It's been a killer season for concerts. Both Johnathan Richman and the Tom Tom Club have long been on my list and I have now happily crossed them off. I missed seeing Tom Tom Club when they came through the Bay last year, so I was determined to see them this year at Mezzanine in the City even though by the time we got there I was utterly exhausted from Waters, the last BART train home to the East Bay from the City, etc. the night before. But when Tina, Chris and all them came on stage my energy was high as if I'd just consumed the vodka & Red Bull of the middle-aged party animal to my left. Whatever.
I really hope to be this hot when I'm fifty.
But really what was amazing was that for the encore, these guys brought out Jerry Harrison, original Modern Lovers member and Talking Heads guitarist.
And then they played Psycho Killer. Which I never, ever thought I would hear live. It's not my favorite Talking Heads song, but, you know. It was enough for me to grab my friend in shock and proceed to jump up and down for three minutes straight.
And then yesterday - god this post is turning out to be all about San Francisco, it's like I live there or something; don't worry, I still live in Oakland; I hella love Oakland; the culture-to-society ratio is just a lot higher in SF, that's all - I had some time to kill in downtown San Francisco, so what did I do? Check out Neiman Marcus, of course. The store's intimidated me for ten-plus years but the lure of the rotunda's glowing lightbulbs, Valentino silk and Chanel leather were too strong to walk by without satisfying my curiousity. I was pleasantly surprised by how 'nice' the salespeople were; nobody even glared at me for fingering all the Yves Saint Laurent blouses and knocking one off the hanger. Oops. I walked in thinking, where's the sale section; I'm positive this store doesn't have a sale rack. But I can tell you: on the fourth floor, there are at least two sale racks. Not that everything isn't still at least two hundred dollars. And I couldn't quite make sense of the fact that the fanciest ball gowns cost only four times as much as a humble cardigan. But still.
So uh. The world is totally full of pleasant surprises. And I'm having a hard time believing that anything is impossible.