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But, hey, who needs gainful employment? The kittypr0n episode guide has been updated and relocated, and a new page of screenshots had been added. That's just as good. While doing some running around downtown tonight, I was feeling terribly happy being in my adopted City. It's dirty, overcrowded and stinky, filled with phony, mean people who aren't very nice at all, and familywise it not at all like Centerville. All these things I have been told, so I suppose they must be true. But I love it just the same. One of the saddest truths is that art doesn't save. Nothing does.
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The Boredoms' Super Roots Vol. 5 on repeat: sometimes Japanese noise bands make life worth living. I'd like to think that in sixty years (if not sooner), September 11 will mean as much to the public as December 7 does now.
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I'm well enough to go to the KFJC Psychotronix Film Festival tonight. Though Maddy won't be accompanying me (boredom fear), I'll be meeting up with Ump. Aside from the fact that I don't see him very often, it'll be nice to have him there so if the guy who glommed onto me at Beyond the Pale (and said he'd recognized me from last year's Psychotronix) is there, he'll keep his distance.
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I'm not sure what makes me the most resentful of the fact that I'm coming down with a cold: if it's because I had one a couple months ago (my head was all kinds of swimmy the night I worked the lobby of Jennifer's play), or because I've got a decent gym momentum happening, and I'm afraid that if I stop going for even a day or two I'll run out of the proverbial steam. Feh. Even though Maddy wasn't able to come with me to the editing appointment yesterday, I wasn't alone. Yana, producer of YTV (formerly known as S*P*L*E*E*N, the show we'd wanted kittypr0n to follow, but unfortunately does not, and I'll reserve comment about the show we ended up following) was at the station to drop off a tape, and evidently having nothing better to do for three hours, she joined me in the editing suite. She'd never actually seen the show, and all I was doing was rerecording the music for a few of the episodes, so we had plenty of time to talk. It was nice. Yana left afterwards, though I stayed to use one of the dubbing stations, and was pleasantly surprised when Shrike appeared. It wasn't a complete surprise, as we'd had unconfirmed plans for her to come by to get some tapes from me, but since the plans weren't confirmed I unfortunately didn't have the tapes. She, however, had a stretchy rubber lizard for me, which was much cooler than anything I could have given her. Meanwhile, a staff member at a public access station in Portland, Oregon has asked if we'd be interested in having them show kittypr0n. Now, we believe public access should being a local thing and reflect where it was made, even if you never actually see the city in question. She doesn't go outside, but Queen Bee TV has a very San Francisco feel, and I'd like to think ours does, too. What's more, some homegrown shows have been displaced by L.A. imports, and maybe this sounds like the xenophobia/chauvinism for which us Bay Aryans are renowned, but it bugs me a lot. The point is, we'd long since decided against trying to export it. This is not to say we don't want to it seen outside the City at all, as we've sent tapes outside the 415 area code, and we're happy to hear that both The Ex and Charlie have been distributing it to people in parts unknown. (The Ex says it's the only tape they carry around which isn't produced by Joss Whedon. Very flattering, since Buffy and Angel are the only commercial shows we watch.) In fact, the final credit screen includes the words "keep circulating the tapes," both an obscure Mystery Science Theater 3000 reference and our genuine feelings on the matter—we like the idea of people sharing the show. In this case, it's wholly an issue of us taking up space on another city's schedule which could be filled by a local producer. On the other hand, we're being invited by the station itself, which seems different. Maybe they have lots of open slots, unlike Access SF, which is bursting at the seams. Maybe it wouldn't be an affront to our against our oh-so-sacred neo-punk principles. It's a toughie.
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Because Safeway wants you to have a nutritous breakfast.
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So I checked sfgate's traffic page yesterday before going to K'vetch: San francisco 49er game is now over.... With a victory for the 49ers 31-24... traffic is slow on northbound 101 from cesar chavez to the lower deck of the bay bridge. Is it just me, or are those first two bits of information completely irrelevant? Okay, maybe the bit about the game letting out is useful—it's good to avoid football fans at all costs, particularly on the road after they've been boozing it up—but the score? I wonder if they'd have mentioned it if the team lost. Probably not. K'vetch was a lot of fun, and the new piece seemed to go over well. Maddy said it did, anyway. I'm not always sure. Even when I stumble, though, I couldn't ask for a better group of people in front of which to do it. Tara introduced me as "our good friend Sherilyn." Daaaw. Lynnee was out of town on her semi-perpetual book tour—though I was wearing his Godspeed t-shirt, the only t-shirt I've worn out of the house in over a year—and someone asked if I was filling in for her. They probably got that idea because I was circulating the signup sheet, but still, I was touched that anyone would even entertain such a notion. This morning I saw my endoc in San Jose. Evidently I'm healthy; as she put it, I'm "going to live forever." Boy, I really hope not. That would suck. Anyway, my numbers are all where they should be. She's taking me off the provera, since it seems to have done it's job in all but ending testosterone production. (It was hard not to laugh when she used the phrase "suppressing the gonads," though. I mean, come on! "Suppressing the gonads!" It's funny!) I'm remaining on the premarin, and probably will until I die. Did you know premarin comes from the urine of pregnant (and mistreated) horses, as reflected in the name? I do. How's that for an ethical dilemma? Healthy or not (and she said my weight is just fine, though I beg to differ), I've been on a relatively high level of hormones for four years, and that's a long time. I need to start thinking in terms of getting at least an orchiectomy in the relatively near future. (For those unfamiliar with medical euphemisms, it means removing the testes. Y'know, castration. Which has pretty much already been done chemically.) Among other things, it'll allow me to drastically reduce my premarin dosage, which would be a good thing. The problem, as always, is the cost. The procedure itself only costs a grand, but when you add in all the extras of our for-profit medical system, the cost triples. Not so good, particularly given my employment situation. I'm in no immediate danger (my endoc implied that I take better care of myself than most of her patients, which is a sad thought), but that staying at this level is increasing my chances of breast cancer down the line. Getting breast cancer is one those ironies which is almost too dark to contemplate. But contemplate it I must. kittypr0n #10 is on tonight, and we'll finish #11 in the studio tomorrow. This has been either the longest or shortest year of my life. Probably both.
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Figures that after going to bed at four in the morning, I'd convince myself to get up again at eight and go to the gym. On a Sunday, no less. Kinda like the old days. The tightness of my waistband must really be getting to me. It wasn't as busy as I was expecting—the post-Thanksgiving rush will probably begin tomorrow—although instead of the usual moron-rock station the employee had the stereo on the "party" station, which must be what the kids are into these days. I can't decide if it's worse or not; at least I don't recognize most of the songs, which makes them easier to tune out. (The earplugs under the headphones help.) What I heard of the cover of Bryan Adams' "Heaven" was quite painful, though. The net result is that I've been tired all day long and haven't had a decent chance to nap. I guess I'll be hitting the Penguin Mints hard before K'vetch tonight. It doesn't help that I'm not especially thrilled with the new piece I'm going to read. It has some nice moments, but it feels kinda repetitive, like I'm already repeating old themes and structures. The wheel must be constantly improved upon, dammit.
11:45pm K'vetch. It is so my place.
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