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Thursday, 30 April 2009 (remembering the second wind) 2:11pm I'm faking it like nobody's business, so making it can't be too far behind. 8:26pm I wasn't quite as productive today as I would have liked. But that's what tomorrow's for. 9:14pm I did, however, edit "The Last Dog and Pony Show" down to 2,761 words. Joe informs me that I'll have more time than before—thirty minutes instead of twenty—so that oughta be just about right. sometime after midnight i'd be curious to hear that story, if you're willing to share it. Wow. It's been a long time since anyone's asked me to tell them things. | ||
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Wednesday, 29 April 2009 (perceptual defense) 7:42pm One of the things I love about my life—and, quite frankly, I wouldn't trade it for anyone else's—is that it gets weird at all the right moments. I spent most of the big tranny job fair today doing the volunteer thing in the third-floor computer lab, where people who hadn't properly registered for the fair (and they were legion) had to go to sign up before they could enter the fair proper. Mostly all I had to was point them to a computer and tell them to click "Register Here," though in some cases they needed a bit more guidance, and a few people didn't know how to use a mouse. (Culture shock!) It was a lot of fun, even if I was initially worried that I'd pull the short volunteer straw because I was so isolated from the actual recruiters, and part of the point of volunteering was so they could see me volunteering. Alas. I did make a good impression on the staff, though, and that's not a bad thing at all. Anyway, a reporter from the SF Weekly came into the lab, doing a story on the job fair. She got on a computer and went through the same registration process as everyone else. When she asked if she could take a picture of one of the volunteers, I automatically took off my glasses. It's all but a reflex when I think my picture might be taken. She interviewed me for a while, asking about my work history and what led me to the fair and what I'm looking for and all that, then asked if she could follow me when I actually made my rounds, which I hadn't done yet. Now, I'm the first to admit that I'd been kinda nervous about the actual process of going into the fair proper, because I'd been through so much preparation and there were so many little details that I was bound to frak up. Like any other kind of rehearsal, once you're on the stage, it becomes its own thing. It's never exactly how you envisioned it, and that's usually okay. But having a reporter following me around, taking notes and pictures as I talked to the recruiters? It was just too damned surreal for me to refuse. And I don't think it hurt my performance, really, especially since I knew that when I stepped away from any given table I'd be able to talk to her about what just happened: see, what i did wrong that time was... Indeed, my running commentary was nonstop between tables, and if she'd had a camcorder or even a tape recorder it would have golden. Alas. I have no idea how much I'll be in the eventual article, which necessarily will be less about me and more about the fair itself, but she did say she wants to keep in touch and do followups on my job search. I guess as far as getting the word out that I'm looking for work, having it covered in the pages of the Weekly isn't too shabby. She also seemed intrigued when I told her I'm a wirter, and that she'd let me know if there are any openings at the paper. Networking! 9:18pm The current draft of my June AIRspace piece, "The Last Dog and Pony Show," is 3,479 words. Gonna have to lose at least a thousand of those. | ||
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Tuesday, 28 April 2009 (half a page of scribbled lines) 10:37pm I had another meeting at the Jewish Vocational Services this morning, and spent much of the evening polishing up my resume for the job fair tomorrow. (But in the afternoon, I napped. Though I'm looking forward to being employed again, I'm going to miss my afternoon naps.) Man oh man, I cannot wait for it to be over with. Meanwhile, my first bit of primary casting for my June AIRspace piece just fell through. That's the biz, pretty much. | ||
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Monday, 27 April 2009 (by my side) 9:50pm I left Bad Movie Night early last night, because of both extreme disinterest in the movie (In the Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale) and the fact that I wasn't actually on mic, so there was no reason to stay. An early Sunday night once in a while is nice. I applied online today for a teller at Bank of America, because it's something I'm actually qualified to do. I then wrote the recruited guy that I'd met last week, who replied that he doesn't actually does do recruiting for those positions (though at the panel last week he mentioned that it was one of the few jobs there for which there are always openings), but that he'll give the appropriate person a head's up. So that's something. Poking around the Charles Schwab site I can't find a godsdamned thing I'm qualified to do, and the entry-level stuff seems to involve an at least temporary relocation out of state. Yeah, I'm nowhere near ready to do something like that. So, my big question for that recruiter when I see him at the actual job fair on Wednesday, when I'm all corporate-spiffied up in my newfound respectable clothing, will be whether the training stuff can be done locally. That's a question which means I've done my homework, which impresses them and tells me that I'm someone they want to keep on their radar. I think. I hope. This may all come to naught, and that's okay, because I'll be all right if it does. I've got quite a while to go before things get dire. And it'll be nice to not have this particular vector (job fair preparation) taking up so much of my brain space, because I have so many other things to work on. Sage, who wrote "We Women Fuck," called to say that filming the movie should be getting underway next week. When I worked out with Raphaela this evening, she told me that while her friends that came with her Perverts Put Out on Saturday all really enjoyed the show, one of them—her younger sister, to be precise—was kinda freaked out by the fact that there was a naked guy there. Yeah, I'd forgotten to mention that nudity is encouraged in the audience. What can I say? I haven't read there in five years, and little details tend to slip away. It's also getting to be time to start focusing on my piece for the June AIRspace show, which will be logistically tricky because it won't be just me on stage this time. Plus there's that thousand-words-or-so article I need to pound out soon. Plus finding a literary agent. (I'm keeping my fingers crossed about the agent I talked to last month, both for her sake and mine, but it would be foolish of me not to keep looking in the meantime.) And probably other things I'm forgetting, and things I'm not so much forgetting as consciously neglecting. (Like that one essay about my unintentional tendency to date past, present or future sex workers.) Not to mention I have a date this Saturday afternoon. We've been corresponding for a while on one of the hipster dating sites, and we seem to be clicking, and because San Francisco is comprised of about three dozen people we already have a lot of social overlaps and have traveled in many of the same circles, which is a hell of a timesaver in the "getting to know you" process. All I know thus far is that she's pretty and smart and funny and—this almost feels like a bonus—a writer. And I have no hopes or expectations, because those always mess me up. Calling it a date rather than a "quasi-date" is the most I'll allow myself. | ||
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Sunday, 26 April 2009 (an emergency) 8:31am Some of my dreams were about sleeping and dreaming. My brain is getting way too meta on me. 10:44am A quiet Sunday morning, with no noise to speak of aside from the collective Ballardian hum of my various electrical devices, the ticking of the clock on my living room wall, and the sound of Perdita crunching her food. It should have always been like this, and I'm grateful that it is now. 1:24pm The pantry this afternoon was sparse both socially and in terms of actual food. Neither Hal nor the local girl were there, and there wasn't much of a selection. I'm set for both tomatoes and tomato soup for the time being, though. | ||
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Saturday, 25 April 2009 (king harvest (has surely come)) 12:34pm I made it to the gym this morning for the first time since Monday. I don't like to go so long between workouts, but I did walk all over hell and back on Tuesday, so that's something. Walking back to my car, I ran into my former spin instructor Tyrol who (unsurprisingly) was on a bike. He demanded a hug, and reiterated his previous offer to be his guest in his spin class anytime I'd like. Such a sweet guy, and such a California moment, even if it felt a little more Los Angeles than San Francisco. Back home to get work done, and then Perverts Put out. 5:13pm And by "get work done," I course meant nap for a couple hours. 10:42pm Who rocked the house at Perverts Put Out? I rocked the house, aww yeah. (The other performers were great too, especially Horehound.) I read "Outlet" and "We Women Fuck," the latter being the poem I'm taking entirely too long to memorize for the short film of the same name. They aren't my words, but I wish they were, and when a woman came up to me afterward and said my performance made her choke up because her and her new girlfriend had indeed fucked for the first time that afternoon and my reading of the poem really nailed the experience, I counted that as a triumph. Raphaela was there, and she brought friends. Between that and running into Tyrol that morning, the amount of love of I've been getting from my trainers and gym instructors and such is, once again, so damned Californian. | ||
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Friday, 24 April 2009 (seeking reward in the ever after) 11:11pm No appointments or meetings or social obligations or performances today, which is a nice respite. Not that I wasn't busy, and I had a mission: pants. Haven't bought non-shiny pants in a long time, but Angie recommended I do so for the job fair and beyond. Simple black slacks. Much to my surprise, I was able to find a nice pinstripey pair at Ross which fit me quite well. (Several months of being a vegan gym bunny is paying off.) Combined with the tops that Angie gave me, they make me look downright respectable. And hireable. One hopes. I'm also going to volunteer at the job fair, which will demonstrate that I'm active and have initiative and stuff. | ||
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Thursday, 23 April 2009 (damp sheets caught in a violent wind) 5:18pm I had lunch with The First this afternoon, and in a couple hours I'm going to see Throbbing Gristle. I bought the tickets before I lost my job, and even at thirty bucks they were at the upper limit of what I'm willing to pay for a show when I'm employed. I did, however, buy an advance ticket for an IMAX screening of the new Star Trek movie in two weeks. Because it's Star Trek, and I've never stopped being a fan. So I sent the Bottomfeeder manuscript to an agent at the beginning of the month at their request, and they never acknowledged or responded. I've heard through the grapevine why: they fell ill. Like, very ill. That would explain it, huh? So, patience and good thoughts are required, and I have plenty of both. (I don't have any details, but I'm fairly certain it wasn't my book that made them sick along the lines of In the Mouth of Madness. If so, that's gonna make getting it published all the trickier.) Meanwhile, I got a new writing gig. It's fairly brief, around a thousand words, and it's unpaid, but it's good exposure. Plus, you know, networking. 6:37pm I'm in line outside the Throbbing Gristle show. (Huh. That's a sentence I never expected to say.) (And most people wouldn't want to.) 7:10pm Balcony seats! Win! 7:20pm I just realized that I've played this room—ironically enough, I read here in the TGSF Cotillion in 2007. I was not asked back for 2008 or 2009. 7:26pm The view from above. (It's still early.) 8:33pm Cosey's a hottie. There, I said it. 8:41pm Merch table? What merch table? If there is one, I'm certainly not going near it. Nosireebob, uh-uh, no way. I did get a Star Trek poster, though. I was standing in line outside, and a fellow came by distributing them, asking to take peoples' pictures as they held the poster to prove to his boss that he was doing his job. I was happy to oblige. 8:57pm Now that's a handsome crowd. I don't sense much crossover with the Nurse With Wound audience, though I'm sure there's a lot. 10:00pm It's always been my favorite track on TG Now, but damn, when performed live, "Almost Like This" is a breathtaking, gorgeous elegy. The show's obviously being recorded from every conceivable angle, so hopefully it'll be released. I wish Vash could be here with me. She really enjoyed RE~TG, and I know she'd enjoy this. But those were different times. 10:33pm A fantastic show, and I think I have a Missed Connection to post. | ||
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Wednesday, 22 April 2009 (around that track) 11:02pm This afternoon was a "Panel of Experts" workshop thingy for next week's job fair. There were only two recruiters, one from Charles Schwab and another from Bank of America, and maybe half a dozen of us in the audience. I was the only person sitting in the front row, so there was no way they didn't see me, and I also tended to ask questions more than anyone else and I volunteered to read my elevator pitch (who am I, what I've done, where I've done it, why they should hire me) and in general I totally killed. It doesn't mean I'm hired or will definitely be hired, and I still have a lot of work to do in preparation for the job fair itself and after, but I'm on the radar of some important recruiters, and that's a start. Afterward, I met with a girl named Angie who works for the Transgender Economic Empowerment Initiative (the organization putting on the job fair), a tranny who strikes me as a mirror-universe Jezebel. We practiced my pitch and interview skills, and her feedback was the same as the recruiters: good energy and personality, but I need to relax a bit and be more succint. Makes sense, as anyone who's seen me host a show knows how spazzy and verbose I can get. We also went into her cache of work clothes to find more professional-looking attire for me. Which feels really really really weird, but it's necessary, especially if I'm going to be trying to get into places like Charles freakin' Schwab. But, what the hell. I've worn all white on stage in at least three plays (Zippy the Pinhead, Meliza's Twilight Zone episode, and The Ten Commandments, so I can handle business casual. This is how the game is played. This evening, Johanna came over. She brought Indian food, we caught up, and we watched Poltergeist. It was nice. Next, I reckon, we'll watch Twilight Zone: The Movie. | ||
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Tuesday, 21 April 2009 (damaged goods) 10:11am Wow. That little workshoppy thing (which wasn't strictly at the dole office so much as the employment office) was far more useful than I expected it to be. I feel a lot better about the whole stupid situation. 11:43am My Vulcan blood is loving this weather. 12:31pm They're getting to know me at GreenCitizen. 1:52pm A Brit on the street just told me that I look like an English girl. I'm counting that as a win on several levels. The fact that I'm wearing my plaid skirt without any tights or stockings probably helps. 7:12pm And that's why after twenty years, I still hate calling girls to ask them out on dates. Or using the phone at all, really. So I finally called the local girl to see if she's interested in going to Perverts Put Out. Her phone rings, and I cross my fingers in hopes of getting voicemail, but she answers. I say: hi! it's sherilyn. A long pause—about five seconds, which is an eternity in phone time, especially when you're calling a girl for the first time—and she replies: Can you call back in about an hour? I'm eating. Of course. I interruped her. Naturally. And there wasn't any hi, sherilyn, I'd love to talk, but... or anything. Just i'm busy, and you interrupted me. I'll cop to the blindingly obvious fact that I'm neurotic about these things, but you know how you can tell from a person's tone as to whether or not they're happy to hear from you? There was no sense of yay, she called. So when I do call back, if I call back, I'm probably not going to ask her out on Saturday. I'm just not feeling it now. In Blink, Malcolm Gladwell describes it as "thin-slicing," being able to gauge important details from a very narrow period of experience. It's the gut, really, and my gut is telling me that this is going nowhere. At least now I know. | ||
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