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Saturday, 20 February 2010 (resolving the melody) 12:57pm Back at Mocha 101, finally. But probably not for long. | ||
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Friday, 19 February 2010 (a different road) 11:12am She wrote! It helps that I wrote her first—specifically about my use of the word "tranny," which, as I was reminded at the Panel on Wednesday, is considered a heinous slur by everyone other than me—but still. Ideas are being exchanged, and I'm about ready to start on draft 2.6. Looking back, I see the chapter list has changed considerably:
Yeah, it's a tad shorter than it was just last month. | |||||||||||||||||||||||
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Thursday, 18 February 2010 (making up the difference) 9:11am Went to spin class this morning, but Cally wasn't there. The sub was a guy I've seen around, usually in Damiel's abs class. He's probably nice enough, but we've never really spoken before, as is the case with me and the majority of the men at the gym. Most of the women are really friendly and a number have made the effort to learn my name and get to know me, but as a rule the men keep their distance and don't make eye contact. Which is fine, if ultimately a little strange. There are one or two women like that, who just will not engage me, not even when I make a point of saying hello to them. One them has decided to be my archnemesis: in addition to not acknowledging my presence, she insists on turning all the lights on whenever she enters a room. And in a spin class, it's brutal to have the all the lights on. Dimness is a great help. But, no. She wants to blind us all with the fluourescents. I've also noticed that she never, ever smiles—her mouth is in a perpetual frown. Must suck to be her. I'm at the office now, what with Monday being a holiday and all. This is the second Thursday in a row in which I haven't been at Mocha 101, writing. It's was weird before and it's weird now. Still haven't heard back from my Agent, either, which is equally unsettling. I hope she hasn't lost interest in me yet. People tend to that. I'm shiny at first, but that never lasts long. In any event, I don't really want to continue working on the book until I get her feedback. 7:44pm I've downloaded some episodes of The Joy of Painting with Bob Ross. I expect smoking a bowl might be in order for proper appreciation. 10:55pm Yep, it definitely helped. And that was the first time I've gotten stoned by myself since...I have no idea, really. It's a very rare occurence. And it must mean that I'm happy, because it's sure as hell not something I would do if I'm sad. | ||
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Wednesday, 17 February 2010 (this is the girl) 11:40am One of the regulars at the gym this morning ribbed me for not being there yesterday. As well they should. After walking around Venice Beach for a while on Saturday afternoon (and deciding that we don't care much for it), Marta and I drove the length of Santa Monica Blvd. It took nearly an hour and a half to go fifteen miles, but, well, that's Los Angeles for you. I was a little sad to see that the bar where Lynnee and I performed in 2004, The Parlour Club, no longer exists. It's been replaced by Bar Lubitsch. We didn't go inside—we were running kinda late—but if the pictures on Yelp can be trusted, it looks more or less the same inside. I'm glad. It was a neat place. And, wow. West Hollywood is much gayer than I remember. There deja vu was damn near overpowering as we approached Howard and Melissa's house. They were once again in a hilly neighborhood with narrow streets, and when we rang the doorbell, their chihuahuas started barking like mad. (All of this has happened before, and all of this will happen again.) They themselves look a little different, as is to be expected after nine years, but surely not as different as I looked. Almost immediately, my old hero-worship of Melissa kicked in. She was always one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen in my life, and I wanted to be her when I grew up. Still do, though I think I've grown up pretty well on my own. Melissa was one of the first people I came out to back in 1999, and her immediate acceptance meant a lot to me. They gave Marta and I the tour of their new house, which was another weird layer of deja vu, since Barefoot and Rox did the same thing the night before, both couples having moved into their respective homes over the past year. They're also similiar in that they're professional couples with no children, though Howard and Melissa have their dogs, and as Marta pointed out: they all love their media. As wonderful as their views of Los Angeles were from their upstairs (spectacular, really), Howard's pride and joy, as always was him new home theater setup. He and Melissa also made it very clear that they'd like us to take advantage of of their guest bedroom someday, and I intend for us to do just that. We sat in their living room and drank wine and ate cheese like grownups and discussed the pros and cons of last year's Star Trek movie (Melissa and I loved it, Howard hated it, and Marta abstained from the conversation, not having seen the film and having no interest in it whatsoever), then walked down to Sunset Boulevard and had dinner at Alegria, their favorite local Mexican restaurant. I had the Dobladitas de Mole because Melissa had spoken highly of it, and when the waiter (who knew them well) was taking our orders, he thankfully took her order first so I was able to say i'll have what she's having, because that's how hero worship works. As we ate, Howard told us a bit about how the past decade went, including why he fell out of touch with me. Granted, it didn't help that when Maddy first moved in I saw very little of my friends, since she didn't want me to hang out with anyone else, and her doing so was practically out of the question. In January 2000 when I tried to make plans for us to go to Howard and Melissa's to watch The X-Files as I'd done many times before, Maddy got very angry at me for making plans with strangers (strangers!) (they may have been good friends of mine, perhaps, but they were strangers to her, and she didn't want to be around strangers) without consulting her first. Because of this breach of protocol the plans were scrapped, and she didn't meet them for another year, and then only once. Only once because it was around that time that certain elements of Howard's life started to go sour, and he went into hermit mode, which was why he stopped answering mine or anyone else's emails or phone calls. He just stopped hanging out with his friends altogether, not just me. It was nothing at all personal against me, though at the time it had kinda hurt, and I was sad to lose them as friends. But no matter, because that was all along time ago, and we're friends again. Friends who live several hundred miles away from each other, but nothing's perfect. After dinner we returned to their house and watched the Blu-Ray of Speed Racer in their awesome home theater, and it was wonderful, just like it had once all been. We didn't do much for most of Sunday, which was nice after the drive of Friday and running around so much on Saturday. Marta and I managed to make ourselves get a little work done, and I submitted a story to Memoir (and). It was one of the deleted chapters from Bottomfeeder, because there's no point in any of it going to waste. After dinner, Marta and I intended to go to Griffith Obersvatory, but given that it was both Valentine's Day and the night of the new moon, we couldn't even get close. The main parking lot was full, and there was no street parking within a mile within a mile. So, we drove along Mulholland, stopping at one of the overlooks to enjoy the view. I've heard it a million times, but I finally go the whole thing about Los Angeles looking like glittering jewels from Mulholland. It really does glitter from above, in a way that can't be captured on film. From there it was to Pinkberry for frozen yogurt, and walking through Hollywood. The touristy part, Hollywood Boulevard and all that. Good gods, but Hollywood is sad. Among other things, I surprised by the level of Michael Jackson exploitation (still) going on—street vendors selling shirts and sequined gloves, people having their picture taken at this star, and perhaps most unpleasantly, having their picture taken with the resident Michael Jackson impersonator. It just struck me as...ghoulish. The whole impersonator thing along Hollywood Boulevard and especially in front of Grauman's has never really sat well with me. What exactly is the point? In addition to Michael Jackson, there was a Spider-man and a couple of blue people from Avatar and a John Travolta from Pulp Fiction, and of course people were getting their pictures taken with all of them, and again I found myself wondering, what is the point? I mean, jeez the Michael Jackson even danced and sang with a Prince impersonator, which goes to show how inaccurate the whole thing is. (The two were never fond of each other, and Prince famously bowed out of "We are the World" because of Jackson's presence. Advantage, Prince.) It finally struck me that all these people were in Hollywood because they wanted to get close to fame, and on some level they realized that famous people do not go to Hollywood unless they have to for a premiere, so the impersonators are the next best thing. Or as close as they're ever going to get, anyway. They're hoping a little of whatever glamour they perceive in Hollywood (and in Hollywood proper there's no glamour at all) will rub off on their own lives, make them feel a little less drab. It makes me doubly glad that I'm trying to break into the publishing world, not the film or teevee world. It's just not my scene. And, of course, as we walked by Bob Marley's star, some stoner kids were taking pictures of it covered with bongs and pipes. No doubt they thought they were the first to ever think of it. Marta and I were back on the road by ten on Sunday morning. Since it was a gorgeous day and we weren't in a huge rush, we decided to take 101 rather than the 5. We'd taken the 5 on Friday, and it was a straight shot but somewhat featureless. The 101 is much more scenic, and we stopped in Pismo Beach for lunch. I feel like we went to Pismo Beach quite a lot while I was growing up, but it didn't do much for me now. Could be it's because I live by the ocean now, and don't care for tourist traps in general. Deciding to go off the main drag a few blocks, we ate at Pismo Beach Fish and Chips, which while not great, was at least cheaper than the other places, had no wait, and was filled with old people rather than families. In other words, perfect for us. We got back into San Francisco around seven. Perdita was very happy to see me, and I was happy to see her. 1:55pm Heading to Berkeley for the Femsex Trans Panel. Whee. | ||
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Tuesday, 16 February 2010 (sunken treasure) 1:08pm Skipped Cally's spin class this morning, though Damiel's abs class awaits tomorrow. Blazed through the work that had piled up at the office since last week. One guy whom I've been working with a lot said thank you, sir as I was leaving his office, and I was trying to rationalize it away as maybe he'd said "Sher" and I misheard it as a "sir," he called me back into his office and apologized profusely (and sincerely). I suppose it was inevitable, and now we can all move on with our lives. But it did sting a little—it always has and probably always will—so I bought myself a mocha. For consolation, you see. | ||
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Monday, 15 February 2010 (pitiful nostalgia) 12:22pm The air hockey table in the arcade on Pomeroy Avenue in Pismo Beach works, but is somewhat lacking in the "air" department. 7:54pm Back home in San Francisco! I love my friends and family in Los Angeles, but I'm happy to be back in my City. And Perdita's happy I'm back, too. | ||
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Sunday, 14 February 2010 (upconversion) 10:49pm It's not the most original observation, but wow, Hollywood is depressing. Los Angeles from Mulholland Drive at night is pretty, though. | ||
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Saturday, 13 February 2010 (screaming through the trees) sometime after midnight Hung out with Howard and Melissa for the first time in nine years (almost to the day). There's nothing like reconnecting with old friends. It's the best. | ||
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Friday, 12 February 2010 (sworn and broken) 7:51am I don't know why I keep forgetting this, but I've been to Los Angeles more recently than 2004—Vash and I went there in 2006 for the wedding of one of her cousins. We had a good time, and it's one of the last purely pleasant memories between us before the fall, so I should really try to hang onto it. Anyway. Going to pick up Marta now. 8:53am It's good luck to begin a long drive when it's raining. 2:50pm We found a (closed) restaurant in Lost Hills which claims to have salad and vegetarian food. Can't ask for more than that. (Though wound up eating at Titas Pupuseria & Restaurant in Buttonwillow instad.) 3:53pm Other than the drugs and the lot lizards, nothing about the life of a trucker looks appealing. Nothing at all. 10:24pm Marta and I got to my brother Barefoot's place around seven, we had dinner, and now my Barefoot and I are livetweeting the Olympics at each other. That's family in 2010. | ||
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Thursday, 11 February 2010 (not going back) 8:01pm This is the first Thursday I haven't spent writing at Mocha 101. It feels a little weird. I'm waiting for feedback from my Agent before I go on, and I had errands to run, including getting a Phoebe a new stereo to replace her dying one. The guy at the shop gave me a pretty great deal, since Phoebe already had had an aftermarket stereo installed, and because he thought I was cute. (I'm guessing on that last one.) Went to Cally's spin class this morning, and Damiel's abs class yesterday. He wasn't there, but we did the work anyway. Tomorrow, Marta and I got to Los Angeles. I haven't been there in a while. | ||
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