This nogtini's for you

The holiday party season continues! On Wednesday night I went with Paul to the Yelp bash at Yerba Buena. Since Paul's girlfriend was performing as part of a hula hoop troupe, I was able to avoid the enormously long line by grabbing their boombox and slipping in with them. Smooth, I know. I didn't even have to wear fuzzy boots or glitter (not that there's anything wrong with those).


Those ladies sure could do some amazing things with a hula hoop. That said, the other troupe of furry booted girls with raver balls looked like a Hollywood ad rep's version of Burners.

Anyhoo, inside there was top shelf booze and little nibbles of food from cool restaurants and a hip-hop dance troupe that did a lot of grinding to songs about pussy. And, um, an exhibit that had something to do with the Dalai Lama. Ah, San Francisco, city of dichotomies.

It's funny how sometimes I just can't get into the spirit of things. The DJ was playing decent Top 40 hits, the nogtinis were burning a hole in my throat, the cupcakes were meshing well with the meatballs, but I just couldn’t get THERE. Wed 2.0 is a good thing, and it was nice to catch a little taste of that over-the-top Internet energy. But something was missing.

Then he arrived.


He must've been a VP in Sales or maybe Head of Online Gaming Opportunities (is there such a job?), but he was obviously part of the company. Otherwise, why would you kill the dance floor by letting a guy play the guitar riffs to Nirvana, Black Sabbath, and Sade tunes over a DJ's beats? Or have him sing Journey choruses without even a smidge of irony? Unless it was performance art. Whatever it was, it made the night. Pushed it over into the realm of the sublimely idiotic. Genius.