Undercover at Republican Election Night Parties

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When I decided it'd be funny to spend election night party-hopping the Republican events, I had no idea I'd end up meeting Vanessa Getty, hear Ross Mirkarimi tell me a joke and see a man asked to turn his September 11th conspiracy theory T-shirt inside out. But I'll never doubt this city again. San Francisco, you are weirder than I ever thought possible.

My very good friends, SFist's Brock Keeling and NBC Bay Area's Jackson West decided to join me on my quest to infiltrate a Republican election night party. It seemed like a wacky idea, something fun for our blogs. I threw on pearls, Jackson shaved his beard, Brock wore striped socks. I even tossed my great-grandmother's mink in my car for good measure.

We were dressing up as Republicans! Isn't this rich?

Brock, Jackson and I might differ in our lefty politics, but according to any red state rebel, we're each bound for hell. Everyone would be covering the Democratic events, we figured. Let's see what happens at Republican parties.

I'd heard a rumor that Republican Congressional Candidate John Dennis would be having a fancy shindig with free food and drinks at the Financial District's Palio D'Asti. Actually, I'd heard this rumor from Palio's owner, Chef Dan. And Dan made it clear that we were welcome to swing by and check out the scene. Brock, Jackson and I arrived at 6:30 p.m. and were ushered into the private room in the back.

Indeed, a full bar was flowing and lovely, fancy hors d'oeuvres were passed from uptight white person to uptight white person. It was then that I noticed the "9/11 Explosive Evidence" T-shirt man. His sideburns seemed almost aggressive as he pushed past us towards the asparagus pizza.

The back room of Palio is gorgeous, but it isn't huge. And the John Dennis folks filled up a little more than half of it. The crowd was certainly older. There were lots of well-dressed ladies and silver haired men, but I was most impressed with the collection of very beautiful, very similar young women. I stood in the middle of an Ann Taylor catalog and hoped my big hair and pearls were helping me blend.

All of a sudden, Ann Taylor Model Number 12 announces to the 30 or so of us gathered, "The candidate is arriving! Let's all go outside and greet him!"

No one reacted and she continued to plead. They actually wanted us to walk back through the restaurant and out the front door to stand on the sidewalk and applaud as John "Defeat Pelosi" Dennis arrived. I looked at her like she was nuts.

Brock and Jackson shrugged.

"C'mon." They said. "Let's do it."

Seven or eight of us wandered outside. We stood on the freezing sidewalk for 10 minutes as the Ann Taylor gals held a huge John Dennis sign. A man in a cowboy hat called me "ma'am."

Mr. Dennis appeared to be waiting in his car for God knows what, but his wife and daughter stood around the sidewalk with us. His daughter was adorable, dressed in a little ballerina outfit and holding a wand. She approached the big sign as Ann Taylor Number 8 asked her, "Who's that?"

"My daddy!"

"And what's he gonna do?"

"Beat Pelosi!"

Jackson and I stood on one side of the front door as Brock was trapped on the other. And finally, when he decided the time was just right, John Dennis emerged from his Kia and walked towards the restaurant as folks from the campaign snapped photos and captured video. As he came closer and closer to the front door, Brock looked panicked. It was up to him. The candidate was approaching.

And so, at the perfect moment, without missing a beat, a proudly homosexual San Francisco journalist opened the door for the Republican to get into his own party.

I had to pull myself together because cowboy hat was fast upon me. "After you, ma'am. You must be freezin' out here!"

Returning to the back room, the crowd had grown significantly since we'd been sent outside.

Apparently, someone had come up to Jackson and said, "I'm on to you" before offering a fist-bump. So we were getting a little paranoid. But before we left, I wanted a moment with 9/11 T-shirt guy. We headed over to where he stood gesticulating wildly, when Jackson said, "Whoa. Look at his shirt."

9/11 t-shirt guy had turned his "Explosive Evidence" t-shirt inside out. And obviously, that's not the kind of thing you do to mix up your look. No, someone had clearly asked him to give the conspiracy theory a rest. So he stood there with his hands flying all over the place and the tag of his shirt hanging off his back like everything was perfectly normal.

"The thing is," Jackson leaned over and whispered, "If September 11th was a conspiracy, wouldn't George Bush be in on it?"

We agreed that was a fair point as we snuck out and headed across town to the Marina. The San Francisco Young Republicans were having a party at The Republic, and Brock was exhilarated. "This is the most exciting night of my life!"

I rolled my eyes. "Brock, you said that when we went to Outback Steakhouse."

Brock, Jackson and I agreed that we were all running on a bit of adrenaline. You'd think we'd breached the Bohemian Grove, we were so riled up by our adventure. As we made our way to the Marina, we planned what to say if put on the spot. My big idea was to offer, "So, abortions, huh? Can't wait till those are illegal."

Jackson called dibs on "Everything's coming up Orly Taitz!"

And Brock really had nothing to worry about. He could just hold the door.

If you've never been to The Republic before, Jackson described it perfectly. "This looks like a Cameron Diaz movie."

The Marina crowd has never looked more stereotypical than it did at The Republic last night. Frat boys and future ex-wives sat and stood around the bar watching basketball and drinking beer while adjusting pastel polos and hair product. There were lots of high fives and the use of the word, "Bro."

Behind the bar was a larger room with a massive flat screen featuring Fox News. We awkwardly stood in the back until a young man came over to us. "Are you here for the Republican party?"

We admitted we were.

"Awesome! We've reserved all of these tables." He motioned to the room, filled with folks sitting at tables and staring at the huge television.

I introduced myself, as did he. Turns out, Young Republicans President Ed Sheppard is a pretty laid back guy, certainly more so than the John Dennis crowd. I relaxed a bit and asked him about what's it's like being a Republican in San Francisco. Lo and behold, Ed's a Second Amendment guy. He has four (4) guns, one he plans to use one day for protection and the others for "shooting."

Firearms aside, Ed was funny. He chatted us up, answered our pushy questions, cracked self-deprecating jokes. I told him about September 11th T-shirt guy. "Every side's got nuts, Beth."

Well put, Ed.

The Young Republican party was pretty tame, and we wanted to get across town to Kamala Harris' party before they ran out of free food. So we said goodbye to Ed and dashed across town to Delancey Street. The Delancey Street Foundation, for those of you are might not know, is "the country's leading residential self-help organization for substance abusers, ex-convicts, homeless and others who have hit bottom." And Kamala's party, held upstairs in some kind of huge serenity lounge, had an open bar.

We had to walk through courtyards, up and down stairs, escorted every step of the way by men in black trench coats. It was all very odd and I couldn't figure out if trenchcoat was protecting us from the residents or the other way around.

Once inside an actual Democrat's soiree, we ran into lots of folks we knew. Brock, Jackson and I stood around chatting with the Brians, Matt Haney, Susan Christian, Chris Fadeff and Rebecca Prozan. I sipped my (free) Diet Coke and chatted with the Guardian's Sarah Phelan as we wondered what the story was with booze being served in rehab. After all, Delancey Street is where Mayor Gavin Newsom sought treatment for alcohol abuse.

"You've got to see this." Sarah motioned me over into another big room where the walls were covered with photos of famed Delancey Street founder Mimi Silbert and dozens of celebrities. Here's Mimi with Clint Eastwoord, another one with Sharon Stone, a whole Colin Powell collection. And smack dab in the middle was Mimi with Gavin Newsom. Under the photo was a label which read, "Mimi Silbert and San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsome."

A framed photo of Gavin hanging on the wall of his very own rehab with his name misspelled is perhaps the greatest piece of artwork I have ever seen in my life.

Glorious art aside, Kamala was taking forever. It was getting late, I had to get my Republican experiences down on paper and word was, she was in the building, just hanging out in a private room somewhere, waiting for the competition to concede.

In the meantime, we watched Gavin Newsom win the Lieutenant Governor primary. I thought the best part of his speech was when he said he was a doer AND a dreamer. He doesn't just dream, you guys. He does. And he doesn't just do, he dreams! Honestly, I haven't stopped saying it. I love the doer/dreamer thing. It's very West Wing.

Finally, sometime after 11, State Senator Mark Leno gets onstage and begins talking about how wonderful Kamala Harris is. On and on, he goes until admitting he's "vamping until Kamala's ready." At least we had some kind of entertainment before Harris' big entrance. Which she made, of course, after an eternity. The crowd went nuts, she accepted the nomination and I was thrilled it was finally time to go home. Christ, Brock had already snuck out.

Jackson waited outside while I said my goodbyes. And as I stood getting my coat from Brian Devine, I noticed her. There, not 5 feet away, stood Vanessa Getty with no one to talk to. I just about died. I didn't know whether to text Brock or curtsey.

"Excuse me?" I said. "I just wanted to introduce myself."

Guess who is surprisingly normal. I couldn't believe it either! She's tall, taller than me and that's saying something. She was dressed in black, with a fabulous clutch and an easy smile. Vanessa looks dramatically more human in person. She was relaxed and kept touching my shoulder to make her points about what a magical evening this had become. Honestly, I have no idea what she said. All I could think was, "Vanessa Getty is touching me right now and Brock is missing this."

And she kept talking! I actually thought to myself, "Jesus lady, I've got to get home."

But seriously, I can't drive home this point enough: Vanessa Getty is bracingly normal. It was almost disappointing.

I grabbed my things and Brian and Chris began to walk me out, but on our way to the door, we passed Mark Leno. There were lots of hugs and kisses, lots of quickly catching up before attempting to dash off, when Mark asked if we knew any returns on Prep 16. Brian pulled out his phone and reported some numbers.

By about 11 votes, No on 16 was winning.

"Beth!" Mark grabbed my shoulders. "This is huge! This is HUGE! We've got to go back to the No on 16 party!"

"What? I can't go to some hippie party. I have to go home."

"Oh please." Mark actually rolled his eyes at me. "I have to drive to Sacramento tonight. You're coming with me."

I'd never seen him like this before. Mark was more excited about Prop 16 than his own campaigns. He took my hand and marched us out of Delancey Street. Brian and Jackson, while both exhausted, were up for anything that involved getting in a State Senator's Prius and the next thing I knew, the four of us were flying across town as the clock ticked past midnight.

The Prop 16 party was at Otis on Maiden Lane, and as the four of us marched down the alley and up to the front door, Brian and I shot each other a look. We left Vanessa Getty for this? People still wearing backbacks sat around refreshing their laptops as Beyond Chron's Paul Hogarth hugged us hello and Supervisor Ross Mirkarimi whooped with glee.

"This is really fun." Jackson whispered.

"And bizarre." I whispered back.

I stood and took a moment.

I'd gone from September 11th T-shirt guy to Brock working as a Republican doorman to Ed and his four guns to Vanessa Getty being normal to Mark's Prius to Ross Mirkarimi smiling at me and saying, "I know you!"

Then he told a joke. At least I think he did. I've spent so long calling Ross Mirkarimi humorless, I actually lost time from shock at his making a funny. It was all too much. I'd been election night partying for over 6 hours. I needed to sleep. After all, I'd been a doer all night. At 1 a.m., it was time to be a dreamer.

Posted By: Beth Spotswood (Email) | June 09 2010 at 12:05 PM

Listed Under: Politics