Dogpatch Press

“Fast food meets slow news day”

San Francisco’s original furry dance party is a thirsty place. Besides for watching Fluke Husky and panting. (Or being pantsless… like an innocent toon character of course). Every first Saturday at The Eagle, I get sweaty from jumping around in a big rug with sweet tunes. It makes me need a Squirrel Pop or five to cool off.

Then it’s drunken feasting time. That’s when food tastes like it looks in cartoons, where mice dive into bowls of jello and eat cheese wheels from the inside out.

At 2 A.M. when you’re still bouncing out the door, if the booze in your belly needs a friend, Crepes A Go Go is the go-to place. (Or was.)

That junky parking lot with a flat-tired truck, and a tattered awning over furniture that shouldn’t live outside… that was the gate to heaven. A smoked salmon, basil, tomato and cheese crepe was my staple.

One time I was going to town on one of those bad boys all doused in hot sauce. That salty, fishy, spicy, juicy treat was getting stuffed in my pie hole so hard, I didn’t notice it got crunchy. Whoops. That was my tongue. Well, it would get better. I kept going, finished the first crepe, got back in line for seconds, and savored how extra… juicy… and salty… whoops again. Fish, tomato and hot sauce had just the right chemistry with the blood in my alcohol stream, that I didn’t notice my tongue had been gushing blood in my first crepe and second one too.

It got kind of scary. I could spit it like a creature from a zombie plague movie, or make a pile of napkins look like a crime scene, but it didn’t want to stop. I headed home so they wouldn’t have to put up biohazard warnings, and drove with my mouth open for 30 minutes to get some air on it. That sealed things up and it was OK.

Gross huh? But that’s how good those crepes were. They made pain feel good. I’d ignore a sucking chest wound for one. They’re going to get mourned, because Crepes A Go Go got pushed out to make some stupid office building. Everything in San Francisco is on the gentrifier chopping block like that.

I chatted up DJ Neonbunny, the Frolic Party organizer. Could a food truck park outside the Eagle? That would be a good time for everyone. Maybe Grilled Cheez Guy, or the Royal Egyptian truck, who did the Galactic Camp party and became more or less honorary furries?

Neonbunny told me: “We got a food truck to come outside the Stud a few times when Frolic was there! But after a while, they moved on. The Eagle has a few connections for trucks too. But there’s a lot of construction right now, and one has to be willing to go through a heavy permitting process.”

Nacho Husky of Galactic Camp told me: “The other thing is the Eagle will let you bring a BBQ and sell food if it’s for charity. I’ve done it with them. If someone wanted to bring a BBQ, they have a food permit.”

Well that would be fun! Until then, there’s a couple of sub-par overpriced pizza places or hot dog pirates on the sidewalk.

Last things: Does anyone know of any aging-rockers-turned-DJ’s in California who might be hireable for a special Frolic? (Like Jello Biafra last year?)

And for October, look out for a sweet music video release party. I was a rodent in it, and there was cheese!

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