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Wednesday, 10 May 2000 (future farmers of america) 7:01am Every once in a while, things...rearrange themselves. Sometimes it's best not to fight it. 9:30am Archives Be Damned on mp3. Oh, yum. Thank you, anonymous benefactors of alt.binaries.sounds.mp3.bootlegs, for bringing back what helped me survive the dark ascension that was mid-1995. There's a reason why Neil Young was so central to my emotional stability for such a long time, and why he never quite left. 2:53pm I admire people who don't drive, or at least don't need to. I was particularly feeling the admiration as I drove around the 16th and Valencia area for an hour last night looking for a place to park. Daljeet's on Valencia was my primary destination, but I had to pick up Maddy later in that area and didn't have anything better to do. If you've ever driven in that area and been tempted to try the mysterious "16th and Hoff Garage," don't. Take my word for it.
I managed to make it in just before they closed and got the fishnet shirt. Considerably more comfortable
than the other one, if only because it's so much longer. Especially the sleeves. It's been such a long
time since I've worn anything in which the sleeves actually reach my wrists, and these can be stretched
past my fingertips. The comfort level this provides is considerable.
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Tuesday, 9 May 2000 (tatters) 6:40am Dreamt about Mary. The second set of dreaming, that is, after I got back into the bed. Before that, it was slightly more sci-fi. Something about discovering evidence that I was originally from Earth, and not whatever planet I was on at the time. (And I've never even read Slaughterhouse Five.) Anyway, with Mary, it involved traveling with her but never quite being able to reach our destination; I think I was trying to get her to the vet. We were mostly on foot and kept getting turned around—my mind identified the landscape as the Bay Area, though of course it bared no resemblence. We encountered my mother at one point, who refused to help us. Wasn't too surprised. In any event, it's always nice to get to spend time with Mary again... 9:20am Caught.
why do you hate? is there any question more disturbing? is there any question you've asked yourself more? 11:25am As I was walking back to my car last Thursday, I did something I'd never done before: I walked the Filbert Steps, going over the hill upon which Coit Tower sits. Brian said it was technically the shortest distance between Points A & B, and it was already pushing nine in the evening, so I figured what the hell. After barely twenty seconds, the pain in my side began. My lungs were not happy with me, nor were my legs. I don't smoke cigarettes and I do walk quite a bit, but I'm still out of shape. Period. But it felt good, and it really brought home how much I love the simple, most basic act of exercising. And, those this may be grounds for committal, I prefer it on a machine—a treadmill, cross-trainer, whatever. Put on the headphones, close my eyes (or focus on an image in a magazine), and just go. At times, the act of pure physical exertion can have purifying qualities, the transformation of excess fat into something beneficient, a shedding of a cloying and damning skin, a penance to a vengeful godhead, the begging of absolution for volitient sins—
It's everything surrounding it that I hate, the
realities of the gym situation. Which is to say, other people, dealing with time limits,
and so on.
There was one woman who used to drive me apeshit. She'd come in, spend half an hour on the
stairmaster while reading the newspaper, and leave the newspaper on the ground. When she was
done with a section, she would brush it aside, and never once did she ever pick up after herself.
How fucking rude is that? I swear, I wanted to hit her with my towel. Which I suppose is just as rude.
if i jump in this fountain, will i be forgiven?
But my arm will always serve as a reminder, if unintentionally. It truly was an accident
(Mina didn't want me picking her up just then), but I'm not convinced anyone will ever
believe that. Eventually I may forget too, and that may be for the best.
This'll make me happy, right? This'll help me find whatever I feel's been lost, won't it?
This'll make me a better person?
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Monday, 8 May 2000 (modern dance) 6:54am It really is a shame. I was browsing through the vendor table at Sanctuary on Saturday night, very strongly considering buying a CD and maybe a t-shirt. Indeed, I'd already asked one of the people behind the counter if they took credit cards, and she'd said yes. Cool. As we all know, from the consumer standpoint that's not the same as actually spending money. I was looking for Nurse With Wound's The Sylvie and Babs Hi-Fi Companion or Trust Obey's Hands of Ash, and had pretty much made up my mind to get Einstürzende Neubauten's silence is sexy when one of the other people said, "You know, you can buy as well as browse."
I'm sure it was meant as a joke, but it still rubbed me the wrong way.
I apologized for having spent too long browsing and walked off.
Never did buy anything. Oh well.
More surprisingly, Tiff was at Sanctuary. It wasn't surprising in the sense that Bound and Sanctuary are the places she's most likely to show, but on the other hand she'd seemed to go into hermit mode almost as much as I had. Finally, we'd both emerged. She's doing well, and I was happy to see that there were no hard feelings. There's no reason for any to exist, but I'm eternally paranoid about these things where she's concerned. Maybe because she was the first person to experience my post-breakup insanity full-tilt last year. Indeed, I even gave her a lift home, just like the old days. Although she hadn't been sure if she would make it or not, Sara arrived around 2am. As far as I can recall, it may have been the first time Tiff, Sara and I had been at the same place at the same time since since Tiff had introduced us last April. In fact, Tiff had only just met Sara at the time, and then pulled me over, introducing me as "my friend Sherilyn who stands on the edges of conversations." At the time, it was quite true. Things have certainly changed a bit.
The thing that's changed the most, of course, is Madeline's presence in my
life, and I'm glad she's finally met them. Makes it feel like full circle,
like I've finally done good after all I did wrong last year...
The Chaser knew me; at the very least, he says we'd be introduced before at Shrine. Probably true. I get introduced to a lot of people, but I'm extremely bad with names, and he wouldn't have left much of an impression on me. Just another norm, if you'll pardon the snobbery.
Okay, a bit more snobbery: while he and B were a perfect top/bottom match (even if he didn't do
much more than constrict B then walk away), I could see in his eyes that he was dying to have
a shot at me. Even beyond the fact that I have no interest in his kind of bondage and have no
desire to be intimate with anyone other than Maddy, I found the Chaser
completely unappealing on a physical level. Not repulsive, but just an unremarkable if well-dressed
boy. B gushed about what a gentleman the Chaser was, and I'm sure that's very true. All the same,
part of
me wanted to just come out and say, "Dude, you will so never have me..."
Wait a damn minute...it was Nietzsche, right? The stuff about unnecessary pluralities? Makes perfect sense when you stop and think about it. Gonna have to look that up tomorrow.
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Sunday, 7 May 2000 (ecstasy) 2:44pm Anxiety, fear, anger, depression...all the things typically provided by Sunday, but without the benefit of a hangover. I'm so glad I don't drink.
the bottom is scraping, and the sparks are shooting...
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Saturday, 6 May 2000 (mad) 6:19am The words "sixty-foot pole" come to mind. (Stop giggling, you degenerate.) As in, the more I learn about the situation and the people involved, tangentially and otherwise, the less I want anything to do with it. No good can come of this, none whatsoever.
It's the potential for damage that really scares me, and the fact
that I'm not even sure which of my friends I can trust. If I can't
trust them, then I don't want to know. Keep me out of it.
The high road, the better part of valor, the bliss
of ignorance, all of that. No more cheap drama, please. Thankyoudrivethrough.
Goddamn right, it's a beautiful day.
Humans. Please, no more....
i'm tired of dying for your fucking sins
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Friday, 5 May 2000 (mystic child) 7:33am Let me see if I understand this. Metallica's lawyers say that Napster users are violating the copyright, therefore taking royalties away from the band. Ergo, if not for Napster, said 300,000+ users would instead march down to their local corporate record store and buy Kill 'Em All new, thus giving the poor starving lawyers the income they require to maintain their lifestyles. Hmmmm. Okay. At least the band itself, who admits to not really understanding the internet, deserves credit for being honest about the real issue at hand.
Aaaargh. It's bright and sunny outside. Must be that deadly planetary alignment.
As such, I was not at all surprised to see construction happening on Paige's corner, and the traffic blocked up for several blocks. Par for the course, and I wasn't going to let it stop me. All things considered, nothing went too horribly wrong. Upon returning to the city, we were able to get in a fair amount of shots before going to pick up Anodyne. We were out on the beach, which was sparsely populated (because it's so quite inhospitable), and I found I my self-consciousness didn't raise its ugly head as I was afraid I might. I had a job to do—a non-paying job, yes, but a job nonetheless—and I was going to do it. Anodyne's apartment, I was rather pleased to see, was decorated in a manner not entirely dissimilar to my own. And her closet...good lord, her closet. In addition to being huge, her actual wardrobe is what I could only dream mine could become. ah, yes. so this is how it's done. We got a few more out on the beach, but by then it was starting to get extremely cold, and the wind was picking up. It's not always windy on the beach...unless you have some reason to hope it won't be. The first rule of anything involving photography out of doors, something I learned the hard way in film school: the weather will not cooperate. Period. So went back inside and continued there, putting my semi-newly blackened walls to good use. Being a controlled environment, those pictures will probably turn out the best. Certainly they're the ones I'm most curious to see, since I was wearing colors. (I hope they all turn out well for the sake of the catalog, but on a personal level I'm especially interested.) Actual colors. Like, besides black or red. It's still a hard concept to wrap my brain around. Hell, I even bared my midriff a little, but perhaps the less said about that, the better. All in all, I thought it went well. Anodyne was quite a pleasure to work with, really, and it was not as nerve-wracking as I'd been expecting. She wasn't intimidating at all, intentional or otherwise. (The possibility of going to the NIN show was even briefly discussed. If it doesn't happen that's okay 'cuz I'll enjoy myself no matter what, but it would certainly be nice.) Paige also seemed quite happy with the experience—I don't doubt it'll happen again.
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Thursday, 4 May 2000 (paranoia key of e) 6:50am It's because I got so little sleep night before last that I thought yesterday was Tuesday. That must be it. 10:49am If you're dense enough to actually open the attachment of an email message entitled "I Love You," then you'll get whatever you deserve. Reminds me of the scare a year or two back about a virus with the subject line of "Budweiser Frogs Screensaver." Those are people who shouldn't be on the internet in the first place. 1:07pm Oh, hell. The fashion show has been postponed indefinitely. According to Magenta (via Paige) it's been pushed back until June, but it's not going to be at Shrine, and at the moment there's no other venue lined up. To me, that qualifies as indefinite postponement. Shit! The show must go on, however, and as such the catalog shoot is still on for tomorrow. The logistics are going to be interesting: I'm leaving work early in the afternoon, hopefully no later than three, driving to Redwood City to pick up Paige, returning to the city, then picking up Anodyne at her apartment around 6pm and returning to my place in order to actually take some pictures before the sun goes down. Ah, the glamour of it all. I don't mind all the running around, though. Makes me feel almost productive, and I'm accustomed to this sort of DIY vibe. When you've worked on student films, this sort of thing becomes a breeze. At the very least, if you're lucky, you learn to keep your cool when things don't go quite right. Things probably won't go entirely as planned tomorrow—the traffic on 280 will be heavier than I'd expected, the wind will be fierce, an entire host of possibilities—and whatever happens will be dealt with accordingly. It's a skill which also comes in handy as a webmonkey. I am, admittedly, still minorly freaked out by the notion of working with Anodyne, since I admire the hell out of her. I don't know her very well so I'm of course being extremely shallow and talking about how she looks. Hey, this isn't a gathering of astrophysicists nor will we be performing Hamlet, y'know? This is about looking good wearing clothes, and Paige seems to have a high enough opinion of me to not only want me associated with her designs at all, but to put Anodyne and I together in that respect. It's a kind of validation which I couldn't have hoped for a few years back. While I definitely wanted to look like Pandora or Louise, there was something deeper as well; not so wanting to be like them so much as among them. Another goth chick among many, an individual but not one who necessarily stands out unless trying to. Perhaps it's an extension of what's known in the tranny community as "passing," being in public without being recognized as a genetic male. Obsessing about passing, to me, is almost as pointless as obsessing about SRS. (The former is either going to happen or it won't, and the latter won't make the former any more likely.) If in the finished product I raise no more eyebrows than Anodyne does, I'll be quite happy.
Although I do think I'd make a great Ophelia.
To ensure attendance, however, The Den Mother stacked the cards in a
machiavellian fashion which will probably only get worse as her power
increases: a mandatory staff meeting right before the going-away dinner
and in one of the other buildings, closer to the restaurant. Fine.
Very clever. And this time, it'll work...
A. Pop. QUIZ. Five pages long, and we had to put our names on it. I haven't felt this good about flunking a test in a very long time.
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Wednesday, 3 May 2000 (deep down trauma hounds) 7:58am Three hours of sleep is all the body needs. I'd forgotten that. 9:45am How I wish I could have seen Night of the Living Dead when it first came out! Few films can survive being dated, regardless of how timeless the elements may be. (Somehow The Graduate holds up, and Citizen Kane because it was a period piece to begin with, not to mention Orson Welles was redefining cinema as he went along anyway.) And Night is dated, unfortunately, almost by definition because it's set in the then-modern world. That's one of the reasons it appeals to me; it's not set in some spooky castle or other setting alien to me. I can't begin to identify with that sort of thing. Dead telephones and emergency news broadcasts, I can. Not that I've ever really experienced a disaster along those lines, but at least I can imagine it. The world you think you know turning against you has always been the stuff of my nightmares.
And what a great mythos it is. (Yeah, I know, I said "mythos" again.
I also said "self-actualization" the other day.) My recent, failed attempts
at writing have been at least somewhat inspired by it. I have a paperback
called Book of the Dead which is a collection of short stories
based on the Romero films. I've heard there's a second volume—gotta
keep an eye out for that....
Cronenberg hasn't come back. I have no idea what happened to him.
Maddy and I arrived at a quarter to midnight, about twenty minutes before the floorshow began. I prefer to get there earlier to watch people arrive, but the timing couldn't be helped, and there was actually a parking space across the street. Beyond the staff and cast, I didn't see any of the people I came to regard as regulars from last year. Didn't even get hit on, but I suppose that we weren't there long enough. That must be it. I'm even less in the market for a sweaty middle-aged guy than I was before, but I guess there's a part of my ego, usually submerged, which wants that kind of attention...nothing beyond just the knowledge that I can appeal to, as it were, the lowest common denominator. Once in a while, it's kinda nice.
We didn't stay very long, and it was off to Roderick's...
Okay, forget the second question. But I couldn't find anyone who had any idea when it
happened. A big, tacky styrofoam star-like object (kinda resembles Kal-El's
ship in the 1978 Superman) that once was over the dance floor but is now closer
to the bar area. Nobody I asked seemed to know. How can you miss something like that?
I called Chrysler and got the account taken care of. No permanent damage appears to have been done, except to my pride, which has proven time and time again that it can take no end of abuse.
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7:01am Another countdown, another explosion, more fallout, the world spins. 8:57am Madeline commented this morning that I'm looking "very industrial." A high compliment, I'd say. I seem to have lost the ability to keep my bangs straight, though, even with having them trimmed on Saturday. Maybe they're too long, or my hair has finally remembered that it's naturally curly. Roderick's is a definite possibility tonight, both because I miss it and because Sara might be there. Haven't seen her since last fall. This would be after catching the revival of Night of the Living Dead at the Roxie. Seems an evening that fits my mood.
So it's not like I'm avoiding everyone. I really do intend to
call Conk today, and I should also give Lee a buzz to remind him about
this weekend.
The Ex just wrote. Seems her parents got a call from the monolithic
and extremely evil Chrysler Financial Corporation,
saying they haven't received payment on the car. Why A) they
got the call when everything was supposed to have been switched
to my name and B) I didn't get anything in the mail about it,
I don't know. But, gosh, what a great way for the Ex's parents
to be reminded of my existance, by the threat of me damaging
their credit rating. Perfect. Not to mention it make me feel extremely
sloppy. Forgetting a car payment? That's just wrong. Gosh,
maybe I should start writing these things down so I won't forget
them? Naaaaaaah. And my conscience is clear, right? I never gave The Ex any
static when she used to occasionally forget to pay bills, did I?
(Well, no, not THAT much.)
And she was practically offended when I suggested that we pay the extra
couple dollars for the storage place to actually bill us, right,
and it wasn't wrong of me to bring it up, was it? (This and the phone
bill have been the only major ones I've screwed up on my own, so...)
You hit it right on the head, Zaleska. If you'll pardon the pun.
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Monday, 1 May 2000 (workbook) 6:18am This is a day in which many bad things could potentially happen. I'm expectng more fallout than praise from Friday; what I was able to get done (which, if I may say so myself, was a hell of a lot) will be overshadowed by some elements which aren't quite working the way they're supposed to. What I see as browser differences (IE and Netscape do not always perform exactly the same, who woulda thunk?), they'll consider to be the sky falling. And when the sky is falling around there, there needs to be a scapegoat. I wonder who it's going to be. Meanwhile, I have a growing backlog of messages, both voice and email, to which I need to reply. Some I want, some I really don't. I still haven't responded to Conk, but I have to, and soon. I think I'm going to chicken out and not tell him everything that's going on. Certainly not over the phone. There's enough for us to talk about, like my current job or how much he thinks Voyager sucks. The usual suspects. If The Ex must come up, the simplest form of the truth will suffice: we grew apart. It's certainly no lie, and all he needs to know right now. Perhaps all he'll ever need to know. More can follow if we ever see each other in person again.
Sara also called; she left a message on Saturday, just to say hello
and see how I'm doing. That one, I'm much happier to return.
and? and? AND? what of it? aren't you just a little tired of waiting, yet? 11:38am I think I've figured it out, the thought going through my head in the Daljeet's dressing room yesterday which I couldn't quite identify: goddamn, i look like a rock star.
Extreme danger.
I couldn't help noticing that Lou is playing at the Berkeley Community Theater
and NIN is at the Cow Palace, the venues where I saw Neil and Marilyn Manson (respectively)
last year in almost equally quick succession. Doesn't mean anything at all, but there
it is.
Maybe it's just that, as Lou put it, i don't want to be what i am anymore.
and by what standard do you judge? are your sins forgiven, or at least excused, merely because you say they are? are you so fool as to think that it actually works that way? when the end comes and all you can see is the wreckage caused by your delusion, do you expect to be forgiven? that which began last year—did you honestly believe it was over, that you'd passed through the fire? No, really, I'll call him tomorrow and leave a message. Then everything will be okay, because I'll have happened upon that mythical beast known as Doing The Right Thing. If such a creature exists then it surely is a dewatered fish in my world, for there's no set of moral guidelines when you're the kind of person that polite society until recently didn't want to acknowledge existed at all. Except perhaps as a punchline, or a sobering reminder of the depths of perversion. And I'm carrying that torch whether I want to or not.
just try to keep it together. i dare you.
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