Ok, first and foremost, here's your obligatory pretty nature shot, this nekkid tree freezing its trunk off under the dreary Sunnyvale sky. It was a horribly grey day out, and even though it was a long weekend, we found it hard to motivate. Things took a turn for a better when Dave had this Office Space moment (400k) whilst cruising back to Shallow Alto. By nightfall, we'd decided to take advantage of a Monday off by hastily prepping for a jaunt to the City to celebrate Spundae's 9th.

We started off by rolling over to the hippie-infested Haight (home of the kickass Amoeba Music store) and settled into the surreal Noc Noc for some drinks. Noc Noc is a very artfullly decorated beer bar - they have just about every beer you could want, with the exception of Bud, Miller and Coors. Much of the decor is in some handcrafted metalwork motif, while half of the seating is quite literally on the floor, and even the bathroom (right) is pretty inside.

Our bridge-and-tunnel asses met up with SF resident Elena and we headed to the SoMa to line up in the arond-the-block line at Ten15 Folsom. The first thing we saw was this giant marlin (which Dave kept calling a shark) in the handtruck store down the street. We weren't quite sure what's stranger - a giant marlin trophy or a store dedicated to handtrucks and dollies.

On the way over, we discovered a restaurant we'd never go to - none of us are into jelly, really. Luckily, it had stopped raining, so the wait in line wasn't so bad. In the meantime, Elena kept us entertained by showing off her new hardware, and everyone around us got a kick out of reading Ten15's drug policy out loud.

After a moderate wait, we had the pleasure of paying *gulp* $30 to get in. This is not typical, and it was a bummer of a way to start off the night. Little did we know we'd be getting our money's worth in no time. The front room was more lively than usual with some rockin' hard house filling the air. I immediately made a run for the bar. What you see here is a rare picture - a woman shoving money in my face for once. For this week's bartender shenanegans, I couldn't use college basketball as a way to swindle any extra drinkage. The angle this time? "Hey, you're the hot bartender!" Net booty: 2 cans of Red Bull, gratis. (The bartender detail here is from a picture with flash, to prove that the she isn't topless, as the enlarged photo would make it seem.)

Unlike last week's rye-inspired slits of doom, Sunday night's Mirror-In-The-Bathroom eyelid intoximeter shows that we kept the consumption in check. (In other words, we didn't exceed the 375ml Drink-Like-A-Rock-Star™ benchmark.)

It was absolutely going off in the cavernous main room, where world-famous chromedome (and not too shabby a techno DJ) Carl Cox was putting on a raucous set. We ran up into the extremely claustrophobic, glassed-in, packed, and carcinogenic smoking lounge upstairs to bring you this glorious shot of the main floor from above. Hazard pay will be gladly accepted.

Isn't it fun to stare at the people making out on the dancefloor? Tee hee hee. The crowd was great - for as packed as it was, nobody got on my nerves, which is rare at Ten15. That's the beautiful thing about the Spundae vibe - even though it's bigger than ever now, the crowd is still mostly the "here for the music" type, leaving the meat market element for Friday and Saturdays. With so much talent this good behind the decks, there was no room for BS.

In addition to the tripped-out lights and lazers and reflective surfaces, Ten15 boasts one of the best club sound systems on the planet.

The glowing mass over here is from one of the several racks of amps alone, conveniently next to the main DJ Booth - this was flanked by the "Mixer" banners, which I just had to include, if only to plug a cool magazine. Turning around, one could see a sea of twirling glowsticks. Everybody knows I have no love for candy ravers, but sometimes they produce images like this, which are entirely too cool.

Upstairs, SF's house queen Ellen Ferrato was tearing it up, only to be bested by the deep, funky grooves supplied by none other than Miguel Migs. Sure, he may have recently mixed a Britney Spears single, but we'll forgive him. A tip for clubbers dancing their asses off to deep house all night - you might want to drink water - if so, pockets are good. Looking like you're sprouting a plastic woody isn't.

Overall, while it was funky and sexy, the vibe upstairs was a bit chilled out compared to the rest of the club. Before heading down, we had to snap a pic of a fellow Bruin. (We have no clue who it is, but anyone who wears a UCLA shirt to a club is both dorky as hell and cool enough to be in my album.) When we got downstairs, it was starting to go off.

The front room at Ten15 is usually weak sauce. It's just close to a bar and the ATM machine and bathrooms. Not so tonight.

Local hard house specialist Gianni had taken over the front room decks, and he was simply off tha muthafuggin' hook. His set was absolutely relentless. For the poor souls who couldn't make it out with us, here's a clip of Gianni in action (1.1 mb), so you can have a barely-reasonable-facsimile of the experience. The next time he's spinning at Qööl (a Wednesday evening post-work happy hour at 111 Minna) you must be there. That's an order.

Back in the main room, things were going insane. The lasers and lights above the DJ booth projected out, almost as though a giant halo marking the music-master's divinity in this house of worship. (It was Sunday, after all.) Deciding we'd had a great night, Dave raised his arms. The roof had already been raised. It was merely time to claim yet another nightclubbing victory. With top-notch music all around, just the right amount to drink, excellent people, and the best vibe in a night club in ages, we declared it a perfect night and headed toward the Exit. It's red this week. Is this a new recurring theme like the nature shot? Who knows... See you next time, kids. Or better yet, join us!