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Thursday, 10 April 2008 (across all iterations) 12:47pm From the "Social Notes" section of the latest Ask Dr. Hal dispatch: ...we noted that galivanting gadabout power couple, Sherilyn Connelly w/ squeeze Ennui…I suppose we have been seen galivanting. And heaven knows I squeeze her often. When I left work yesterday I heard the Torch has been last spotted somewhere near San Francisco State University, disturbingly close to my part of town, so I used that as an excuse to go straight to The Dark Room, where things were relatively normal on the street and parking was plentiful. As I was feeding Phoebe's meter, a guy walked up to me and said: dude, you should get a chip put in the ignition, because that kind of car is really easy to steal. I thanked him and went inside, spinning. The first thing I did after I turned on my laptop was to look up car theft statistics to see if 1999 Saturn SL1s are, in fact, easily stolen. Which is not the exact same issue, I know, but I was relieved to see that Phoebe's particular make and model doesn't show up on any of the most-stolen-car lists. Not that there's much I could do if she was. First I've heard about what I presume are trackable microchips, though. I've been strongly considering borgifying Perdita with one. I was there both for someplace to be (a proposed first actual date with Devi didn't happen, and, I suspect, never will) and to watch the tech rehearsal for this week's Twilight Zone episodes. An added bonus is the fact that Sadie is playing Rod Serling, so I got to hang out with her and will probably do so more on the actual performance nights, since in lieu of a better offer, that's where I'll be this weekend. I walked her back to her apartment after rehearsal, and we stood out front for a while talking to her incredibly sweet neighbors. Sadie introduced me to a friend of theirs, a rather attractive woman who reminded me quite a bit of Jarboe, but she already knew who I was—seems she remember seeing me at The Dark Room recently. I get that a lot. Sadie later observed that I was clearly in flirt mode while talking to her. Yeah, more than likely. 5:20pm At The Dark Room, because this is where I go. Before picking up Ilene on Tuesday, I had an appointment with my doctor. He was in a more jovial mood than I've ever seen, what for most other people would be morose but for him qualifies as downright giddy. After the brief physical exam, he told me about a new procedure which actually removes, or at least smoothes over, stretch marks. He was referring to the stretch marks around my breasts, but really, they're the least of my issues as far as physical blemishes go. At least the stretch marks around my breasts are there for a good cause. The ones around my stomach, not so much. And if I was going to get that sort of midsection-surgery, it would be lipsuction, no question. Sometimes I think I should pull a Jezebel and find myself a trannychasing sugar daddy who'll fund such things. What's sucking his cock and or letting him frack me if gets me back into those shiny pants that haven't fit in eons? (And if that ain't book material, I don't know what is.) He also expanded on his brief message about my bloodwork: my testosterone is within the normal female levels, my cholestrol is fine, and I'm STD-free. Go me. He also said that next time he sees me—in the distant month of July, causing his admin to comment wow, you must really be healthy if he wants to go that long between appointments—he's going to start reducing my estrogen regimen. It's been pretty hardcore since January of last year, he explained and after eighteen months the high dosage will have done as much as it's gonna. To my surprise, I simply nodded and said: okay. And I realized that come July, I'm not going to fight him on it. I just don't have it in me anymore. Besides, this September I'll have been on hormones for ten years. I'm going to stay on them for the rest of my life, but I can't rightly expect any more significant developments from here on out. This is me, pretty much. It did get my brain moving, though, and I think I have a hook for my essay for Meliza's show in June. sometime after midnight i've been mixed up since the breakup | ||
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Wednesday, 9 April 2008 (die kathedral der bücher) 2:11pm Ilene and I watched Carnivale last night and crashed out around ten—ironically, I tend to get more sleep these days when someone's staying over—and I'm feeling much better today. Though I drove to work, I managed to get here early enough to be completely unaffected by the whole Olympic Torch brouhaha. I saw a bunch of protestors and other flag-wavers out in from of the Fucking Ballpark earlier, and I'm told Muni was more backed up than usual, but that's about it. And that's enough. | ||
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Tuesday, 8 April 2008 (over it) 2:36pm We had more time before the show than we expected, so we had a wonderfully messy dinner at Old Jerusalem. The doors at 12 Galaxies weren't open when we were done, so got a drink at Doc's Clock, the hipster bar next door. They had neither Bloody Mary nor White/Black Russian makings, so I got a rum and Coke. Ennui got the first of a few Vodka Gimlets. We chatted and cuddled and I read to her from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. She's a huge Harry Potter fan—easily as big a fan now as I was a Star Trek fan in my younger days (and I'm still a fan, to be sure)—and is re-reading them from the start for comfort reasons. And she likes being read to. So you see. When the doors at 12 Galaxies opened, Ennui and I got our favorite table toward the front as well as our next beverages: another Vodka Gimlet for her and a Black Russian for me. (I still prefer White Russians, which makes me feel horribly middle-class, but they were lacking the proper ingredients.) Puzzling Evidence never did make it, so it was the first time in a few weeks that we didn't smoke out before the show. Pete Goldie say with us for much of the show, and The Orange Box Man did recruited me to participate in sketch, a simple matter of removing a banana peel from the stage at the right moment. I was more than happy to, of course. I've been wanting to be involved with the show on some level for a while now. I was on my second Black Russian when the show proper began, i.e. Hal was answering questions. As always, the somewhat arbitrary reward for Chicken somewhat arbitrarily deciding he likes a question is a shot of Fernet Branca. It was also available at the bar, evidently, a bandmate of Ennui's who was also at the show bought each of us a shot. What the hell, I figured. I was already quite buzzed, but really, what were the chances of my question being worthy of a shot? Especially after I got one last week? (My question, and Chicken and Hal's running commentary as I drank the Fernet, starts at about 97:00 on last week's podcast (80MB mp3).) Pretty slim, so I drank the gift shot. Only to have my question get a shot of Fernet after all. (For both me and KrOB, since the question involved him as well: "In their natural environment in the wild, do KrOBs gather in flocks, herds, packs, murders, or some other semantic configuration?") As will so often happen, I missed Hal's answer, since I was getting on stage, drinking the shot, trying to get back off the stage without breaking my neck on the stairs, and so forth. I was extremely schnookered by that point, moreso than I've been in public (or even private) for a long time. I was conscious of it, though, and was already drinking a lot of water, and told Ennui that I was in no condition to drive. Phoebe was in a spot where she'd be fine until ten the next morning, and cabs are plentiful in that area, so that was no problem. Ennui was also fairly lit and more than a little sympathetic, and fortunately, we're compatible drunks. I continued drinking copious amounts of water when we got back to Cassandra, determined to be as non-hungover in the morning as possible. If worse came to worse, I figured, I could call in sick to work. Heaven knows I wouldn't be the first employee at NakedSword to call in sick because they were hungover, and as Ennui was happily pointing out—it was cracking her up—I was trashed. Hooray for hydration: I didn't wake up feeling nearly as bad as I should have, all things considered. My energy level's been rather low all day long, and concentrating on stuff has been tricky at best, but I haven't felt sick or nauseous or any of the other nastiness associated with a major hangover. I'm looking forward to how I'll feel tomorrow morning, though. I like getting back to normal. | ||
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Monday, 7 April 2008 (darker with the day) 5:06pm I hooked up with Ennui early yesterday afternoon. I kept busy beforehand in the coffeehouse under Cassandra, going through old notes, researching the final third of the book. When she came down, we ate at Alhamra near 16th and Valencia to satisfy the latest of her frequent Indian food cravings, then went to The Dark Room during one of its rare quiet periods (post Twilight Zone matinee, pre-Bad Movie Night) and watched the "Trials and Tribble-ations" episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. It had been on my mind to show it to her ever since she returned from Las Vegas bearing a tribble, and she was game, as she usually is. (I note with some happiness that Borg Bears are still available, since Maddy quite reasonably took hers when she moved out. I not with some trepidation that, if the picture on the website can be believed, the color of the bear's fur is brown rarther than gray, which misses the point to some degree, but since when hasn't Star Trek merchandise missed the point?) We were both feeling a bit low-energy after, so we made a quick run to Javalencia for what I am increasingly convinced is the best mocha in San Francisco. It certainly kept me going for what felt like one of my better Bad Movie Nights. The feature was The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle, and while it wasn't a huge turnout and I don't think it was the most fun our audience has had ever had, I felt like I was on my game, and that's all I can really hope for. Afterward, Ennui and I returned to Cassandra and crashed. When I awoke this morning—or, more accurately, when I finally realized I had to get out of bed—she was still asleep, holding me from behind, her limbs entangled with mine. I really, really didn't want to get up. Tonight, we're having dinner and then going to Ask Dr. Hal, because it's a Monday in April. I don't know what happens in May, though I do know that Ilene and I are watching more Carnivale tomorrow night. | ||
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Sunday, 6 April 2008 (cursing the light) 11:55am Saw this weekend's Twilight Zone episodes last night. I had been planning on going to The Power Exchange afterward, but instead I stayed at The Dark Room, helping with the door at the comedy show at ten and in general just hanging out with my friends. | ||
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Saturday, 5 April 2008 (like ugly needs a mirror) 6:01pm I helped Rhiannon move into her new apartment today. Her roommates have a couple of Vash's drawings hanging in the living froom, because the City is that fracking small. We also went shopping with Erin with for blackout curtains for the Black Light District. Between those and some leftover scraps from The Dark Room's recently replaced stage curtains (which I'd like to think date back to Spanganga), I may be able to beat back the morning sun after all. And, for that matter, not have to see the giraffe when it's in the backyard. I'll have my home back eventually. | ||
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Friday, 4 April 2008 (we came along this road) 11:45am It occurs to me that Vash would probably really dig how my hair looks right now. She always liked the squid (so far as I know), but the red tentacles make it resemble her painting of Ezri all the more. And when I put it up in pigtails, it looks more like a striped mane than ever. Which she would have appreciated. 2:25pm At the libary this afternoon before having lunch with Rimma, I borrowed Dishwasher: One Man's Quest to Wash Dishes in All Fifty States by Pete Jordan and I'm Looking Through You: Growing Up Haunted: A Memoir by Jennifer Finney Boylan. The author's note in the latter: The events at the heart of this narrative took place a long time ago. While I have taken care to ensure accuaracy whenever possible, in the end I cast my lot with Frank McCourt, who noted that a memoir is meant to be an impression of a life, and a not a photograph. Since this is the story I have chosen to tell and not necessarily the one that others would relate, given their druthers, all individuals appear in the story under psuedonyms; some have been obscured still further, in the hope of making them unrecognizable. The book contains no composite characters. The timeline as been expanded or contracted to suit the story's demands, and dialogue invented, in good faith, when memory failed. The story contains occasional elements of invention, in keeping with the facts of my life, not in order to shamelessly bamboozle the reader but in order to fill in gaps in the narrative, or to dramatize scenes that I did not witness firsthand.A memoir is meant to be an impression of a life, and not a photograph. I like that. | ||
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Thursday, 3 April 2008 (to the third) 3:31pm Nor will I be aurally barebacking for at least the next six months. While the existing giraffe has been moved to the front of the house, the houseguests are a woman and her child, and they will be above my bedroom. So, things are going to get worse before they get better. Which is the natural order of the universe. My landlord was over yesterday evening fixing my oft-malfunctioning doorbell as he told me these things (except for the part about things getting worse before they get better, which was my own conclusion), with Ilene on the couch patiently waiting for all the drama to be finished so we could get back to watching Carnivale. While he and I were talking, there was rumbling from above as the (three, count 'em, three) sets of feet back and forth down the hallway directly above my home, and I made the latest useless request to ask them to maybe not let the kids run laps above me, and he just patiently waited for me to get it out of my system. (Everyone was very patient with me yesterday, and I needed it, because several different drama streams were converging at once.) I still have fantastic rent, it's just me and Perdita, and when I have the earplugs in and headphones on it's almost like they aren't there at all. It's high time to start investing in more white noise generation, though. Perhaps a few more strategically-placed Buddha Machines. 5:30pm I'm at the all-too-hip Cafe Abir at Fulton and Divisadero. (How hip is it? Not only is it in a neighborhood often referred to as the Goth Ghetto, it got a shout-out in Caitlín R. Kiernan's Murder of Angels. That's how hip.) It's part of my attempt to find new places to work, and without first going into the Sunset and trying to get my usual table at The Sea Biscuit, because if that was taken then I'd try Java Beach without much luck either, and maybe I'd go in search of a table elsewhere in town or maybe I'd just go straight home and put in my earplugs and put on my big Princess Leai headphones and make a big salad and futz about on my desktop computer without doing any writing at all, and...yeah. This way, I actually get stuff done, theoretically, and that's what it's all about, y'see. I will have Saturday afternoon, at least, since I don't have anything planned until going to The Dark Room for The Twilight Zone. (First one in a couple years that I haven't been involved on any level.) Ennui and I are hanging out on Sunday afternoon before Bad Movie Night, or at least that's the plan, and again on Monday night for Ask Dr. Hal, or at least that's the plan as well. Tuesday I have an appointment with my doctor, who called last week to let me know that my bloodwork came back fine, meaning my body is reacting fine to the hormones just like it has for last ten years (give or take six months), my cholestrol is where it should be, and I have no social diseases to speak of, neither from my increasingly infamous bad behavior with Jezebel at The Power Exchange a year and a half ago (i.e., making out with her after she'd just sucked more cocks than will fit in a breadbox, which for anyone else would qualify as Extreme Vanilla but for me seems to make me a public health risk in Babylon) or my more direct risky behavior with Ripley a few months ago (i.e. barebacking which wasn't strictly aural), the things I still think about and which tempt me to repeat past mistakes—but, no, 2007 was 2007, not 2008, and I'm not going there. Though I may be having dinner with Devi on Wednesday, and if not that night then soon thereafter. And whatever happens with her, if anything happens with her it'll be different this time. Presently, I was able to get a parking spot nearby and Phoebe's meter is paid up and they're open until eleven and the wifi is not free but close enough for jazz, and I got a table with an outlet and enough to room to spead out my bits of paperwork, especially the copy of my manuscript with Jessie marked up. I'd meant to work on while I was in Fresno, but I'm kinda stupid, so I forgot to bring it. Not quite as tragic as when I forgot to bring the acid on my senior trip to Disneyland, but annoying all the same. I really need to start working on the essay for Meliza's show in June, especially since I have only the vaguest idea what the piece will be about, but it feels nice to work on the book again. I really don't want to be one of those people who constantly says they're writing one but never have anything to show for it. Given the choice, I'd rather be one of those people who eventually produces one that sucks than not producing one at all. That's me, always reachin' for the stars. 9:26pm Better to be hoisted by my own petard than someone else's, I reckon. 10:08pm The current chapter titles, though there'll be at least half a dozen more when it's done, one of which will be between the current twenty-third and twenty-fourth chapters: 01) Infernal Cartography Kinda gives away the whole story, huh? | ||
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Wednesday, 2 April 2008 (shadows upon shadows) 3:31pm Or not, with the Panera thing. Instead, I spent a rare evening at home, mostly cleaning. My landlord wrote the other day to tell me that (among other things) the giraffe has been moved to the front of the house, and thus above the garage and not the Black Light District. On the negative side, they have houseguests (whose earthly possessions are currently filling the garage), so I kept my earplugs in and headphones on. Not quite ready to go aurally bareback yet. | ||
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Tuesday, 1 April 2008 (separate ways) 11:50am Ennui and I did go to Ask Dr. Hal last night. She got off work a few hours later than me (she's currently working at the house with a piece of Vash's art on the wall, because the City is that fracking small), so I hung out beforehand with Sadie (whose house also has a piece of Vash's art on the wall, because the City is that fracking small). We haven't seen each other much this year, partially because she was out of the country for the majority of March, and partially because we're just busy with our own stuff anyway. It was nice to catch up, though, and realize the eerie parallels in our lives right now. Of course, I suppose there are parallels in everyone's lives if you look close enough. I met up for dinner with Ennui at the We Be Sushi by 16th and Valencia, and then we headed to 12 Galaxies. The show went much better this time than last week, I'd daresay. No dumb drunk loud straight white men ruining the vibe this time around, and Ennui and I shared a table up front with Rhiannon and Puzzling Evidence. Jack was also there with a date, a girl who has a lot of extended family in Fresno, so her and I chatted a bit about that. I'm pushing thirty-five years old, but I can still get as petulant as someone thirty years my junior, such as my grumpy moment towards the end of the show. The way it works is that you include money with your question, and the more money you put in, the better the answer Hal gives you. And if Chicken particular likes your question, he pours you a shot of Fernet Branca. I haven't asked a Fernet-worthy question since the the first time I attended, with Vash back when everything was so different than it is now. Beginner's luck, most likely, though I've only attended the show a half-dozen times or so since then. Ennui and I are planning on going for the rest of the run together, through the end of April. Mondays seem to have become our night. Anyway, I had included a ten dollar bill with my question. Dr. Hal needs the money, I wasn't going to be boozing or spending money beyond the Black Russian which Ennui bought me (and, again, she bought it for me), and if that isn't putting one's money back into the community, I don't what is. Besides, I was rather proud of the question: how far do you have to go before you come back around again? Fernet-worthy, and it would give Hal plenty to work with. The evening wore on, Ennui's and Jack's and Rhiannon's questions were all answered, and Chicken (who doesn't read the questions in the order they're received) made a reference to a ten-dollar question he was saving for later. Towards the end of the show, I was beginning to wonder if my question has been dropped altogether. Man, that just would have made perfect sense for how my luck had been going lately. I griped that aloud as I was reclining back across a couple of chairs with my head on Ennui's chest, and Rhiannon accurately pointed out that my luck seemed to be holding up pretty well. And she wasn't wrong, of course. I felt especially jealous when a big to-do was made towards the end about someone else's question. I mean, it was a good question, no (ahem) question, but he got to take his chair on stage and in addition to a shot of Fernet he was given a hit of nitrous while Hal answered the question. It just felt so much like a climax to the show, I figured that was that, and indeed after his question, Chicken essentially started doing the credits, thanking people for coming and and so forth. I was feeling more than a little gypped, but I was (mostly) keeping it to myself, and I'd already decided not to confront Chicken about it after the show, instead settling for griping about it to the dozen or so people who read my online diary. And, of course, Ennui and Rhiannon at that moment. Just when it was looking like it was over for reals, when everyone had been thanked and such, Chicken announced that there was one last question he was saving for the end, one that he thought was the perfect way to close the show, and not just because of the sawbuck which had been included in the envelope. This punchline writes itself: it was my question. Chicken called me onstage, poured me a shot of Fernet, I drank with squid-flipping aplomb (really, what else is the newly multicolored squid for?), and even had sense enough not to try to walk back down the stairs from the stage, since they were oddly placed and the first step was, to coin a phrase, a doozy. I jumped down with sufficient panache, then resumed my place against Ennui as Hal answered the question in his particularly florid style, complete with mood under-lighting. Yay. After, Ennui and I returned to Cassandra. We'd considered returning to the Black Light District (which has a piece of Vash's art on the wall, because the City is that fracking small, and because it's still my favorite work of hers and will always grace my home), but her place made more logistical sense. On the drive, Ennui observed that what had happened is rather metaphorical for my life: I think I'm about to lose, I get grumpy, and then I end up winning after all. She's figured me out. 12:31pm So, yeah. The Fresno trip was good, I think. Perdita traveled well and adjusted to the new surroundings quickly enough. She never ventured very far from what I'm now pretty much thinking of as my bedroom (which is extra weird considering that it is exactly the same as the room in the house down the block which was my bedroom as a kid), and though I had a leash attached to her collar to make it easier to stop her should she bolt for the pet door on the far side of the house, she never showed any inclinations to escape, and I was even able to keep the bedroom door open most of the time. She's accustomed to small spaces—the Black Light District ain't exactly roomy—but I was anthropomorphizing all over her and didn't want her to feel too trapped. Aside from breakfast and dinner in the kitchen with my mom (who, as is her wont, insisted on feeding me), I spent most of the day at the table in the dining room. It's ergonomically perfect for me, nobody else uses it for anything accept the odd family gathering, and in a wonderful irony, we weren't supposed to be in there as kids. I mean, in the other dining room in the house down the block, but except for a bedroom the houses are pretty much identical. In any event, I rather like the idea of making that my occasional office-away-from-San Francisco. My main bit of productivity was getting the Breaking Up is Harder to Do essay finished and submitted. (I got a response the next day, the gist of which was "it needs work.") I did go on a mocha-and-dolma run during the day (my mom had bought me hummus, so naturally I had to get dolma from the Whole Foods in Fig Garden Village), and I was feeling antsy after dinner, so I headed out into the City. As I so often do in Fresno, I felt the need to play video games, and I wound up Oh Wow Nickel Arcade. A buck ninety-five admission, and the games range from free to three nickels. Most of the games are from the nineties, but still, you can't beat that price. (If Ennui ever comes to Fresno with me, that's definitely on the itinerary.) Always a sucker for the first-person model-gun shooting games, I spent most of my dollar's worth of nickels on Total Vice. When they closed at ten, I drove around town a bit. Somewhat inexplicably, I found myself lonesome for Vash. I mean, it's not that inexplicable, I miss her a lot, but for something about driving driving down Blackstone (strangely empty for a Friday night, which means the cruisers have relocated) made me pine for her all the more. No accounting for emotions, I guess. I walked around in the Tower District (The Cool Part of Town, don'tchaknow), a couple times past the motorcycle club which had descended upon the Starbucks, before finally heading back to my mom's. I managed to get a couple of hours of writing done before meeting my father for lunch. We went to the venerable El Toro Tambien, a restaurant which is only a few years younger than I am. It's one of the few things at the corner of Bullard and West which has been there for as long as I can remember, including the Me and Ed's just around the corner and the Baskin Robbins directly across the street, the one which had been the frequent nightly hangout for Conk and I in the Summer of '89. It didn't strike me until many years later that my mother had her suspicions about what someone a few years older like Conk was doing with a sixteen year-old like myself, especially considering that we occasionally spent the night together. The truth of the matter is, there was nothing romantic/sexual/molesty between us, nothing at all. Hadn't even occurred to me that such a thing might happen, and neither of us had any interest in the other. Indeed, Conk enjoyed straight pr0n, and seemed a tad embarrassed about being into it at all. We were mostly just doing 'shrooms on those nights. I think it was all of twice, and after that he started feeling guilty about that indulgence, including the pr0n and lustful feelings about girls in general. I've always wondered if that was part of what led to his eventual conversion to conservative xtianity, which in turn was what lead to our eventual falling out as friends. Not that there was one big thing. We just grew increasingly incompatible, especially since my atheism was already firmly in place at the time, and his fondness for the first Bush administration didn't help matters, either. He also gave me grief about, at various times, taking student loans and going on unemployment. He felt those were the equivalent of me going on welfare and taking money out of his pocket. Thanks, pal. We sorta kept in touch after I moved to San Francisco in '94, but after the time a couple years later on one of my infrequent visits with him in Fresno he gave me shit about the red streaks in my hair (you look like a monster!), I realized that we had nothing in common anymore. This was before I came out of the closet as transsexual. The one time we spoke on the phone after I started transitioning, I didn't mention anything about it. No point. Presently, my brother Jonco arrived shortly after I got back from lunch with dad, and that was pretty much it for my productivity that weekend, as I knew it would be. We hung out for the rest of the day, my mom making meatloaf for dinner to indulgent my nostalgic streak. Afterward, Jonco and I went to Veni Vidi Vici in the Tower District to meet with his wife and sister-in-law for drinks. (Jonco's wife is of course my sister-in-law, and I have no idea what title my sister-in-law's sister has in regards to me, if any. I also used to sometimes go to Veni Vidi Vici with Rox, my other future sister-in-law, after we'd close the Video Zone on weekend nights.) Good thing it wasn't the other old reliable, Livingstone's, as I'd long since forgotten how disappointing their Bloody Marys are. Veni Vidi Vici's were quite good, however, and we discussed all sorts of personal things, including how certain inscrutable elements of my personal life act as barriers to sympathy, and the psychological trauma of having to watch what you say around a sibling who's notorious for spilling other peoples' deep dark secrets on their goddamned online diary. Man, that must suck ass. My mom's boyfriend made breakfast the next morning, and I headed out shortly thereafter. It was actually a beautiful day for a drive across California—I took I-5 rather than 152 over Pacheco Pass, which was a nice change of pace—and Perdita settled in and slept much quicker the second time around. The whole trip resurrected a fantasy I've had for a while now, especially when coworkers would bring their dogs to work: bringing Perdita to the office. Keep her on the leash—and have the leash attached to something sturdy—with her sandbox and food and water within my reach, as well as my lap, and if she doesn't get too loud...well, anyway. That's another on a long list of pipe dreams. I got back into San Francisco mid-afternoon, in plenty of time to make it to The Dark Room for our big Bad Movie Night anniversary show, Red Dawn. Fourth time I've seen that movie in as many years, and it just gets worse and worse. Still, though, we've been doing this thing for a good while now, and I'd like to think that my stewardship helped keep it alive for most of this past year. Tonight, I'm probably going to the Panera near my office to work. Tomorrow Ilene and I are getting together to watch the second disc of Carnivale, and I'm hooking up with KrOB on Friday for Midnites for Maniacs at the Castro. What is this "gym" and "exercise" of which you speak? | ||
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