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Friday, 10 August 2007 (hand so small) 3:42pm Tonight's my final Queer Open Mic. Not the final Queer Open Mic altogether; just the last one I'm co-hosting. I was contacted this morning by a literary agent who saw my name in the lineup for Writers With Drinks. We corresponded for a bit and came to the conclusion that I'm not currently selling anything that she's buying, but that she'd like to see what comes next, and I should keep in touch. So I'm on a radar, which is a start.
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Thursday, 9 August 2007 (bombscare) 8:45pm Vash and I went to see Rimma's play last night. It's right off of Union Square, and we stopped in at the Westin St. Francis to piddle. (Unlike the last time we were there, for an audition we both failed, we did not have kitty ears. Bad planning, that.) As we were leaving, a very gay employee stopped us and said he thought I was someone else at first—specifically, Betsey Johnson the clothing designer. Apparently she was having dinner there that evening, and is huge (gee, thanks!) with a fashion sense very much like mine and big blonde hair. Actually, yeah, I can see the resemblance. Not holding my breath about her clothes fitting me, or even being in my price range. I know better.
Met with Jim this evening about the solo show. Discussed structure, themes, not flailing my arms, all that theatrical stuff.
If things happen at all, they happen once. Be grateful, and let it go.
Vash got her hair cut at Glama-rama! yesterday before the play, sitting beneath her art on display. (The one directly overhead was Sadie's ad, in fact.) I walked there from my office, deep in my own thoughts, feeling rather sad and melancholy as I often will when my brain goes in the wrong direction—or, more accurately, when my heart is refusing to move, wanting to stay in one place, wishing things went back to how they were before. The brain knows it doesn't work that way, but the rest of the organs, not so much. I was interrupted from this rather unpleasant reverie by a girl who was stepping out of the gate of an apartment building. She got my attention and said she was excited that I'm reading at Writers With Drinks this Saturday. I didn't recognize her, though she obviously recognized me. Still haven't quite gotten used to that. It didn't me feel any less sad; my careerism generally isn't linked to my overall happiness, which is probably a good thing. I hope it means that I can keep things in perspective.
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Wednesday, 8 August 2007 (the day that we lost our souls) 9:25am Vash and I went to the closing of Dr. Hal's art show at Chez Poulet last night, where we were rather unexpectedly joined by niece Shandon and expectedly (but belatedly) by Sadie. Left early, and I drove us back to the Black Light District, as per usual.
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Tuesday, 7 August 2007 (cue the strings) 11:12am When Vash and I got back to the my apartment on Saturday night and opened the front gate, a screeching child's voice descended from the upstairs: daddy!!! Then, a moment later, sounding disappointed: you're not daddy. Oy. I considered speculating loudly about where the kid's father might be (involving being on his knees in a certain underworld said to smell of brimstone), but settled for mumbling it to myself. Bad Movie Night on Sunday went well. The feature was Catwoman, one I've been wanting to do ever since the show began. (All in a good time.) I showed an episode of kittypr0n beforehand, one of its rare public exhibitions. Leyba was in the audience, and will be cohosting later this year. Jim and I talked for a bit afterward about my solo show in October, and will be discussing it more this Thursday. He's read most of the material and is enthusiastic about it, so that's a good start. When I got home, I was thankfully not greeted by that horrible voice. I did get an unexpected call from a much more pleasant voice on Monday morning: Vash called at six, asking if she could come over and use my shower. Seems she'd made it all the way from Wonderland to her gym in San Francisco before realizing that she'd forgotten her gym card. Been there myself, certainly, and I wouldn't have minded in any event. It felt like a bonus.
After work, I went to KrOB's Film Farm at Chez Poulet. I had work to do, but really wanted to see the show. I split the difference (sorta) by going to Divas afterwards and editing down the piece I'll be reading at Writers WIth Drinks on Saturday. As always, there was one guy who was really persistent, but I finally convinced him to shut the frack up and let me work. He settled for a steady leer. Everybody wins.
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Monday, 6 August 2007 (secret name) sometime after midnight Okay. I understand that if I'm sitting at the bar at Divas writing, I can expect lot of interruptions of the what are you writing? variety. I get that. But what's with asking me if I'm German? I mean, I'm technically half-Kraut, but does it show? And how can that possibly be a good thing?
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Sunday, 5 August 2007 (things we lost in the fire) 3:52pm I met up with Ennui in Nob Hill on Friday night around six. We had dinner at Ryoko's, a hip subterranean sushi joint. We each tried a kind of booze we didn't recognize on the menu, hers with lemon and mine with lime. From there we walked to the Phoenix Theater to see a preview of Servant of Two Masters, Rimma's current play. Say what you will about Starbucks: if it didn't exist, we may not have been able to find a mocha and/or a latte at half past ten on Friday night around Geary and Mason. Thus enabled, we drove to her place—her boyfriend's out of town—where the parking was simpler than I'd expected for that part of town. We geeked out for a while, poking through her copy of I am 8-Bit and Homestar Runner, which I wasn't especially familiar with before. After a while we retired to her bedroom, crashing around half past one, only the second night we've spent together in the few months that we've been dating. When we were making plans for the evening, she suggested that we should probably stay at the Black Light District, since the noise from the coffeehouse downstairs from her apartment can be even louder than the giraffe. Louder, perhaps, but I couldn't fathom that it could be worse, and I was right. I woke around half past seven, more because of the light streaming in through her white-gauzed windows, with ivy around the frames. She stirred as well and asked me if the sound had woken me up. Certainly there was noise from downstairs from both the coffeehouse and the street itself, but it wasn't bad at all, more like its own kind of ambience. It wasn't jagged and intrusive the way the running and crashing and screaming of the giraffe gets, breaking what is otherwise used to feel like pure solitude, in a long-forgotten time which I'm trying to put out of my mind now because it's gone, long since devoured by the Langoliers and never to return. Ennui went back to sleep, since like most healthy human beings, she requires a good nights' sleep to function. (It's among the reasons why most of our dates end with me dropping her back off at her place and going home alone, and that's okay.) My copy of The Deathly Hallows was in the trunk of my car, but hers was hard to miss on her bookshelf, and I've certainly been enjoying it. But being here now, in the moment, was more important. I can read the book, or any book, at most any time; there's no telling when I'd get to lay and sleep with her again. I cuddled up close and put an arm around her, and half-asleep she snuggled in closer. I couldn't see her face, but it felt like there was a smile. I dreamed, and I can't remember the last time my dreams were so pleasant, especially for going back to sleep after the sun has risen. Usually that invites the worst kinds of nightmares. Instead, they were downright idyllic, Ennui and I in some beautiful Midwestern Big Sky setting, a purplish sunrise/sunset, and none of my usual anxieties cropping up.. We both woke around half past ten and told each other of our dreams, with (like Zimmy said) no attempts to shovel a glimpse in to the ditch of what each one means. Large comfortable bed, muted sunlight, contentment, nothing so much since October '05, something else which is in the past and needs to stay there. I knew at the time to enjoy it as much as I could, to experience it as fully as possible, and I did, and there's little else to do but move on. I've known that since October '06. We met up with Sadie for a late brunch at Ti Couz, the already tall Sadie an in taller shoes, and Ennui naturally towering over most. So unusual to be with other girls and not see their roots. Afterward I dropped them off at Sadie's then returned to a blessedly quiet Black Light District and a lonely Perdita. After an hour or so I headed out again, back into the Mission on foot via Muni. I wound up in Dolores Park with my book, waiting for Vash to call after her art salon. She did so around a quarter past five, and joined me in the Park by half past. We'd talked before about going to the seven o'clock of Labyrinth at the Lumiere, but that was a low priority at best. We lay on the grass and watched clouds, hanging low and moving fast, appearing and rolling and disappearing as the Fog Monster crept in over Twin Peaks. It was a quarter to seven when we got vertical again, going to the Elbo Room for a drink (good Bloody Mary for six bucks), then El Mariachi's for dinner. After browsing for a while at Dog-Eared Books (I got Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72 for two-fifty) our secondary plan was to go to a show at Chez Poulet, but instead we went with the tertiary plan of simply returning to the Black Light District, Vash already dozing in the car before we got there. I was driving, thankfully. My dreams were not as pleasant this morning, back to their old mission of anxiety enhancement, and with classic tropes returning, including loss of identity and just being lost in general. Maybe I need to flip my mattress or something. The giraffes didn't get started until we were already up and around. Vash had a brunch date in Oakland at half past ten, and I decided to go to the IMAX 3D showing of Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix at that same time, so we were both out of the house by a quarter 'til. I'll probably be seeing her again on Tuesday for the closing of Dr. Hal's art show at Chez Poulet, or Wednesday for Rimma's play, or both, or neither. Never can tell. That's life, pretty much, and what are going to make of it?
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Saturday, 4 August 2007 (closer than that) 2:26pm Twenty hours with Ennui.
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Friday, 3 August 2007 (among the helmets) 9:22am I'm about halfway through Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Two comments: the line "Dawn seemed to follow midnight with indecent haste" justifies just about everything that's preceded it, and I'm going to start referring to my style of dancing as "getting rid of a Wrackspurt." 4:01pm better a pawn than a noncombatant.
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Thursday, 2 August 2007 (going to war) 3:31pm Having seen where Sister Edith and the others got shunted off to, I'm now quite certain I dodged a bullet. I won't get to stay here forever, of course—impermanence and all that—but I'm still grateful for it.
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Wednesday, 1 August 2007 (down the line and back) 9:56pm It was a close call, but I managed to talk myself out of going to the Ixmae Soundscape Performance Series last night, and the Marlena's article is mostly done. Not my most favoritest thing I've written, but it doesn't have to be. Perdita shares a lot of Mary's personality traits, which makes her an ideal companion for living alone. (Which I've been doing now for over two years. Wow.) One of my favorites is her tendency to follow me from room to room. Oscar and Mina were sometimes in the same room as Maddy or I and sometimes not, and with a place as small as odds are they would be at least half the time, but with Perdita, it's her thing. Wherever I am, so is she. That I've cleared off and started writing at the desk in the bedroom works nicely for her, since there's plenty of room for her to be on the desk near me without actually being in my way. (Not that she'd care if she was in my way.) However, I'm beginning to suspect that it's just a ploy, a means of lulling me into a false sense of security so she can attack and kill the pen on the desk when I get up and leave the room. She'll usually follow me if I don't come back into the room within a minute or two, but not until the threat has been neutralized. She's efficient like that. A pair of decent Sennheiser Princess Leia headphones has largely neutralized the giraffe noise. I can still tell when it's getting especially bad, though, since Perdita looks up at the ceiling in alarm. I don't like people who scare my cat.
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