March 22: I introduced myself to a circle of hardcore rockers from bands with names like Vivid Sekt and Bog People by telling one of the bassists he looked like “the chillest Norse god of war ever.”
He looked over with a constipated grin. I consider hauling scrawny white ass all the way back to Mira Mesa.
“I think you just made his life,” said another member of the circle.
The day before, a ukulele player declared herself to be ambigender, and the show ended as the whole audience sat around a harp, cross-legged like it was story time.
A few months before that, I termed Tera Melos’ music “space-thrash,” and guitar god Nick Reinhart nodded in agreement, pedo ’stache and all.
Welcome to the Che Cafe, the schizo home of whatever you want — as long as it’s not normal.
I show up half an hour after doors. It’s still a wait until the show starts, as the openers are in a constant game of chicken with the audience to see who can show up last — but there’s room on the back-room couch to perch and kill some change. Even though I’ll always be an omnivore, the Che’s vegan kitchen can give the blonde guitarist in fishnets and spiked leather some competition: $1 soy ice cream sandwiches at the shows, and real sugar root beer for the same price.
They’re not preachy about the veganism, though. Despite horror stories I’ve heard of non-vegan bands trying to book a show and hitting a brick wall (and despite the Animal Liberation Front ’zines and posters declaring “DESTROY ALL JUDGE — DESTROY ALL POLITICIAN”), the Che never gets preachy, even when one of the volunteers brings a bag of Cheetos to the weekly meeting.
It’s hippie heaven, punk paradise, and vegan nirvana — and it’s open to anyone.
It’s just that no one thinks to go there.
OK, that’s a purposely melodramatic statement — the turnout is jumpier than 1938 Poland, but the Che has enough big nights so that core volunteer Gregory Prout is confident that it’ll be financially stable next year, despite the theft of ten grand in sound equipment last summer.
For most UCSD students, though, that melodrama might as well be true. Ask what they think of the Che, and you’ll get responses like that of grad student Yana Morgulis.
“It looks interesting,” Morgulis said. “I’d go there if something was happening, but I thought it was boarded up.”
For reference, the Che was closed for two months because of insurance snafus back in Winter Quarter 2009.
You’d think the Che’s volunteers never thought of posting flyers in the Muir College quad. But there is, in fact, outreach going on — just on a small scale. Marshall College senior and core volunteer Alice Nash will be tabling at Admit Day next Saturday, trying to get some pre-frosh blood back into the Che.
There’s even some who choose to reach out to the Che. Jerry Chai, Revelle College sophomore and member of the Deejays and Vinylphiles Club, is hoping to organize a dance party at the Che and said the collective’s volunteers have been open to the idea. The DVC draws about 25 times the Che’s capacity to Let’s Bounce every year, and if the sold-out success of the Non-Sexist Dances is any indication, the Che should probably expect the fire marshal to drop by.
With any luck, some UCSD students will make a habit of doing the same.
