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Monday, 31 January 2005 (regional effect) 1:12pm Fairly light turnout at Club Pirate Cat last night. In fact, it was downright anemic, maybe a third of the meager crowd we had last week. Kitten on the Keys was the feature, and she handled it with her usual aplomb. I think it was even a smaller crowd than when she performed at Wicked Messenger last April, and that's really saying a lot. Sunday night events with my name attached do seem to be cursed. Maddy and I enjoyed ourselves, even if we were two of the only three people who danced to any of my set:
"Mahna Mahna" - The Muppets
I won't be DJing at it again for a few more weeks, what with The Vagina Monologues and stuff. I'm sure that by
the time I return, people will actually start going.
One of Ari's roommates is Seeley's Sister, with whom I shared a few minutes on a couch at In Bed With Fairy Butch way back when. I've said it before, and will never cease repeating myself: it's a very small City, and the queer community is often like nothing so much as a coffin filling with dirty water. Tomorrow, I get a haircut. A trim, really, but it'll still be that much more of the dark hair going away. On Wednesday, I begin my new job, and my life changes. Again. My heart started to hurt on Sunday afternoon. I was thinking about the direction in which my life now seems to be heading (starting the new job, the then-looming audition, the club that night, my show, stability between Maddy and I after the rockiness of recent months, the renewed opening), and it made me happy. Hot on the heels of that was a sense of despair, of dread for the inevitable crash. Enjoying the feeling while it lasted wasn't an option, because of the simple fact that it would indeed not last, it never does, nothing ever does, so why invest yourself? Isn't it better to avoid the crash if possible? I don't know.
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Sunday, 30 January 2005 (wots...uh the deal) sometime after midnight I'm in. I made the cast. Funny thing, though: nobody's all that thrilled with the new tranny piece Ensler wrote for the production. So, I have roughly a week and a half to write and memorize my own piece for The Vagina Monologues, to be recited (not simply read, goddamnit, nothing so simple as that, I have to be off-book, recited) at the three sold-out shows starting on February 11. And, of course, I'm about to start a new job, so I'll be keeping busy in the immediate future. Meep. Not that I expected there to be less pressure in my life as my career picks up.
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Saturday, 29 January 2005 (maintenance high) 2:58pm I read "My Angry Vagina" from The Vagina Monologues at Cindy's open mic last night. The fact that I very seldom do covers is a point of pride, but in this case it felt justified. When I was reading the book it really leapt out at me, mostly because of its potential as a performance piece, much like the section I eventually read at the Harold's End reading. In both cases, the passion and emotion of the narrator moved me, and I wanted to go to that place. Unlike the City Lights gig, however, I've discovered that not only will I not get to choose what I perform, but I get the distinct impression that it's a new part entirely. Which is all fine and good; if they cast me, then I'll perform whatever I'm asked. Still, I wanted to do this particular piece at least once in public, and I'm very glad I did. My gay boyfriend Horehound was the feature. It was mentioned in passing that he first met Maddy and I in July of '02 at the latest. He was amazed, saying that he would have guessed he'd known us for at least five years. That happens a lot. We just seem like we've been around forever. My roots have been reblonded, thanks to Maddy. I think I'm getting close to having more hair blonde than not.
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Friday, 28 January 2005 (open restrictions) 9:42am After dropping Maddy off at work, I drove by my soon-to-be-office. It's so close to the heart of SOMA's clubland, I could probably tap into the DNA Lounge's wifi network if I really wanted. Not that it would be at all necessary, as I noticed wireless hubs in office when I interviewed. They're also using Windows XP, which I must admit makes me happy. Stop looking at me like that. I'm more comfortable on a PC than a Mac, okay? At least there's a fighting chance of having a halfway decent workstation, unlike the antiquated Windows 98 system I would have used at the construction company. I'm not suggesting those grapes were actually sour, because I don't believe they were, but nothing is perfect, either. Anyway, the parking in the immediate vicinity is not so great; it's either two-hour metered, or free for an hour. A scant three blocks away, right around Rainbow Grocery (and roughly the same distance one would walk were one to take the Muni and exit at Van Ness station), is a fair amount of free, unmetered, untimed parking, especially if one arrives around, say, seven in the morning. As I probably will be.
Shit. I think this means I'm going to be driving to work. So much for that extra reading time, but the extra
sleep in the mornings and extra time in the evenings is worth it. And at least I won't be paying a bridge toll
while making less than minimum wage, like when I started at...oh, you know. That other place
I used to talk about.
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Thursday, 27 January 2005 (about anything, always) 11:46am What is it with me and dying events? Okay, "dying" may not be a fair way to put it, but there seems to be a pattern emerging of me taking over hosting duties of shows with declining attendance. I'd been with Wicked Messenger from the start (and do hope to resurrect it), but Lit at the Canvas had already been going for a while when I got involved, and it seemed to stutter to a halt shortly thereafter. Gender Pirates was at nine last night, so we went to Retool and Grind first, since it started at seven. It's a monthly FTM-oriented open mic held at Eros, the gay bathhouse where Smegma was held so long ago. I've been meaning to go for quite some time, both because I'm an open mic whore and because I love the name of it. "Retool and Grind." It's so evocative, especially if you find metallic metaphors evocative, as I evidently do. Before I read my piece, I joked that if they ever ended the series, I was going to steal the name and use it for a goth/industrial club. Tell me the rivetheads wouldn't love that. As it happens, I was the only open mic reader. Never a good sign. Indeed, it's a downright familiar one. Afterwards, the regular host politely but determinedly asked me if I'd like to host next month. Mind you, I had not even remotely hinted at doing such a thing, so it came as a bit of a surprise. I said yes, because I never say no. Anyway, I guess it qualifies as ironic on some level, though I don't actually intend to turn it into a g/i club. The simple notion of hosting a show while men are having sex upstairs is more than enough. Gender Pirates was good. I was the first reader, and it's always nice to get it out of the way. It has nothing to do with nerves, as it once did. Rather, it's all about the room's energy level, and last night it was fantastic. A really great, responsive crowd. Before I read my second piece, I burbled you guys are great! i love you! A girl sitting towards the front replied, We Love You Too, Sherilyn! I swear, I didn't put her up to it, whoever she was. But I thank her for it. (I thanked her then, too.) Following up on my minor peccadillo at Smack Dab a couple weeks back, I committed the sin of never actually being part of the audience, of not giving the proper love to the other performers. The place was just too crowded; I'd felt much more comfortable and calm in the more intimate setting of Eros. I spent entirely too much of the evening either lurking about or dancing to the monopolized jukebox in the El Rio's front room. (I monopolized it for a most of the time I was near, except for a brief period when a couple of giggling fags putting in a dollar's worth of Elton John, then ran out of the room giggling as though they'd set off a stink bomb. I rather like "I'm Still Standing," so it wasn't quite as painful as they'd probably hoped.) I just wasn't feeling comfortable in the crowd. Too much on my mind, I suppose. It's going to be a while yet before my brain and my emotions reach some sort of equilibrium.
I'm employed again, though. That's a good thing. That'll help. Then I can get a gym membership and start working out again,
and pay back the people who have assisted me financially, and get some work done on the car, and get buetz without holes,
and even do some things which I kinda feel guilty for wanting to do...
Hi Sherilyn -- references were glowing (as expected). Looking forward to seeing you next week!So, there you go. It's real. I'm starting the job, anyway. That's the first step, isn't it? At least they aren't calling it a "trial period."
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Wednesday, 26 January 2005 (subclimax) 12:10pm So far, so one good. One of my references, Pike, said very glowing things about me. (They were even true.) Don't know if they've talked to my other reference, my supervisor from my last couple of months at the old company, but it looks like the job is mine. Still, I'm not going to sound the victory cheer for another fifteen days or so. Gotta last at least a week before I start breathing normally again. The news about the job came at the right time. Keeping it together yesterday afternoon was increasingly difficult, and I began to worry that it was going to be like New Year's Eve, another dam-bursting. That isn't a bad thing in and of itself, but the worst of it was while we were at Safeway, of all places. I consider that store to be its own circle of Hell, and that I didn't start crying feels like nothing short of a miracle. I think the only reason I didn't when we finally got home was finding the (ostensible) job offer. All the same, I don't believe I'm out of those woods just yet. So, I've been reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and am enjoying it immensely, especially how it's more of a political thriller than an episodic adventure story like the first two books. Indeed, the last three books in the series have really been a vast improvement over the first two. I'm glad I got over my stubborn streak and read the third. Not looking forward to the storm already gathering around the imminent release of the sixth book, though. I try to avoid media blitzes, inasmuch as it's possible when I have to leave the house. Good thing I don't watch teevee. I picked up Jerry Stahl's I, Fatty from the library yesterday. I love Stahl's work, and am developing an interest in revisionist faux-autobiographies (I, Fatty is based on Fatty Arbuckle), based on my own recent fiction pieces.
Both will probably have to wait, though. I made an emergency trip to the library this morning to pick up Eve Ensler's
The Vagina Monologues. Always been curious, never read, but I figure I really ought to, since this Sunday I'm
auditioning for the UC Berkeley
V-Day production next month. I have no idea what I'll be reading should I pass the audition, but familiarizing myself
with the original material seems like a good place to start, y'know?
Someday, I'll leave this windmill untilted.
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Tuesday, 25 January 2005 (discomfort zone) 11:23am I'm leaving the house for a few hours. When I return, there will be good news. Or possibly bad. Something. 3:10pm Nothing, still. 5:38pm Evidently I wasn't out of the house long enough, because they just wrote. Provided my references don't say I suck, I'll be starting a week from tomorrow. By all appearances, I'm about to be employed again.
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Monday, 24 January 2005 (a soul in tension) 12:42pm My first set from last night, opening the club: "In Search of My Rose" - The Tear Garden And my second set, closing out the night: "Smack My Bitch Up" - The Prodigy I spent much of the evening dancing, both to my sets (is that egotistical) and to the band, which played three short sets throughout the evening. Afterwards, the lead singer thanked me for dancing, insisting that I must attend and dance at all their other shows, too. Seems I'm now permanently guestlisted. Daaaw. As I say, the turnout was not spectacular, but there were some familiar faces. Shauna and Collette were among the first to show up, and it was wonderful to see them, but the real surprise of the evening was Dax. Haven't seen her since last May, I think, and I was incredibly touched that she made it. We share a birthday, give or take a decade. Watching Dax dance to Skinny Puppy—by the way, the spelling of the song title is theirs, not mine—I knew I'd nailed it, that I'd actualized my intentions for my involvement with the club. I was not-so-subconsciously trying to recreate how I felt at goth clubs when they were new to me, and seeing the eternally-goth Dax dancing to a song I'd picked out (with Temple's help, it's true) was simply perfect. see those three goth hotties dancing? I said to Monkey, referring to Dax, Shauna and Collette, who were the only ones dancing at that moment. (Shauna and Collette weren't all that gothed out, especially compared to Dax, but pick pick.) yep. they're here because of me, pretty much. During the second set, a woman I hadn't noticed before was clearly thrilled that I was playing "South Side," and another told me that "The Bog" was her favorite way back when. I was enjoying myself anyway (I probably haven't gotten that much exercise since my gym membership expired), but that made it even better, that I was making them happy. The not-so-latent entertainer in me is always looking for another way to express herself, it seems. The rush isn't quite the same as after a really good reading, when it's been my own words and my own sense of expressiveness that's garnered an emotional reaction, but the feeling is wonderful all the same. It's candy, pure and simple. In any event, I'm listed as a house DJ is on the eighty zillion flyers going into circulation, so I guess I have as steady a gig as I want. The others DJs are listed by their super-secret radio names (Monkey Man, Popvulture, Labcat, Radiowrecker), and I'm referred to by the name which is on my driver's license and social security card, not to mention the top of this very page. Some have suggested that might put me at greater risk from the FCC, but I doubt it. If they do come calling, I'll ask the obvious question: did you people even consider checking google? Meanwhile, City Lights says they're pretty well booked up around my birthday. Also, one of the people I asked to read with me has had to bail. Perhaps it isn't meant to be.
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Sunday, 23 January 2005 (chain daisy) 9:17am As I've hinted at before, I'm one of the DJs at the debut of Club Pirate Cat tonight. As opposed to the willful noise of Rush Hour on the Event Horizon, my set will be a tribute to the goth clubs of my misspent youth. Well, a brief period during my mid-twenties, anyway, which sometimes feels like as close to a youth as I ever allowed myself to have. (Is thirty-one too young to be having a midlife crisis?) (I am already getting gray hairs, after all.) If you can't make it there, you can always listen online, just like you do with my radio show. Which you do, right? Right. Sure you do. sometime after midnight One thing I can say about the opening night of Club Pirate Cat: more people attended than showed up at the last two Wicked Messengers combined. Actually, there's a lot more I can say about it, most of it positive and none of it being thinly veiled whining about the death-by-apathy of my club, but it'll have to wait. My alarm is going off in four hours whether I want it to or not. That's very little sleep even by my standards, and if I get the job, I'll start getting up even earlier. Even so, I could make a habit out of this....
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Saturday, 22 January 2005 (passion dearth) sometime after midnight I would like to formally apologize for bad things I've said in the past about the concept of polyamory, and by extension, those who practice it. As near as I can tell, I've only snarked about it once in these pages, nearly six years ago. There's a strong temptation to write off that particular statement as a product of my extremely dark mood, having recently broken up with The Ex and come out as a tranny in short order, and exemplified by the fact that it was spoken by the indented and italicized "inner voice" which I used so often back when I felt more comfortable being honest and open about my feelings. However, that would be disingenuous at best. It did represent how I thought I felt at the time, my short-sighted and insufferably superior attitude which was surely fueled by envy as much as anything else. Nor can I even say that it was just back then, because I surely continued to say similar things past the turn of the millennium, after I ostensibly got my shit together. So. I humbly apologize to anyone I may have insulted or disparaged, even if they didn't know it at the time. (I'm usually pretty good at keeping things to myself, in spite of my reputation otherwise.) It was wrong of me, and I can only ask for forgiveness and hope you're willing to accept me into your ranks. I feel like a queer-basher who finally realizes that all along he's just been jealous because he wants to suck cock, too. It's a crude analogy, but it does the job.
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Friday, 21 January 2005 (strength of strings) 11:10am I heard back from the second place I interviewed with on Wednesday, the unexpected phone interview. Didn't get the job. Still nothing from the place I really want to work, the internet company. They said it would be a few business days before a decision was made, which means I'll just have to wait until Monday at least, and try not to think about it too much. There are all sort of things happening this weekend to keep my mind off it, like...um...well, I'm DJing at Club Pirate Cat on Sunday. That's something. Oh, nothing from the newsradio guy who'd said he'd contact me this week about setting up an interview. Maybe I should have contacted him again, risked crossing that line from pro-active to aggressive and annoying. In today's job market, of course, that's the best way to blow one's chances. I may return to zero next week. Again.
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