Okay, this was written on sunday about what happened to me on saturday night and I didn't want to post it until it got all polished up, but I never fully polished it up and I've been too fricken' tired and dealing with too many other things, so I'm posting what I have:

I wanted to right about what a great night I had last night. About how I had one of those "only in San Francisco" type evenings, the type of evening into which you tap into the madcap, crazy energy of the city that powers it like a wellspring. The kind of night where S.F reveals it's true nature to you and lets it's freak flag fly. The kind of night that makes me remember once again why I fell madly in love with this city and why it's felt more of a home to me than any other place I've lived.

But I can't really do it. And it's all because of you.

I went to see "the Donna's" last night at Bimbo's. They played as part of "NoisePop," the week long SF music-fest, indie-rock lover's SF Mardi Gras. I love "The Donna's." , pure, 100%, uncut, blissful rawk n' roll, all played by four chicks a few years out of Palie High. I've seen them before and they put on a great, great show and I've been looking forward to this show for weeks. It's been another, gut-wrenching roller coaster of a week, which, coming after several other gut-wrenching, roller coasters of a week, I really needed some good, not so clean, drunken fun.

I was gonna write about what happened, the craziness of the night. Of the cab driver who picked me up and upon hearing who I was gonna see, decided I passed some sort of personal test and was rewarded by "Van Halen" cranked to all decibels. And about how the cab-driver got me into a discussion about the current state of suckiness that is radio and kept on making jokes about doing too many drugs as he buzzed through the city at way too fast speeds.

Then there was the bar I met my friends at, a pseudo-Irish sports bar that was neither that great of an Irish bar or that great of a sports bar. It was also completely run by Indians, which explained why the pub menu mainly featured Tandoori style Indian food (written, of course, with the pseudo gaelic font every fake Irish pub has to use). And how on the way to the outdoor patio to get a breath of fresh air, we saw a guy all bloodied up and surrounded by broken glass, the air hockey table sprayed with blood. Nobody saw what happened and nobody heard anything, but it looked pretty bad.

Onto Bimbo's, a great, old fashioned club and one of my favorites. The first opening band we saw was kind of generic, hipster band with wanna be mid-60's British rock stars attitude, like so many bands are these days. But they were fun and entertaining and my buzz was achieving perfection, that perfect mixture of happiness, looseness and woo-hoo. And then the Donnas came out, full blazed rocking. I want to write about what a great show it was, about Donna F's screechy in-between song Michael Jackson jokes or Donna C , the drummer's, Animal impression- all flailing hair and arms- and how disappointed I was that Donna R. had given up her sleeky supermodel look for a Joan Jett thing and how much cooler it was that all that glorious guitar noise was coming out of someone looking like she had just walked out of an ad in Cosmo instead of, well, someone looking like Joan Jett.

Finally, there was ending of the night, the ride home smoking a joint and bopping to "Straight Out of Compton." Of pulling aside another car full of kids passing a bowl and giving them a smilke and a nod. And coming home to find "Planet of the Apes" on HBO and turning into it just in time to hear Chuck say both "Get your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty apes" and "it's a madhouse, a madhouse!"

It should have been a great night, but it wasn't. It should have been the kind of night that would jar everything back into it's right place for a few days. But it wasn't. And it's because of you. Because of all the assholes who had to ruin it for everyone.

There was the big beefy guys who started a moshing pit in the middle of the floor, despite the fact the Donna's are not moshing kind of band and besides, moshing is SO Woodstock '99 and even then it was so '91. And all the guys who waited for three songs into the set to make their move to the front of the stage, bumping and pushing their way past everyone who had gotten into position much earlier and had claimed their space. And the two drunk guys who were barely able to walk, yet tried to get to the front of the stage, bouncing off everyone they passed, as the only way to keep from falling over. Then there was the guy who tried to crowd surf, despite the obvious ambivalence of the crowd and so was dropped by his head onto the edge of the stage, getting an escort off the stage with a dazed look on his face that just read concussion. And he was quickly followed by another dude who ran on stage, trying to give Donna A a hug, but after missing Donna A due to a cool juke move by the singer, was quickly put into a bear hug by the big, beefy Samoan security guard.

But that wasn't even the worst of it. Not even close. That award I give to others. To the three guys who were so anxious to get to the mosh pit that they basically moshed their way into it, pushing and shoving everyone out of their way. Because of them, as I stood there completely oblivious to what was about to come, I got shoved a few feet in front of me. My friend got her drink spilled. The people in front of me were thrown a few feet to their right. And as I watched them go about, bodies being thrown and bumped everywhere, I had never more wanted to throw a punch in my life. It was only later that I discovered that the broken glass that I stood in came not from a glass being knocked out of someone's hands but because Lorena threw her glass at one of the guys head's. Sadly, she missed.

Why is it that with almost everything, there's always a few assholes who have to ruin it for everyone else? Why is it that despite the fact that most people were pretty cool and okay with things, a few dickheads have to fuck with other people? Why is it that some lame-o always has to put himself above everyone else? Fuckers.

Years ago, friends and I sat in a plaza in Florence. It was nighttime and we met in a square where at least a hundred other youths were gathering. People were drinking wine, singing songs, just hanging out. My friends and I sat there, soaking it all in, amazed that something like this could happen. Because in America, stuff like that doesn't happen. Because if you take a large group of teens/young adults and leave them alone, with booze, something bad will always happen. And that's why nothing like that happens here. Because of those few assholes who always have to ruin it for everyone else.