San Francisco's big bash for Clinton's 50th turns into orgy of myopic self-love
By COURTNEY WEAVER
You've got to hand it to Bill Clinton. He even chose a good day to be born -- right after the GOP convention. Cynics are culling their old encyclopedias just to make sure August 19 really is his birthday, and not a figment of DNC spin-doctors.
Happy Birthday, Bill. Fifty, huh? That would make you about twice the age of the majority of fun-seekers at your San Francisco celebration. If anyone thought it was funny that your SF operatives chose a venue named Vertigo ("sensation of dizziness") for their bash, they tactfully refrained from saying so. All those willing to shell out $100 a ticket were free to compete in the feeding frenzy in your honor and wash it down with Cosmopolitans that were being drunk faster than the staff could prepare them.
Happy birthday to who? There was little evidence, as the well-heeled throng clamored for the dense-but-definitely-not-dry chocolate birthday cake and devoured the greaseless tempura prawns, of the man the bash was supposed to honor. Not even the four -- count 'em, four -- protesters from the National Organization of Women (protesting the welfare act) looked too concerned. Clever placards, though: Let Them Eat Cake.
San Franciscans love an excuse for a knees-up, and the timing for this one couldn't have been better. With last week's repressed-evangelical Republican Convention -- held in the cultural wasteland of San Diego -- hanging around in The City's political subconscious like a bad Brady Bunch episode, San Franciscans were maniacally determined to show their party prowess. And as the evening wore on, it became increasingly evident that the shindig really wasn't about Clinton at all, but simply an excuse for an orgy of urban self-congratulation -- an activity at which San Franciscans are unexcelled.
There was more civic jingoism on display than at NBC's Olympics. "The people here are ten times more attractive, and a hundred times better dressed than at that dumb thing down South," crowed Michael Flood, a veterinary dentist (an important demographic thought to be solidly Democratic). "Look how many people of color we have here. It's a diverse crowd." Why was Flood here? "Oh, my daughter's the sommelier."
Mayor Willie Brown, clad in a white pique shirt offset by a thundercloud grey silk tie, pumped up the self-love theme in his introduction to H.U.D. Director Henry Cisneros, working the crowd into a frenzy (OK, a moderate state of enthusiasm) by saying that Cisneros had told him he wanted to relocate to San Francisco. Not to be outdone, Cisneros declared San Francisco "the city of the future." Following these effusions, in which references by anyone answering to "Bill Clinton" were noticeably absent, an energetic chorus of "Happy Birthday" was led by singer Toni Childs. Cake was duly distributed and wolfed down.
Mayor Willie Brown was in fine hostly form. "This is a great party, a great chance for people of all colors, creeds and backgrounds to get together for a nice glass of wine in this great city of ours." When asked if perhaps the price of the ticket excluded those less-fortunate San Franciscans, Brown shot back, "I would have charged more. This is a fundraiser, remember?"
Filmmaker and actor Mario Van Peebles ("Panther") was also concerned about the steep admission. "But look how inclusive this party is! Still, it's not a good time for people of color in general." Why was he there? "Because... because I'm a San Franciscan."
What did he think of Clinton? "Politicians are like actors -- they've got four lives," he said. "The first is 'Mario who?' The second is 'Get me Mario.' The third is 'Get me a young Mario.' The fourth is "Mario who?' Clinton is in the second stage."
Van Peebles went on to plug his new movie, "Solo," in which he plays "an ecologically-minded cyborg."
Party planner extraordinaire Stanlee Gatti had just returned from San Diego. He looked exhausted after arranging all the shindigs for those notoriously tight-fisted GOPers. "I'm a raging liberal," he said, adjusting his sunglasses against the glare of overhead chandeliers. Yes, he admitted, there was something ironic about shoving ahi tuna tartare in your mouth while badmouthing the welfare reform act. "But everyone's gotta eat," he smiled.
The dozen video monitors remained blank all evening. No Bill. Had someone forgot to plug them in, or had the Prez snubbed us in favor of the pandering mobs at Manhattan's Radio City? Can't say anyone noticed, or cared.
Aw, Bill. Don't be offended that we San Franciscans are more interested in patting ourselves on the back than in your trifling half-century birthday. We did raise 70,000 clams for you. You want respect for your age, try the Republicans -- they love old men.
Courtney Weaver's Unzipped column is featured weekly in Salon.