We started off the evening by partaking in a delightful meal at an Indian restaurant. It was my last meal as a carnivore so I made sure to include as much dairy and animal flesh possible. (As of January 1st, I've been a very strict, very happy vegan).

Our cab ride to the infamous Mission District. By the way, since when have I been a cartoonish drag queen?

New Year's Eve is a fun but simultaneously annoying holiday. It's amateur night for starters, the clubs all have ricockulous (get it? that's worse than ridiculous) cover charges, and everyone puts this absurd pressure on the evening to make it the most memorable night ever, when in all actuality most people black out by two o'clock in the morning. Anyway, after much scouring for a decent place to par-tay with the crew, I just went up to a bouncer and asked him point-blank, "Where can we find a shitty bar that doesn't cost an arm and a leg to enter?" He then directed us to the bar he was working at, which was a comedy club turned private party for the evening. The tunes were more than decent, the bar was full, and it wasn't claustrophobic inside. We were in.

Our night in pictures:

Pete and Nelle-Poo:

Chenelle taking a smoking break and me supporting her in doing so, even though smoking is the devil's flatulence:

Chenelle doing her impersonation of Ms.Pac-Man:

Shmooooooopy.

Hahaha, lets play a game of "Where's Moronic Hipster Waldo?" You blocked my friends in the photo you big douche!

The fab four leaving the establishment post countdown in search of a fresh bar:

Some people who weren't feeling so fresh in the drunk tank of a bar:

Me treating Chenelle to her first cosmopolitan ever at Arrow, the diviest of post-punk divey bars in existence:

Chenelle groovin':

So by this time Sarah and Pete had retired to the hotel, leaving Chenelle and I up to absolutely no good. We were fairly trashed at this point, needless to say. Chenelle left to use the seedy restroom and while on her voyage to meeting back up with me, this random and horrid creature walked right up to her and shoved his tongue down her throat. Uh, buddy, Yoko Ono and Rod Stewart called, they want their collective look back!!! After that thing kissed her, he apologized for being so physically brazen then said, "Hey, my name is Dez." Chenelle, in her eternally laid-back personality, just replied with, "Naw, it's cool. I'm Chenelle." By the way, notice how there's lipstick smeared all over the lower half of Chenelle's face? Yeah, that's not hers, that's residue from Dez. Hahaha, wow.



So we befriended the Yoko Ono/Rod Stewart hybrid for the remainder of the evening till I was so ridiculously out-of-control drunk that we decided to call it a night, er, morning. I think the expression on my face in this next pic pretty much sums up the insanity Chenelle and I endured and stirred up on our drunken/walk stagger through the Tenderloin district of San Francisco. Nothing too, too crazy happened, I only risked our lives by being a drunk and billigerent fool. I won't get into what happened, but let's just say when I woke up my New Year's resolution was to never act that stupid again.

I think the expressions shown on each of our faces here pretty much sum up how we all felt the next morning:


After recharging with this INCREDIBLE breakfast (what a great way to initiate veganism) ...

...we let our legs dangle in Haight Ashbury for a bit.



We all wandered into a Goodwill, where Chenelle and I wound up bursting into a silly fit and laughing like braying jack-asses on ecstasy. Here's a picture of Chenelle canoodaling with generic brand adult-diapers. Ok, I know this is Goodwill and all, but selling an OPENED package of adult diapers??? Are you shitting me? No pun intended.

Our last stop in hippie town was "Amoeba Music," a vast, vast musical wonderland:

Then we said goodbye to San Francisco, and I said goodbye to all of California bright and early on January 2nd so I could return to New York City:

The End.