Kate O'Brien's

597 Howard

(415) 882-7240

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The cab was early. We were late however for our own roommate's birthday. Sure he was with us but that didn't make up for the fact that people were waiting at some bar, listening to bad tunes, tapping their glasses. Or were they?

Things got rolling fast. Our cabbie talked incessantly while guiding us down Valencia past khaki clones and street urchins. We learned quickly about his life, his abortive stab at Stanford Grad School, his retirement plans (Amsterdam), his utter disdain for the American way of life. Half Japanese, he spoke it like a stand up comic or so said my roommate from Kyoto. Or was it Tokyo? One was definitely an anagram of the other but which? Nobody seemed to know.

Our man behind the wheel tossed questions our way all the while keeping an ear out for his dispatcher's monochromatic voice. That voice was his constant companion, his livelihood, his bread and butter. He referred to my roommate as "Birthday Boy" and quizzed him about turning twenty-five. He went on about "this God forsaken country" and how he was moving to Holland where he would smoke dope and ride bikes along the canal. He had enough neuroses to fill an entire medical history but damn was he sharp. Except for missing our bar by a block he seemed capable of holding his own in a debate about suburban sprawl and lower emission standards. And he was bi-lingual.

Leaving us on Howard, he muttered something in Japanese, waved a quick goodbye and sped off looking for drunken fares around SOMA. It was 10:30. We were an hour late but entering Kate O'Briens we found the place empty. My roommate didn't bat an eye. His mind had been elsewhere since deciding on moving to Rome. So what if nobody came for his birthday, it didn't matter to him. In fact it only showed poor planning on the part of his housemates.

With no friends in sight we proceeded to drink. After several Rum & Cokes it became clear this bar was a wasteland for knickknacks. Somebody had apparently been going mad on Ebay buying wine barrels and assorted junk. I was particularly taken by a surrealist Venus de Milo mannequin overlooking the bar. What deranged person had purchased this lovely item? Maybe they were trying to break the mold, go against the grain, stand out among Irish bars. Who knows? What I do know is the band posters on the ceiling gave me a bad case of neck sprain as I perused the titles looking for Van the Man.

Suddenly the French barmaid went berserk. Her ex-lover had arrived and she was not happy. She promptly came over to us declaring she was going home. We were a bit miffed by the whole thing but made sure that our tab remained open. We weren't about to have this little coquette run off leaving us high and dry.

We'd noticed her upon entering and she'd been giving us the eye. Now we stood back to assess the situation. Our Japanese roommate was certain the girl had been staring at her. Afraid to try out my Parisian slang we laid low until the Italians showed up.

Being an hour late, which is on time in Italy, they gestured to us as only Latins can about what was up. We conversed and weighed our options. Sure, the place had Chilean wine but no Anchor Steam which is after all a San Franciscan beer. Being Thursday, we couldn't experience Club Ri Ra, a Euro-techno affair held every Friday and Saturday at the bar. So we voted with our feet leaving the frustrated French girl to ponder what might have been.

For the curious: Kate O'Brien's, 597 Howard (415) 882-7240 Daily 10am to 2am. Offers catering, private parties in the Club Room. House/Techno music every Fri. & Sat. No cover.

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