Dorothy Allison, Shane Allison, Charlie Anders, Antler, M.J. Arcangelini, Josh Aterovis and Jon Andrews, Cheryl B., Bruce Bawer, Kevin Bentley, S. Bear Bergman, Steve Berman, Chane Binderup, Jay Blotcher, Keith O. Boykin, Christopher Bram, Tala Brandeis, Michael Bronski, Victoria A. Brownworth, Cynthia Burack and Laree Martin, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Patrick Califia, Anne Campbell, Dale Carpenter, Margaret Cho, David Christensen, Cheryl Clarke, Matthew A. Coles, Sherilyn Connelly, Dana Cory, Wayne Courtois, Dani Couture, Jameson Currier, David Cutler and Mark Ewert, Sven Davisson, Robbie Daw, Christian de la Huerta, Maggie Dolan, Neal Drinnan, Lisa Duggan, Dean Durber, Amie M. Evans, Douglas Ferguson, Steven Finch, Gay Shame San Francisco, Jim Gladstone, Thomas Glave, Robert Glück, Daphne Gottlieb, Steve Greenberg, Aaron Hamburger, Brent Hartinger, Kristie Helms, Kris Hill and Karen Stogdill, Thea Hillman, Walter Holland, Michael Huxley, Debra Hyde, Francisco Ibáñez-Carrasco, Rik Isensee, Aaron Jason, Matt Kailey, Davina Kotulski, Gil Kudrin, Greg M. Lanza, Daniel W.K. Lee, Sharon "Vinnie" Levin, Ali Liebegott and Anna Joy Springer, Michael T. Luongo, Jason Mahanes, Jeff Mann, Meredith Maran, Janet Mason, David McConnell, Mike McGinty, Skian McGuire, Mara McWilliams, Tommi Avicolli Mecca, Sean Meriwether, Marshall Miller and Dorian Solot, Tim Miller, John Mitzel, Marshall Moore, Eileen Myles, Lesléa Newman, Geoff Parkes, Christopher Penczak, Elissa G. Perry, Felice Picano, Jeff Poniewaz, Jim Provenzano, Andy Quan, Carol Queen, Jonathan Rauch, Alan Reade, Shar Rednour, Rick R. Reed and Nicholas Reed, Alexander Renault, Eric Rofes, David Rosen, Rob Rosen, Roxxie Rosen, Richard J. Rosendall, Michael Rowe, Lawrence Schimel, Sarah Schulman, D. Travers Scott, Will Shank, Simon Sheppard, Bob Smith, Horehound Stillpoint, Meg Stone, Jackie Strano, Ron Suresha, Steve Swayne, Mattilda a.k.a. Matt Bernstein Sycamore, zak szymanski, Cecilia Tan, Tristan Taormino, Robert Taylor, Richard Tayson, Dylan Vade, Jim Van Buskirk, Jennifer Vanasco, Carmen Vazquez, Kai Venice, Norah Vincent, Jeff Walsh, Patricia Nell Warren, Tom Wilson Weinberg, Judy Wieder, Robert Williams, Evan Wolfson, and Andrew Wolter.

Nope. Just my paycheck, one of the last halfway decent ones I'll be getting for a while. Actually, it's three-quarters decent, with full vacation pay from my week on tour and missing a few days from my subsequent first short week. I'm still getting the full commute money, an oversight which hopefully will not be corrected anytime soon. Cushions the blow, a little.

One of my few regular tasks at work has been taken taken over by another coworker, someone much more mercenary than myself. With each day I become increasingly extraneous. Not just at work, either.

12:05pm

Whee! Two weeks' severance!

3:51pm

So, yeah. I'm officially unemployed. It was obviously going to happen, and in a lot of ways it's a relief. My reaction was considerably different than when I lost my CNET job. It's scary, sure, but at least I'm done with the place. I wasn't feeling at home there anymore. I'm not feeling at home in very many places at all these days. Many of my world's threads are unraveling. That's what they do.

This also means I should probably dye my hair black again, a considerably more marketable color than purple. Feh. I mean, I like how it looks when it's black, but...

11:47pm

Maddy's home.

Adding to that nostalgia was KUSF, which greeted me with German techno music, all fast and thumpy and raaaaaaar! It was like something I would have heard upon walking into Shrine so very long ago. Radio Goethe, the show is called—how much more perfect can it get? None. None more perfect.

I kept my distance from The Dark Room at first, since the show before Lynnee's wasn't over yet. A writing salon hosted by Monique, I knew I was welcome, but a voice in the back of my head (there's nothing in there but ghosts. why do you want to rile them?) was telling me to stay away. When that voice tells me not to approach a door, I don't. Not if I have a choice, anyway.

When I finally went inside (see? ghosts), I made my way straight through to the backyard. Chicken was there, all cross-eyed and unaffected by the human absurdity around him. Ty appeared a few minutes later, not at all cross-eyed. I told her I was feeling unusally aggro, buzzing with energy which had nowhere to go, feeling the need to tear something apart, really wanting to fuck shit up but unable to identify the shit, never mind having the first clue how to fuck it up.

Do You Want To Hit Me? she asked. really? Totally. Ty steadied herself. Right Here, she said, tapping a spot between and slightly above her breasts. okay, I replied, assured of her consent and rapidly warming to the idea. We'd discussed the possibility of something like this a few months back, but it never happened, mostly for timing reasons. This moment, however—the backyard of The Dark Room, between shows, literally in the dark because neither of us had bothered to turn on the lights...the time was now.

Arm back—clench fist—shift weight on feet to faciliate stepping into the punch—thrust arm forward—bam!—pull arm back immediately—unclench fist—

Ty staggered backwards a step. Oh, Yeah! she said. That Was Great! She steadied herself and tapped a slightly different spot. Again! So I hit her again. Oh, Man! Did You Hear That Popping Sound? i replied, i think it's because i pull my arm back as soon as i make contact so it won't hurt as much. i've left more than a few mild dents in the walls of the restroom at work, among other places. but i've never hit someone else before. Ty was bouncing up and down, in that charmingly spazzy way she has when she's really enthusiastic about something. Do It Again, Right Here!

(Did I ever mention that Ty recently taught me how to draw blood? Wow. How weird is that?)

As I mentioned, we were in the dark. There was ambient light from the surrounding buildings, and little else. Visually focusing on where I was actually hitting was problematic at best, so I was mostly guessing. I missed the third time, hitting the lower half of her right breast. oh, god, i'm so sorry— (I was reminded of the first punch thrown in Fight Club: "Motherfucker! You hit me in the ear!" I then marveled at the fact that it took me this long to make the connection.) No, That's Okay. Didn't Feel So Bad, Really. Try Again. I was feeling very cautious now, and it showed. Come On, You Can Hit Harder Than That. The fifth was right on target, and of a more than acceptable strength.

Ty turned and told me to hit her upper right arm, a few inches below her shoulder. I landed a few there, as well as the other arm. Although the arms aren't as satisfying a place to hit as the chest—a primal, hardwired knowledge of the vital organs?—I at least didn't have to worry about hurting her (in a bad way) as much if I missed.

Feeling Better? she asked. I shook out my hand, aching from Newtonian backlash, and thought about it. yeah. yeah, i think so. thank you. Oh My God, Are You Kidding Me? Thank You. We Should Probably Go Inside, Though. The Show's Starting Soon.

Lynnee's show was great, as it had been every other night. He's pretty consistent like that.

Monique, who had left after her salon was over, returned to see Lynnee. Afterwards, she suggested we go to Sacrifice Bender's to see Chupa. We'd been considering going to the Lex, but trading a dyke bar for a straight bar was a pretty good deal when Chupa came with it. Bender's has a better jukebox, too.

Used to, anyway. Chupa warned me that the selection kinda sucked now. It Doesn't Even Have Your Song Anymore. Sad but true: no more Mermaid Avenue Vol. I by Billy Bragg and Wilco, meaning no more "California Stars." Pretty harsh. Most of the new stuff was rather disappointing. Well, I didn't recognize the majority of it, thus it was disappointing. It did include Neil Young's Comes a Time, of all things, so I was able to mellow the harsh with "Look Out for My Love." Chupa and I also sang and danced together to "Bonzo Goes to Bitburg," my oft-stated favorite Ramones track. It Figures You Would Choose Their One Political Song.

As Chupa closed Bender's, Lynnee, Monique and I tried to decide what to do with ourselves. Monique was schnookered and Lynnee was tired, but I wanted to keep going going going, and they were both game. Besides, I didn't have to work the next day, and if the lack of voicemail was any indication, Maddy wasn't trying to get in touch with me. (If she had been, I probably would have gone home much earlier.) There's only one option when the bars have closed and you don't want to go home. Okay, that's not true at all. Anyway, I got the idea to go to Sam Wo's, but neither Lynnee nor Monique had any idea where it was. So, we went to Bagdad Cafe. Their prices have gone up (no doubt to pay for the snazzy new menus), and they no longer have the veggie and rice dishes. Please make a note of it.

Home by four, asleep by half past four, awake again by seven.

5:02pm

Back. It went well. He only took about seven pictures, which greatly decreases the chances of me actually liking one, but I guess we'll see.

Five o'clock on Sunday: the most depressing time of the week, especially when you haven't been at school/work for a while. It might as well be any other night of the week.

Maddy returns tomorrow night.

11:30pm

I think the title of Fiona Apple's brilliant second album says it best: When the pawn hits the conflicts he thinks like a king what he knows throws the blows when he goes to the fight and he'll win the whole thing 'fore he enters the ring there's no body to batter when your mind is your might so when you go solo, you hold your own hand and remember that depth is the greatest of heights and if you know where you stand, then you know where to land and if you fall it won't matter, 'cuz you'll know that you're right.

Pretty much, yeah.

On the way back, I stopped by Other Avenues. The cute little dyke with crayon-red hair said that she went to Zippy on the Friday when I was out of town, and really liked it. (That night, for the record, was when Lynnee and I were taking the "scenic" route from San Diego to San Francisco. I was not in San Diego that night. Never said I was. Just so we're clear on that point.) She even said she might try to come back to see it again during the extended run. Meanwhile, the cute little non-dyke with the natural blond hair and radiant smile said that when she's ordering produce for the store, she tries to get Sharlyn Melons because of the similar name. It was exactly the sort of thing I needed to hear at that moment. There were still ghosts about.

Friday was the final night of Lynnee's show. The final night booked of the initial run, anyway. The packed house enjoyed it muchly. I missed the first ten minutes or so because I was on an emergency mission to find a blank miniDV tape for his camcorder. The Walgreen's at 16th and Mission was out of them, so I gave up my cherry parking spot out front and drove to the Safeway at 16th and Bryant. Once I managed to get an employee to point out the shelf with the videotapes (in the middle of the frozen foods section) (seriously), I discovered they were out as well. If you drive in one direction long enough in this town you will hit a Walgreen's, so I found my way to the one at 24th and Potrero. Closed at ten. Swine. The one at 23rd and Mission was still open, and had one (1) tape left. See the things I do for him? Sheesh. I don't mind, though. Makes me feel useful. He also thanked me from the stage and the end of the show, and also gave me a cut of the door for all my work. I wouldn't take it at first. Then I remembered that I'm three-fifths unemployed. Right, that. Besides, there really isn't anything wrong with getting compensated for one's effort. Honest, there isn't.

I wore pigtails that night. I don't do it very often, but it was what my mood demanded. A few people were surprised. My appearance tends to get in more of a rut than I realize, I suppose. Sometimes I toss around the idea of getting a bottle of the Manic Panic foundation I frequently wore in '99-00. If you knew me then, you may recall that you hated how it looked on me. I'm curious what the effect would be, seeing as how I actually resemble a girl. Maybe that would make a difference.

I also met Cindy, who's organizing a new queer open mic at The Center. Shar and Jackie are going to be featuring, as is Lynnee. Although she's seen me read and wanted to ask me to feature, we'd never actually met, and she was afraid it would be weird and uncomfortable for me to receive an invitation to perform by someone I've never met. I told her that the opposite it was true—it would have been exactly what I needed, given my mood lately. But getting asked in person is really nice, too.

My plan for today was to buckle down and get some writing done. Unfortunately, I lost track of my glasses, and spent the better part of the morning and early afternoon looking for them. It's not that I can't write without them—I don't wear them when writing, in fact—but not having them handy is a bad thing, I was too preoccupied to do anything else. As a result, the apartment is now a lot tidier than before.

I'd actually been cleaning house for the last few days, taking advantage of the fact that I could leave the house in mid-rearrangement disarray overnight if need be. The desire to find my glasses sped things up considerably. (Some people would use the opportunity of having the place to themselves by really cutting loose. Me? I clean. What is my damage, anyway?) Naturally, when I finally found them, they were right under my nose. They kinda had to be.

While cleaning, I watched/listened to Twin Peaks Fire Walk With Me, which I haven't seen since at least the late nineties. I've always loved the movie for its visuals and sounds and storytelling—I consider it to be the first of the modern Lynch films, a direct precursor to Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive—but I'd forgotten how powerful it is. This is the first time I've watched it since transitioning, so I'm looking at it from a considerably different point of view. I'd never really identified with Laura Palmer before now, even if (let's face it) I'm much more of a Donna Hayward type. I knew what was going to happen and how every frame was going to look, but I was still teary by the end.

Because it's a prequel which references elements of both seasons of the show, Maddy hasn't seen it; we've been waiting for the second season of Twin Peaks to hit DVD. It's looking more and more like it's never going to be released, and at this point, not watching the movie with her almost feels like teasing. The movie really isn't about picking out how many details are references to the series. (oh, so that's the sam to whom cooper is referring! no wonder he specifically asked for albert!) Even I don't understand everything that happens. A lot of it isn't meant to be understood. That's kinda the point, I think.

Naturally, I can't help thinking about the possibility of translating it to the stage. That happens a lot with movies most people find difficult or confusing. (As if Crash wouldn't be tough enough.) In truth, I don't care who actually does adapts or directs. I just want to be Laura.

4:18pm

my only regret? allowing comments. shoulda known better.

5:54pm

Wanna know one of things I love about my City? The Library. Best buncha stacks since the Alexandria branch's lease expired. I looked at the credits of Fire Walk With Me to identify the music used in Laura's death scene, which is not included on the soundtrack, then checked the library's website. They have it. The exact recording, in fact. See? How could I possibly live anywhere else?