Right now I’m dreaming of San Francisco. I was there this time last year, and the same with the year before, and so on.
Last year, we explored the city for hours, still dressed in our sneakers and conference-wear, and stinking of beer and sour cream and tostadas. The meeting was done and we had our fill of creepy clown art in gallery windows and Irish whiskey in Irish bars. As we were en route back to our hotels, we stumbled upon Harry Denton’s Starlight Room. We were intrigued by the concept of a “starlight room,” and lured in by the candy-red statues standing flippantly in the hallway of the ground level hotel lobby.
The club was dark and ritzy, yet campy and kitschy. From what I remember, there was a lot of red and gold. Swirls of red and gold everywhere, with a nice little disco ball on top. The guys seemed a little bit too old, and the ladies’ dresses seemed a little bit too trashy. I shouldn’t judge, though; they were having fun, and the quirky atmosphere let us feel welcome with our sneakers and lanyards (and in Chris’s case, his unkempt geologist beard).
The building sits on Powell, just down the street from a one-man busker, and the Starlight Room overlooks Union Square from the penthouse. This was a quintessential Bay oddity, and we had a grand old time. Yet so many questions ran through our heads: how did we get in? Is that guy really wearing a sequined suit? And most importantly, when will we get to come back here?
Unfortunately, not this week. Next year, I hope.
Still dreaming of San Francisco.