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Thursday, 31 May 2001 (2JN) 9:08am Back at work, sorta. I'll actually be gone for the vast majority of the day for the departmental meeting, the one for which we've been asked to dressed casually in layers. I'm wearing pretty what I'm always wearing for work, buetz with velvets and a (Gloomcookie) t-shirt. I sincerely hope they're not expecting me to take anything off, 'cuz I'm quite certain that's not anywhere in my job description, and HR is likely to back me up if need be. I just have to remind myself that it could be worse. Yes, I'm being dragged from comfy little cool dark cave of an office to a conference room and then probably into the heatwave outside. I'm probably going to be forced into participating in "team-building" exercises. It's going to be a very long day, perhaps almost as long as Performer next week. But, you know, it could be worse. Just one day. And at least I'm still here to be put through it. Better to have to deal with this sort of thing infrequently than to be at a job I don't like at all. Yes, this is me rationalizing. An agenda for today was supposed to have been sent out last night, but it wasn't. I wonder if that's so we won't have a chance to object to anything.
In any event, I may have difficulty sleeping tonight, since I can see
myself eating a lot of Penguin Mints today...
In the negative column, we're going sailing. Mandatory, of course. The Big Boss is gone, but I'm already having Fun Day flashbacks. Oh well. I'm sure it'll be different, and Leigh (who wasn't there at the time but knows the story) is suddenly being very protective of me, bless her.
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Wednesday, 30 May 2001 (the calvary cross) 7:42pm The appointment went well. I'm healthy, I'm coming along nicely, my cholestrol is low, I haven't gained any weight since the last time I saw her—I'd hoped I'd have lost weight, but given the circumstances not having gained any is a very good thing—my blood pressure is fine, the amount of testosterone in my body is "negligible," which she hinted at on the phone last December...and so on and so forth. (Sometimes list form is a lot easier than real sentences.) Regarding the latter, as far as my brain is concerned hormonally, I may as well be post-op. I think it's an important detail, one which further demystifies SRS. (If? When?) I have it, I won't wake up feeling substantially different than I had before. I suspect that's something a lot of trannies don't quite grasp. It's just a step, like so many others. Goddamn, but it was hot today. And yet I spent a lot of time in the sun. Funny how that works. The Slave Labor Graphics storefront doesn't carry any Dr. Radium. Bummer.
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Tuesday, 29 May 2001 (buried voices, screaming your name) 9:09am Oh, hell. I did make an entry yesterday, but neglected to upload it. Whoops. Memorial Day, and all.
And there was something else, too...shoot.
The meeting and activities will run til 6:30 pm. Please dress casual and bring layers as we have a group activity planned for the afternoon. Thanks.I suppose wishing for death between now and then would be a bad thing, so I won't. Anyway, that's Thursday. Then on Friday I'm going to my (Blue Shield®-approved) doctor so they can then refer me to an ophthalmologist. Unlike tomorrow I'll be going into work afterwards, but prolly won't be there until noon or so, shooting that day to hell. Next week the routine begins anew, almost. Wednesday is blown again, this time by that worst of all possible fates, Performer. I narrowly avoided it last October, since Brian was leaving and the ostensible goal of the program is to help employees "work with their managers to bring out their best performance." I managed to convince them that since I was about to lose my current manager there wasn't much point to him and I going through the process. Astonishingly, they agreed, and I hoped I'd slip through the cracks and wouldn't go back into the queue, that I'd be put on the "completed" list. Alas.
The following week I'm on vacation for real. ("Vacation" in the sense of being away from work, not in the sense
of going away from the city.) I'm looking forward to it more than I'd expected.
Which is wonderfully twisted concept, since so much of Warner's product gets resold on eBay anyhow; it's like they're tacitly approving it, which would be akin to their music division promoting used record stores. Or Napster, for that matter. I just love the irony of the fact that Warner's page for the DVD release of Superman has a link to eBay. Guess which site I got my copy from?
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Monday, 28 May 2001 (embracing the electromagnetic flow) 3:45pm Jeez. I know it's Memorial Day, but for as much American Movie Classics and others are going on and on about Pearl Harbor, you'd think it was, like, near the anniversary of it or something. And, yes, I realize that the fifty year anniversary is this December, but the movie came out this weekend. I'm sure the "official" reasoning is for Memorial Day, but I suspect the fact that it's a big loud summer movie has a lot more to do with it, and it wouldn't gross nearly as much six months from now. Although I wouldn't be suprised if it gets a "special re-release." Remember when A&E was the World War II channel? Not today. All Magnum P.I., all the time!
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Sunday, 27 May 2001 (in a hand or a face) 4:12pm Upon discovering that we'd never seen the show before, barefoot insisted on lending us his DVD box set of the first season of The Sopranos. Very kind of him, though the last thing we need is another 780 minutes of viewing material—or, worse, to get hooked on another show which we can't even watch on a regular basis. (We don't have HBO, y'see, and don't intend to.) Oh well. I'm sure I'll find a way to get back at him for his generosity.
And, of course, it's not like our queue doesn't keep growing anyway. A
twisted sense of practicality sent Maddy and I to Le Video this morning,
the reasoning being that since tomorrow's a holiday that would give us
a bit more time to watch whatever we get. We have a lot of stuff at
home we haven't watched, but the theory is that it'll always be here,
and since getting out to the store and back is such a pain...besides,
Maddy's recently discovered Spalding Gray, and I don't have Swimming to Cambodia. So, you see. We also got
The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover. I've seen it, she hasn't but wants to.
I've warned her that it's a little...er...extreme, but she wants to give it a try anyway. Should
prove interesting.
You never know when you might need the Pythagorean Theorem. |
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Saturday, 26 May 2001 (beachball) sometime after midnight For as nice as getting all cinched up is, sometimes I think the real payoff is that rush of freedom at the end of the evening when you undo it. Particularly when one's belly is as...um...rotund as mine are/as I perceive them to be. After spending the afternoon being good consumers on Telegraph in Berkeley, we had dinner with barefoot and Rox at King Yen. I was in what Maddy calls my "cheerleader look," a pleated skirt and tank top. With the aforementioned waist-cincher, of course, since sometimes a little cheating is necessary. Still, though, I like the way it looks—it would appear that I have something resembling a shape—and Maddy certainly appreciates it as well. It's the first time either of them have seen me in a skirt. Hard to believe that it's taken me this long, but there you go. No comments. Being a straight man I didn't expect anything from barefoot, though I was a little surprised by Rox's silence. (There was even the standard pronoun violation, something which will no doubt continue for a very long time. I'm not quite at the point where I'll correct them, but it's bound to happen eventually.) Don't get me wrong: I'm very happy that they're cool with my transitioning and that it hasn't damaged relationship with them, and I'm neither so emotionally needy nor so much of a compliment whore than I'm genuinely bothered. I'd just like to think that at some point after we left, one of them said something along the lines of "Well, Jeff is looking well, don't you think?" I seriously doubt they use the S-word when talking about me; my mom is probably the only member of my family who does. Anyway, I suspect it would be Rox saying it to barefoot. He wouldn't disagree, but he wouldn't pursue it further, either. Can't say as I blame him. There's probably something hardwired into him which makes it exceedingly difficult to handle the concept of his youngest brother being potentially...well, sexy. Again, I honestly believe that he's supportive and accepting of what I'm doing, but he's probably come to the conclusion that there are certain things he just doesn't want to think about. Then again, I may be giving myself waaaaaaay too much credit.
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Friday, 25 May 2001 (i'll take the rain) 9:27am My office is borrowed space, and does not belong to me. I have it as a fluke, and it can (and will) be taken away just as casually. I realize these things. Still, it's hard not feel a little violated when I arrive in the morning and find the door standing wide open and the overhead lights on. I assure you, that's not how I left it last night, nor is ever like that when I'm here. In retrospect, I should have seen it coming. Yesterday afternoon I got one of my occasional visitor/intruders, people who assume this office empty because of the lack of light coming through the frosted glass window. The purple xmas lights do hang down into the window (the lighthouse principle), and there's a nameplate at eye level. Ergo, there's some evidence of life, but people never notice, and they're always suprised to find someone in here. I've been tempted to bring in our Princess Amidala water pistol to keep at the ready ("Who sent you?!?"), but it's probably for the best that I don't. Anyway, they came to see if the carpet needs to be shampooed. (Or, as they say in the Midwest, "needs shampooed.") Apparently coffee stains are a big problem, and though they quickly determined that it's not the case in here, I guess someone still came in later and turned on the lights, just in case. How nice of them. Speaking of coffee (sorta), I haven't had any Penguin Mints lately. I guess I'm going through one of my occasional non-caffeinated phases. I'm surprised I don't need any right now, though; I didn't get much sleep last night. A couple hours at the beginning and a couple at the end, but the middle part was mostly taken up by the scratching sounds in the walls. It would appear The Blair Witch Mouse has returned. Oscar and Mina definitely noticed its presence, but after a while there really wasn't much they could do. And I missed a perfect opportunity to listen to Over The Edge live, damnit.
I wonder if it has something to do with the fact that the neighbors have cluttered up
the entryway, and haven't taken out their trash since the week before last. (I know
this because it's been sitting just inside the front gate.) The last
rodent invasion was tracked back to their slovenliness, and I wouldn't be surprised
if this one will be, too. Might as well write the landlord and mention the mouse to him.
I won't mention the trash piling up, though...not just yet...
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Thursday, 24 May 2001 (chorus and the ring) 9:03am Well, I liked it. Of course I did. It's Star Trek, and I have that peculiar kind of loyalty where I tend to enjoy it without obsessing too much over the details. Repeat to yourself: it's just a show, I should really just relax... Besides, it opened with the ship flying over the Bay, and later there was a reference to it being a museum in the Presidio. As a San Franciscan (not by birth, but I've been here seven years, which is an eternity compared to the influx of the late nineties), how could I not dig that? I'm sure a lot of people got together to watch the episode, kinda like I did with Conk and others for the priemere and finale of The Next Generation, and I'd imagine a lot of pizza was ordered. Feeling a similar need to celebrate on a gastronomical level, I ordered sushi. Between extra cheese or a tempura roll, I'll go for the tempura roll every time.
About an hour before Voyager I was scanning through the teevee listings—not something I do very often—and discovered More Tears was on PBS. If you've seen The Newsroom,
you know why I would be excited. (And if you haven't...)
And, by dawg, that's exactly what I'm gonna do. Of course, my optometrist first instructed me to take the above info to an ophthalmologist two years ago, but I lost the notebook in which I had her note. (I had a lot of fairly important stuff in that notebook, and losing it sucked. Hard.) About a year ago she typed me up another one, theoretically less easy to lose. She should pinned it to my shirt, because I proceeded to lose that one, too. Fortunately, I found it some months back during cleaning. I put it somewhere certain not to be lost, and essentially forgot about it. Until now, when I'm both thinking about it and acting on it. Trying to, anyway. First I have to see my Primary Care Physician so they can refer me to one. Never mind that I have all the info I need, that's the way their system works. Gah. So I managed, much to my surprise, to make an appointment with the PCP for a week from tomorrow. What I'm really hoping is to see the ophthalmologist during my vacation, since I've been taking enough time off work lately as it is and I won't have anything better to do with myself. Figure I'll also go back to the speech therapist, and do it right this time—armed with a tape recorder. She'd told me before the first session that it wasn't necessary, but I realize now that it is, in a very big way. Which means, I suppose, I should call her. Assure her that I still exist on this mortal coil, even if I seem to have dropped off it for a while.
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Wednesday, 23 May 2001 (summer turns to high) 9:06am No gym yesterday. The vague depression of the last few days took on a sharp focus Monday evening during a fight, and staying home watching movies with Maddy last night seemed like a better way to heal things up. I think it worked. My body issues can wait. Especially since tonight is the final episode of Voyager, so I'll definitely be home for that—it's been hard enough avoiding the spoilers, and I'd pretty much have to forgo all internet access entirely for the next few days to not hear people bitching about how much they hated it. (Not that going cold turkey from the 'net would be a bad thing.) As sad as I am that it's over, at least from this point on it'll just be fanboys whining about how much the show sucked, not how much it sucks. Of course, they'll just turn their attentions to how much they're going to hate the new show, how Scott Bakula's going to ruin it (just like how Marilyn Manson almost ruined the vaporproduction of Willy Wonka). That said...I have to admit, I'm just a smidgen disappointed that Alice Krige is playing the Borg Queen in the series finale rather than Susanna Thompson, who'd previously played that character on the show. Granted, Krige is reprising the role she originated in First Contact (the movie everyone liked), but I liked Thompson better. I suppose I should be outraged, refuse to watch, spread the word about how lame the show is, et cetera. Maybe later.
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Tuesday, 22 May 2001 (imitation of life) 10:29am The employee at the gym last night commented that I hadn't been in for a few weeks. I wonder if he'd been aware of my absence while I was gone, or if it only occurred to him when he saw me again. 11:44am I accompanied Maddy to Burger King yesterday. She bought food, but I didn't. (Inasmuch as what they sell can be called "food." Whenever I find myself there, tagging along with her or Summer, I engage in some light reading at the nutritional chart on the wall. S'fun.) The particular location is now charging customers ten cents per transaction as a "utility charge." It's not surprising; fast-food places tend to price their product very low, and the profit margin is consequently narrow. (For each individual location, of course. The corporation itself does quite well.) Because their prices are so low, their customers tend to be people without a lot of money to spend, but they appear to be willing to spend that extra dime to help Burger King keep their shareholders happy. And, perhaps, so the establishment doesn't have to do anything unpleasant to reduce energy usage, like dimming the lights. Meanwhile, I couldn't help but notice the fountain in the Evil Levi Plaza is still on. It serves no purpose except to give people who make a lot more than the average Burger King customer (the occasional Madelines and Summers excepted) something pretty to sit near while eating lunch, and no doubt makes the Levi's people feel like they're making the City a more beautiful place. Besides, they turned it off for a few weeks earlier in the year—what more could anyone ask? Maybe someone should walk around the fountain, taking donations...
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Monday, 21 May 2001 (beat a drum) 9:01am At about 9pm last night I realized that the John Shirley thing had been going on for the last two hours, which is to say I'd missed it. A bummer, since Summer almost certainly would have introduced me to him, just like she would have at his last few appearances. One of these days, I suppose. Not that I have much to say, except that I love his work and it makes me feel guilty for being such a pussy about writing fiction. How original. I was too depressed to go out anyway, as both Maddy and I had had unpleasant dreams the night before. Nothing unusual there, but in this case the residual feelings of despair had been especially difficult to shake off. I don't think I really have, yet. Considering that I'd been feeling relatively happy before, I guess it makes sense. Can't have one without the other. I don't think it had anything to do with the events of the previous evening, at least not on any level of which I'm aware. As I said, it went well; as befitting a group of people who grew up with John Hughes movies, the ice was really broken when a joint was passed around. We'd already eaten, and by that point it was dark enough outside to draw the blinds and turn on the blacklights in the living room. They seemed to especially like that, and had never seen the day-glo slinkys before. But we're not turning into ravers, damnit.
I'd intended to go to the gym yesterday morning, but I was still too weirded
out by the dreams. We then proceeded to have a large and stunningly mediocre
lunch at Chevy's (I know, I know, but sometimes it's pretty good, and I'd
been craving it) and later had leftover lasagna for dinner. In other words,
my grace period has expired, so I'm going tonight. 193, and all.
ring the bells that still can ring
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