Sadly, I'll never get to ask. He'll always be an inspiration to me, though.

sometime after midnight

Listening to the presidential debate tonight on Air America (finally on the radio in San Francisco!), I think I heard Bush lose the election.

Been cleaning the apartment a lot lately. For as much as I've been working on it, you'd think I was going to get paid or something.

The temp work hasn't quite started rolling in yet, and I wrote the company I interviewed with week before last. Can't say I'm really expecting to hear from them.

Having learned some important lessons from the ill-fated experiment which was The Arrangement last year, Maddy and I are slowly opening up our relationship. It was something that we discussed last week—after my appointment with The Nice Lady, not coincidentally—and Maddy took the first real steps in that direction on Sunday at Folsom with an acquaintance of ours. (Logical place to start, no?) So far, things are looking positive. Said acquaintance even has a girlfriend whom I've always considered to be quite the hottie, but I dunno. That could prove to be a little too Ice Storm-ish, y'know? I don't wear polyester, and I'd like to keep it that way.

I almost hosted a screening of Fahrenheit 9/11 at the Odeon last night. I decided not to pursue it, as I still felt like I was recovering from my own intense weekend, though I kinda wish I had. Coulda been fun. I am hosting a comedy show on Saturday, however. Still not sure how that one happened.

For as much as I'm liking the purple, my hair is about to switch directions again. The current plan is to color it all black except for the roots, and then bleach out the roots. And, continue to bleach out the roots as they grow in. You see where this is going, I'm sure. Superficial cosmetic changes to compensate for spiritual emptiness. The classics, they never die.

Things are shifting, again.

10:20pm

They're walking towards me.

Hey, How's It Goin'?

fine,

They keep getting closer.

Is This The Bus Stop?

yes.

Closer, closer.

Boy, There Are Some Strange People Around Here.

yeah,

i'm experiencing one at this very moment.

Whoops.

What? What Did You Just Say?

okay, that's close enough.

I raise my hands. Not in a gesture of surrender, nor to show that I'm unarmed, but the early stages of a defensive posture.

stop right there.

I'll Walk Wherever I Want. What Are You Going To Do About It?

My hands clench into fists, and I crouch slightly, assuming the position.

turn around and walk away,

I say, my voice raising to what's meant to be an i-mean-business level. They start to turn around, then stop.

This Is The Bus Stop! You Fucking Think I'm Going To Leave The Bus Stop?

you had the right idea a moment ago. turn around and walk away. there's another one in a couple blocks.

They keep getting closer.

back off.

I keep getting louder.

BACK OFF.

Space, violated. Their eyes and mine are uncomfortably close, locked like the horns of impertinent rams. I can see the flecks of black in the brown of their pupils.

go away. go away RIGHT NOW.

This is usually the point in class when the ukae walks off (usually muttering things like "Damn, bitch, I was just trying to be friendly"), and rest of the class applauds and cheers. The eyes remain as close as before, and there is no supportive crowd. I'm dimly aware that Maddy is elsewhere, enjoying herself thoroughly.

If You Lay A Finger On Me, It's Assualt.

Squick, squick. They're right, of course. But the temptation to strike their neck with my elbow is terribly potent. I realize that I want them to try something. I want an excuse to unload, to unleash. My right hand even makes a "come get me" gesture before I can stop it. What I say aloud, however, is

turn around and walk away. leave. right now.

They mock me. It isn't the Dumb Guy Voice, which I loathe with a passion, but it's still bad.

'Leave Right Now!'

They laugh bitterly and start dancing around me, keeping their eyes on mine. I swivel to follow. They imitate my stance.

Ooooh, Ooooh, You're So Tough!

They wave their fists in front of my face, and actually say

I'm Not Touching You! Is This Bugging You? I'm Not Touching You.

Good lord, are they actually doing that? Yes, they are. They're trying to get a rise out of me. Well, an even more serious rise, anyway. They want me to hit first. They even feign a few actual punches. I keep my eye focused on them. How long has this been going on? Less than a minute, perhaps, no more than two. It feels like forever.

go away. just turn and walk away. leave now.

Eventually, they do. I exhale. The class breaks into applause. The ukae asks if I'm all right. There was no physical contact, but that's hardly the point. I say that yes, I am, though I'm still surging and will be for a while. The fragile-yet-strong blonde girl sitting next to me in the circle, who earlier told me apropos of nothing that she'd seen the Pixies the previous evening, says that it was "really hardcore." The tranny boy tells me after class that it was really intense, and he was impressed. I take it as a compliment.

Each class begins and ends with a touchy-feely "checking in" session which is actually so incredibly important and necessary that I actually don't feel right making fun of it the way I just did. We sit in a large circle and say a little bit about how we're feeling at the moment. Today was the first time I've talked about being a tranny in the class, how when we're practicing with partners, having to occasionally play the attacker really messes with my head. Today was particularly difficult, as we did a lot of "ground" work, literally stuff you do if you happen to find yourself on the ground.

Simply learning to kick properly was exhausting enough (and I don't think I quite got it), but the real tough part involved what to do if someone has you pinned on the ground. See, I tend to not hit or defend or even break out of holds as powerfully as I could, since I have a big ol' complex about my innate strength. The construction of my body makes me uncomfortable. Always has. It's too big, too tall and wide across. (Wouldn't be quite so bad if my metabolism wasn't so goddamn sedentary, but given half a chance my body will expand to take up even more room, kinda like it's doing right now, which is why none of my favorite shiny black pants fit anymore. They're falling apart anyway, so even if I could wear them, I probably shouldn't on a regular basis.) No matter what I do, it remains largely male.

Sure, okay, my breasts are definitely female, and my body isn't quite shaped the way it once was...but it isn't shaped the way it would be if I'd been born female, either. Yes, I do know this for a fact. All I have to do is look at genetic females who are approximately my height, like Anodyne or Sara. The really frustrating part? It didn't have to be this way. It's entirely possible for a tranny body to be almost indistinguishably female. I've seen it. Mine, however, is not one of those, nor is it ever likely to be. Even if Danielle had got me that audition at the O'Farrell Theater that night, and I'd managed to hide my genitals from them, the moment I'd taken off my clothes they would have figured it out. Fat doesn't lay on the natural female body like that.

If I may be seditious (don't tell Heather I said this, okay?), the media is not to blame for my body issues. Teevee doesn't fill my head with unrealistic notions about what a woman's body should be. All I need to do is walk down Valencia, or into the Lex, or anywhere women are to be found, and there's a damn good chance I'll see plenty of honest-to-gum real women who haven't had a lick of work done, who neither spend countless hours with their personal trainers nor are airbrushed into a glossy two-dimensional object of fantasy. The real thing is all I need to feel bad about myself.

So. My partner was lying on her back, and I had to sit on her hips, bending my knees. She had to tell me gently but firmly that, yes, it was okay, I could actually put all my weight on her. (but i can't because i'm so big and have such a male body that i never should have been born into and this is so very very wrong—) She wasn't going to squash like a grape, and what's more, she needed to feel my weight to properly execute the move. We switched back and forth, sometimes her assuming the position of the rapist, sometimes me. (sometimes her assuming the position of the violating male, sometimes me—) I suspect she was triggered in entirely different ways.

The last exercise of class is generally more verbal, more about standing your ground, about confrontation, about keeping them out of your space in the first place. It's when you learn the most about yourself. I think I learned a lot this afternoon...

I'm hosting Lit at the Canvas on Monday, then Sketchy on Saturday, Gender Enders is coming up, I Do/I Don't is released on Tuesday, I've been hired by the Jon Sims Center to help organize an event (which is not the same as actually getting a job), the radio show starts soon, and I've just accepted an assistant director position for an upcoming play at The Dark Room. I am not unwanted. Undesired, perhaps, but not unwanted.

Sometimes things change, and sometimes you're seeing them as they always were.

I'm soooo deep, aren't I?

5:44pm

Speaking of quasi-deep things, the page for Rush Hour on the Event Horizon is up. Not much to it at the moment, but eventually it'll have setlists. Then, there won't be much to it except for setlists. The Wicked Messenger connection in the name wasn't flowing properly, so I dropped it. I have to admit, I'm kinda pleased with what I did to the station logo. Compare it to the regular one, and you'll see that in mine, the kitty is being sucked into a black hole. Because an event horizon is the boundary of a black hole. Lookit me! I know stuff!

The session with my shrink was a good thing. I'll be seeing her again in two weeks, unless I get employed in the meantime.

The other meeting was in Potrero Hill, right around the corner from the 280 onramp. It was a nice day and, even after a leisurely greek crepe at the Crepevine at Market and Church I had plenty of time, so I walked. It was only two and a half miles, which really isn't all that far. I briefly considered walking home afterwards, a ten-mile Trek from one end of the City to the other. Bay to Breakers, as it were. If it was earlier in the day and my bag wasn't so heavy—I always overpack—I probably would have.

Anyway, it was about helping to organize an event at the Jon Sims Center in November. Recruiting performers, finding volunteers and food donors, promotion, etc. Nothing I can't do, nor anything that would require several hours out of every day. The person who approached me about it, Susan, is the same one who invited me to perform at the queer marriage reading last June, which resulted in me finally finishing the piece which eventually made it into the book being published next week. (Coincidentally, both the book and the reading share the same name.) Yeah, okay, there are eight zillion contributors, but it still feels like I "made it in," and it's an honor to be published in the same volume as people like Margaret Cho and Carol Queen. Anyway, I'm grateful to her for giving me these opportunities, and I'm going to make the best of them. Never can tell where they'll lead.

The appointment with The Nice Lady was made a few weeks ago, and I was a little disappointment she didn't have any openings until now. Earlier today, I got to wondering exactly what we'd discuss, since my head is a little more together than when I made the appointment. So, I brainstormed.

cutting sex dysphoria unemployment (darkness) weight/bodyimage desire

There's still plenty to talk about.