I spent the night cleaning, then went to a party at Harvey's new place a few blocks away. Not a whole hell of a lot happened, though Collette was there. Small City, smaller neighborhood. We talked for a while, for the first time since mid-October 2005. It was nice.

At an actual rehearsal, and then Bad Movie Night later.

5:50pm

It still hurts when I think about Vash.

Phoebe is fine. Paid forty bucks for a standard checkup, and while they tell me that the water pump is cracked or leaking or something, that it's not something that needs to be fixed right away so long as I keep an eye on the water levels. Now I just need to figure out how to keep an eye on the water levels.

3:52pm

The theme at Midnites for Maniacs last night was "Bringin' on the Heartbreak:" Lucas, Say Anything and My Bloody Valentine. I'd seen Lucas once on video in the late eighties and had liked it at the time. Still holds up remarkably well, especially for those of us who were that age at the time. I suppose the same can be said for Say Anything, which in spite of my confirmed Generation X status, I had somehow never seen before. (Nor have I seen Pretty in Pink or Some Kind of Wonderful. Go figure.) I'd never even come close to seeing My Bloody Valentine before, though I have a rather distinct memory of it: Jonco's best friend Scott telling us about it in that rather breathless way that young children do when talking about gorey movies. I don't recall exactly which scene he described, but it was probably the one in which somebody opens what appears to be a heart-shaped box of chocolates, but inside is an actual human heart! Oooh! Whatever it was he'd told us, I knew then and there that I would never ever watch that movie. I was nine years old at the oldest, and then and now I'm not a huge fan of slasher films or gore. Still, when I saw it on the Midnites for Maniacs schedule, I knew I had to go.

Ennui had been a little less certain about the show, not because of the movies but because it would be six hours in the Castro Theater's seats. A valid concern, to be sure. She's survived many a Drive-Out Theater with me on Chicken's bus, but as she pointed out, sprawling out on a comfy bus where we get on and off a couple of times is a little different. True enough. For me, the only weird part about being in theater seats was that damn side of the chair between us—I'd grown accustomed to being able to be right up against her. Alas.

Still, though, it was a perfect lineup: three classic "date" movies. The first two were teen romantic comedies, from a time when such movies weren't about getting laid so much as just getting to kiss, what Ennui not unkindly calls "schmoopy movies." For the life of me I can't remember the last time I saw a movie like that in a theater, let alone when I was on a date like someone. We held hands tighter and planted kisses at all the right moments. (Finally, I get the appeal!) The third is a slasher film, of course, what Roger Ebert calls a bruised forearm movie: your date grabs your arm every time some scary or exciting happens. Ennui was bruising my forearm quite nicely. And she surived the ordeal of sitting in the seats, so it looks like we'll be back for "Lost In Space" in April.

It's obvious that I don't like movies, right? I mean, nobody who does Bad Movie Night can love them, correct?

I'm at the Dark Room right now, experimenting with the front desk at the lobby as a place to sit and write. So far, so good.

sometime after midnight

It's not that I don't know better than to go to kink parties without a date. It's just that I do it anyway, for some reason.

I came home from work yesterday to find my landlord in my kitchen. It was only unexpected in that I'd thought he was going to be there earlier in the week, and I'd given him permission. The sink faucet needs help, and the doorbell is fracked. (I had also complained about some junk the upstairs people had dumped out front a couple weeks and which was still sitting there. Bunch of savages in this town.) (Oh, and when I voted on Tuesday, I couldn't help but notice that mine was the only name listed for my address. An oversight, I'm sure. I mean, they're good upstanding hetero breeders, so surely they vote, yes?) It figures that he would have to be there when the apartrment is a little less orderly than I would have liked. The big plastic bag the comforter came in was still on the couch, and the blankets I'd removed from the bed were still on the ground. Granted, the place still looks worlds better than it has in the past, but damnit, I wanted him to see it as its spiffiest, so he might take more sympathy on me for having to live beneath the giraffe. Alas. He'll be back today to work on the doorbell some more, and I straightened up last night (after an unsuccessful attempt to get some writing done at the Sea Biscuit) so he'll see it looking like the home of someone who deserves good soundproofing.

Besides, you know, home furnishings. After work I drove to the Bloodbath and Beyond in San Mateo. I briefly considered calling ahead, but decided that the odds (yesterday was all about the odds) of me finding the comforter in question were exactly the same whether I called or not, since their answer would be meaningless. I took 280 down and only hit any real traffic when I exited to 92, which lead directly to the store. They had the right color and label and all, but not the correct size. So close. I asked an employee—an older employee, one whom in my fogeyish way I parsed as being more competent than the Millennials I've been dealing with—if the could check if there were any more, like, in back or something. He said there wasn't, but that he could call the other stores. Oh, why the hell not? He called the Mountain View store, which said that yep, sure, they had it in stock, make and model and color and size and everything. The employee confirmed that the item number was correct, and gods bless him for that. They put it on hold, and he told me that Mountain View was about fifteen minutes away.

Which is entirely true under optimum traffic conditions. However, my traffic conditions were driving south on 101 at a quarter to six, which is rather like the Los Angeles freeway experience. It took about an hour to get to Mountain View, and in the meantime I doublechecked the route using Google Maps on my phone. Maps and driving directions on my phone. It's a freakin' tricoder! Living in the future rules!

The long, slow drive also gave me plenty of time to ruminate on the fact that I was driving all over the Bay Area, bouncing between various locations of the same nationwide chain store, trying to find an item which I could surely get in town if I wasn't so focused on it being the same label. For someone who likes to think they're above shopping at Old Navy (and who doesn't care for Starbucks, but mostly because their mochas suck), I was showing a disturbing amount of brand loyalty. Of course, it was okay because I had one of those 20%-off mailers. (Sent to my address under Maddy's old married name, no less.) There's a very real possibility that I spent more on gas and time than I saved via the coupon, but that's not the point. I got twenty percent off at the register, damnit! That would make it even more comfortable!

The Mountain View store did have it on hold for me, the one-hunnerd percent cotton flannel red comforter, and I was back on the road at seven. Of course, Ten Commandments rehearsal was starting at the Dark Room at that very moment, but I'd called Rhiannon earlier and told her I'd be late. Besides, I had my priorities straight, right? Right. I got into the City at a quarter to eight, and they hadn't gotten to any of my scenes yet anyway. We've been working on blocking, where each person is on stage at any given moment, and it always makes a play feel more real. I'm certainly on stage much more than I'd expected I would be, and I'm getting some nice bits of business. Also working with Meliza quite a bit, which is always fun.

Speaking of whom, as I gave her a lift back to her house, she asked me if I'd like to participate in her National Queer Arts Festival show this year. I said yes, of course. I almost never say no to Meliza, and I'm happy to be in the Festival for the fourth year in a row.

The comforter works very well.

After work I drove to the Bloodbath and Beyond in SoMA to search for the proper comforter to match the sheets. Gotta do it right, after all. Finally found them (while dodging the relative of an ex—fun!), 'cept they didn't have the right size or color. If I wanted a green one for a king-size bed, no problem. Feh. I then went to my doctor appointment, which is becoming a quicker and more cursory process all the time. He asked me twice if I'm feeling happy, and judging from his tone the second time it was obvious he didn't remember having asked the first. Not that I would ever say anything other than yes to that question coming from him, regardless of how I'm actually feeling. I just wanna spend as little time in his presence as possible. As he was leaving the room, he spotted the curly eyeliner patterns I've been doing on my right temple ever since Edie's pattern party. Like many, he asked if it was a tattoo, which I tend to take as a compliment. I said that no, I did it freehand with liquid eyeliner. He scoffed, smirked and said: well, have fun! The level of condescension in his voice is tricky to describe. Reminded me a bit of the guy at Kragen last week. Kinda had to be there, though I wish I hadn't been.

Drove into the Outer Sunset, only to find that the polling place had moved for reasons not clearly specified. Tracked it down, stood in what I thought was the line, only to get a dirty look from a guy who had been standing several feet away but still considered himself to be in line. Still, I haven't seen a line for voting, let alone at six in the evening, since 2004. As always, I wonder where these people were in the elections following The Great Overshadowing. Too busy waving their flags to vote, evidently.

After voting for Nader and thus ensuring a Bush victory (as always, feel free to blame me, I don't mind) I returned home for a few minutes. Just long enough to give Perdita some love, and call the Bloodbath and Beyond in Colma to see if they had the comforter. The dead-sounding kid checked, and said they did. I confirmed: red flannel comforter for a queen-sized bed. In stock, right now. He said yeah, they had them. So I drove there, puttered around inside for a while unable to find them, and finally asked for assistance. Quite possibly the gayest retail clerk in the history of known space informed me that, no, they don't have them in stock, and haven't for a while. But the El Cerrito and San Mateo stores should have them. Yes, of course. I guess I'm driving to San Mateo tonight to find out. I'd call first, but there's really no point.

Made it to Ten Commandments rehearsal less late than I'd expected to. We didn't do any of my scenes, but hey, I was there. That's what matters.

Of course, crashing and/or dying would have sucked pretty hard, but still, what a way to go. I did have a moment of melancholy when "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out" went through my mind, because it once had such a strong meaning in the past with someone else, but, well, that was in the past with someone else. That light did go out, and I tried my best to re-ignite it. No such luck, and there's nothing I can do about it now.

These excursions always have a certain ramshackle, improvised quality which adds to the adventure. Chicken evidently wasn't entirely sure of the route to Santa Cruz, and I gathered that was intentional. He could have easily looked it up beforehand, as I surely would have in my anal way, but it's more interesting if you don't. Which is why our original plan of staying the Casino Arcade until eleven got cut short because the arcade actually closes at ten. Nobody had thought to look that up beforehand. It was okay, though. As I say, it all adds to the adventure.

While there, Ennui and I played a few rounds of a Pong knockoff called Volly, and I of course did the obligatory runs of Battlezone, Tempest and Star Wars. I does love me some old-fashioned vector graphics. Most of the other Boomers and Gen-X'ers stuck mostly around the classic games and/or Air Hockey, which I also played a bit of. Also gave some of the newer-fangled racing games a try, since we had the arcade to ourselves, and I had over a dozen tokens burning a hole in my pocket. I was as surprised as everyone else when, at half past nine, they announced that the arcade was closing at ten. By that point, however the chant of karaoke at the bowling alley! karaoke at the bowling alley! had already begun. So, when they literally cut off the power to the arcade, we relocated across the street to the Boardwalk Bowl.

Specifically, to the Coasters Bar & Grill therein, where it was in fact karaoke night. There already quite a few regulars when the inlfux of Mission hipsters (that was us) invaded, but a few of us managed to squeeze onto the list. Jim did "How Can You Mend a Broken Heart" by the Bee Gees, and Chicken did the not-at-all-ironic "Under the Boardwalk" (the best Bruce Willis song ever). After much deliberation, I went with Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone," since it was one of the few songs that appealed to me at all, even better, I know the words by heart. I'm a Connelly, after all. I had to glance at the screen every so often for the first words of the next verse, but otherwise, I was solid, able to put more of my energy into the performance. I got a lot of compliments afterwards, and was informed that it was videotaped and will be on YouTube soon. Oh, swell. Just what the internet needs. Earlier in the evening, Puzzling Evidence gave me a DVD of some video he shot from the Superhero Skating trip a few weeks earlier. There's me playing with a lightsaber (hey, it was there), and Ennui successfully doing rollerskating limbo. I'd imagine that will also find its way online eventually.

Microphones in hand (and microphone cables plugged into a speaker), Me, Jim and Rhiannon riffed on Speed on the even more treachorous and windy way back to San Francisco. Ennui was next to me, of course, because she gets to sit in the front row with me at the Dark Room, and she sure as hell wasn't going to be apart from me on the bus. After a stop at an In-N-Out Burger which was not in Rohnert Park but looked precisely the same, we arrived in San Francisco around two in the morning. For not having gotten nearly enough sleep the night before, I held up pretty well. Ennui and I then went back to Cassandra to crash in her e'er-comfy bed.

After work today I'm heading back into my neighborhood to vote (Nader, of course), and then going to the Dark Room for Ten Commandments rehearsal. Run run run.

Meanwhile: the first review I've found of It's So You mentioning my essay, and thus the only real proof that I am in the book. I wasn't so sure myself, but it's online, it must be true. Also: a German who felt my Twitter about the blackout last July was worth repeating. How flattering.

She was with Jessie and Jack, but it was nice to see Ennui even briefly. Her and I hugged and kissed when she got there, and when I was talking to Jessie later (I was in the front row, turned around and talking to them in the second row) Ennui reached out and took my hand while Jessie and I talked. I just kept thinking to myself, yes, yes, yes, this is how it should work...

Afterward, I went to the Power Exchange. It wasn't raining, I hadn't been in a while, it was a Sunday so I'd be likely to find parking (it's been tough lately with street construction), I haven't seen Hal or Rhonda for a while, and most importantly, I still stoned, and I'd rather drive the mile or so from the Dark Room to the Power Exchange than all the way across town to the Black Light District. Stayed for about an hour sitting on the couch editing the latest draft of the Breaking Up is Harder to Do piece until I felt the crash coming on, then headed homeward.

Tonight is Bad Movie Night: The Voyage Home (for? on? at? in?) Drive-Out Theater. My energy level's not quite what I'd like it to be, but, well, that's my own fault. And I'll manage.

2:27pm

Though I've been feeling pretty good lately, like I'm healing, I can't deny that I'm still raw. While talking to Sadie yesterday, she said something (unintentionally and with no malice, what she needs is a strong top) which suddenly made my heart hurt, a shock of that heavy feeling I had in my chest for so much of last year. I even thought that there was possibility that I might cry, which I haven't done since New Year's Eve. I kept it together, I bounce back a lot quicker these days, but it was a reminder of my vulnerability. Not that I needed a reminder.

I didn't do anything at all at yesterday's rehearsal, since nobody that I'm in scenes with was actually there. Happens a lot, but hey, at least I was there at noon.

Afterward I drove to the Sea Biscuit, but my table was being used. I circled a few times, and it was still being used. I parked, ate at the Chinese restaurant down the street which I want to like but has always sucked, then checked the Sea Biscuit. Someone else was using the table. Well, fine. Be that way. I'd been needing to hit Target for a few weeks now anyway, so I drove to the Serramonte Mall. After the obligatory Hot Topic run, I got a basket full of housewares (but not a thingy on which to hang my dishtowels, unfortunately) at Target while figuring out what I wanted to do with myself for the night. Staying home was vaguely an option, as was seeing if Johanna wanted to watch a movie. I almost pinged Ennui, but decided not to. We have assorted plans for the next few weeks, and I didn't want to push it. (Everything old is new again!) So I texted Rimma, who invited me to join her and Ilene at either New Wave City or Strangelove at either the DNA or the Cat Club, whichever was the one happening at whichever place that night. Sounded good.

I drove home in the rainstorm, considering as I always do in inclement weather to just not go out, and certainly not clubbing. But it's too easy to chicken out, and I really needed to be around friends. Besides, when I was at home getting my club apparel it sounded like upstairs they were strapping bowling balls to the bottom of chairs and repeatedly slamming the chairs into the floor. So, I braved the storm.

I met Rimma at her new apartment, which is quite nice. We went for sushi, returned to her place to tartify, then walked to the DNA Lounge for New Wave City. I've never been a big fan of the DNA, but it's not as claustrophobic as the Cat Club. Ilene arrived shortly after us, and her and I spent most of the evening talking and dancing together. I also go to have my annual brief chat with Chupa (along with the obligatory non-alkie juice drink, though she was a little shocked when I told her I drink booze now), and even Rae was there, whom I haven't seen for an even longer time. There were quite a few familiar face from my hardcore gothclubbing days in '99, in fact. It's almost as if this past decade didn't happen. Actually, I think a lot of us wish it hadn't.

I left around a quarter to three in the morning, and was in bed by half past. Much to my surprise, I was able to sleep until ten, though I'm still a tad loagy.

6:52pm

After rehearsal, I hung out with Sadie for a while. Talked about a what a small damned world it is, how drama tends to splatter from one person to another. She managed to get some of mine splattered on to her, quite untinentionally. Then Phil and I walked around the corner to watch the building on fire on Valencia. That was probably unintentional as well.

The network was down when I got to the office this morning. Sadly, it was soon repaired.

I was talking to Sadie the other day about the piece I'm going to read at My Sucky Valentine, and she said: you love to stir the pot! In fact, as I told her, I don't love to stir the pot. I'm just not afraid to.

6:06pm

At the Sea Biscuit. I briefly considered Java Beach, since it's at the terminal stop of the N-Judah and has wifi and is open an hour later and as previously mentioned it's right there when I got off the train, but there were no seats and quite a few derelicts (they look right at you, make eye contact and don't let go) and it's just not my place, not really. I've gotten plenty of work done there—the majority of "The Slimming Effect" from It's So You and "Transuming Conformity," for starters—but I never quite get into the groove I do here. So, here I am, especially since the table is open. Don't what I would have done otherwise. Gone home, maybe. I was feeling really tried on the train, dozing some but never really napping, especially since I would start to drool before falling asleep and thus jerk myself awake. Embarrassing on several levels. Also fun is when I'm dozing on the train and I do the full-body-spasm thing. It can be unnerving enough when I'm in bed (though I found it adorable when Ennui did it a few weeks ago), and when I'm on a train it's down right mortifying. I'm not easily mortified, but that'll do it. Anyway, I did consider going home and napping before heading back out into the world, but, well, you know. Them. Above. The Bad People. I would have had maybe an hour of peace, if that. So, straight to work. Those painful memories ain't gonna plumb themselves, after all.

8:48pm

There. "Exchange and Descent, Part 14: Feasting on Scraps (My Sucky Valentine Mix)" is good to go. And only two weeks in advance!

Now back out into the world, maybe?