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Thursday, 10 June 2004 (sowing and reaping) sometime after midnight With all the hooha about Reagan's death, I'm reminded of the recent death of one of my heroes, someone who truly was taken from us too soon. Unlike Reagan--who, like Elvis, should have died when he was young and pretty, before he could really embarrass himself. In a 1985 interview on Fresh Air, Terry Gross asked Spalding Gray why he smokes grass even though he knows it makes him paranoid:
I am fascinated by psychotic states, and have been for years. My mother had a very severe nervous breakdown and eventually committed suicide in 1967 after a two year period. Not just because of that, but I've always been interested in abnormal psychology, and I guess it's something I would do in another lifetime, I would be interested in being a therapist. I know that sometimes I get bored with...health, with life as it is. It gets flat, and I often think the marijuana is a perfect way to break through, to enter that other realm. Then, afterwards, I always repent and say Now, why did I want to do that? But within there, sometime's theres a number of very... Wonderful experiences happen, in the sense of being able to let go with the perfect moment that I describe in the Indian Ocean, where I am not holding onto anything and I'm able to open up and feel this terrific at-oneness. So it can go sometimes either way, and that way was healthy and it was outdoors. But usually, it's a kind of grinding paranoia that keeps me awake, and certainly, I really understand my personal paranoid state, and am tired of it. I'm bored with it and would rather go on to other things. You are missed, Spald.
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Wednesday, 9 June 2004 (summer's lost heart) 7:28pm Wow. Was it only yesterday that I was wondering about Danielle? (Out loud, that is. I wonder about her a lot to myself.) By a stroke of the sort of dumb stupid luck which more often results in bad things happening, Maddy and I ran into her on the street this evening. Her court case went well—she's on probation in California as opposed to rotting in a Cleveland jail, after all. I think she was downright excited to see us, judging from how wide her eyes got and the way she said my name. Of course, I scolded her for not having called. With anyone else I'd be all "Oh, it's okay," but she requires the rolled-up newspaper approach, and she knows it. She says that she keeps losing our number (plausible), so we got hers. The number of the person she's staying with, anyway. Nice enough guy. We got the impression that he's clean and sober (they were on the way to her rehab) (at the risk of sharing personal details about her with the world via the internet, Danielle had some problems with drugs in the past), as well as queer, both good qualities in a companion for her. Therefore, I approve of him. What I can say? She makes me get all maternal. Among other things. After making plans to get together on Friday night (hopefully to involve Ty and fresh syringes), we parted company. The nutty coincidences continued, however: we passed a comic book store which carried the How Loathsome hardcover, which I've never seen. It's a thing of beauty, and I'm not just saying that because Danielle mentions me by name in her introduction. I didn't buy it, for a couple reasons. For starters, I'm no longer into the collecting and the general acquisition of stuff as I once was. Much purging has happened over the last few years, and I need to do a lot more. Still, when my birthday rolls around (the big three-one is a week from today, although the quote-party-unquote is the night before at Modern Times), I have to start thinking in terms of things I want. It's funny how much of what I'd like isn't carried by Amazon—Robert Rich's Somnium, or example, or William Basinski's Disintegration Loops Vol. II. Do I need either of them? No. Indeed, I've downloaded mostly complete versions of both of them from the usenet. On the other hand, I have purchased quite a few of Basinski and Rich's other albums. When I actually buy music instead of just stealing it, I want the money to go to the right people. Anyway, Amazon does carry How Loathsome, so it's on my wish list. (Sometimes I'm embarrassed about having one at all, but, y'know what? It is okay to want things.) (See? I'm learning.) Of course, the best thing to do would be to simply use the list as a guide and make the actual purchases from other, preferably indie sources. If one were inclined to get me something in the first place. I know I wouldn't be if I were you.
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Tuesday, 8 June 2004 (the eighth and final) 10:13am Sometimes, it does hurt to try. 3:00pm The turnout for the Zippy auditions have been less than stellar. Last night, it was just Maddy and one other person. Bryce and I were also there, but we don't count, seeing as how we're already cast. We went through our first scene together a few times, and while I don't really have much acting experience to which it can be compared (if you can call this "acting"), I can tell this one is going to be quite different.
Lynnee and I are going to be in Southern California the final weekend of the play,
but Jim's willing to work around my schedule. Of course, I was planning that before
I got cast, and I'll probably have to turn down a few gigs during the run of the play.
I already know I won't be able to participate
in a show Seeley's organizing called "Trans as Fuck: An Evening of Sexxxibitionism That Rocks the Gender Bound World." ("A very messy cabaret...bring rain gear.") Obviously, this wouldn't just be standing at a mic and telling my silly little stories. Seeley confirmed that bloodplay would be allowed, so...yeah. I'll have to give that one
a miss. Another time, I guess. (I wonder how Danielle's doing.)
It can be hard to tell if you genuinely exist. Does simply displacing water make you real? Does the male gaze validate my status as female? Is that enough? How is it I can be booked for a show over a year in advance (seriously—I've been asked to perform at Femina Potens on August 25, 2005, fourteen months from now) yet I still wonder sometimes if I'm a blip on anyone's radar, if I'm anything more than just a poseur? Is the body capable of any sensation besides bleeding? When will it stop screaming at me and let me breathe normally, or at least let me go to sleep?
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Monday, 7 June 2004 (verbose mode) 10:23am K'vetch was good last night. I'm typically more critical of myself there than anywhere else, and I feel like I rocked the house muchly. I read a (literally) rearranged version of the piece from Friday night, and except for having to excise a large chunk from the middle to keep in under five minutes, I think it's stronger now. Kirk especially liked it, suggesting I submit it to a certain upcoming anthology on queer marriage. I haven't been able to find a deadline for submissions, but it's almost certainly long since past. The book is being published this September, and it already has a page count, for pete's sake. So, I'm not expecting it to happen, but I'm going to give a shot anyway.
Kirk also had a wealth of useful suggestions (the boy's a font, I tell
you, a gul-durned font) about DIY touring, especially self-promotion,
which is not something Lynnee and I are very good at. As hard as that
is to believe.
You're an adventurer, and though I'll surely miss you 12:10pm I survived my first conference call. My first one at this company, anyway; I'm pretty sure I sat in on a few at CNET, usually as the person who gets introduced early on and never says another word. Anyway, it sucked, although Kelly tells me that it's gone a lot worse with this particular (and particularly evil) client before. I wouldn't have had to do it at all, except that My Supervisor is gone today, so I had to fill in for him. I was given the option of backing out, but, you know, gotta show initiative if I wanna make the big bux0rs. Becoming a conference call-type person makes my journey to the dark side complete: as of Saturday afternoon, I now have a functioning cell phone. Well, mostly complete, since the phone is only mostly functioning. (Mostly.) The voice and text messaging work just fine, but the internet access isn't quite happening yet. It makes perfect sense, seeing as how that's what I really wanted to use it for; I got the unlimited internet plan, and actual calls are twenty cents a minute. That's right, I have no minutes. I don't fucking want minutes. I don't even like the usage of the word "minutes" in this context, and in any event, they'd be wasted on me. I'm only going to use it in situations where I'd otherwise have to use a pay phone. Calling Maddy to tell her I'm coming home, outside the Dark Room to ask Jim or Erin to unlock the front gate, quick stuff like that. So, if the internet access isn't happening by this afternoon I'm going back to T-Fucking-Mobile, and—
Ugh. It still kills me that they're the provider. I find their advertising
to be noxious even by cell phone standards, with their images of Happy People
Doing Happy Things, the meaningless presence of the Hollywood Hottie, all of it.
But all my research suggested that T-Fucking-Mobile was the way to go, as does
the documentation that arrived with the phone itself, and, quite frankly, there
are limits to how much I braintime I'll waste on it. It's been too much already.
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Saturday, 5 June 2004 (later phase) 11:14am why do you have to tell the world everything? Because it's how I'm wired. Besides, there's so much more that I don't tell—and, as bears repeating, the world does not care. A few dozen people, or even a few hundred, does not the world make.
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Friday, 4 June 2004 (your dark corona) 11:40pm "Thank you" is quite possibly the best compliment I can receive after a reading. It says so much. Tonight went well, better than I'd expected. (The show, anyway. Afterwards...) I wish I could have had another day or so to work on my piece, but it was more than presentable by the time I presented it, and that's what matters. There were three large candles on a table near the microphone, and as I was reading, I blew them out. It's hard to explain why it was in context, but it was, in fact, in context. I followed it up with one of the most professional things I've ever done: I did not comment on the large, beautiful cloud of smoke created by the extinguished candles. I continued with the piece and didn't break stride. I'm actually absurdly proud of myself for that. As I say, tonight went well. It was a good show overall, made better by the fact that the one person I really wasn't looking forward to dealing with had to cancel. Hooray for small miracles. Best of all, I can finally say I was part of the Queer Arts Festival. Yay.
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Thursday, 3 June 2004 (wheelspinner) 6:14am Due to getting a real job which requires a great deal of his time, Clint Catalyst is no longer hosting the Unhappy Hour series at the Parlour Club. The show with Lynnee and I in July is still on; Clint just won't be hosting it. They aren't sure yet who will be, in fact. Oh well. 8:55am It's a Sutcliffe Jugend kinda day. 9:40am "The European sexual underground." The European sexual underground? The European sexual underground!
No, really.
Meanwhile, Breedpal and I have a third gig: Friday, July 23 at the Claire De Lune in San Diego. It took a while to actually get to speak to the owner, but once I did, he booked us right away. It almost felt simple, though it really wasn't. Now, to do something about that Thursday...
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Wednesday, 2 June 2004 (the hunger of memory) 11:22am Ty and Cory are going to The Hopland Women's Festival this week. It looks extremely crunchy, but it's trans-friendly, and they're mostly going with the intent of getting laid. Me? Jealous? No, of course not, nope nope nope... 1:20pm it's not that everything ends. it's that so many things end before they've really started. 11:34pm In brief. I have a cell phone now, though it doesn't have service or anything yet. Hey, I know that hot tub. Though I still like the word "jacuzzi" better. The Ex didn't say a word about Maddy's blue hair or my own purpling mane. Other than that, dinner went well. I still need to talk to her in private, though. If she's given my writing any thought whatsoever, she knows what I'm going to ask. I spoke to the organizer, and I'm now officially confirmed for the queer marriage reading on Friday. I've been working on the piece for it, and I think I'm beginning to understand why it's taken me this long to really write about it. Friday's going to be an emotionally intense night. Though nothing all that special, Pete Yorn's cover of The Buzzcocks' "Ever Fallen In Love?" on the Shrek 2 soundtrack is much better than it has any right to be. (Doesn't hold a candle to the original Eels song which immediately precedes it, but you can't really expect it to.) In case you're curious, I stole it off the internet. I'm a pirate. Arrrrr. | ||
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Tuesday, 1 June 2004 (my finest defenses) 5:59am It's never the time it should be. 10:46pm My Boss is gone all week, sailing on the East Coast and probably points beyond. It doesn't impact me all that much, but I'll bet the front desk person is thrilled. It does of course mean I don't have to worry about running into him accidentally, which is nice. Tonight was the first of the Blacklist, a new weekly open mic series at The Dark Room hosted by me and Jim (among others). Problem was, nobody else showed up. Gotta start small, I guess. The trick is going to be keeping the next Wicked Messenger from experiencing the same fate. To that end, I fly0red at the Lex tonight. It's weird. That place feels so alien to me now. And a hostile alien, no less. It's hard to believe I ever thought I could find something there. Auditions for The Dark Room's next play, Zippy the Pinhead, are this Sunday and Monday. Two roles have definitely been cast; indeed, the script was written with the actors in mind. Bryce Byerley is playing Zippy, and I'm playing Zippy's guardian angel, Karen Carpenter. I'll wear white and sing "Superstar." (They'd briefly considered "Top of the World," but I think they made the right choice.) Fear me. Maddy and I are having dinner with The Ex tomorrow night. Near as I can tell, we haven't seen her in two years. Naturally, it would have to been after I've been putting on weight. It couldn't have been, say, a year ago, when some people were saying I was getting too skinny? Would that have been too much to ask? Now that I think about it, these same questions apply to me playing Karen Carpenter.
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