That is all.

10:25pm

Never did read much Hunter S. Thompson, aside from the required Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. (The title of one of my better stories is a rip, in fact.) My oldest brother was always a big fan, and even gave me a book whose name escapes me, but I couldn't really get into it. That said, I never have forgiven the asshole writer of this article for invoking Thompson to justify his castration anxiety. Oh well. Not that any of it matters now. Didn't matter before, either. Whether or not he's a coward is for wiser minds to decide. No, you don't qualify, either. And don't let's get started on the drug aspect, hmm?

They discussed the stresses (mostly but not entirely the opening of the relationship) which have been taking our union to the edge and back so often. Sometimes it's like a cartoon character, racing off the edge of a cliff only to screech to a halt in midair upon realizing where they are, then turning and scrambling back to the face of the cliff. Of course, in cartoons they usually do fall, while thus far we've been able to avoid succumbing to gravity. So maybe that isn't the best example.

Meanwhile, I went on a library run, getting Bitch: In Prase of Difficult Women by Elizabeth Wurtzel and Woman: The Incredible Life of Yoko Ono. Both are books which I'd recently decided I simply must read. Perhaps I'm looking for inspiration in my own life, guidance from those who've come before, women who didn't do what was expected of them, who followed their own path in spite of the scorn and even virulent hatred heaped upon them. I can only hope I have even a fraction of their courage.

Toward the end of my Monologue, I proclaimed that i want to be yoko ono crossed with courtney love, to bear the sins of humanity, to take the blame for the weaknesses of men, to go too far because someone has to. It's hard not to suspect that I'm one of the few trannies who would openly list those two as role models.

Speaking of that recent big show, Lynnee says a pal of his was able to get a decent digital video of our sets, and that we should be able to put clips online soon. Neat. I'm as curious to see it as anyone.

Got an email from Danielle's roommate, who I pinged a while back about her. Seems she's alive and well, just quiet. As is her wont sometimes.

The campus show draws largely from Ensler’s monologues, in which she plays a range of women speaking candidly about their sexuality, but adds local references, speeches from transsexuals and topics like intersexuality.

<snip> <sorry, Kate>

Three transsexual performers brought up personal issues relating to both sexes.

“People always ask me if I’m a woman or a man,” performer Lynne Breedlove said onstage. “I say, ‘What are you asking me for? Do I look like I fucking know?’”

And, while I'm glad they printed the profanity, it's spelled either "Lynn" or "Lynnee," not "Lynne." But pick pick, and they probably got it out of the program. I'm perhaps more sensitive to these things than I should be, and it happens all the freakin' time. I can relate. Of course, it hasn't been happening to me for fifteen yearslike it has been to him, but, well, give me another dozen years or so.

Meanwhile, here's a not-at-all-bad picture of Kara, Lynnee and myself, taken by director Tiffany Hsu. That's my spooky skeleton-gloved hand you see creeping around Lynnee's side. I was constantly amazed that nobody ever asked me to, you know, not wear it.

9:12pm

immovable object, meet unstoppable force. unstoppable force, this is immovable object. i'm sure the two of you will get along just fine.

9:41pm

Naturally, it isn't until the breakup announcement I wrote for the Tribe 8 website starts getting reposted elsewhere that I notice the typos and generally poor grammar. Makes perfect sense.

Meanwhile, I've been invited to be a "guest cook" at Heather Gold's show in March. Sweet. I must get pecan-chopping lessons from Lynnee before then.

It was also the first time I got to see the entire show. Lynnee, Kara and I appeared towards the end of the second and final act, and the producers tended to prefer us second-acters to stay out of the theater during the first act. In a lot of way, it's just as well I hadn't seen the rest of it. I was intimidated enough by the caliber of the performances I did see. It was Maddy's first time seeing it at all. I think the timing was about right.

The moment I stepped off the stage I began to feel the sickness which had been invading my system since that morning. I'd felt it on the periphery of my consciousness, and kept tissues handy, but otherwise it wasn't slowing me down too much. A Tuna Suicide and C Monster helped. I know how horrible this sounds, but I'm going to associate being in The Vagina Monologues with tuna. There was the original Tuna Suicide last Wednesday, then the horribly disappointing tuna melt also from the Golden Bear on Thursday. They close at four on Fridays, so I wandered into The Bear's Lair and got a tuna poor boy. There's a good reason they call it a poor boy and not a po-boy, 'cuz it sure wasn't the latter. (Having recently spent a week in New Orleans, I am of course an expert.) The Golden Bear was closed again on Saturday, so Lynnee and I ventured to Smart Alec's on Telegraph. Their tuna sammich was not bad at all, the best one since the suicide, largely because of their unusually thick wheat bread and hardcore dijon mustard, which gave me a nice bitchslap. Last night's Suicide was pretty damn good; no provolone, both yellow and dijon mustard, and chopped olives, among other things. No mayo. Decided against it. Because I have principles, you see.

Anyway, it hit by the time I made it back to my seat, and hard. I was in full-on sniffly stuffy and not too bright mode when the show finally ended, but I joined some of the cast on an outing to the bar portion of The Bear's Lair. It was fun, and it was nice to get to hang out with them some more, but the place was crawling with straight college boys. They were staaaring at Lynnee and I. We're freaks. That's why we exist, for their confused gaze.

A castmember named Ally and I were perusing the jukebox, money already inserted, when a couple of the boys came over and start looming over us, making suggestions. Loudly and obnoxiously. At first I responded to them, mostly shaking my heads at their pointed requests. (oooh, you want me to play something from the fourth Led Zepplin album? wow, you're a rebel!) After a while Ally and I pointedly ignored them. What I should have done was told them to step the fuck back, inform them they were invading our personal space, that they could wait their turn. Hello, male privilege! But I didn't. I don't know why, with the possible exception that I'm not as brave and strong as I should be.

Feeling all kinds of ill at the moment. But that's okay. Now's a perfect time for it, really. The show's over, and I'm relatively settled in at the new job, which I can do without the use of my entire brain. Some things in my life are good, and some aren't.

I've been invited to speak at UC Berkeley's Femsex class on Friday. Some of the current facilitators were in the Monologues (one practically got a standing ovation every time she appeared on stage), and Lynnee's girlfriend Jenn taught the class some years back. Anyway, I'm honored that they'd ask, but I'm going to have to decline. It would require leaving work early (and I've done enough of that lately because of the show), and, sadly, I don't have much to say on the subject.

12:28pm

Embeth says I'm "such a thelemite." She assures me it's a compliment.

3:57pm

After work, I'm taking my poor, ripped-up jacket to Taos. She has mad sewing skillz, and has offered to repair it as best as she can. We've also talked about going out, but that will have to wait for some other time.

6:27pm

Once again, I'm struck by the difference twenty-four hours makes: in addition to a totally icky nose, I have a fever of one hundred one and a half. There is simply no way I could have performed last night, especially not a show like that. Then again, maybe I already had the fever, and I just didn't notice it because of the adrenalin.

Lynnee has asked me to go on tour with him this year, possibly in May. A real tour, across the country, not a little micro-jaunt around half a state like last July. The logistics are daunting (I just started this new job, I owe Maddy and others money, et cetera), but that's no reason not to try to make it happen.

Has anyone else noticed that the Carpenter in Disney's Alice in Wonderland is a dead ringer for King Joe?

Not that it's been a restful day, mind you. It's been a rather emotionally hectic one, as has been the case around here. But not having to be anywhere is nice.

Tomorrow's the final night of The Vagina Monologues. It blows my mind to think that only three weeks ago did Kara forward me the email saying they were looking for trannies. So much can happen in such a short period of time.

This has been my most fulfilling theatrical experience since Night of the Living Dead, and I'm sad that it's ending. Three performances (four if you count the dress rehearsal) just isn't enough. I'm in awe of the rest of the cast; the depth of their talent astonishes me, and I feel like a rank amateur by comparison. My own piece does keeps improving, though. Tomorrow night is going to be the best yet, I'm sure of it.

Now that I know I don't have to rely on the page when performing, I wonder if I'll continue to. Maybe it's time to take that next big plunge.