Episode Two: The Lounge Scene

What’s a single guy to do on a Saturday night? Take a date out for a romantic dinner, followed by a cruise on a private yacht around Lake Como, perhaps? Oh wait, I’m NOT George Clooney. For now, club hopping would have to suffice.

Last Saturday night, my friend and I checked out the new lounge in Nob Hill/Pacific Heights, Heights Ultra Lounge. We got there around 10:30pm, and the line was surprisingly short; I’m guessing since the place is fairly new, they’re still working on getting the word out.

We quickly moved through the formalities of getting checked off the guest list and getting stamped and made our way into the bar. The standard to which I judge a bartender’s prowess is in how s/he makes a Long Beach; a Long Beach is a Long Island with grenadine or cranberry juice instead of cola. Some places make it too sweet that all I taste is the grenadine or the cranberry juice, while others, god bless their souls for making my $12 go a long way, go a little crazy with the white liquors and generously pour out the bar’s full stock of vodka, gin, triple sec and rum.

So, while I sip on my serviceable Long Beach, my friend and I were waiting for the place to start popping. We were told by my friend’s boyfriend’s friend, who happens to work for the club, that the place doesn’t start picking up until close to midnight… so I guess that explains the relatively short line to get in when we came in.

This gave me time to scope out the scene and see what’s out there. What I really liked about this place is that it wasn’t pretentious, which I found a bit odd, thinking that bougie-ness is embedded in a place that calls itself an “Ultra Lounge.” The people that worked at Heights were surprisingly accommodating, from the bartenders, to the bouncers and the guy manning the VIP section, and even the club manager, who managed to come up to us and asked us how we were doing; you’d never see that happening at Fluid. At the same time, they’ve employed decorations that were pleasing to the eye. There was a Renoir-inspired painting hanging over the sectioned-off tables. The lamps that served mainly as decorations added a quaint touch. I also really liked the placement of the DJ booth in relation to everything else. The fully-stocked bar was double sided, so it made ordering drinks easier, or so in theory. However, it doesn’t preclude them from making any missteps in the design; a glaring example would be the ill-conceived decision employing iron railings that looked mismatched to the rest of the lounge. The bathrooms could’ve been spiffied up a bit; it looked like a high school gym’s restroom. And the little elevated “stages” on the dance floor? Where are we, Tijuana? But I digress.

We eventually made it out to the dance floor once the rest of our crew rolled up. We were beckoned to the dance floor by the esoteric music set by DJ Jatrix. At first, it was 80’s music on heavy rotation, and eventually, as more and more people flooded the tiny dance floor, he started playing more mainstream hip-pop/top-40 music. Just as he’s getting into a musical groove, he’d interrupt himself with birthday shout-outs that pleased no one and annoyed everyone. To his credit though, he was pretty good with people’s song requests; it’s been awhile since I’ve heard Ida Corr vs Feddy Le Grand’s “Let me think about it” so that’s a bonus for him.

As a lounge, the Height fails in encapsulating what a lounge should be: chairs and seats that encourage “lounging” and socializing; for crying out loud, there were maybe 3 stools TOTAL in the bar area. As a club, on the other hand, it fares adequately. Drinks were a little on the high side ($12 for well drinks, $7 for shots), but in line with what other “ultra-lounges” charge. The dance floor was small, but yet it didn’t feel claustrophobic. Ultimately, what makes or breaks a new spot are the people that frequent it. My friend astutely observed that it seemed like Saturday night was Ninja night; apparently, I didn’t get that memo. Maybe as more people discover this place that it would have a more diverse crowd? Only time will tell.

Would I be coming back to this place? Well, see, my friends, I am SO over paying to get into clubs, and with a $20 cover, I wouldn’t come back to this place unless I’m on the guest list, but that could be said for any club. At least their guest list doesn’t close until 11pm, so that’s a plus. It’s MUNI-accessible through Bus 47 and 49, and there were ample parking nearby, so that’s another plus. However, I felt like I was going grocery shopping instead of going on a night out in the town. The final verdict? It would be a good place to start out the night, but given that there’s nothing really anything going on around there and the place doesn’t pick up until close to midnight, I guess I won’t be scaling up the Heights Lounge anytime soon.

Single in the city: episode 1

“The coldest winter that I’ve ever spent was a summer in San Francisco”, to which my friend wryly adds, “when you’re single, it’s a LOT colder.” I pondered on that thought for awhile, and I almost had to agree. I mean, San Francisco is not exactly Daytona Beach in the summer, the recent “heat wave” notwithstanding (And the heat wave that I am referring to was in the couple of days when San Francisco’s weather was around the scorching mid-80’s.)

From there, we got into a discussion of whether San Francisco is a single-friendly city. At least we don’t have Disneyland, the land of little kids and disgustingly cuddly couples, so we have that going for ourselves. And with the abundance of varied activities in San Francisco, I’m sure that there are things to do for us single people. Right?

Why yes, there are. What I aim to accomplish with this column is to point out the places, events, and things that are worth troubling yourself with, in the midst of your crazy, studying-filled time here at UCSF. As a recent transplant myself, I can’t wait to further explore the city, and will happily pass along nuggets of information that I’ll stumble upon. Or, it’s a great excuse to go around town and get reimbursed for things and get paid to blab about my weekend. Just kidding.

To that end, a couple of weeks ago, a few of my single friends and I checked out a concert at Speedway Meadows in Golden Gate Park. Last time I was here, it was for another concert in the park, hosted by Alice 97.3, headlined by Lifehouse. Now, I know what you’re gonna say, and yes, I was surrounded by prepubescent Christian girls singing their hearts out while waving their hands in the air, but I didn’t care; Jason Wade can serenade me anytime, anyplace.

But in all seriousness, one of the things that San Francisco does best during the summer is the concerts at Golden Gate Park, and this one that we went to was no different. “Power to the Peaceful” is a “not-for-profit, non-partisan organization dedicated to the promotion of cultural co-existence, non-violence and environmental sustainability through the arts and music”, according to their website. Through music and art and activism, the organizers aim to highlight the similarities and celebrate the diversity of all of the world’s inhabitants.

The music lineup was quite impressive, enlisting the likes of Michael Franti and Spearhead, Ziggy Marley, and Warren Haynes, among others. There was also a DJ booth, spinning house and electronic music, as well as a Kids Zone, Morning Yoga, and“Taste of the World” food booths, with their eco-friendly ways of cooking.

While chowing down on some corn on the cobs sold by an organization promoting awareness of African violence, I realized how much I love outdoor festivals. The vibrant energy, the hustle and bustle contrasted with the peace and serenity, and the variety of people that it attracts always makes it an interesting afternoon. For example, there was a grandma selling marijuana brownies at a discount next to a young Vote-for-Obama fanatic and an anti-establishment middle-aged guy warning bystanders the peril s of trusting the government. My other favorites were the yoga people with their acrobatic balancing skills and this 6-year-old kid battling a twentysomething at break dancing, and let me tell you, little Ray Boyd (the little kid from Jerry McGuire) look-a-like showed up that poor guy. Will definitely be looking forward to next year’s show, though I guess what I’ll end up doing next year differently is to arrive earlier and to NOT drive. I got to the park around 1:50ish and I was not able to find parking until 3pm; I almost missed Ziggy’s set.

Maybe Mark Twain had it right with the weather, but I guess to his credit, he was probably way too busy self-deprecating to notice much of anything else.

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