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Tuesday, 31 October 2000 (the dark end of the street) 7:33am And remember to breathe, dear.
Sage adivce from Rae regarding the festivities tonight. It's essentially the same thing
I was telling Dana last night: exhaling is as important as inhaling. If nothing else, the
plants need our CO2 as much as we need their O2. That whole ecosystem
thing. It seemed to work for her; now, I just need to remember it for myself.
The facial hair verdict is: more than I would like, but acceptable. The shadow is very much gone from
my cheeks, and that's important because it's what's most visible from a distance. There's a little bit
of darkness on my upper lip, but there's not much I can do about it now. Everything's going to be fine,
I'm sure.
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Monday, 30 October 2000 (digilogue) 8:53am The key to time off, I realize now, is not so much relaxation but rather turning one's energies in directions in which they aren't necessarily able to go during the normal routine. To that effect, I'm going to the gym. By this time of the morning, it should be at its least crowded. Of course, I'd like to think that this might get my personal momentum going, in spite of other recent attempts having failed. The wedding's tomorrow and there ain't much I can do before then, but in a lot of ways, I needn't stress so much about my appearance there; it's not about me, and what's more, I'll be amongst people who accept me, regardless.
On the other hand, the goddamned holidays are coming up, resulting in at least two family
gatherings. I'm probably nowhere near as judged or persecuted by my family as I seem to
pretend (and by tranny standards I'm very lucky in that regard), but I still want to
look like I'm taking care of myself. It's been too long since my mother thought I was
anorexic...
Astonishingly, my endoc's office has my medical records ready for me to pick up. Didn't expect it to happen so quickly. The scariest part is yet to come, though.
Speaking of scary parts, the wedding rehearsal is tonight. It's about to get even
more real.
Of course, it all boils down to the little details. One foot per stair, or two? Lead with the right, or left? If I switch, will people notice? Yes, becuase it would cause a distinct change in my pace. Brooke is descending before me; I reckon I'll try to match her pace. Then I assume my position next to her to the left of the stairs, turn counter-clockwise—otherwise known as "right" to those of us raised in the post-LED age—look towards the middle of the stairs, and don't move for the next half hour or so. No problem. I tend to shift my weight back and forth between my feet (and yet I have the nerve to criticize someone else for fidgeting), but given the circumstances, I'm sure I can hold still. After the ceremony, which promises to be both brief and extremely poignant, we'll walk down the aisle—towards the opposite end of the room from which the bridesmaids entered—paired up with one of the groomsmen. I'll be walking with Barstow, Costanza's best friend. Brooke is walking with Heinrich (fair enough, seeing as how they're married and all), and the matron of honor Angela is paired up with Costanza's twin brother Simon. In a casting move my mother would be proud of, Simon is Costanza's best man, and— Oh, I did mention they're twins, right? It's a real mindfuck at first. We all understand the concept of twins, but how many twins do you actually know? Yeah, same here. Although Costanza is tres goth and Simon isn't, they're still very similar in terms of personality, and seeing some of Costanza's traits and mannerisms in Simon, I got a sense of what people mean when they say my brothers and I act alike. Moreso in this case, I'd suppose. Although I'm sure it happens a lot more for them, I also identified with their exasperation when people would comment on how similar they are; I was reminded of the light that goes on in people's minds when they realize that my brothers and I share the same initial. Okay, we no longer do since I broke my father's heart by not choosing a "J" name, but it used to happen all the time. In this instance, I decided to leave the obvious unspoken aloud: gosh, they look a lot alike. Yes, because they're fucking twins. DUH. After the rehearsal, we walked down Van Ness with no clear idea of where we were going for the traditional post-rehearsal dinner. We wound up at Mel's Diner, of all places. It was, in fact, exactly the right note of kitsch, the necessary amount of chrome-plated cholestrol. Whatever else occurs, there will always be hamburgers and a bowl of mayo for your fries. To quote Jason Dean, it keeps you grounded. Best of all, the jukebox had both Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" and Willie Nelson & Merle Haggard's cover of "Pancho & Lefty." The nicest thing about the evening, for me, was that I finally got to spend a little time with Dana alone. Not much, and only every once in a while, but it's something I wish I could have been able to do more often over the past year. To be there for her, with her, to try to return some of the kindness she's shown me in difficult times...
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Sunday, 29 October 2000 (every bright body gleams green) 3:46pm So we're in the Goodwill in the Haight when, for no apparent reason, I decide to step onto a used scale. I fully expect the needle to spin all the way around, smoke to pour from the sides and springs to pop out with an audible "boing-g-g-g-g!" sound. Instead, much to my surprise, it settles on 210. This, in spite of me weaing my buetz and duster with jacket pockets full. I was at 210 the last time I weighed myself nekkid. The scale, I reckon, must be inaccurate. Still, it gives me a little glow of hope, one which is mostly diminished a short while later in Backseat Betty: an employee greets Maddy and I with "Hello, ladies," then gets a closer look at me and says, "Just kidding." As we leave, we get downgraded to "Goodbye, guys." I try my best not to let these things bother me.
I weighed myself at home later, mostly au naturel. 200. Wow. I guess eating less, and
healthier, does make a difference. If I'd been exercising regularly, I'd probably be back
down to 190 by now. At least it's an improvement before Dana and Costanza's wedding, which is the day after
tomorrow. The surprise bachelor/bachelorette party, however, was last night...
there's nothing wrong with caring. the trick is not to care about the wrong things. 9:32pm After dinner in Japantown, they got kidnapped by a gorilla and taken to The Tonga Room. I'm not sure what else can be said beyond that.
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Saturday, 28 October 2000 (play for today) 10:31am The Beauty Store in the Haight has both Burgundy Wine and Nuclear Red. So, naturally, I'm getting them both. Is there a term for this sort of behavior? Color-whore, something like that?
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Friday, 27 October 2000 (the sound of confusion) 10:31am Empirical observation has lead me to the conclusion that The Den Mother's favored style of micromanagement involves bringing as many people into a room at a time as possible. We'll be in someone's office talking about one project or another, she'll walk in, listen for a minute or two, then say "________ should be in this meeting." Fails, it does not. Most recently, we were in Brian's office, being all nice and efficient and stuff, when she walked in and declared that The Fidget Queen needed to be with us. Fortunately, he'd left the office a short while before, and I was able to beg out of the meeting anyway. TDM, it should be noted, cannot be shaken of the notion that today is Brian's last day rather than next Wednesday. I suspect it's a combination of eagerness and an inability to ever admit she's wrong. Brian could probably simply not show up for his last few days of work, and she wouldn't even realize it. Oh, man, things are going downhill, but fast. 12:29pm I am a professional. I'm here to do a job, and I do it well, if I may say so myself. If it's occasionally going to involve him coming into my office and speaking to me, as has happened twice so far today, so be it. I am a professional, after all. Petty dislike is irrelevant. 7:47pm Ah. Nothing like the twelve-hour Friday to get one primed for time off. Yet, somehow, I don't think my stress level is going to lower signifcantly. Alas. It would be dishonest of me to say I don't thrive on a bit of chaos, and chaos has not been in short supply today. It was my last day working with Brian, amongst other things, so it couldn't have been simple no matter what. My one break was a jaunt to the Beauty Store in the Embarcadero Center. No Burgundy Wine, but they did have Ruby Red. Halfway there. I'm also keeping an eye out for Nuclear Red. Ooooooh. Pretty. There was an incredibly femmey boy working behind the counter at the Beauty Store. He was thin (fucker), wearing a lace button-down shirt, and long black hair with streaks of blue and red. No makeup evident except for some glitter around the eyes, though I was in full battle gear. I think he was checking me out almost as much as I was him. oh, hello. another one. Home, now. To.
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Thursday, 26 October 2000 (androgynous noise hand permeates) 8:44am I've come to realize my duties to Dana regarding the wedding are as follows:
10:08am It's raining. that used to mean something 10:56pm Tomorrow is my last day working with Brian. His last day with the company is actually next Tuesday, but of course I'll be elsewhere entirely. When I return, he'll be gone. Everything goes away.
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Wednesday, 25 October 2000 (cvalda) 9:12am Ah. It's actually Special Effects Ruby Red—just like the grapefruit juice—and Burgundy Wine. Whatever it is, I need to get more of it. I conditioned my hair this morning, and the pink foam (not be to confused with the yellow foam, thank you very much) was simply heartbreaking. 10:21am i'm sorry i lost you. i'm sorry i wasn't strong enough to keep it together. i'm sorry i couldn't find it in myself to forgive you when you didn't do anything wrong. i'm sorry.
this film is on
I've called my endocrinologist's office and asked to get a copy of my medical records. They didn't ask why I
needed them, which helped. I'm feeling a tad guilty about jumping ship, don't particularly care to explain
why I'm doing so. (When I called to unsubscribe from the newspaper a while back, I got the classic hard
sell. "I'd like to cancel my subscription, please." Loooong pause. Finally: "I see." Another long pause.
"May I ask why?" And this was from the person answering the phone. Sheesh.) Now I need to fax them a note
authorizing them to release my records, and I should be able to pick them up next week. So far, so good.
After all, the single coolest moment in the original Die Hard came when Alan Rickman's Hans Gruber saw the model of the Nakatomi plaza and said, "'When Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept for there were no more worlds to conquer.' The benefits of a classical education." Damn. There's nothing sexier than being stylish and well-read. For the record, this is the passage from Ezekiel:
1:15 Now as I beheld the living creatures, behold one wheel upon the earth by the living creatures, with his four faces.
Just goes to show how much better off the world was before Christ came along. If you were completely whacked out of your mind,
you were revered as a prophert. Now that's what I call enlightened.
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Tuesday, 24 October 2000 (tabula rasa) 9:39am My father wrote, in response to my message that he can cc rather than bcc me:
2:22pm My hair has red chunks now, a combination of Special Effects Burgundy and Red Wine. Brighter than I expected, and if we'd had more time it would have been brighter still. But it'll certainly do. Looks really nice in the sunlight, Maddy tells me. It might have also accounted for the two teenage girls who were having an intense "Is that a woman or not?" debate about me a while ago. I should know better than to go anywhere near a high school. Anyway, Anodyne lives in an apartment building which, in my mind, sums up the urban experience. It reminds me of every movie I've seen about living in New York, although she has perhaps a little more closet space. (Okay, a lot more; I've known people to live in closets the size of hers. In fact, the house where my brother lived in the Tower District in '89-'91 had a room very similar to it, a blacklight room where he also grew his pot, and of course that one day...but I digress.) From her kitchen window you can see Polk street, with a pizza place on one side and an adult store on the other, out of view of the window but made noticeable by its neon sign, casting a purple glow over the street and the passing vehicles. That alone fascinated me, and helped while away the time sitting with tinfoil on my head. (Ah, the glamour of it all.) The view reminded me of a short film I'd seen in my Avant-Garde Film class, called something like Real New York Pizza or words to that effect. It was basically time-lapse photography shot from outside someone's window in New York, and there happened to be a pizza joint across the street. Sounds boring, I know, but I found it rather fascinating. Saw the neatest stuff in that class; the other film I was reminded of was Michael Snow's Wavelength a 45-minute zoom shot. Then again, I'm probably just getting nostalgic for film school. I forget how we got on the subject, but Danielle Willis was mentioned. She's one of Maddy's favorite poets, and has always been an inspiration to her as trannychasing vampire. Except for the heroin use, Danielle Willis is as much of a role model to her as Courtney Love (about whom the heroin caveat also applies). Like me, if Madeline could get that junkie look without actually having to deal with that whole addiction thing, she probably would.
Anodyne mentioned, as casually as could be, that she performed with
Danielle at Bondage A Go-Go a few years back. This was followed by loud "thunk" as Maddy's jaw hit the floor.
Anodyne went into her closet and produced a yellowing copy of The Spectator, "California's Original Adult
Newsmagazine" (printed on standard newspaper stock and
available in finer tagged newspaper machines throughout the Tenderloin and beyond). In featured a
a collage of pictures from that night, including Danielle
drinking Anodyne's blood through a tube. Y'know, after that, anything else I
write would be anticlimactic. I mentioned my hair has red chunks now, right? Hardly matters. Anodyne wins.
Brian has informed me that the proposal for the new department has been shot down. It sucks for me, but it
especially sucks for the people who were putting it together. When all is said and done, I'm a grunt; they're
the visionaries, and they deserve better than this, for office politics to get in the way of doing something
new and different. God, I'm glad I have next week off.
I think I know how Lynch and Frost must have felt during the latter half of the second season of Twin Peaks. The mystery of Laura's death was solved; now what? Being a staunch loyalist I was still there every Saturday night, hanging on every word and every plot twist, but even I knew something was missing, that it was forced, that some of it was just so much filler... Things Falling Apart and Holy Wood have both been pushed back to November. I suppose I should have doublechecked online first. Not to download them—although the bounty of the Usenet has recently been providing me with the Christian Death catalog, and I've already seen an advance copy of Holy Wood posted, I'm going to wait and buy them out of a form of that aforementioned loyalty—but just to make sure they'd actually been released today as originally announced, which of course they weren't. Woulda saved me a trip. Alas.
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Monday, 23 October 2000 (discretion) 9:15am My subconscious decided to repay me for my snarkiness towards my father by putting him in a dream last night. I ran into him at a showing of George Romero's Martin at The Roxie. Of course, the place looked nothing like The Roxie, and I've never actually seen Martin, but that's my brain for you. He was there with his wife (whom he married over ten years ago and still hasn't told me, so apparently everybody keeps secrets), and I tried to avoid him at first without much success. He said he didn't understand why I was keeping my distance from him. The utter irony in that statement didn't register on me at the time. 10:51am Brian just admitted to me that he really doesn't care anymore. Since he's gone for good after next week, I can't blame him at all. I've started putting out feelers in other departments, just in case the proposed new one doesn't come together. Frankly, I know better than to expect it will. 11:51am Now I'm being (inadvertantly) teased into wanting to stay right here: a shiny new computer. A consolation prize, as it were. 2:34pm So, as if I'm not feeling anxious enough, I've finally gotten around to seriously looking into seeing another endocrinologist. I just don't trust mine anymore, primarily becuase she doesn't do a damn thing but tsk-tsk about my weight, and send me off with the same damn prescription in hand. Maybe she should be doing more and maybe she shouldn't, I don't know, but I'm going to find out. To that end, I just got off the phone with an endoc in San Jose about whom I've heard very good things. I didn't speak to her, of course, but her receptionist; I got a definite reaction when I told them who I'm seeing. I wonder if I'm not the first one to jump ship, or maybe she's just going to tell me to stay where I am.
Either way, the appointment is for a week from this Thursday at 11am. I have until then to get my
medical records from my current endocrinologist, which is going to be like having teeth pulled while
having my hand caught in the cookie jar. Or something. I honestly don't know what metaphor
is approrpriate. In any event, it's going to be a bitch. Almost as much of a bitch as picking
up the phone and making the appointment for next week—I agonized over it for at least an hour.
I guess I'd thought I'd left behind this particular anxiety two years ago, but I was wrong.
Sometimes I still have a hard time pronouncing my name clearly; I sorta mumble it, then
spell it out. Nobody ever gets it right the first time anyway, but still, that's not good of me....
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Sunday, 22 October 2000 (when you awake) 5:38pm Despite my feeling that I've ballooned, the dress fits, and it looks damn good. I think. I never got a decent look at it on me (no full-length mirrors), but from what I could see and was told, it's quite beautiful. Pales in comparison to Dana's, of course, but that's the whole point. Her wedding dress is a work of art, as it should be. Sometimes I'm still amazed she wants me up there with her, and I couldn't be more honored. Best of all, Lee's going to be there. Dana managed to get in touch with him, and he's resurfacing. I need to find out how long he's going to to be in the area; then again, I'll probably be lucky just to see him that night. Can't expect or ask for more than that. So my father wrote to my brothers and uncles yesterday, one of those harmless platitudes that we've all received from our net-enabled parents at one time or another. I couldn't help noticing, though, that I wasn't on the To: or cc: list. I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt and assuming that he bcc'd me not out of embarrassment but in case I hadn't been outed to everyone else. He had my best interests in mind, no doubt. Just to clear up the confusion, though, I thanked him for his discretion but assured him it wasn't necessary. Least I could do, I figured.
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Saturday, 21 October 2000 (deconsecration) 8:51am The dresses for the wedding have arrived; we'll be trying them on this afternoon at Dana's.
Me? Nervous? Perish the thought.
And then I made the collosally stupid mistake of going back to sleep, in spite of the distinct probability of having another bad dream. Which, of course, I did, this one involved getting forced into a fight in public. (Are we seeing a pattern?) After that, I wised up and stay awake. Later in the day, I got a taste of the future: The Den Mother came in and asked me what I know about DHTML, since the CEO of the company had decided he wanted "expanded ads" and it was her duty to make it happen, even though all she had to work with was the words "DHTML" and "expanded ads" and didn't understand what any of it meant. I then went to Brian, who showed me examples of what she wanted: Java ads, which go against every policy we have about online content. But she neither knows, cares, nor understands, and without having Brian to go through, she'll be coming to me a lot more with every half-assed, misunderstood idea she gets into her head...as usual, the scariest stuff happens in real life.
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