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My Boss is now talking seriously about moving me into SEO, rather than SEM like he'd suggested before. (The difference between the two is significant, yet not worth explaining.) I don't know what's going to happen. It sounds like a great idea, especially the way he's been describing it, but I'm not getting my hopes up. About that, or anything. Wicked Messenger 4.11 is tomorrow night. I've done everything I can for it, and it'll either be a big success, or it won't. I suspect it will be. My throat's been feeling icky these last few days, so I read a piece aloud this morning as a test run. Should be okay. Maddy and I have come to the unpleasant realization that the only thing keeping us from investing in cell phones is stubbornness. I'm leaning towards an older Handspring Treo, since they have the flip-tops like the communicators from the original Star Trek series. Yes, I'm a tremendous nerd sometimes. Hell, I'm online on Saturday night, aren't I? Kinda says it all right there. Never mind the crass, exploitative and very deliberate male-fantasy teenlesbo media image which makes you embarrassed to like girls (or relieved that you don't, as the case may be). The single most offensive thing about Tatu is their utterly wretched cover of "How Soon Is Now?" by The Smiths. (I'm not opposed to the idea of covers; I've never liked Morrissey's phrasing on the original, and prefer Love Spit Love's version on the Craft soundtrack.) That girl's voice is pure, undiluted pain, and this is coming from someone who sincerely believes that Bob Dylan will be remembered as one of the best vocalists of the twentieth century. I realize that English isn't her first language, but I refuse to accept that as an excuse. The song has to be heard to be believed, and I hope you never have to hear it. I wish I could unhear it. We should have bombed Russia back to the stone age when we had the chance. (Sorry, Rimma, but it would have been for a good cause.) soon i'll grow up and i won't even flinch at your name
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The UPS guy just complimented me how the sun shines on the purple in my hair.
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I didn't get the part in Clue. It's just as well, though. I'm not saying the grapes are sour—I'm sure they were very yummy grapes—though I did have mixed feelings about it, mostly for time reasons. With the new position (whenever it begins) I won't be able to write as much at work, so I'll need to make the most of my evenings and weekends. I enjoy acting and directing, but I'm a writer first and foremost. (Well, according to my tax forms I'm an Administrative Assistant, but let me have my silly little fantasies, okay?) In addition to the various giggery between now and then, June's Wicked Messenger and my birthday reading with Lauren and David at Modern Times are both within a week of the play closing, and I really hate the thought of not having anything new for them. The birthday reading in particular; when I look back at how little new material I have since the last one, it's rather distressing. Time to get back on that particular saddle. Jim says that they'd still like me to hang around and help out at the theater during rehearsals and the run of the show itself, and I'm sure I will, just not every night. He also said their next production will definitely include a role specifically suited to my talents. We'll see.
10:54am The listing for Wicked Messenger 4.11 in the Guardian: And the Weekly: "Wicked Messenger 4.11"I submitted it to the former, and Lori was kind enough to shoot it to the latter, so I'm fairly confident the typos were on their end. Oh well. The real yardstick for good publicity isn't whether they spell your name right, but whether they get the date, time and venue correct. And they did. Hell, the Weekly even included the 4.11. Even getting printed at all is a small victory. So I can't complain too much, not even about "Kitten of the Keys" or "Sheilyn Connelly." "Litten on the Keys" just hurts, though. kittypr0n. Wicked Messenger 4.11—or, worse, wickedmessengerfoür. Sherilyn. Y'know, maybe if I used real words, there wouldn't be a problem.
2:40pm I am the entire world's bitch today.
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A good half dozen of us were on stage at any given time last night. While I was reading for Mrs. White, the actress reading for Miss Scarlet had to deliver a line to Mr. Green. She wasn't sure who was playing him, and although I had just spoken one of Mrs. White's lines a few moments before, she looked at me and said, "Are you Mr. Green?" I assured her I really wasn't. Maddy could tell how how much it bothered me, but I'm not sure anyone else could. I guess that's what happens when I'm too lazy to get made up. Won't know until at least Thursday if I've been cast or not. I hope I am, if only because we've agreed to help out with the play whether we're on stage or not. I find I'm not quite as excited by the prospect as I was about Night of the Living Dead or Hitch-hiker's Guide, probably because I don't have any particular attachment to the material. And malaise. Can't forget the creeping malaise. My Boss wants me to help with the hiring process for my replacement. Whee. It was odd listening to Him ruminate about the kind of person He *doesn't* want. A lot of it sure sounded like me, especially when I was first hired. (Not that I'm much better now.) I don't think that was intentional, though.
2:10pm When you have to go somewhere in the evening, it's not wise to nap on your living room floor that afternoon with William Basinski's Disintegration Loops playing. You may never entirely wake up. At least, I'm not convinced I did on Sunday. I was pretty much on autopilot on the way to K'vetch, and didn't really improve from there. Horehound picked up on it right away. "Do you think you'll be awake soon, honey?" (Which, coming from him, is nowhere near as catty as you might think.) Not going never felt like an option, though. K'vetch is something a hell-or-high-water kinda thing, and being tired is no excuse. Sini made a rare K'vetch appearance, and by sheer coincidence I happened to have a copy of a piece I've been working on which is very much inspired by her. It's nice when things time out like that. I planned on reading a new piece—I'd actually been editing when the floor started looking so inviting—but when Sadie's filled up, I experienced a brief but powerful temptation to read something else, something guaranteed to work. The thought of bombing felt even more horrible than usual, even though it's one of the friendliest rooms in town. I went with the original piece, even though I wasn't entirely satisfied with it, and boy, the weaknesses were glaring when I read it aloud. (About seven-eighths of what I write is thuddingly mediocre. This piece was not in the remaining eighth.) On the other hand, the actual performance flowed much smoother than I'd expected for the first time reading it aloud, and in very low light at that. (It was a problem all evening long. It was dim even by K'vetch standards.) (e), who's seen me read quite a few times, said it was my best reading yet. I think I hope she's right. I'm honestly not just being reciprocal here, but her reading was one of her most powerful ever. And I've seen her quite a few times myself. After the show, I was talking to a girl who had been to K'vetch on the East Coast but never out here when Sini thanked me for the piece. We hugged, and as Sini walked away the girl commented quite sincerely that there was a lot of love in the room. She was right.
7:39pm I am officially chickenshit. No, really. Pleased to meet you. I just chickened out of an open mic at a coffeehouse less than a mile away from my house. (.6 miles away, if Yahoo is to be believed.) The girl behind the counter said that while it would probably be okay if I did spoken word, it's really a music open mic. Fair enough. And, to be honest, I've never really cared for the vibe there; it tends to be a little too hippie/surfer for my tastes, scraggly white guys with pseudo-reggae clothes and all. I don't feel all that comfortable around them. Which is hugely fucking elitist of me, I'm sure, but, you know, I've never claimed not to be a profoundly flawed human being. Besides, poetry open/spoken word open mics can be tedious enough as it is, and a music one, especially at a place like that, sounds like it could be an utter ordeal. They'd probably be just as bored by me. I don't know, maybe I'll give it a shot another night when my head's a bit more together. Tonight, though, I'm needing the love, and I don't think I'll find it there.
9:14pm
jane says
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I turned on KALW after dropping off (e) last night, and was surprised that Hearts of Space wasn't on. It was half past eleven, and it's on from ten to midnight. Very odd. Until I got home and saw all the clocks in the house said it was almost one in the morning, and I remembered thinking on the way to K'vetch that I really needed to set the car's clock forward. That's the level my brain's been at lately.
11:06am I saw the video of my Twilight Zone episode at the cast party on Saturday. Oh, man. Whatever I felt could have been improved about the play itself is almost irrelevant, since you can't see half of it. The video guy made the very bad decision to a) focus on the dialogue to the exclusion of the rest of the stage, and b) edit it while the play was actually happening. Problem is, just because the people were talking on stage right doesn't mean that what's happening stage left is unimportant. As a result, he lost Maddy for much of the fourth scene, and the overall effect is not unlike watching a really poorly pan-and-scanned CinemaScope movie. I'm no Sergio Leone (or even John Carpenter), but I tried to make take advantage of the entire canvas. I was actually rather proud of some of the framing, and he buchered it. Maybe it was impossible to get the entire stage into the shot, but frankly, I doubt he even tried. As for the editing—well, the play was a straight shot from beginning to end, and there was no need to edit. Actually, that's not entirely true; there was a lighting glitch during the climax which could have been repaired in editing, but he didn't. Since he instead tried to fix what wasn't broken, most of the scenes are missing the first five or six seconds. Ugh. Horrible. Though he was at the party, I didn't see any point in confronting him. Hell, he seemed proud of how it turned out. Whatever. In both the grand and modest scheme of things, it really, really doesn't matter. I'm told the series is going to be restaged at a bar, but Jim and Erin aren't involved, and nobody has contacted me about it. I do know they're already working with some of the other directors. Another for the "whatever" file, which is filling up quick these days. I wouldn't have time for it anyway, since Clue auditions are tonight. I'm exhausted—four hours of sleep, my own damn fault—and in too dark a place emotionally to watch a comedy, let alone act in one, but I'm going. This mood will pass long before the play even opens. Besides, I have reason to believe I have a good shot at landing the role of Mrs. White, played by Madeline Kahn in the movie on which the play is based. Then again, I may not get it. Never can tell. Erin tells me that until they heard about the upcoming remake, her and Jim were considering doing a stage version of The Stepford Wives with me in the Katharine Ross (now Nicole Kidman) role. Ah, what might have been.
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In the promotion for Smack Dab, Kirk and Larry-Bob call me "goth superhero Sherilyn Connelly." Heh. Wasn't my idea, I swear. Not that I mind, though I know a lot of goths who bristle at the word, complaining that it limits them. I just don't see it, myself. Maybe it's different in the literary scene, where the word doesn't have any particular connotation—except if I think about it for half a second there most certainly is a connotation, that of goth poetry. That's probably why I'm frequently called a poet—I'm goth, so I must write goth poetry, right? Whatever. It doesn't matter to me. I do play it up on occasion because it's there, but nobody's ever accused me of falsely billing myself. I write what I write, and besides, if being called goth was somehow holding me back, then I wouldn't have been invited to read at the decidedly non-goth Smack Dab in the first place. Or Oral Fixation or Chick Nite (twice) or Lit at the Canvas (twice), and so on. Maybe it'll be different if I ever expand beyond San Francisco. (The irony about the lack of interest from local goth community is too obvious to bother stating.) As for the superhero thing? That's just because I'm tall.
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Chick Nite was great. I'm pretty sure I kicked ass, and I know everyone else did. Okay, it started late and the house wasn't full, but it isn't my show so that's none of my concern. (Didn't get paid. Didn't expect to.) The female half of my writing group was on the bill sans Lori and mit Lynnee (who has an open offer to join), Maddy was in the audience, and Jim and Cory (as opposed to Ty) were doing tech. I mean, there you go. That's all you need. Lynnee even had a Tribe 8 gig later in the evening at Mondo Porno, but stuck around long enough to see his pals read. I love my friends, and they love me. I think. Occasionally I have to question what I know. (e)'s going through some extremely intense personal trauma right now, and someone asked how she can go onstage with all that going on in her head. What may not be readily apparent is that it would be worse if don't look at the page but don't get lost and FEEL it and don't be afraid to go scary places emotionally but don't forget the microphone is right there and deliver to the scary god Light - performance is like a prayer, you're making an offering to The Light, it's judging youshe didn't have to get up there. God, I'm so glad I'm keeping busy for the next few months. (And that's without factoring in The Dark Room's production of Clue, for which Maddy and I are auditioning on Monday.) I don't see things going bad between Maddy and I, but there's still so much ugliness happening all around me, I need to have these things to keep me productive. I'm not sure I could go back to how it was before.
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Doing better; whatever snapped in my brain yesterday seems to have mostly healed. Not a bad turnaround time, all things considered. There are still some Bad Things going on, but I'm dealing with them as best as I can. There are good things, too. Like, I'm now booked to feature at Smack Dab on Wednesday, April 21. Even neater, Jim has asked me to co-host The Dark Room's official (and, by then, long-delayed) opening night party on May 1. Yay. Considering that I was disappointed when they told me about the show but didn't ask me to perform at it—look, it was Wednesday night and my emotions were raw, okay?—I'm beyond flattered. Uphill Both Ways and Lynnee are on the bill, and, like Wicked Messenger 4.11 a few weeks before (as I say, it's a long-delayed opening night party), there will be Thai catering. Can't go wrong. And, of course, there's the final Chick Nite this evening. Jim will be recording, so Tarin really wants a full house. 8pm at Spanganga (3376 19th St), nobody turned away for brokeness. (e), Lynnee, Lauren, Meliza, Dattner, myself and others. Be there and make noise, damn you.
2:31pm My Boss is out once again today. Nobody knows where he his, but we're not expecting him back in. Which is fine, totally fine by me. Him not being here yesterday really was a godsend, because I know he would have picked on me. And, if he asks how I've occupied myself these last few days, I have a perfect (and partially accurate) answer: wading through resumes. I guess I made the job sound interesting enough, because the response has been voluminous. He probably isn't going to want to go through them all himself, so I've been marking the few that look positive to me. I think I've already figured out who I want to get the job. Of course, that raises the question of, do I want someone I like to get this job? It seems almost cruel, consigning someone to his fate. But, you know, it's money, even if he'll try to make it as little as possible and first. Which is something I'll warn them about. They'll actually get a little bit of training and guidance, and not simply be thrown to the wolves like I was. Yet, I have mixed feelings about moving to the different position. In spite of what a nutbag My Boss can be, at least I have a fair amount of privacy. Nobody can see my screen unless they're coming out of his office, and I usually have enough time to alt-tab away from anything incriminating. I've been nailed once or twice, of course, but for the most part I can keep it to myself. Won't be the case if I move to a different department, since my monitor will be visible to all. Everyone here IMs, so I'll be able to keep in touch with Maddy, but I won't be able to do nearly as much writing as I do now, if any. That's right, I'll be forced to work. Weep for me. Long rambly mid-afternoon posts like this will most likely be a thing of the past. Away from My Boss, though. That's a strong persuader. No longer being his Girl Friday (which is what I titled myself on the latest incarnation of the company directory), and the person who would be My Supervisor said he'll make sure I'm left alone. He seems to think I'd be a good fit for the job, which is encouraging, even though he called it "numbers intensive." Numbers and I don't always get along. My father may be a number-cruncher by trade, but as near as I can tell, the only things I got from him are really ugly toenails and a predilection for hot sauce. And the latter didn't even kick in until I was thirty. Not that I need to be able to do math or anything; that's what Excel is for. And what I need to know about Excel, I can be taught easily enough. I just have to get used to looking at spreadsheets all day long. Feh. An admitted upshot is that the work is well-defined, without the arbitrariness which typifies doing things for The Boss. I won't get snarked at because he's changed his mind about how something should be done. Fears of monitor exposure aside, I'm going to do it. Two reasons, not necessarily in order of importance: music and money. I asked My Supervisor flat-out if I'd be able to wear headphones, and he said yes. That's a big huge deal to me. I'm already very lucky in that I can already play music at my desk through the speakers (n.p., if you must know, is John Zorn's Filmworks X: In The Mirror of Maya Deren—good god, but I'm pretentious), but I miss really listening. So that's a positive thing. Then there's the lucre. Hopefully, I'll be making enough to support my comparatively low budget lifestyle while finally taking serious chunks out of my debt. Not that there's a lot, certainly compared to most Americans; just my lone credit card, which I've had to use a LOT since I got this job because of how underpaid I was at first, and my student loans. I'll admit, I've always been ashamed of the fact that I didn't make paying those off a priority when I was making the dot-com bux. I very well could have. But I didn't. I'm a tardwad. I recognize that. Finally, and perhaps just as important (though I'd never admit it because I don't want anyone to realize how shallow I am—you can keep a secret, right?), the whole "getting to look like myself" business. It's something I try to remember when my gruntle levels get out of whack; neither my gender status nor my aesthetics have ever been brought up, not even by My Boss at his snarkiest. So, as always, a little perspective is a good thing.
4:23pm I submitted Wicked Messenger to both the At the Clubs newsletter and the sfgoth Clubs page, and it seems to have been rejected by both. Insufficiently goth, one assumes. Ironically, when during the interview with the Chronicle reporter, she asked me about the goth elements I bring to the club. I wasn't even sure what she meant, until she pointed them out—booking John Shirley, for example, or Steven Leyba. And, I suppose, just being myself. Evidently, though, that isn't quite enough.
sometime after midnight So many people I love are in pain right now. It's just not fair. It's like a pan-dimensional child is pulling on one of the loose threads of our universe, and the fabric is unraveling.
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dreams of abandonment—those who hadn't already disappeared were doing so—how can you leave without even saying goodbye—
11:39am Hooray for small miracles: My Boss isn't in yet. Not sure when he will be, if at all today. Considering that I've been on the verge of tears (and sometimes slightly over it) for most of the morning, not having to deal with him has been a stroke of luck. Last night was really rough. Different things throughout the course of the evening—seeing a dear friend in pain, snubs both imagined and genuine, an undeserved scolding—although they bottlenecked towards the end. Didn't sleep very well, once I finally convinced myself to move from the couch to the bed. Anxiety dreams, as mentioned before. (Is there any other kind?) (Not for me.) Still not doing so well today, obviously. I'll get better, though. I always do.
12:33pm Happy things: in addition to possibly getting a shout-out in an SF Weekly article next week about The Dark Room, I found out last night that Wicked Messenger 4.11 is going to be catered for free by Ya Mo Thai Kitchen at 18th and Mission. Very cool. That's the kind of thing that can happen when you actually have the support of the venue owners.
2:27pm I miss c0g. I wish he was here right now.
3:21pm The final lineup for Friday's Chick Nite marathon (Spanganga, 8pm, $7-10, nobody turned away): MUSIC: Amy Tobin, Tarin Towers Shuts Down; POETRY: Daphne Gottlieb, Lauren Wheeler, Sherilyn Connelly, Meliza Bañales, Amy White; COMEDY: Lisa Geduldig, Dattner; PROSE: Lynn Breedlove, Jan Richman, Nancy Depper. Honestly, I've never claimed to be a poet, but I seem to keep getting called one. It's hardly worth arguing, though, and being listed alongside (e), Lauren and Meliza as though I actually belong there is far from the worst feeling in the world.
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