Staple
Another Saturday, another Staple, another mindblower.
I arrived on the scene at Rawhide at 9:30, wandering shortly upstairs. I hung out with some guy from Weiser, Idaho, of all places, and went back down the stairs at 10:15 to begin systematic destruction of the dancefloor.
It wasn’t long before I was tackled by a beautiful black woman in a red miniskirt. Jeanne had arrived. And she brought, like, a dozen of her friends, including Jason, who is the most insanely energetic dancer. Then, Annie showed up, and this other girl I keep seeing there, but whose name I can never remember. Everybody was showing up.
It wouldn’t have surprised me one bit if Isabella, Natasha, and Potrzebie had waltzed in. Not one bit. It would have surprised me a little if they dragged Bleach with. Heh. Sorry if this paragraph is cheesy, but how else to shout out my Milwaukee homeys? If Eblank had walked in, I’d have shat myself though.
Back to the party. Damon Wild took the decks some time around 11:30ish and laid down a set of minimal acid house that took my breath away. I doubt that the ringing in my head will go away for at least three days. Limping out of Rawhide, drenched in sweat, I hugged everyone and headed back toward Mountain View. Jeanne, you better let me know next time you’re in SF. We’ll blow the roof off the dump.