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Thursday, 20 January 2005 (anticipatory stance)
11:10am
Haven't heard anything back yet from the internet company. They said it might
be a few business days, and that there were a few other interviews scheduled,
but that they were just formalities at this point. (If I had a job interview scheduled,
I would almost prefer it was just canceled entirely if the employer had already made
up their mind. Less stress, somehow.) Effectively, I'm waiting by the phone, obsessively
checking my email. Which I do anyway, but seldom with as much anxiety.
Maddy and I have started watching
The Decalogue,
a ten-hour Polish miniseries
based on the Ten Commandments. (Do the math.) That she was not only willing to give it
a try but is actually enjoying it just goes to show how suited we are for each other.
The refund check for our marriage license arrived today. I can use the money, to put it mildly, but it makes me sad all the same.
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Wednesday, 19 January 2005 (empty line)
sometime after midnight
Read in the open mic at Smack Dab tonight. My energy wasn't quite what I'd expected it to be,
and I stumbled through the piece in spite of the fact that I've read it several times (in front of
audiences and otherwise) over the last several days. Ended up leaving early, not something I'm
fond of doing, but I'd like to think I have just enough credit/goodwill at this point to get away with it.
My head is in a weird place. The interview at the internet company this afternoon went really well,
and I have reason to believe I'm going to get the job. They even asked for references, saying it was
the "final step of the process." So, there positive feelings, no question.
I returned home from the interview to find
emails from the CPA firm saying they aren't going to hire me, and from a different company responding
to a recent application and requesting a phone interview that afternoon. That interview, preliminary
though it was, also went quite well. If I didn't have the internet one on the verge of happening, I'd be
feeling enthusiastic about it. I mean, it's good that if one falls
though I theoretically have the other (and the internet one is really the best for me—in some ways,
it would be like returning to my old CNET job), but it still messes with my head. Feast or famine, indeed.
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Tuesday, 18 January 2005 (fifth frequency)
3:10pm
It's so nice to be able to treat my hair properly again. My remarkably hardy mane went for two solid
weeks without shampoo (and only one conditioning early on), in anticipation of the reblonding
that never happened. By the time we reached Cotillion weekend and it got teased and producted
beyond recognition, I was afraid it would end with me bald. Nope. As I say, it's a hardy mane.
The job interview at the CPA firm yesterday went well. Tiny office, quiet, close to home. Can't go
too wrong there. 'cept that it's temporary. Keeping my fingers crossed for the internet company
interview tomorrow morning. If I have to start taking Muni into SOMA, at least I'll be able to catch
up on my reading.
How much of a trouper am I? So, the theme for the show on Saturday was the eighties.
One of the sketches was based on Fast Times at Ridgemont High, and during the day-long
rehearsal it was realized that the theme song was required.
Being the only person who knew where the nearest record store was (and not having much else better
to do), I went to the Tower Records at Bay and Columbus. Unfortunately but not surprisingly, they
don't carry the soundtrack. They do, however, have the other album on which it appears: The
Essential Red Collection by Sammy Hagar.
Buying a fucking Sammy Hagar CD at Tower Records is quite possibly the most embarrassing thing
I've ever had to do. For as much as I wanted to say it isn't for me! i swear!, I decided to approach
it like pr0n. Most clerks don't give a shit what you're getting. If you act casual about it, so will they.
If you say it's for a friend, they will not believe you. Oh well. It just means I can never set foot
in that store again. No great loss, I suppose.
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Monday, 17 January 2005 (lines of parallel)
11:35am
This May will mark my tenth anniversary of living this apartment. In all that
time, I've teaten at relatively few of the nearby restaurants. And
it's not like the Outer Sunset is North Beach, either. There aren't that
many out here. Lord knows there were times when I could afford to experiment,
both financially and...er...culinarily. (Is that a word?) (It is, now.) And yet, for example, I've never tried the
Chinese place at 46th and Taraval. It's close by, I pass it all the time, and yet
I've never set foot in it. I have no idea why this is. In all likelihood, I've missed
out on some really great stuff.
For example, Taraval Okazu Ya was first recommended to me sometime in the
late nineties. The Ex's supervisor at Sirius was very fond of it, if memory serves.
And yet, I never actually made it inside until last night. It was a going-away party
for Collette's husband, who's going to be out of the country for the next six months.
When we got there, I was reminded of one of the main reasons I've never attempted
to eat there: the perpetual line outside. I hate standing in lines. Sure, okay, nobody
likes it, but as a general rule I will not stand in line outside a restaurant.
We observed a lot of it in the French Quarter, lines outside restaurants which weren't
so much swanky as inexpensive. But not too inexpensive, as our new favorite
place in the quarter never got packed while we were there.
Anyway—Taraval Okazu Ya. Yum. 'nuff said.
The first clear
picture of me onstage
at the Cotillion has surfaced, and...er...yeah.
It had already been a very long day, and it shows, but at least don't look like I can crack
open walnuts with my beak. (God, I was so much thinner back then...)
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Sunday, 16 January 2005 (the unsuspecting city)
9:09am
From my notebook yesterday:
The second test run of the piece, at Cindy's open mic last night, went well. Unlike Poetry Mission,
which is very SWM-centric, it was a very queer audience. A few trannies, even. Imagine that.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm very fond of Poetry Mission, and really ought to go more often. The fact
that it's so mainstream—as mainstream as a poetry open mic can possibly be, anyway—is
part of the appeal. It's good to get the response of a straight audience. The LGBT Center is more My
People, though. I followed Wendy O-Matik's feature, which, as I know from the last time I read after
her, can't help but increase one's energy level. I also delivered a crucial line in my best (e) cadence.
Not sure if anyone noticed.
Upon arriving at Cotillion rehearsal this morning (8am), the organizer complimented me on my funkiness,
i.e. boots and stripeys and all.
There was what I interpreted as good-natured chuckling when I said that it wasn't what I was wearing for
the show, but just my casual wear. Punk rock oi!
Trying not to be a dick about it, I asked the organizer a few weeks back if she could please make extra-certain
that my name was spelled correctly in the program. It is, no question—but the name of the piece was
wrong. Really wrong. So wrong, in fact, that it moves beyond annoyance into sheer absurdity, and all that can
be done is to laugh. The piece is called "Tonight Is What It Means To Be Dumb." I fancy it to be a Zappa/Negativland-esque
riff on "Tonight Is What It Means To Be Young," the climactic song from Streets of Fire, which figures
into the piece. Except that in the program, it's listed as "Tonight Is The Night I Feel Dumb." God, isn't that fuckin'
hilarious? It's almost a better title. In any event, it's printed in a gazillion programs, so I'd best deal with it.
This is me being a gracious professional. Some would have a cow. I prefer to view it as an opportunity.
So I made a joke out of it. When I got on stage, I said that while the piece was listed incorrectly in the program,
I wished I could take credit for it, because it's hilarious. I'm a clever one, I am.
I met a self-described "fan from afar." She listens to my radio show, and even came to see my Twilight Zone episode
way back when. When she found out who I am, she said, You're The Sherilyn Connelly?
technically yes, since i've never encountered anyone else with the name, but... It was weird, but flattering.
All part of being a Rock Star, I suppose. Gotta enjoy my fifteen minutes while they last.
Meanwhile, I have a job interview for an admin position on Monday. It's yet another CPA firm, which accounts for why they're interviewing
on a holiday (tax season, don't'chaknow). It would be a full-time position, through April 15. Here's the kicker: it's
even closer than the construction job, just over a mile away. I could (and, if I get it, should) walk. As terribly tempting
as that aspect makes it, it's probably for the best that I keep fingers crossed more for the interview on Wednesday at the internet company.
It's quite far away and would require at least one Muni transfer, but it also seems like something for which I'm more suited,
and will continue to exist after tax season. Of course, I'm going to give both interviews my all. Musn't commit an Aesop violation.
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Saturday, 15 January 2005 (salvation and you)
sometime after midnight
I was the only person to swear at the Cotillion tonight. Indeed, one of the first words out of my mouth was
"fucking" (as in "Lenny fucking Broberg," the host), followed later by "fuck" again, as well as "tits" and "boobage."
Those aren't quite so much swearing as simple vulgarity, but are still downright outré for an event which features
a non-ironic debutante walk. Hey, they wanted edgy, they got edgy. Maddy says the ASL translator's
intepretation of "boobage" was hilarious.
All in all it was a lot of fun, and fascinating to view from backstage. The organizer
thanked me for offering to read, saying it made her look good. Daaaw.
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Friday, 14 January 2005 (fragment of light)
6:22am
My W-2 from the construction company arrived. That's probably the quickest I've ever
received it. A very efficient company. Must be a nice place to work. My last day there
was almost a month ago. (I'm getting over it. Honest.)
At my insider friend's urging, I wrote the guy doing the hiring at the newsradio station to
let him know I'm still available. He replied and said he'd call me next week to schedule
an interview.
Meanwhile, I have an actual, already-scheduled interview on Wednesday
morning. They phone-interviewed me a little while ago. Seems I'm the most promising
candidate to yet apply. Granted, the listing in question had only been on Cragslist for about two
and a half hours, but that's enough time for a few dozen applicants. Ignoring the baseline sense
of desperation which comes from having no income, it sounds like it would be a really great job,
a good place to work.
Once again, I'm getting that hopeful feeling in my chest, a feeling I've learned to loathe. It's a fucking
liar.
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Thursday, 13 January 2005 (seen yet not understood)
6:22am
Taos may or may not be blonding my roots. We'd planned on this morning, but I haven't heard
from her for a few days, so there's no telling. If it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen. No great loss.
It would be a good thing for me to go three months between rebleachings anyway, finances being
what they are. She has chronic pain, a melange of the symptoms suffered by both Maddy and The Ex,
so I am in no way shape or form anything resembling a priority, nor should I be. (She's a wonderful kisser.
I miss that. Collette, Embeth and Danielle as well, for that matter. Danielle, as usual, has vanished
off this mortal's plane.)
3:07pm
Nope. No reblondification today. Collette has offered to do it tomorrow, however.
Good lord, I think I may have finally found a poetry
open mic in Fresno.
11:18pm
Speaking of open mics (as I was several hours ago), I went to Poetry Mission tonight for the first time since...yikes, has it really
been since June? That's so not right of me. I really need to go more often. That's going toward the top of the list of things I need
to do more often. It's a long yet oddly top-heavy list.
Just like last time, my motivation was to work on a piece; in this case, the one I'll be reading at the Cotillion on Saturday. It's a piece
I read twice in late '03, then shelved because I was never happy with it. The subject matter fits perfectly with the Cotillion's theme, however,
so I've rewritten it a great deal, attempting to give it a something resembling a structure, and maybe a purpose beyond my usual navel-gazing,
which even I'm bored with. I'll be making some edits to it based on tonight's reading, then read it again tomorrow night at Cindy's
open mic at the LGBT Center. (Another open mic I've severely neglected.) Normally I don't practice this much before a reading, preferring
the thrill of winging it, but this is not my strongest material, so it needs all the help it can get. What's more, this is at the Cowell Theater
in Fort Mason, which as four hundred and thirty-seven seats. Unlike Fray Day, there's—
Shit. Fray Day. I totally forgot about Fray Day this year. This year? Hello! It's 2005 now, dork.
Fray Day last year.
Fuck! I really wanted to participate in that again. Looks like on that day, we helped Temple move to Oakland, ate at our favorite
Cambodian restaurant, then went home and did drugs. Fair enough, I have no regrets about how the day went (beyond the fact that the acid
didn't work) but still. note to self: see? that's why it's a good
thing to keep track of what you did on any given day. just like you used to, way back when. is the mission terminated?
Anyway, unlike the Fray Day I actually went to, which filled about half of the Victora Theater, it's looking like the Cotillion will be filling the Cowell Theater. The
biggest audience I've ever had, without a doubt, so I want to be as polished as I possibly can. The neatest part is the fact
that I saw Robert Rich perform on that same stage a couple years back. Next stop: the Planetarium.
After Poetry Mission, I went for a burrito with Jennifer Bennett and Steven Leyba. It was great to get to hang out with them, since I haven't seen either in a
while, especially Jennifer. I actually introduced the two of them in '03 after Jennifer came to see my feature at Monique's open mic. Evidently they've hit it off quite
well, seeing as how Jennifer will be cutting him at an event later this month.
Gives me warm heartcockles, lemme tell ya. I made sure to poke Steven about the fact that he has yet to invite me to read at any of his recent shows. Well,
somebody has to.
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Tuesday, 11 January 2005 (hope's dark glow)
7:51am
Wow, it's been a great year, hasn't it? 2005 is so living up to its promise!
Oh, right. It didn't promise a damn thing. My bad.
It occurs to me that I haven't talked about the tsunami. Not sure what there is to say.
This seems to be a time for
extreme weather.
Whether you're just or unjust (and, quite frankly, I don't know anyone in the first category), we'd all best just sit back and take what's coming
to us.
Meanwhile, enjoy my mother's kitchen.
3:04pm
No great loss, all things considered—the air was a bit thin up on that pedestal. The stars weren't even any closer. On the ground, in the dirt, that's where you find the protein.
9:52pm
My throat feels a little funny. This can't be good. I almost don't want to go to sleep, for fear of what it'll be like when I wake up. Sitting by the door with a shotgun,
just waiting for the knob to turn...and he ain't no preacher, neither...
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