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The Herbivore on Divisadero is pretty much the same as the one on Valencia, except the parking sucks and and there aren't any mariachi bands and rose vendors wandering around inside. I probably ate too much, but it was mostly baby greens, grilled vegetables and brown rice, so as indulging goes it could have been worse. Oh, and the cake. Basically, Dax doublecrossed us. The dinner was ostensibly a veggiegoth gathering, but for dessert the waiter brought out a vegan chocolate cake with "Congrats M + S" written on it, courtesy of Dax. We were so not expecting it, even though she'd been swearing she'd have some kind of celebration for our recent domesticating. Wouldn't'cha'know, she followed through. It was terribly sweet of her, and she had no idea that Michelle and Rocco had also gotten us that kind of cake, which just goes to show we have the coolest friends. 4:32pm The first half of Charles and Annalee's show at the Roxie this morning (dubbed "Exploitation Brunch") was exploitation trailers and a hygiene film. Not nearly as much Shatner as promised, though. The second half was films from the Prelinger Archives—presented by archivist Rick Prelinger himself. Annalee was kind enough to introduce me to him, which was quite a thrill, as I've admired his work for years. The gushing was kept to a minimum, and I successfully resisted the urge to have my picture taken with him. Sometimes I worry that I can be a bit...overwhelming, especially to a quiet little guy in a 2600 t-shirt. I told him we'd used Three Little Kittens on our show (with credit given to the Archives, of course), and briefly described some of the other films we're planning on using. He knew exactly which ones I was talking about—not bad when you consider they're two out of the 1,254 titles currently available online, with more on the way. Indeed, he said that more cat stuff would be added soon. Cool. Strictly speaking his permission and/or approval isn't required, since the films are officially "available for downloading, exhibition and reuse at no cost" for silly little projects such as ours, but I always like it when they know. The movies themselves were rather chilling. One showed the warning signs of a country moving away from democracy and towards despotism (I'm not sure why the word "fascism" was never used, since it was made in 1946 when the word was still fresh on the public's mind), and much of it seemed like what our current government's been doing lately. Just a coincidence, no doubt—gotta battle them terrorists, y'know! Another, produced during by the Treasury Department (?) in 1945, was narrated by a white man made up to look Japanese and speaking in bad accent going on and on about why America sucked and how Japan was going to win the war. Disclaimers at the beginning and end assured the audience that was how the Japanese really felt about us, no fooling. Not surprisingly, there was a definite "we hate your freedom" undercurrent. The classics, they never die. Between sets, I won a quasi-legal talking Jar-Jar Binks watch because I knew who Biggs Darklighter was: Luke Skywalker's childhood friend from Tatooine. They wanted to go to the Academy together, but Luke had to stay behind to help his aunt and uncle. I also knew they were reunited in the on the Rebel base at Yavin, though Biggs was subsequently killed by Darth Vader during the assault on the Death Star. Charles was terribly impressed by my level of geekiness. The sad thing is, I don't really consider myself a Star Wars fan, having willfully missed the most recent movie in theater. Sadder still, they'd almost asked a question about Herschell Gordon Lewis instead, and I would have gotten that wrong—The Gore-Gore Girls was his last movie, not The Wizard of Gore like I'd thought. Of course, I could have argued that his last movie is technically the as-yet-unreleased Blood Feast 2: All U Can Eat, but that would have been nitpicking. I have my Jar-Jar Binks watch, and that's what matters. Since he was going to be driving around in that area anyway, Philip Ford and I arranged to meet at 16th and Valencia at half past one so I could give him the CD. When he saw me, he pulled over and opened the passenger side door. Since I was wearing my buetz with fishnets and a plaid schoolgirl skirt (which I'm not at all embarrassed to admit I bought at K-Mart for $12—if you can overcome the stigma of such places, there are some terrific deals to be had) and looked the part, I leaned in and said, "Wanna date?" I've always wanted to do that, and what better time than when there's a big gay boy behind the wheel?
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I refilled my hormone prescription this morning. It's a very simple process. I call the pharmacy, give them the prescription numbers, go in, plunk down $20 for the insurance copay, and leave with a month's worth of provera and permarin. (Premarin is made from the urine of pregnant mares, hence the name. I am wholly aware of the ethical problems, particularly considering I'm trying wean animal products out of my diet. Thank you, drive through.) It will cease to be so simple process if Maddy loses her medical insurance, which is seeming likely. At least, it could continue to be as simple, but not as cheap: without insurance, the 'mones cost an additional $100 or so. We lose our jobs, and our overhead expenses go up as a result. The irony is so beautiful, you want to buy it flowers. There are, of course, other ways, and I'll be exploring them if it does happen. I know what I need and in what dosages, and there are places in town where 'mones can be had cheaply, and almost safely. If I'm not mistaken, Rocco gets his from the Tom Waddell Clinic, which I'd considered originally before I had the ways and means to do it through more official channels. They won't supply just anyone who comes in off the street, but I can bring in a fair amount of paperwork proving I've been at it for a while. Of course, with my luck, I'll probably be deemed too well off and turned down. There's always Mexico, I suppose. 11:49am We're having dinner tonight at the newly opened (?) second location of Herbivore with Dax, Leni and others—rumor has it Imani will be making it as well—and tomorrow morning we're going to a show at the Roxie being put on by Charles and Annalee. It looks like it should be a lot of fun; it's a combination of WWII propaganda films from the blessed Prelinger Archives and exploitation film trailers. Those are, of course, two of my favorite things, even if the word "Shatner" keep getting thrown around. (Personally, I think Shatner-bashing is passe, and the unfortunate fact is that a lot of the decent work he's done—Roger Corman's The Intruder comes to mind—gets lumped in with the rest, because, you know, he's William Shatner, and everything he's ever done is now considered camp. And, to all the people who do impressions: we've heard it before, okay? Consider the joke gotten.) Anyway, that's 11:30am on Saturday morning at the Roxie. Just sayin'. Getting out is good. I don't think I've done so enough this week. Hardly at all, really, except for the two-minute stop at the temp agency on Tuesday morning and the running of the occasional errand. I talked with Violet on the phone Wednesday night for a while (invited him to the Roxie thing, but there's no telling) and played phone tag with Philip about the Jayne County CD (who will definitely be picking it up from me after said Roxie thing), but that's about it. As scary as it can be sometimes, a lack of interaction with the outside world is a bad thing. Evidently I need it more than I used to. 4:23pm you can't see me, but you know i'm here.
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Campaigning for the November elections has already begun. By this point in most presidential elections, I'm already sick of it all. Indeed, I was so fed up by the time Election Day rolled around in 2000, I decided I would not watch a single drop of coverage. None. I voted, then disassociated myself from it all. I didn't want to know what the latest exit polls said, who was beating whom, any of that. I figured I'd just wake up the next morning and there'd be a new president and the drama would be over. Gee, what a swell plan that was. Anyway, running for Supervisor in my district is a man named Ed Jew. He seems like a nice guy, and if the Guardian endorses him he'll probably get my vote. (Hey, at least I vote at all, and they're where I'm at politically.) What weirds me out is his campaign sign. His last name is in a larger font than the rest of the words, and it's the first thing you see. Now, I may be gentilicious but I know my history, and especially these days when our government is recruiting citizens to spy on other citizens, there's something disconcerting about glancing at a store window and seeing the word "Jew." (This is not me being hypersensitive, and I don't think the signs are in poor taste or anything like that. They can show the WTC collapsing with the words "Vote for me or the terrorists win!" for all I care. It's just an odd coincidence.) 6:36pm For at least the last twenty minutes, Captain Jack and Skully has been nothing but white noise. God, I love KFJC.
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Looks like I'll be supplying Philip Ford with a CD of Jayne County's "Fuck Off" for a play he's co-producing with Jennifer Blowdryer. Finally, showbiz!
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Saturday night, vivisected for your reading pleasure.
Continued, soon. 10:27am See? Toldja. A conclusion, or at least an end, is forthcoming. 12:39pm
The end. 2:22pm Of course, nothing I did Saturday night required the nerve that it took for me to call the temp agency just now. The odds of me getting anything else in my "field" are slim, especially since CNET is their only client who has been looking for webmonkeys at all since last September—and even then, they knew they wanted me for the job and just used the agency as a necessary middleman. Anyway, I'll be going in tomorrow with my resume to see about getting general office work, to sell myself to them. So this is what fear feels like.
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It's no Beowulf, but I seem to have a novel in me. Or a long-winded anecdote, anyway.
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Unless there's a lot of movement, cats generally ignore television. (They really are more advanced than us.) They also have attention spans like...well, like cats. Which is to say, none to speak of. And yet Oscar spent at least half an hour watching kittypr0n today as we were dubbing a tape. Sometimes there was no action, just him or Mina laying about, and he even seemed fascinated when Dana and Costanza's unfamiliar cats were onscreen. He went away after an episode ended, and before long Mina walked by, saw the screen, and started watching. It was all very odd. Thankfully, we managed to get quite a bit of it on tape. I think I know what our next high-concept episode will be: the cats watching themselves on their own show. How terribly postmodern. 5:57pm Oh, the prop went over well. When I was done, I opened it up and emptied the contents onto the table closest to the mic. (The contents being Kraft Philadelphia Chocolate Decadence Snack Bars.) Most of them were taken after the show, and the last few I managed to pawn off on Phred, who had been desiring them earlier in the day. She didn't make it until the show was ending, but it was nice to see her all the same, and afterwards Maddy and I ate at my favorite taqueria with her. (Embeth, unfortunately, had to go home.) Phred was in the neighborhood for an audition, which is a perfectably acceptable reason for missing our reading, although it doesn't quite match the sheer beauty of Shrike's reason for missing our commitment ceremony: she was getting fucked really well. I'd daresay Shrike made the right choice.
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Some belated pictures from Pink Saturday. 2:21pm This used to be a nice place to live. It really was. There was plenty of parking and not much noise. Now, the curbs are crowded with SUVs and we've been hearing ice-cream trucks. There goes the neighborhood. 3:31pm I'm going to be reading the piece from K'vetch at Poetry Mission (an open mic at Dalva Bar at 16th and Valencia) tonight. I've edited it down a bit, reworded a few sentences, added some nutritional information—who doesn't love hearing numbers?—and generally streamlined it, so it's a bit more concise and doesn't run quite as long. I even have a prop. I've also been practicing standing still while reading, or at least not moving constantly. I think I've figured it out. 5:38pm Just so long as I don't follow Bucky Sinister. I don't think I could handle that. 11:09pm Bucky was first up, and I was fourth or fifth, so it wasn't too bad. Better yet, I made him laugh a few times, which I counted as a victory since he has a dangerously sharp sense of humor. I went on before Shauna, and though she didn't make it, I noticed (e)'s name in the signup book from the time before. Good company, past and present. Poetry Mission is a very different environment than I'm accustomed to (inasmuch as I've had a chance to get accustomed to much of anything), the cramped back room of a bar rather than K'vetch's comparatively open space. There was also a microphone, which I found ironic considering K'vetch doesn't have one. But it gave me a reason to stand in one place, not that there were a lot of options—the performer stands literally under the stairs—and I suppose I should get used to speaking into microphones. Because now that I've done it twice, I'm pretty sure I'm going to continue. I think I've even decided what my next piece is going to be. The audience was small (a matter of physics), but included Embeth and Ted Naifeh, whom we'd met briefly a few months back at a signing for his comic Courtney Crumrin and the Night Things. Embeth was there to hear me read, and brought Ted along for the ride. He had to leave halfway through, though Embeth stayed until the end, so she got to hear Maddy's last-minute reading. (Because of a migraine she hadn't planned on reading, but decided to give it a shot in spite of the fact that she wasn't feeling well and was dressed casually. I'm very proud of her.) It was a pleasant surprise to see Embeth, though I was a bit worried—an open mic can be a miserable experience for all involved, and I wouldn't have wanted that on my conscience—but she enjoyed herself thoroughly, and thanked me for letting her know about it. I was very glad to hear that, and I hope I'll be seeing her at these sorts of shows in the future. The evening's feature, Jennifer Blowdryer (warning: topless picture), told us something we've been wanting to hear for a long time but were beginning to doubt we ever would: Danielle Willis is alive and more or less well, living in the City and getting cleaned up. She may even be at a party Jennifer is throwing on Saturday night. Then again, she may not make it, but we'll be watching for her. Of course, all this would be even better if we could be doing these things and be gainfully employed at the same time. Can't have everything, I guess.
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