Paddy and I went to a party at the po.rn palace in San Francisco on Saturday. It isn’t a clever name; it’s a po.rn studio with various theme rooms (dungeon, jail, stables, etc.) and it can be rented out for private parties. Paddy’s friend invited us. It wasn’t too special as a night club, but there were a couple things that were odd when you thought about them–like the fact that all the floors had drains so that the place could be hosed down. Kinda gross, really.
I guess this was some kind of fund-raiser for burning man. It was seriously like a high school dance. Bad music (most of it was at least from the time I was in high school) and terrible dancing. There were some truly embarrassing costumes–it was an Armageddon theme. For example, there was a large, older lady dressed as mother earth. She had a stick with a prism on the end of it that she tried to use to refract the light from the lasers on the dance floor. What is it with burning man people? I know they think that they are so weird or kinky or free-spirited or some fuzzy-minded crap like that, but really, they are just gigantic geeks that never outgrew the eleventh grade. It was like a grad school party in its lameness. I did see the most awkward spanking on this chain web thingy on the wall in the main dance floor. The guy getting spanked sort of waggled his naked butt around, like that scene in Braveheart before the Scots go into battle. Not sexy, needless to say.
In the end, I had fun, mainly because we got wasted. The second DJ was better, played actual dance music, although by that time my judgment may have been impaired, so she could have played anything and I would have danced right along. What else do you do at a party like that? We left at a respectable 1:30, but the liquor was cheap (no brand, just GIN in big letters on the bottle), so Sunday was rough. I made pancakes at noon then went back to bed until three.
