God save the scene.

What an interesting weekend this has been, and what a fascinating study in the two sides of Bill it has proven to be. I find it somewhat interesting that this weekend took place right before am starting my new job, but that is somewhat beside the point. More than a past versus present kind of thing, this weekend had more to do with my comfort level.

Friday night was exactly the kind of night I like to talk about with friends in order to boost my cred. I met some folks in the Mission for a dive bar happy hour, even though it was at The Elbo Room, whose dive status was questioned by many member of the aforementioned group. Still, after a beer there, I went with my friend Susan to the tenth installment of Literary Death Match, a reading series that pits readers against each other in front of a panel of judges who are every bit as witty and clever as the readers themselves (most are former readers) all in support of the local literary scene. After dinner and parting ways with my friend Susan, I met up with another crew of revellers in the lower Haight at Molotov's, a bar known by many as "that punk rock bar in the lower Haight." Everywhere I went, I felt completely at home, like I belonged, like I was part of a vast and wide reaching scene. This was helped, I'm sure, by the sheer happenstance that one of the friends had been at Literary Death Match as well, unbeknownst to me. I could look around and see people like me, people in hoodies and Chuck Taylors. People who drink like I drink, who catch the same references to movies, books, and music that I do. Call them what you want: hipsters, scenesters, indie kids, geeks, punks (but everyone who knows me realizes immediately that I'm anything but punk), or even the outdated term of "rockers". These were my kinds of people, and these were my kinds of bars.

Saturday night I was with a group collected for the act of wishing my best friend Sean a bon voyage as he ships off to the horizon we all call marriage. After dinner, I wound up surprisingly following the group of fun-loving bachelor party attendees to a bar/club on Broadway in SF's North Beach area. For most San Franciscans, I need to say nothing further, because the mere sight of me in a club in North Beach is enough to raise a suspicious eyebrow and draw a smirk or sneer to your face. For you non-SF readers, North Beach is where a lot of people from all over the Bay Area come together to grind up upon one another while buying ridiculously overpriced cocktails. I realized a long time ago that I would never be one of these people. So for me, this was a very unique experience. I haven't been to a proper "club" in probably a year and a half or two years, so this was an interesting reminder of just how the other half goes out. I found myself surrounded by guys in vertical striped shirts and designer jeans that look like they came from the good will. There were girls all over the place wearing rather "revealing" outfits. Granted, I will never complain about girls cutting down on the amount of clothing they wear (well, maybe some girls who really shouldn't...) but these are not the type of girls I consider my "type". I spent some two and a half hours or so in the bar and did not see a single pair of chucks or any girl donning a pair of chunky glasses.

So now the question pops into my head: am I going to grow up with my newfound employment and no longer be one with the folks I associate with in the Mission and its outlying areas? I am convinced that my personal tastes have been well refined over a decent length of time, and that my job will not really shape me in that sense. I'm sure I won't be out all hours on like Tuesday nights like I once did, but other than that, I don't think a new status of employment will keep me away from liters of beer at Gestalt House on Saturday nights like I'm used to doing.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get some sleep before my first day of work. (eep!)