Mystery Meat

There were a couple of video-release parties I hit downtown.

The first was for a band called Crash Encore. It was a video-premiere party for their song “Stormy Weather” at the Buzz Clothing Warehouse on Tenth Avenue.

Since it was starting at 7:00 p.m., I figured I could hit this before going to my next event.

They were asking for $20 at the door, with the proceeds benefiting a company called Boobs on the Move, which was raising money for a three-day breast-cancer walk. One of the flyers I saw said they were shooting for $40,000.

There were paintings on the walls from local artists named Spencer Tiscareno and Mikaelanne Collins.

There was a table set up with salad and some appetizers. And the bar was serving up free drinks. As I put a tip in the jar on the bar, I thought it was odd that they didn’t say the tips were going to the charity. That’s usually the norm at charity events.

The place was dimly lit, with candles everywhere, and a DJ was spinning a lot of cool old rock tunes by the Stones, Hendrix, Lou Reed, T. Rex, and Love.

As I went outside to smoke a cigar, my girlfriend went and put $10 in a jar at the door.

I could hear bowling pins from the nearby East Village Bowl. A woman came out to bum a cigarette from someone. She asked one guy, “I hate to be one of those girls, but can I get a cigarette?” He said he was smoking his last one. She asked me. And then she asked another guy, who said “I have these American Spirits.” The woman got upset and said, “One guy was smoking menthols, which I hate. And now those Spirits, which I don’t like either.” I wanted to say, “Then why didn’t you come with your own smokes?” Instead, I just walked back inside before it rained harder.

It was a small crowd, since it was only an hour into the party. And, I hadn’t even seen the band perform yet. But I decided to head out to my other party at Modus Supper Club on Fourth and Ivy in Banker’s Hill.

A guy named Matt told me it was for the release of a surf video.

Security was at the door, and I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt because I had just come from a racquetball game. I wasn’t sure if there was a dress code, and I was apologizing for the way I looked. A surfer walked by and said, “Dude...we’re so going to ask you to leave then.” He laughed as he walked in. I followed closely behind.

Like the previous party, they had art on the walls. A guy standing by a painted surfboard told me he was the director of the film. As the TVs had the video playing, I asked how many hours of footage they got to make the video. He told me around 135 hours, all with San Diego surfers.

There was a guy with his arm in a sling. I figured it was a surfer with some gnarly injury. I asked him if he crashed on a monstrous wave. He said, “No. I crashed on my bike doing something I’ve done a bunch of times. But this time, it didn’t go right.”

Since we didn’t eat at the previous party, my girlfriend and I went to the table that had all the food. We were piling it on our small plates and I heard someone say, “What is that?” I looked over and saw that it was a kind of meat. His friend said, “It’s probably salami.” In the course of the evening, I heard about ten people ask what it was. A few were grossed out, but most still put it on their plates. I guess free food outweighs someone wondering what it is.

A few times they brought out sliders, which would always go quick. One of the surfer’s moms said, “Some of these boys’ moms would be disappointed to know the guys grabbed the burgers without ever grabbing tomatoes, onions, or lettuce to put on them.”

I don’t know anything about surfing, and overhearing some of the conversations was interesting. One guy talked about trying to stay on a wave. His friend kept responding to another person about it being “the sickest barrel.” I wanted to poke my head into their circle and say, “You should’ve seen the job I did parallel parking outside.” I mean, it was a tiny spot right in front of the club that I fit right into on one shot.

Another group of surfers was talking about various injuries. One said he broke his leg when his board hit him after crashing on a wave. Another guy needed 28 stitches when he was thrown into some rocks up in Northern California. He said, “That’s not as bad as my friend’s cousin, who lost his eye. His board smacked him right in the face.” He looked at me and said sarcastically, “Have you ever had an injury like that?” I responded, “I got hit with a racquetball in the eye once. I didn’t lose it. It just turned the same color blue as the ball. My friend had his two front teeth knocked out by a racquet during a game. I was born and raised in San Diego, but I spent more time on boogie boards than surfboards; when they hit you, there’s no injury.”

When a few people were talking about the painted surfboards, I asked if they get used. Someone said, “Oh, yeah. They were taken out today.” I had heard there were big waves, and asked about it.

“A few of the surfers here were hitting that. They were big. And reports were that there was going to be some 50-footers.”

I heard a guy walk up to the table of food. He said to his friend, “What the hell kind of meat is this? It’s like that Letterman bit where you have to guess the meat.” He took a big piece of it, shoved it in his mouth, and between bites said, “It’s good, though.”

His friend complained that every time the wait staff brought out new food, it disappeared too quickly. An older couple sitting near the table said, “It works better if you sit by the food. You get first dibs at stuff.”