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After vacillating back and forth and back again, we decided to drop the acid on Saturday. It was a three-day weekend, after all, just what we'd been waiting for. Plus it was clear outside, and perhaps most importantly there was a movie playing at the Red Vic which seemed like it might be appropriate viewing while frying, Little Otik. There was the unpleasant matter of the fight the evening before, but that just seemed like all the more reasonwe'd done shrooms immediately following our last major fight, and it helped. The main problem was getting to the theater and back. Driving was not an option. Even though I could drive us out there, as the plan was to drop half an hour before the movie began, I couldn't drive us back home. We had no idea how strong the stuff was; Lillith told us that it might be weak and require two hits, but it could also be so strong that walking down the street required intense concentration to make up for the undulations of the sidewalk. So we'd take the bus. Seldom a pleasant experience under the best of circumstances, never mind going into a high-density part of town on a Saturday, but sacrifices have to be made. And sometimes you just gotta take a deep breath and jump in. I thought for sure we'd be late, but we got there in plenty of time to get our favorite couch and a bowl of popcorn. The movie started at 2pm so we dropped at half past one, while still on the bus. It was crowded, but we were sitting and nobody was paying us any mind. It was just putting tiny (if remarkably foul) pieces of paper into our mouths, not shooting up. I haven't seen that yet on public transportation, but it's only a matter of time. Maddy was feeling it right before the movie began; it took me a little while longer, but when it hit, it hit hard. The wallpaper and curtains of the main characters' home were shifting manically, and a glance over at the wall of the theater confirmed that it wasn't just on the screen. Then there were the many extreme close-ups of the characters' faces, which reminded me of why I've long been told to not to look in the mirror while on acid. You probably don't want to see your face doing the same things. The movie, by Czech surrealist Jan Svankmajer, is about a childless couple who delusionally adopt a tree stump as a surrogate baby, which then grows into a ravenous monster out of a fairy tale. Jarring, disturbing and occasionally very goryand clearly not an American movie, which meant there were no limits as to how far it could goit's pretty much on the opposite end of the spectrum from 2001 as far as acid movies go. Which isn't a bad thing, mind you. For me, it was a white-knuckle experience, like a rollercoaster (you should pardon that cliche). I was enjoying the ride, but I couldn't wait for it to be over, either. Most of the reviews I've read have suggested that the movie was longer than necessary, and they probably weren't on a strong hit of acid when they saw it. As it must, though, it ended, and we ventured back out into a world very different from the way we'd left it before. It was daytime, and the streets were typically crowded. Not a problem; the key to getting around on acid is repetition. I've gotten home from the Haight on the 71 line before. It's simply a matter of doing those same things. We briefly considered walking around a bit, taking the world inthat was one of the reasons we did it during the daybut just getting home sounded like a much worthier goal. Besides, Maddy was getting the giggles something fierce. Can't say that I blame her; this was her first time on a full hit, and I've had many more years to work on my poker face. As anyone who's been on Haight can imagine, the toughest part was crossing the damn street. There are very few stop signs and/or traffic lights, and the drivers are only slightly more tolerant of pedestrians than in other parts of the city. But we made it across in one piece, and I was confident that the most perilous part of the journey was over. Sure, we'd have to wait for a bus to come along and probably fend off panhandlers in the meantime, and then surely stand for at least the first half of the trip home, but these are all things I've done before. A creepy old guy did talk to us while we were standing in the bus shelter, but I nodded and smiled in all the right places, and it seemed to satsify him. Besides, he was harmless. We got off easy. The bus was, as I'd expected, standing-room only. I put in my fare and got my transfer (I wouldn't be needing it but I always get a transfer), Maddy showed her pass, and we made our way through the crowd. We found a small clearing just ahead of the middle doors, grabbed hold of the beams, and hung on. Then we hit 19th and Lincoln. The kid in the Misfits t-shirt and celphone got on at the front of the bus, whereas his two cronies got on through the middle doors, thereby not having to pay. They were the real rebels. They probably even kept their celphones in their pockets. Their friend found his way back to them, the net result being they were surrounding us. Now, one of things about being on acid is a tendency to focus and tune things out. Whether it's a good or bad thing depends on your point of view, but in the case it meant I didn't quite realize the kids were targeting us until they were well into it. At first they were talking to a girl right behind us, insisting that they'd seen her (or was it her twin?) in the park. And, of course, they wouldn't take "It wasn't me" for an answer. Then when they started obsessing on how one girl was really tall and the other had blue (no, wait, it's white) hair, I wasn't entirely aware of it; I was mostly using my mental energies to wishing them away, to hoping they wouldn't notice us. Unfortunately, it came down to a battle of drugs, and for sheer obnoxiousness theirs won outthey reeked of alcohol. Glancing around at them, I saw something else in their eyes. Speed, maybe. Or too much nitrous. But something in they way they looked scared me deeply. It didn't help when they decided that we must be satan worshippers (though they were cool with that). I guess it was because I was wearing all black, although Maddy was wearing blue jeans and a hooded sweatshirt with kitty ears. Not exactly standard devil-worshipping attire, I should think, but to them it was close enough. We were clearly "Sisters of Satan," and began to inform us by singing it over and over while moshing into each other. They were so wasted they slurred it into "Shishters of Shatan," but the point got across. Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this. Okay, so one of the worst possible things that could happen on a crowded bus (getting harrassed by drunk teenagers) was happening at the worst possible time. Gotta deal. They're drunk, high, whatever else, and as such their attention span was very limited. We were in the middle of their sights. If we were no longer there, we wouldn't be the center of their attention and some other shiny thing would take center stage. Getting off the bus didn't seem right, since A) it would mean they chased us off, and B) who's to say they wouldn't follow us? The bus may be a pressure cooker, but it's also a sufficiently contained environment that they probably wouldn't dare hurting us. That was my theory, anyway. Throughout this, I'd been holding Maddy close to me, her face in my chest. This was partially to keep her as shielded from them as possible, and partially in case she got the giggles again, which would surely be seen as encouragement. I leaned in, and over the sloshed "Sisters of Satan" chorus, told her to turn around and head to the back of the bus. The glaring flaw in this plan was that it involved walking through them. But being cornered was getting us nowhere, and we had to do something. What's more, the bus had cleared out sufficiently that there was in fact standing room back there, and before long seats would surely open up. So we'd just have to hope they didn't follow. We walked through them (a supreme act of faith and courage on Maddy's part, as she has issues with loud, threatening men), and they didn't follow. As I suspected, they quickly lost interest. Not quickly enough, though; I heard one of them say behind me, "Hey, that's a guy." My heart sank to the bottom of my buetz. Oh, no no no. Not now, of all times to get read. Being the rebel that he is, he's going to kick my ass because I'm a fag and unnatural. He then said, "That's cool." No chase was given. I call that getting very, very lucky. A few blocks later they decided that they were at the ocean, and got off the bus. Y'know, I may have been on acid, but even I knew that the bus was still a mile and a half from the ocean. When we we finally got off the bus, we were at the ocean. I'd like to think they got lost and died. That bit of testosterone-and-alcohol-fueled ickiness didn't ruin the rest of our evening, though. After stopping home to piddle and put on warmer clothes, we headed back out to the real ocean to watch the sunset. People ask occasionally if we ever go out to the beach, and sadly, we seldom do unless we're frying. But, y'know, it's perfect in those moments, even though we probably stayed out there longer than we should have. Once back inside for good, I made steamed riceanother of those simple tasks made tricky by the drugwe put on the blacklights and listened to music. We'd briefly considered watching something, but we'd already done the big movie thing for the day. We mostly ended up listening to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, over and over. (We made it through the first side of Dark Side of the Moon, but I've come to realize that's more of a pot album.) Maddy'd never really heard it before, certainly not from beginning to end, I hadn't listened to it in years. It offered a lot to listen to, little details that reward careful attention. Besides, it just seemed appropriate. Paying tribute to our ancestors, as it were. When we finally went to bed after midnight, I didn't sleep much, although Maddy immediately had an unpleasant dream about the kids on the bus in which they were a bit more aggressive. Nothing about rampaging tree-monsters, though. I guess it's the real-life horrors that stick with you. Oh, and just say no to drugs, okay? |
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Thursday, 17 January 2002 (from a buick 6) 6:56pm In a dream this morning, I was at some sort of pan-family function, and my mother told me that I in spite of me having just shaved and being in full battle gear, my shadow was still prominent. Apparently it was causing some degree of embarrassment, probably like what certain people were expecting at jonco's wedding. I didn't stay in bed much longer after that. I talked to the claims adjuster again today; he said he called the other guy's insurance company, and they said they didn't have his policy number on file, and they were unable to look him up by last name because his is a very common one in San Francisco. I'm beginning to think that I might have copied his information wrong. My mind was screaming at the time, and tend to screw up things like that even under the best of circumstances. The adjuster suggested that I could call the company and "try my luck," which I'll be doing tomorrow. (Should have done it today, but didn't. Know how that works?) (Maybe it's symptomatic of why I don't have a job yet.) In the meantime, I received a form to fill out and send to the DMV, officially reporting the accident with them. If I don't return it promptly and/or it's not filled out correctly, my license could be suspended. I know it's a scare tactic, and I've filled it out as accurately as possible. Damn, though, it's an effective tactic. Things can get worse. |
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Wednesday, 16 January 2002 (4th time around) 8:10am I don't smoke cigarettes or drink coffee, but I often used to join Brian when he would go on a smoke break or walk to the coffee shop a few blocks from the office. Sometimes it's the simple things like that which I miss more than anything. |
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Tuesday, 15 January 2002 (expecting rain) 2:50pm Then again, maybe not, since we got into a car accident today. Don't worry, we're both fine. I was in the left lane, and for whatever reason a car in the right lane and slightly ahead of me was slowing down. I don't know why, maybe because they were going to turn a corner and the driver decided to observe the laws of physics. The driver directly behind them decided they simply couldn't be inconvenienced and changed lanes. After all, why should they have to slow down? Unfortunately, they didn't bother to use their turn signal nor check to make sure there was an empty space to occupy (again with those damnable laws of physics!) and hit my car. I could tell what they were doing and braked, but not soon enough. Long story short, the front right panel is dented and the passenger side door only opens maybe a third of the way. We exchanged insurance info but I screwed up and didn't call the cops, so it's going to be my word against his. He was claiming fault left and right and offered to pay for the damages (provided the estimate was "reasonable"), but I declined. Sort of; I nodded in acknowledgement, then said "No promises." I don't know if that was the right thing to do or not. I was kinda flustered, hence not notifying the police immediately like my insurance card so clearly stated. Part of what was going through my head was the fact that the name change paperwork which I submitted a month or two back was never acknowledged, either from the insurance company nor the Evil Chrysler Financial Corporation, and this seems like the sort of situation where being between names can be problematic. Well, more problematic. The repair estimate is $700. I'm sure he wouldn't consider that to be "reasonable," so I can only hope that the insurance company doesn't nail me for skipping a step. I guess I should be glad that I have a decent tax refund coming up. At least, I think I do. I may not. Considering how much I'm looking forward to it, I'm probably jinxing it out of existence.
Then there was Death Guild last night.
I think Sara was there, but I'm not certain. It looked like her from a distance, but the club was quite dark (compared to, say, the old Shrine or Roderick's) and I didn't get close enough to tell. I couldn't quite bring myself to; perhaps it was because I felt like a ghost and as such figured should keep my distance. I don't know, maybe next time. Whenever that may be.
Tonight was the last night of the editing class, meaning I'm now "certified" and can use their
equipment without adult supervision, provided I'm actually doing it for a show. The instructor
and his (seemingly unwilling) assistant told me that I was a "good student" and that they were
interested to see what my show would be like. Again with the pressure. I hope they're not
disappointed when they see it's mostly cats.
God, sometimes it's so hard not to hate. I don't want to be one of those people. |
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Monday, 14 January 2002 (destroy the flower) 7:26am 175. It's a good thing I don't pay any attention to the numbers on the scale, or else I'd be seriously freaking out right now. sometime after midnight i'm not clinging to the past so much as i'm trying to shape the future in its image. I'd forgotten how beautiful it can be out here late at nightor, more accurately, early in the morningwith a cloudless sky. It's nice to have Orion shimmering above, keeping watch, although it helps that I can walk the five or so blocks between the bus stop and my apartment at 2am and not have to worry about my safety (contrary to popular opinion, not all of San Francisco is overrun with panhandlers and drug addicts). All things being equal, though, I kinda wish I'd driven. |
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Sunday, 13 January 2002 (loop) 9:20am I stubbed my left big toe last night and ripped the nail almost in half. Oddly enough, it didn't hurtI was surprised to look at it and see bloodbut given the tendency of my nails to ingrow, this could be very, very bad. And while the toe is bandaged up right now, there's still risk of it catching on something and tearing the rest of the way, hitting the nerves that were miraculously missed the first time around. I'm tempted to just go to the doctor (granted, I'd be lucky to get an appointment before mid-March) and have them remove the damn thing once again. I wonder how many times you can remove a toenail before it just stops growing back. 9:28pm Notice how the less I write, the more typos I make? |
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Saturday, 12 January 2002 (i remember california) 11:53pm We spent most of the day editing together our first show. We won't have any clue of when it'll air until the programming meeting at the end of the month, and there's no telling how long after that the deadline to submit it will be, not to mention the reason I'm taking the editing class is so I can use their equipment (considerably more powerful and flexible than our current method involving two VCRs), but it seemed like something to do, if only to see if we could do it. Got much more accomplished than either of us expected, I think. There are certain people from whom I expect snarky, cynical comments about what we're doing, people who've never done something like this themselves but still feel fit to critcize. I suppose I won't mention it around them. Life's too short, really. It's also why I tend to avoid genre fans when they get to bitchingI can't think of a bigger waste of time than listening to someone explain why they like Babylon 5 better than Star Trek (or why Star Trek: Voyager is the worst show ever, which I've had explained to me more than once). Speaking of divisive issues, I'm actually seriously considering going to Death Guild on Monday. I haven't been to a club since time immemorial (and not for lack of having been asked), and besides, it's a release party for the new live album/video from Nine Inch Nails. I thoroughly enjoyed the 2000 show, and am hoping to make off with a DVD. Hey, I'm, like, unemployed, y'know? |
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Friday, 11 January 2002 (suspicion yourself, don't get caught) 11:08am The editing class is reminding me quite a bit of college, of being taught by TAs who only know marginally more than you do, or are the very least can't convey the info very well. It can be a little frustrating at times, but it also gives you more of an incentive to figure things out for yourself so you don't have to ask any questions.
Maddy took the CD-R drive to work, where a tech was kind enough to identify
the problem and fix it. (I just know that had I tried, I would have really
broken it.) Well, yay. One less expensive thing to replace, and I was already
starting to feel the withdrawal pains. Now I can focus on finding a motherboard.
Gosh, being employed would come in so handy right now...
Names and certain details have been retrofitted, of course.
At least, I think this was written by me about me. It's hard to tell anymore. |
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