Cynic Cave, An End Of An Era, And Why San Francisco Is Good At Saying Goodbye
All the little shows that with big ideas and little cache for little cash and cheaper beer. A house party with a proper tech and ticketing system, fronted by a legit business, barely able to contain the chaos and creativity downstairs. What felt too good to be true became a way of life for comedians and fans alike. After three years of shows, 24-Hour marathons, festivals, recordings, and probably more ignored ordinances, more feelings, and more memories than I can hope to grasp, the Cine Cave, a subterranean, 40-max capacity performance space with a projector, a bar and wall-to-wall-to-ceiling movie posters, is coming to a close. Tonight is its swan song. Though, true to San Francisco comedy tradition, there’s a show tomorrow, wringing out that last little bit.
I don’t know what the end of Lost Weekend Video’s run as a haven for hilarity will be like; it hasn’t happened yet.
I do remember the last night at McGrath’s Pub in Alameda, the first place I ever hosted an open mic, where I spent money I didn’t have on balloons and candy for long nights followed by crippling commutes to my job in Foster City. Tacos from La Pinata, shots with Deb, Justin Harrison hitting the ceiling with a broom to vex the complainer who shut us down.
I also remember the last night at Dirty Trix, the one and only place I saw Robin Williams do stand-up in person, ate delicious free food on football Sundays, and recorded my first comedy album. A toast with Damon, our beloved bartender, people trying not to cry, a group photo by legendary photographer Dan Dion.
The formal-affair send off to the Purple Onion.
Holy City Zoo (Dirty Trix’s building, but older). Vitus. 23 Club. Club 93. Viracocha. Old Cobb’s. New Holly’s. All the places before my time and the ones that have been resurrected.
San Francisco is constantly saying goodbye. Goodbye to places, sure, but goodbye to performers, to friends, to whole groups of people. The City by the Bay is raw and antique, promising and limited, where our exports take form and their contemporaries chill out (or fade away). In comedy, goodbye is usually a false finish; you’ll often see comics more after farewell shows than prior. Still, there’s a sentimentality, a sincerity, a nostalgia, a respect. A need to say goodbye is only as important as to celebrate artistic mortality, to drink, gab, laugh and commiserate. Everything will change as it will stay the same but we will always have touchstones that say, “I was there, this was me.” Those touchstones, on nights like this, are arranged into a memorial, a tribute, a need to congregate, to pay homage.
Looking forward to seeing all my friends that also feel like a piece of their heart lay under 1034 Valencia St. I don’t know how packed it will be, who will cry the most, who will capture that lasting image that gets the most likes on social media. All I know is: it’s been real.
