Dateline: 9/17/07
Subject: SF City Slam After Math
Reporter: Andy Miller
PICTURES from Whitney Guenther
Past Events: (coming soon)
The words “City Slam!” ring out over the festivities for the umpteenth time that day, and the Benzo is showing no signs of fatigue. Either is anyone else for that matter. The 13th installment of the Burning Bowls Invitational has already gone down earlier in the day in un-characteristically epic surf, with (again) surprisingly little wind. But now the real fun begins…
The beach party momentum carries itself directly back to SF BBowls Headquarters (thanks Al, Ben, Olivier, and Bert!) and straight into a hot dog munching, sparks chugging, deck bonanza. Where no less than 36 hot dogs were consumed in a matter of 15 minutes, and Nelson proved to the world that he is in fact the best “mustard-putter-onner” ever (you gotta see his zig-zags!). As buzzes turn to blindness, and the cooperative San Francisco sun finally sets, everyone kicks in their 7th wind and convenes in the living room for the awards ceremony. Bottles of un-corked champagne wait to be popped and poured (this news put a major damper on Lars’ spraying idea) while MC Willie takes the floor, and proceeds to do a masterful job as always with the announcements. All the finalists receive their high-fives and get their party jackets on just as the energy escalates like a San Fran quake. Scottay and mine’s jacket’s fit fine, Buzz’s looks like a trench coat, and Matty B’s looks like it had been custom made by the best tailor in town (watch out ladies). As this is all unfolding, the birthday boy himself, Papanopilis arrives with Kristen and a whole gaggle of party favors. It’s on!!! The Champagne starts flowing, the Benzo fires up his classic mix of Benzo dance beats (including that creepy song from “Silence of the Lambs”), and MC Willie’s doing knee drops in a leather jacket and a plastic lei before you can say “City Slam!”. The sparks keep flowing (the girls are even drinking the black ones...serious!) and the dance floor keeps rocking until the energy is just getting a little too overwhelming for the Headquarters. Birthday boy and fearless leader, Papanopilis, makes the call… ”To the DNA Lounge we go”
“City Slam” rings out again as thirty sun burnt, and wasted revelers attempt to keep it together on the train ride from Headquarters down to the club. The walk from the train takes us through a part of the city that for some reason makes everyone start singing “Dirty Old Town”, and before we can get to the part about “chop you down, like an old dead tree”…we’re there!
After a short wait in line behind a woman with nails coming out of her face, and a real long, hard look from the bouncer (what, you’ve never seen a fluorescent green party jacket before?!??)…we’re in.... and it’s really heavy. The place is part circus, part nightclub, part goth fashion show, and part Chippendale showcase (picture Patrick Swayze from that SNL skit with Chris Farley). After the initial shock wears off, everyone looks at each other and a chorus rings out of “I need a drink!”. Stiff drinks in hand, everyone makes their way through the throng of people wearing swim goggles with weird little bowl cuts, and up to the Papanopolis’ dance zone. It’s “New Wave’ night, so everyone’s trying out their best (and worst!) 80’s dance moves to 80’s songs that no ones ever heard before. The dance floor is all our’s except for a few creepy old people kind of swaying on the perimeter and someone in a 9 foot tall bear costume (I’m told they’re called ‘Furry’s’). But our little new wave Eden only lasts a few minutes before people start getting kicked out one after another. Host Master General Al is first; when the bouncer’s escort him out for a “time out”. Caldwell, Nelson, The Lord, and a slew of others are next. Then Lars gets booted for kicking the furry repeatedly in his big, furry bear ass… go figure. Before we know it everyone’s been kicked out and we’re all reunited out on the curb. Everyone starts going their separate ways towards further debauchery as the last “City Slam” of the night rings out somewhere south of Mission.