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Tuesday, 29 February 2000 (we shall not accept your quarantine) 7:31am Cactus. Running water. I remember this. ohpleasenotagain 11:16am The Muni shuddered to a halt at Van Ness station this morning. The timing had a kind of cinematic irony, as we were already running late and were personally rushing towards an uncomfortable silence. We didn't speak much for the twenty or so minutes that the train sat motionless, both perhaps afraid of exacerbating the situation. Of saying some inadvertantly (or, worse, advertantly) hurtful, recognizing that familiar space where the next thing you saythat was just a dream, just a dream may be something you wish you hadn't. Charted territory, a cold comfort. So we got out and walked. As I was approaching my office, I encountered Brian, who was in the process of playing hooky from a company-wide meeting, one which I was aware of and had planned on giving a miss as well. I accompanied him on a coffee mission, then ventured into the mostly vacated office. I fully expected to see The Den Mother as the elevator doors opened, but alas, she was being the good soldier she is. Brian and I hid in his office and did something even scarier than going to the meeting: going over my performance evaluation. Today, they're done for good. I can't wait. It's a profoundly uncomfortable experience for me to read positive things about myself, and Brian's evaluationsay a prayer for every station, don't forget to ask for mercy of me was positively glowing. It's not false modesty—I have always had difficulty accepting praise. I know myself too well. I know my flaws, my weakness, the rot at the core. For anything positive about me, there's something else equally if not more negative. It's probably not a 1:1 ratio, either. I may be the only who recognizes it as such (or I may not), but I can't deny it's there. 195, it read last night. 190 this morning.
remember last time? remember the crash? you know what you need to do. you know there's only one way you can purge. 2:53pm As always, the simplest questions are the hardest to answer. 4:25pm This day, every four years? That's more than enough.
I should leave. This place doesn't want me anymore.
Something went wrong tonight, though. On the second to last shot, I bent my head back too far and they went down the wrong pipe. Or something. But my gag reflex almost kicked in, and I came very close to spitting them up. The sense of nausea was intense. It was as though my mouth was finally giving me an ultimatum: quit with the fucking beets, already. So what do I do? Still one shot left, and the diet calls for a full cup, this ain't about what I find palatable—and, damn, if my gag reflex hadn't kicked in before it sure did this time. It's a very good thing that A) I was standing next to the sink, and B) I'd done dishes earlier in the evening, because before I knew it there was a mouthful of half-chewed beets in the sink. A few moments passed before I was certain I wouldn't hurl the ones I'd already eaten. People actually eat these things for real? Like, not under coercion? What the fuck is wrong with this species? At least I'm having an easier time with the green beans, and I'm almost looking forward to the apple. (Almost.) I guess I'll need to psyche myself up for the next round o' beets on Thursday. Maybe I can make it half a cup rather than a cup...surely that couldn't hurt, could it? No, of course not.
Out tonight, or not? I don't know. Which way is up? I'm kinda
sketchy on that one, too. answer uncertain, check back later...
you won't return there, you know.
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Monday, 28 February 2000 (this is the law of the plague) 10:43am Um...no. No, I'm not going to comment on The X-Files from last night. I simply can't. 2:01pm My new modem (finally) arrived today. It's the second thing I've bought from eBay, the first being a used stereo receiver almost exactly a year ago. I still do not entirely trust the whole auction concept. I'm not sure why, I just don't.
So, tonight I'll get a decent connection. Or not. Could go either way. Meanwhile, Pac Bell
has postponed my DSL installation indefinitely. These things will happen.
So I'm scheduled to get zapped this Saturday. Except that Zaleska is going to be in town,
and as such a mission to Shrine is being planned. I haven't decided yet if getting zapped
in the morning means I can't go that night. Getting made up is of course completely out of the
question, but that doesn't mean I can't go. Might be fun for the shock value alone. "My God!
What happened to Sherilyn's face?"
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10:22am I fucking hate Sundays. There's only been one good Sunday, ever: 5 September 1999, when Madeline and I first said "I love you" to each other. Otherwise, they've all sucked. Badly. Nothing good can come of a Sunday. It's when all the evil and badness built up during the week comes spilling out. Nothing works. Nothing lasts. It's not supposed to.
No Shrine for me last night, although Dana wanted me to go. Probably not until week after next, assuming I get
zapped next Saturday. Then again, maybe not. Maybe never again. Sometimes you don't return
home. You can't
really tell with anything until it actually happens. Could this moment in time
have been predicted? Could any?
There is such a thing as "planned obsolescence." Objects, particularly those manufactured in America or by American companies, aren't supposed to last. It's bad business. They're supposed to break down or otherwise decrease in usefulness so you'll buy another one. (Gee, Windows 2000? Suppose it's accidental, all those bugs that are already being found?) Hell, I learned about this in my high school Economics class. Do all high schools offer Economics classes? I don't know. If they don't, they should. It's a disturbing thought, so it tends to be ignored or disbelieved. For the most part, we want to trust the people who make things for us. I don't remember how we got onto the topic, but on the day of the Hair Discussion (haven't bitched about that one for a long time, have I?), I was explaining the concept to my mother. She said that I was just "skewed." Of course.
Lest I forget that there are good things in the world (let us give thanks for the shallow and superficial things, sometimes all
we have to cling to in moments of duress), the dress of Paige's which I'll be
wearing for the show in April is absolutely gorgeous, hauntingly familiar, and
it fits damn well, too. That,
for me, was probably the weirdest part. I'd never imagined that something like that would
actually fit on me. Not on this body. This body which, as soon as I walked in the door,
Paige commented had lost weight since the last time she'd seen it. Indeed, the corset she'd
made specifically for me from Magenta's measurements (which I have no doubt were accurate at
the time) was a shade too big. Which, while meaning more work for Paige, is not a bad thing,
and as it is we're set for the show. Beets a-plenty until then. I'm at 190, and intend to
keep dropping. I want Pandora's comment to be more accurate than she realized.
Unfortunately, getting people who use frames to make their links leave the frames is often a bit like trying to get someone otherwise inclined to use a turn signal or not smoke in public: it's a grave, heinous insult, and a personal affront of the worst kind. So, to make sure that your page doesn't end up trapped in someone else's frames, add the following squirt o' javascript: <script language="JavaScript"> Just slap it in the <head> </head> tag, and voila. Free as a bird. Next lesson: Lynx Users Are People, Too.
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Saturday, 26 February 2000 (deliver me from mine enemies) 7:14am Y'know, there's something about the last-night's-makeup look that you just can't beat. It's simply sooooo goth. Damnit, I want Pandora to see me right NOW. 11:09am peace. solace. that's all i want. have i not earned it? what did i do wrong?
yeah yeah. listen to coltrane, derail your own train, well who hasn't been there before? hell, you practically live there. 3:05pm Tonight. Shrine. No. Oh, and my it now appears my printer may have croaked. It all has a very Occam's Razor-esque quality. The little things that get taken away because you had no real need for them to begin with.
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Friday, 25 February 2000 (forget it, it's a mystery) 9:37am He's back, and his palm is snottier than ever. (I enjoyed the peace while it lasted, I really did.) I heard that same sound on the train this morning, and based on the large number of people of similar racial extraction, I'm more convinced than ever that it's a cultural thing. Y'know what? I don't care if this makes me ethnocentric: it still grosses me out.
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Thursday, 24 February 2000 (where the fire is) 10:43am And, back up again. 12:35pm He's gone today. It makes me happy. That's wrong of me.
Really, though, don't I look thrilled?
In the long run, truth is always more valuable.
it gets to friday, i give you a call 6:52pm Nothing will ruin your confidence faster than realizing you forgot to get a cantaloupe. That'll probably slap the ten pounds right back on. 11:07pm My god, it fits. It actually works. And it's somehow familiar...like the last vestige of a dream you may have had before, the final shard as it shattered upon awakening...
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Wednesday, 23 February 2000 (time jesum transeuntum et non riverentum) 9:31am sfgoth has been down since yesterday afternoon. These things will happen, particularly with El Nino III raging outside. Or is it the Y2K bug? It's hard to tell. Still, what better way to hide than having the building collapse on you.
It was pouring down pretty hard last night. Yet, I still felt a twinge of desire to go
out. (Probably it would have been much more of a twinge had it not been raining.) After
all, the more traitorous part of my mind reasoned, Roderick's has a parking lot.
You wouldn't have to actually be in the rain too much. Alas.
Guess I'll be talking to myself for a while. Just like the good old days.
I wish I could.
Anyway, tonight's the easy night for me. Cauliflower, hot dogs
and bananas. What more could you want?
A date-raping linebacker who seems to be losing weight. I feel a little
different than I did before. Looking in the mirror this morning, my
shirt looked to be hanging a little looser. Or maybe I'm just seeing what
I want to see.
Looks like an old-fashioned late evening. Might not even get home in time for Voyager and Law & Order. Then again I might. Never can tell.
Tomorrow night, I'm going to Redwood City, where I'll be trying on the corset which
Paige made me for the fashion show. I'm feeling a peculiar combination of anticipation
and abject terror. Maybe not so peculiar, really, since those have been the dominant
emotions of this past year. All the same, this feels like a big huge step. And overdue
one, at that.
Christ almighty, when did I become this catty? What the hell happened? that feeling when your conscience is faced with something it may or may not be able to handle, a sense of guilt and criminality and recognition of evil within yourself like nothing ever experienced before, and the blood rushes to your head, or maybe away from your head, it's hard to tell, but you're dizzy, light headed, you lose feeling in your limbs, either the world is spinning around you or you're spinning inside yourself, like your entire sense of self has been completely knocked out of whack, you feel almost outside of yourself, falling in no particular direction, and the horrible realization is wrapping itself around your consciousness, undeniable, the only thought left in the world, you did it, you can't undo it, and this is way things are now forever, you must live with it
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Tuesday, 22 February 2000 (new no. 1) 10:45am So there it is. A year.
You'd think I could get the damn navigation right by now, but hey, you know?
"It's not like you'll melt." I've heard many variations on that expression used in regards
to people who for whatever reason don't want to go out into the rain, and I've never
understood what the hell it means. Melt? What melts in the rain? Maybe it's because I grew
up in a desert climate, I tend to associate melting with heat, not rain. But that's just me.
3:17pm Because when you speak, you're simply giving them somewhere to aim. 3:30pm Finally, a new Jack Chick tract. Blessed be! 4:14pm Paige called. It's time for the corset fitting.
Okay, yeah, I'm nervous. And not just because I'll be up there with Anodyne, though that's a lot of it.
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Monday, 21 February 2000 (not dark yet) 9:27am A three-day weekend. 9:53am Wow. AT commands. I remember those. Suddenly, I'm 13 again. No wonder my pants don't fit. [ba-BOOM!] 9:36pm Madeline and I indulged our movie jones something fierce this weekend. In addition to Galaxy Quest (a movie much better than it had any right to be) on Friday night, on Sunday we saw Rear Window at the Castro and Divine Trash, a documentary on John Waters, at the Roxie. I've always been a fan of Waters, as much for his writing and his pro-trash philosophy as for his movies, and Maddy's been happily initiating herself as well. Though it was dark and raining when we got out of Divine Trash, we ventured out to Le Video and left with Bride of Chucky, Strangeland and Scream. I guess it goes without saying that we were indulging ourselves, but it's like this: Bride of Chucky was long since overdue since Maddy's doll will be arriving any day and we haven't seen the film, Strangeland was pure curiosity value and Scream was Maddy's attempt to get back into slasher films after roughly a decade of safe distance from the genre. Word of warning: Strangeland's horrible awfulness must be seen to be believed. The full title of the film is actually Dee Snider's Strangeland, which may or may not tell you anything. For me, it increases the sense of disappointment, since I was expecting better things from him. (If you don't know who he is, I'm not telling.) It's one of those rare films where you can tell it's bad while you're watching it, but the true extent of the putrosity only really sinks in upon reflection. Anyway, the Scream experiment proved successful. We watched it this afternoon, and realized that we needed to watch Scream 2. So we could then go see Scream 3 in the very near future, you understand. We headed back out to Le Video. After we parked and were walking towards the store, I realized I'd made a horrible mistake: I hadn't put on any eyeliner. At the very least I'd put on my latest vain accessory, the crayon-red hair chunk which I'd bought at Sally Beauty Supply in Alameda while on a quest for black lipstick (Zaleska had suggested the store), but still. So I stopped at the first convenient doorway, unsheathed my mirror and pencil, and went to work. A somewhat crude job, yet an improvement. Never know who I might see in there. I was unshaven, however. Haven't shaved since last Tuesday. What hair had been growing since then was blond, though, and practically invisible. It's similar to what I imagine the phantom limb sensation described by amputees must be like: looking in the mirror I don't see hair, but I sure as heck feel it when rubbing my face. I'm shaving tomorrow morning, certainly, but at the moment I was in full scruff mode. We entered the store and proceeded directly to the DVD section on the second floor. As it often will, fortune favored the foolish and we were able to get a copy. And, wouldn't you know it, there was Pandora, not looking a bit different than I've ever seen her, still 24/7 GAF. Granted, the t-shirt was new, but otherwise she was just like she'd always been. We exchanged polite greetings as she walked past us and downstairs. She was behind the counter as were renting the movie, though she wasn't actually our clerk. No doubt aware of the certain level of intimidation I've always felt around Pandora and perhaps even moreso now that the level of influence she's had on me stylistically has become evident, Maddy whispered into my ear, "Much cuter." As in, I'm much more than Pandora. I don't know about that, though I'll admit I've come a long way since the semi-infamous picture of Pandora and I from June '97. Which may have something to do with Pandora's comment as Maddy and I were walking around the counter to pick up the movie: "Better be careful, Jeff. You're losing so much weight, you're practically wasting away." Of course, the compliment immediately went through my reality filter and it struck me that I've put on at least fifteen pounds since when she last saw me at Roderick's. Aloud, I replied, "I knew there as a reason I kept coming back here! For the self-esteem!" Truthfully, I was in fact rather touched by her saying that. Doesn't mean that tomorrow isn't Day One yet again, though... Time and distance are out of place here.
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