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Sunday, 10 June 2001 (steal your love) 8:02am I slept for barely three hours, but I can't bring myself to go back to bed. An old-school Sunday. Fitting, somehow. Dancing at Shrine last night, seeing Terminal (i prefer "sherilyn," but for you I'll be extra-patient) and Crawford (you deserve whatever happens to you) and Gahan (remember, the light was in our eyes) on the floor as well, felt like I was returning to the pages of a dimly-remembered novel, one which I felt like I'd lived because I identified so much with the protagonist. But it's not real anymore, if it ever was. Closure is a myth. Sometimes parts of you can die before you'd ever realized they were alive. (Don't ask what any of that means. I'm not entirely certain myself.) A few people asked where I'd been, including Götterdämmerung and Tiff. I'd be lying if I said it didn't do my ego a world of good to know that my absence is noted, even if not until I return. And, aside from it being Shrine's last night at the Maritime Hall, I'm doubly glad we went because it turns out Tiff is probably leaving town in July to go to school in Irvine. Even though there's a possibility we'll run into her again at the Dyke March (she mentioned something about having a "slumber party" afterwards, a concept both bizarre and intriguing), it was nice to say goodbye proper. The completion of the arc of a recurring character, as it were. She was also kind enough to take one of the better pictures of Maddy and I that I've seen in a while. (Not that there've been a lot of them taken lately, but pick pick.) And, of course, our hair looked fabulous because we'd had a cut and color with Miguel earlier in the day. In what seems to be becoming a new ritual, we then went out together in the evening. He'd been curious about the place ever since I'd first told him about it a couple years back, and it had been one of our destination when we went out in April, but we never made it. I'm terribly embarrassed to admit that I'd been very reluctant to have him along in the past, like he'd crimp whatever marginal style I might have. It was needlessly elitist and stuck up of me. Trés goth, in fact. But I'm better now. Really. Unfortunately, Anodyne wasn't working coat check, and if she was there at all I didn't notice. Beyond the fact that I haven't seen her since (November? December?), I kinda wanted her and Miguel to meet. I'm not sure why, it just seems like it would have been fun. I'm tempted to write her and ask, but I suspect there may be a level of drama happening that I'd probably best avoid. Lord knows it can exist without me.
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Saturday, 9 June 2001 (lonely girls) 7:52am I may not have had a guitar strap for Billy Talbot, but when RE/Search's V. Vale asked if anyone had a plastic bag to hold the donations for Jello's legal defense fund, I was ready. I feel so punk rock. sometime after midnight 3am pancakes at JT's at help, too. So that's it for Shrine, pretty much.
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Friday, 8 June 2001 (assume power focus) 9:16am From my mom last night:
The name didn't immediately conjure up a face, so I looked it
up in my yearbook (which is kept in the living room bookcase
for just such an emergency). Oh. Her. If memory serves,
this is the same person who used her popular-kid influence to talk
me into going on that horrendous senior trip. Not great surprise
that she'd be involved in this, too. She remembers me from band,
indeed. More likely whatever info she has in front of her mentions
that I was in band, and she was too, so she's pretending it
implies some kind of connection to us. (Percussion, by the way.
I was determined not to let my utter lack of rhythm hold me back.
Sheesh, but I was a schmuck.) In any event, I don't suppose I'll
be returning that call.
Both Orky and Miguel invited us out tonight, Miguel to a glam/fetish club I'd never heard of, and Orky to one which sounds suspiciously like a rave. Which isn't to say it doesn't seem interesting, because it does, but perhaps for another time. And I'm ever going to find acid again, that's the kind of place to look.
Instead, we're going to a RE/Search book party tonight. Lawrence Ferlenghetti
and Jello Biafra will probably be there, and I've always liked RE/Search's stuff. Plus
it's free, doesn't required getting dressed up, within walking distance of work,
and most frightening, we can buy more books.
We just don't have enough, y'see.
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Thursday, 7 June 2001 (face of scars) 10:29am I'm continuing to be buffeted around in UCSF's scheduling system. Although I'm still getting my vision tested on Monday, the real appointment with the ophtalmologist (regarding how much I'm at risk for glaucoma) on June 26 has been pushed back, since when it was originally scheduled they apparently neglected to make sure he was going to be in the office. Or maybe something came up, I don't know, but now it won't be until July 9. The day before our two year anniversary, as it happens. Of course, had I taken care of this two years ago (oooh! deep!) when my optometrist suggested it...well, it would have been taken care of two years ago. Ergo, I don't really have much to complain about. If I were to complain, it would be that the replacement janitorial staff is insisting on leaving the lights on in my office. He arrived as I was leaving last night and I told him then to turn them off when he was done, but I'm going to guess he didn't understand what I was saying. God, could I sound a little more bourgeois, please? And speaking of unnecessary energy usage (that was the topic, right?), the Evil Levi Plaza has put a sign in front of their still-running fountain:
In other words, they're not going to do anything to help the problem until it gets worse—as it inevitably must, with this kind of wastefulness—and then pretend to give a shit. Oh, but I'm being unfair. Across the street is a park with a much, much smaller fountain. It's kinda hard to find unless you know where to look, so of course that one they've shut off, with a sign explaining why:
How swell of them to make that gesture. Not that there'll be any improvement while they continue to run their large fountain, but hey! They're doing their part! If only everyone were willing to make such grand sacrifices. I'm not expecting anything of the sort from our upstairs neighbor, who again left the garage light on all night. It's his wont, as is not replacing the light when it burns out, and there's no point in getting too upset about it. Indeed, I'd like to think he's getting his just deserts; in the mail yesterday were three different bills (or possibly subpoenas) from the DPT. We've noticed that when he parks on the street, he constantly gets ticketed since he apparently doesn't pay any attention to the street cleaning signs. Indeed, he's probably gotten nabbed for that more in the last year than I have in the last six. Now, he travels a lot, but there are at least two other people up there with him, and by all appearances it's never occurred to any of them to move his car for him while he's gone, as a simple courtesy. It's probably never occurred to him to ask, any more than it occurred to him to tell them the washer and dryer in the garage belongs to someone else. He's in his own little gravity-intensive world, and I'll bet it's a very unpleasant place. Anyway, I'm terribly amused that he doesn't bother to pay the tickets, which is surely why the city is coming after him. Kinda makes me feel better about having to replace the bulbs that he burns out. He's getting his.
Which isn't to say I wasn't just a teeny bit tempted to disappear
the bills from the mailbox. After all, being who he is, he's
just going to ignore 'em, right? And he's caused us no small amount
of stress in recent memory, right? But, no. From a purely
karmic standpoint, it would be a bad move. I'm using up that
particular cosmic goodwill whenever anything important arrives for
the prior upstairs neighbor. If he can't make sure that correspondence
(bills, returned checks, etc.) regarding his house tax make it to
the correct address, that sure as hell isn't my problem. Although I do get
a good laugh out of it. Since I'm probably going to hell anyway
(seeing as how I haven't felt the healing touch of Jeezus, and would probably
scream rape if he ever got his grubby paws on me), I might as well
at least take a few of my enemies down with me.
Anyway, last year I sent him a card, and the year before I ignored it entirely. (1998? I have no idea. That's like pre-history.) Since he seemed to appreciate Cryptonomicon for xmas, I'm thinking about getting him Stephenson's Snow Crash and In the Beginning...Was the Command Line. Then again, that might be shooting my wad too soon, and I'll save Snow Crash for xmas. Or I could just get him a gift certificate to Border's like I did for his birthday. Of course, it would probably be for the same amount as the check I traditionally get on my birthday, thus effectively cancelling each other out.
On that note, I'm trying to decide if it would be in poor taste for me to write him
and mention not to put "Sherilyn" on checks just yet.
Don't steal music.
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Wednesday, 6 June 2001 (obviously 5 believers) 9:46am "Most people wouldn't want the word 'monkey' in their job titles." 12:23pm I haven't made Enterprise doodles in a notebook margin for many, many years. 3:13pm Done. 5:19pm Looks like we'll be going to Shrine's last night at Maritime this Saturday, and with (the newly single) Miguel in tow. Should prove interesting.
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Tuesday, 5 June 2001 (visions of johanna) 3:16pm No new picture yet, mainly because I've yet to find one I like. Soon, hopefully. I've been listening to the Moulin Rouge soundtrack. Haven't seen the movie yet, but that's kinda the point. I like knowing the songs before going into a musical, since it allows me to concentrate on the other aspects. Of course, I might end up wishing I could be distracted by the music as Nicole Kidman's costumes destroy whatever's left of my ego. Of course, going to see it in the near future almost certainly means dealing with a crowded movie theater, never a happy experience. Has to happen eventually, I suppose. I'll probably be going to a few non-multiplexes next week, if any of them have anything interesting playing. I got lucky last year.
In an effort to be productive, I made an appointment to take
my car to the garage for its annual checkup before going to
the ophthalmologist on Monday. They're within a ten minute
walk of one another, which makes me feel all the more clever.
None of my Good American gratitude about being gainfully employed
makes me any less annoyed by having to go to Performer tomorrow.
I wonder how many recently axed employees could have kept their
jobs if not for how much the company was shelling out for this
program. Who knows, The Fidget Queen may still be with us.
Boy, talk about your mixed feelings.
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Monday, 4 June 2001 (distant camera) 10:05am I admit, I was keeping an eye out on Saturday night for Maggie. We weren't too far from her place, and being a lesbian-oriented event she would certainly consider it acceptable entertainment. Snarky? Not necessarily: when Chasing Amy was released a few years back, she asked me if I thought it would be appropriate for her to watch, or if she'd find it offensive as a lesbian. The L-word defines her. Anyway, if she was there, I didn't see her.
Of course, she probably has other things on her mind. When I mentioned to
The Ex that Maggie's site is currently 90% 404s, she said that Maggie's
been having ISP issues, and apparently they're somehow related to a struggle
she's having with her landlord. I don't really see the connection—if
it's a money problem, it's odd that they would host just a few of the pages
rather than shutting it down entirely—but haven't pursued it any further.
It's probably best that I don't know.
Maybe I should write longhand more—perhaps I'll actually, like, write more. It's looking like Maddy and I might be joining Dana and Lee for dinner on my birthday. (Coincidentally, since it's the day on the calendar which works the best.) That would be quite perfect.
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Sunday, 3 June 2001 (without rings) 1:54pm Figures. Reading John Shirley gets me interested in writing fiction, not something I've ever had a knack for. Reading Harvey Pekar makes me want to write comics. (Drawing is a bit beyond me.) So after the Sister Spit show last night, I get that "Hey, I can do that!" feeling. Though the idea does make me nervous, I'm not completely unfamiliar with public speaking; I actually gave stand-up a try at an open mike club in '97, though didn't go very well. It was Good Friday—historically a good day for crucifixion and little else—and Hale-Bopp was in the sky, and everybody knows comets are harbingers of sorrow. So, of course, it makes perfect sense that I bombed. There's another show tonight, a more gender-oriented event called Intercourse. I'd go, except the notice is entirely too short. Looks cool, though, and I like the idea of, y'know, maybe actually meeting other trannies. What a concept. Intercourse is a one-timer, but later in the evening is a monthly event called Kvetch, an open mike queer spoken word thing. Which I'm not going to either, at least not tonight. I'm seriously considering it for next month, though. After all, I have over two years worth of daily nonsense to cull from. Granted, I'd be lucky if a so much a day's worth is usable, but...it's worth a try.
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Saturday, 2 June 2001 (the great divide) 3:15pm It was bound to happen eventually. I was at the gym this morning and encountered a vulture. I'd been on the crosstrainer for barely seven minutes when I was asked how much longer I'd be. Most of the other machines were open, though the second crosstrainer was out of order, and the place doesn't set time limits. Ergo, fooey on her. Out loud, I told her that I'd just gotten on. About half an hour later she asked me to let her know when I was done. I told her that she could just look over in this direction, and if I wasn't on it anymore, that would mean I was done. The place isn't that big, after all. It was something of a tactical error, since the net result was her keeping an eye on me, which I didn't much care for either. Though that sort of thing is common at 24-Hour, but it had never happened before at this place, so I figured it was a fluke. Still, though. And, no, I didn't tell her when I was done. 'Cuz I'm a rebel and all. We're going to a Sister Spit CD release party tonight in the Mission. Bowing to parking realities, we're taking the Muni. Which is as good a night to do it as any, really, since the Black and White Ball is also happening. We may have to venture downtown a bit more just to see the ritzy people getting on the bus with that look of class fear in their eyes.
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Friday, 1 June 2001 (softer, softest) 7:31am All things considered, it wasn't so bad—three hours with co-workers from both coasts on a boat going around the Bay. I'd never seen the underside of the Golden Gate Bridge, so that was kinda cool. Given the choice I would have rather done something else with the time, but at least there was no attempt at something truly organized, like some kind of team-building game or something. We were pretty much free to do whatever we wanted, though the options were pretty much limited to talking to other people or not talking to other people. I did more of the latter. At several points I was tempted to read (having finished the second book in Shirley's Eclipse series, I'm shifting gears and reading Peter Biskind's Easy Riders, Raging Bulls, more of my beloved porno-like film-history), but decided that would be too antisocial, even for me.
Booze was available, and I was asked if I drink. Earlier in the day when
lunch was served, I was asked if I'm a vegetarian. The answers were,
respectively, "Very seldom" and "No, but I wish I was." I don't think
anybody was particularly surprised.
At half past four on Friday, though?
Inspired by Harry Shearer, I observed that the phrase "At the end of the day" was used eleven times during the meeting yesterday. Eight of which were by one person. See? I was paying attention.
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