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Friday, 20 November 2009 (sent off) 5:39am Hey, there's Orion! No wonder it's cold out. 3:57pm Starting on today's second mocha. my name is sherilyn, and i'm a relapsed caffeine addict. But I'm getting this godsdamned book written. 10:18pm Wrote at The Sea Biscuit for about eight hours today. Got about four thousand words written, and reached what feels like the end of the first act of Landing on Water. And if so, it's going to be a lot longer than I'd originally anticipated. Whatever. The first draft will be as long as it needs to be. Anyway, I thought I was in for the evening, and then the kids from The Lesbian Podcast invited me to join them at Divas. So, I'm heading out again. sometime after midnight Impromptu adventure and a reasonable-for-a-Friday bedtime. That's balance! | ||
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Thursday, 19 November 2009 (textbook behavior) 6:02pm Today was the big shindig I was invited to last week during the job interview, the organization's annual fundraising luncheon. I'd been wondering if the elephant was going to be addressed, i.e. whether or not I actually got the job. When I sat down, I was handed an offer letter. So, I'm employed once more. It's only a part-time temporary contract position, but they seem super-excited to have me on board, and I have every reason to believe it'll turn into full-time gig. (Working at NakedSword was a part-time contract at first, too, though I went full time within a couple months, and I doubt it'll be quite as fast this time.) I start this Monday. My new supervisor tells me that they'd almost called me to come in yesterday morning—seems they have a project which needs to be done right now. It's good to be wanted, and my mission is to make 'em wonder how they ever got by without me. Even though I won't have financial security right off the bat, of all the places I've applied to this year, I think I'm most suited to this office. Though I tried to dress quasi-conservative for my interview last week because that's how the game is played, I was pretty much myself at the luncheon today, wearing a velvet dress and with The Squid up in pigtails. The Squid was a big hit, unsurprisingly, as it surely wouldn't have been at some of the other places I've tried to find employment. So, yay for that. | ||
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Wednesday, 18 November 2009 (the next four) 5:11pm The thing about momentum is that it inevitably fails. It's, like scientific and stuff. No gym this morning, and no Sea Biscuit. I did work in the Victory Garden for a while (pruned my monster of a zucchini plant, which I'm probably going to replace with a tomato plant, because I like tomatoes better than zucchini), and then I napped. Not much else. Tonight, I'm hooking up with Marta at Smack Dab, Kirk Read's open mic at Magnet in The Castro. Haven't been there since...wow...2005. It's not too surprising since I haven't gone to open mics on a regular basis since around that time, but still. A lot changed that year. | ||
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Tuesday, 17 November 2009 (breaking the waves) 12:13pm No gym this morning, but I'm at The Sea Biscuit again. Momentum! | ||
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Monday, 16 November 2009 (another shift) 3:11pm Went to the gym this morning and rescheduled with my trainer, because there's no way I'll be ready to see him again next week. And I worked out, too. I'm now at The Sea Biscuit, back at work on Landing On Water. I've gotten to one of the really scary parts, and the sooner I do it, the sooner it'll be done and I can move on. Until I return to it in the endless editing process, that is. 8:51pm Three thousand, four hundred and seven words! Time to go home. | ||
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Sunday, 15 November 2009 (climbing up the walls) sometime after midnight Marta rode her scooter Meg to the Black Light District last night, then we hopped into Phoebe and drove to The Power Exchange. We played for a bit with Mr. Sunshine, and were back home and asleep again by four in the morning. Up again at half past eight, though before long we were rutting like teenagers, which we hadn't really done in a while. It's good to know we still have it in us—I guess the batteries just need to be recharged now and again. Stands to reason, really. We had lunch at Underdog (driving separately, of course), then headed into The Mission. I hadn't expected to see her again, but my plans to spend the rest of the afternoon at The Dark Room (and maybe even nap a little) were thwarted by the presence of people I didn't want to be around, so I joined Rhiannon on a walk with Maggie. When we happened to find ourselves near Marta's place, I texted her, and she joined us on a Shotwell's excursion. I was sleep-deprvied and had already expended a fair amount of energy earlier in the day with Marta, not to mention I still had a show to do that evening, so having alcohol was probably not a good idea. I had a beer anyway, just because. Afterward, Marta and I parted company (again), and Rhiannon and I got entirely too much sushi to go from Tao Yin. It was damned yummy, though, and gave me the energy I needed to handle watching Pulp Fiction at Bad Movie Night. Gods, I hate that movie so much. Instead of just going home after the show like a smart person, I wound up at Orphan Andy's with Rhiannon and one of the hosts. Had a tuna melt which was surely bad for me but hit the spot, as bad-for-me things often will. Actually, that's not true. They often don't. But this one did. Now, home and sleep. Hopefully. | ||
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Saturday, 14 November 2009 (at the heart of it all) 2:52pm At The Sea Biscuit, since wifi is not so important at the moment, and Mocha 101 seems like it would fill up quickly today. Besides, The Sea Biscuit is still my favorite. It's my neighborhood, after all. | ||
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Friday, 13 November 2009 (dollars and cents) 2:11pm Marta came over last night. She made dinner—spicy couscous with an appetizer of dolma and babagonoush, which proves she's been paying attention—and then we got stoned and cuddled on the couch listening to Grizzly Bear's Yellow House and Veckatimest. The original plan had been to get stoned and listen to R.E.M., but this worked, too. We've gotten back together. Things aren't exactly the same as they were, because they're never the same as they were, but being broken up just wasn't working for either us, since we both still love the other and want to be together. So. The interview for the webmonkey position went well, well enough that they invited me to join them at the organization's big fundraising shindig next week. Not as a donor, obviously, but as a guest at their table. Which counts for something, I think. Anyway, I just have to send them a couple of references—I brought them one of the signed references that Officer Dave gave me when I left Cubik, but these things operate in threes—and then more waiting. Nothing's ever guaranteed, but I think I have a pretty good shot at it. It's a pretty simple drive, the Presidio location is beautiful if a little bit isolated (there's a pricey cafe and a Starbucks nearby and little else), and especially neat, the Presidio YMCA is within spitting distance. I'd start out at twenty hours a week until at least the end of the year (which is, what? six weeks away?), but I'd still be getting paid more than I'm getting on Unemployment. I think. Marta tells me that I can since I'm part time I can continue to send in my claim forms, and I'll get whatever the difference is. Sounds good to me for now, though the ideal of course is to be hired on full time. And they seemed happy to hear that even though partial telecommuting is an option, I prefer to actually go to an office to work. I like my ruts, especially the ones which ensure the rent gets paid. Plus, I'm hoping that if the space works ergonomically for me, I can stay there past my twenty hours to write. Not getting paid, obviously, but that plus the gym nearby would solve several issues at once. But for now, I'll just settle for getting the job at all. 8:11pm Going out tonight. The Divas Slash Power Exchange Ciruit, I think 10:54pm "Mr. Gay San Francisco 2010" is visiting Divas, and it's causing quite a stir. Me, I'm still in the "Mr. Gay San Francisco? Is that actually a thing?" stage. 11:52pm Because they're now all of a mile away from each other, my plan for the evening was to park near one and walk to the other. Parking near The Power Exchange seemed more logical since that's my likely final destination for the evening, but I got such a late start that there was no way I could park and walk from the part of town and get to Divas before the cover charge kicked in at eleven. And I sure as heck wasn't gonna pay to get in. So I parked on Franklin a couple blocks away from Divas—a safer neighborhood than anywhere near The Power Exchange, to be sure—got in under the cover wire, danced for a while, and am now walking to The Power Exchange. Except that the shortest route from one to the other requires going straight through The Tenderloin, and, yeah, no freakin' way. Instead, I'm taking the scenic Nob Hill detour. Past the old Video Zone, even! Not to mention the Nob Hill Adult Theatre, which will always be a symbol of a different epoch of employment. sometime after midnight Water falling out of the sky! This is not something I factored into this evening's travel plans. The Power Exchange was suprisingly dead for close to bar-closing time on a Saturday morning. (I did notice a lot of other girls from Divas wound up there. The Circuit, indeed.) Neither Marc nor Rhonda were there, which is always a little disconcerting. One of the new regulars—a Mr. Sunshine, obviously the best "scene name" ever—recognized me from last time, though, and invited me into The (New) Cage. That felt really nice, since I haven't been feeling comfortable enough yet in the new location to just invite myself into The New Cage, especially without March or Rhonda around. Seems like I'm still considered one of the upper crust of the lowest circle. I'm sure Milton would approve. As would whoever hacked the electronic sign at 8th and Lincoln. Or not. | ||
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Thursday, 12 November 2009 (agonizingly hot) 12:17pm Nailed the phone interview. Tomorrow I go in for an actual in-person job interview. I think this is gonna happen. | ||
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Wednesday, 11 November 2009 (golden feather) 11:52am At Mocha 101. Came straight here without even doing a driveby of The Sea Biscuit, primarily because I need wifi. If I was just writing (and I really need to get back to work on Landing on Water, which took a backseat to my Whorelover essay, a thoroughly rewritten "Finding Sister Midnight") that'd be fine, but I have job applications to send off and web updates to make. Therefore. 3:42pm It's not the waiting that gets me so much as the fact that the waiting so seldom ever ends, because nothing ever happens. 4:47pm And then sometimes it does: I got an email response about the webmonkey gig, and I have a phone interview tomorrow, my first one in...gods, I don't know when my last phone interview was. Years ago, easily. I'm very excited and hopeful. 7:31pm For no reason I can immediately discern, I was listening to Petula Clark's "Downtown" on repeat yesterday. Though if I had to hazard a guess, it because it's such a perfect little pop song, especially when the key changes halfway through each verse (like the just listen to the rhythm of a gentle bossa nova line—at least, I think that's a key change, I don't really know enough about music to say, but whatever it is that the notes do in that line, it's an incredibly satisfying sound, what Barefoot would call a musical moment to die for), and as a result I decided I need to go out into the world that evening. There really is no downtown as such in San Francisco, but still. The important thing was to get out of the house and maybe even have some fun. Dancing, to be precise. The trick was not just wimp out and decide to stay in, as I so often do. I started by getting dressed to go out a little earlier than I would otherwise, and doing research on where I could go, what would be new and vaguely adventurous. My usual destination on such jaunts is Divas but the dancefloor is closed on Tuesday nights. It's the night of the "Talent Show," in fact, basically a lip-sync contest, which is fine (and it's been on my mind for a while now to do either Sheryl Crow's "My Favorite Mistake" or Patti Smith's "Gloria"), but not particular exciting and different, at least to me. I looked up the various club listings online and decided on Lollipop at The Cat Club, with Hold Yr Horses at Aunt Charlie's Lounge as a backup should The Cat Club have a line out front, since I refused to waste my night on the town standing in line. (There was also The Endup, but it was their hip hop night. Fun, but not my scene.) If absolutely nothing else, getting to Aunt Charlie's would require some degree of adventure, located as it is on such a thoroughly Tenderloin-y block of The Tenderloin, plus the cover was three bucks as opposed to five bucks at The Cat Club. I finally got out of the house around ten, in full battlegear, feeling all of twenty-six years old again. (I felt a lot younger at twenty-six than I did sixteen, that's for sure.) As I'd suspected might be the case there was a line outside The Cat Club, full of pretty people and tiny sexy girls in blue wigs, and I knew there was no way my ego would be able to survive that particular assault, plus the whole "standing in line" thing. Aunt Charlie's, then. And I'd save two bucks in the process! I'm not rich these days, so the dollars add up. I Phoebe parked at Fifth and Folsom, as well-lit and safe a place for a car as one can reasonably hope for in that neighborhood, and where I expect I'll wind up parking on future Power Exchange excursions. Assuming actual parking exists at the moment, of course. Come to think of it, the new Power Exchange is around the corner and a couple blocks down from Aunt Charlie's, but given the microclimates of San Francisco, it's in in what feels like a much safer patch of urban decay. I was across from Annie's Social Club—the new Annie's, the current location of the karaoke bar that Maddy and I used to go to all the time, occasionally when we really shouldn't have. Aside from waiting in there one afternoon for about twenty minutes a year or two back while waiting for Rimma, I'd never really been inside. (The last time I'd really been in the space, if I'm not mistaken, was when The First and I went to Stinky's Peepshow ten years ago when it was the Covered Wagon Saloon.) I debated checking it out, or at least looking at the calendar out front, but I found myself reluctant. Perhaps because the peopel were too hip rather than too pretty, the tattooed and Lucky 13-hoodied crowd who for some reason aren't actually at Lucky 13. But it was there, and it would be silly not to at least look, since, really, I'm just not a fan of the trip to Aunt Charlie's. Nor am I huge fan of the place itself, but getting there can be gnarly. (Adventure schmadventure!) According to their calendar out front, it was Drunken Monkey Lounge night. This meant no cover, free pool, a DJ spinning industrial/goth/punk, karaoke, and Hamm's beer for a dollar. Perfection. There wasn't much of a crowd, and even better, the dance floor was unoccupied. Some people don't like being the only person dancing, but me, I love it. It's even better when you're dancing with one other person, but failing that, I'm all about having it to myself. I probably would have started dancing after ordering my first Hamm's, except a couple of Bad Movie Night regulars were playing pool and beckoned me over. They recognized me before I recognized them, as usual. I hung out with them for about half an hour, marveling at the fact that I'd been drinking enough decent beer courtesy of Rhiannon at Shotwell's that I could now tell cheap, piddle-water beer when I was drinking it, and lordy lordy, was I drinking it. But, hey, for a buck, it was worth it. And one ofthe Bad Movie Night regulars bought me a second can, which was both sweet of her and kinda hilarious—nothing says "recession" like buying the next round of one-dollar beer. I eventually wandered to the back room (the old home of Stinky's), where someone was singing "Breaking Us in Two" by Joe Jackson, a song I dearly love. That sold me right there, and I officially settled in the karaoke room. As it turned out, the fellow singing was someone I've known for a number of years. He guested on my old radio show once, and Vash and I made a spectacle of ourselves at a noise show he curated in 2005, back in the heady days when we couldn't keep our hands off each other. It was just me and him and the hostess in the room, which was perfect. There was never any doubt in my mind what song I had to do, provided she had it in the system, and she did: Petula Clark's "Downtown." I tried to keep the oldies theme going as long as I could, following it up with "Twilight Time" by The Platters and "Runaway" by Del Shannon. I did those pretty well, but then I completely botched Frank Sinatra's "The Way You Look Tonight." To clear the palate I returned to the Del Shannon well with "Hats Off to Larry." Then I leapt all the way into the late seventies with "Surrender" by Cheap Trick, conscious of the fact that this may well have been the first time in my illustrious karaoke career that I'd done a song purely because it was fun, and it doesn't get much more fun and not-dark than "Surrender." I realized I wasn't trying to exorcise demons quite as much as usual, especially since things seem to be on an upswing with Marta. I just wanted to have fun, to let my not-so-inner rock star get a more literal airing than it usually does, jumping around and belting out songs and, most importantly, there was a mic stand. A mic stand makes all the difference to me, it really does, even when I'm not reading off a piece of paper (though that's when it's most necessary, of course). Hell, if there was a mic stand at Divas, I probably would have long since done the lip-sync night by now. In any event, it's fun to jump around and sing, acting like I'm performing to a stadium rather than just a few people, getting the attention of whoever's there regardless of the number, which is really the key to performing. It reminded me that I would want to be a singer in a band if it wasn't so much work, and if I had better voice. But it is and I don't—Snowmiser last year definitively answered the question about my singing voice—so this is the next best thing. Besides, writing is and always will be my real passion. Next up was "Sympathy for the Devil," which is both dark and fun in equal measures, and one I know by heart so I didn't have to look at the screen, , and probably the song I identified with the most. (There are those who think I'm a very bad person, who still won't talk to me because of things I did years ago. What's puzzling them is the nature of my game.) I closed out the evening with Sweet's "Ballroom Blitz," though I'm pretty sure I was hearing Tia Carrere's version from Wayne's World in my head. I was sweaty and exhausted by the time it was all over, which was kinda the point. I asked the hostess if it's a regular Tuesday night thing, and she said that not only is it normally on the third Tuesday rather than the second, this would probably be the second-to-last one, since the bar will cease to Annie's at the of the year. Well, shit. That's what I get for waiting so long. Outside the bar, a patron I hadn't noticed before confirmed that my name was Sherilyn, and said that he'd seen me around town. I get that a lot. | ||
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