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Monday, 10 March 2003 (the spider now sucks out the victim) sometime after midnight We saw Gus Van Sant's Gerry tonight. It's about a couple of guys, both named Gerry, who get lost in the desert. Very little happens; most scenes are just of them walking. I'm not sure exactly how I feel about it. If nothing else, I'd like to think of myself as a minimalist, and if I expect anyone to sit through a half-hour of my cats sleeping, then I shouldn't shy away from similarly challenging material. I'm glad I saw it, and am grateful I had the opportunity to see it during its extremely limited theatrical run—why live in San Francisco if you're not going to take advantage of this sort of thing?—especially since it was in one of the screening rooms at the Opera Plaza, not the AMC 1000 down the street, so the audience was respectful. Confused and befuddled, and a few people fell asleep (which is not inappropriate;in all seriousness, it would be a good movie to doze to), but they didn't laugh, heckle or walk out like multiplex audiences did at Soderbergh's remake of Solaris. It certainly isn't a movie I'd recommend to someone unless I knew their tastes were extremely similar to mine, and probably not even then. Maddy didn't know anything about it going in, and says she still trusts my taste in movies. Kinda like how Oscar still trusts me even though I occasionally step on his tail. He knows I didn't mean to hurt him.
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Sunday, 9 March 2003 (his artwork is done) 7:49pm Maddy and I just said "'Ptooey!' it says" in unison. It was very odd.
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Saturday, 8 March 2003 (when the cocoon is finished the spider watches the victim) 7:26pm Wanting to get out of the house and not really having any better ideas, Maddy and I went to Good Vibrations on Valencia this afternoon. We rented some pr0n—a vampire-themed movie, and Sugar High, Glitter City, which features Rocco's song "Candyass"—and I talked myself out of a Good Vibrations baby tee. Maddy was unable to resist a soft pack, though. I think Lynnee's rubbing off on her.
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Friday, 7 March 2003 ((meaning the spider wraps the victim in plastic)) 7:03pm I spent most of the day at Vale's, working on his site and doing other odd things around the house. Some took advantage of the fact that I know my way around Windows, and others that I'm tall. (My curse.) I also went on a mission to get lunch, which involved going to an Indian restaurant and loading up a to-go container with enough food for three people. Vale assured me that it was very punk rock. And, yes, he paid for it. When I was reading at K'vetch on Sunday, I noticed a typo in my chapbook which had escaped me before—an extraneous word, not a misspelling—and I discovered another one today. Vale tells me that every one of his books (with the possible exception of J.G. Ballard's The Atrocity Exhibition, but only because it hasn't been found yet) has typos that he didn't find until after they released. It makes me feel a little better about my own sloppiness.
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Wednesday, 5 March 2003 (the spider sets him in the desired position) sometime after midnight Of course, even municipal cheerleaders such as us need to get away once in a while, so we went to Santa Cruz this afternoon. The weather here in town was nice, and it was ruminated that it's probably just as nice if not nicer in Santa Cruz, not to mention the Farmer's Market is on Wednesdays and Pink Godzilla is open every day, so within an hour we found ourselves heading south on Highway 1, feeling rather proud of ourselves for being all spontaneous-like. We got some good stuff at the Farmer's Market, Pink Godzilla is still the best sushi that isn't less than a half-hour away, and the arcades at the Boardwalk remain open in the off-season. So all was good.
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Tuesday, 4 March 2003 (the spider now takes the victim to undress him) 9:50pm Lydia Lunch read at Adobe Books tonight, along with Michelle and Kirk Read. Things were said regarding our nation's leaders and policies which would probably be considered unpatriotic at best and subversive at worst, mostly from Lydia. I love that I live in a place where things like that can be said—and I don't mean America in general, 'cuz, y'know, that ain't the case. Hooray for my horrid little cesspool of a City. (I'm told by people much smarter than me that this place sucks, so what do I know?)
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