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| Most recent days at top, though updates over the course of the day are at the bottom of
each day. Oh, you know how it works. Names have been changed. If you're convinced something is a big mean public attack on you, that says more about you than me.
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Thursday, 4 September 2008 (keeping in luxury) 7:33pm The San Francisco Electronic Music Festival was great. I especially dug the SF Sound Group, who in a wonderfully perverse touch are completely acoustic, nary an electronic instrument to be found. They fit in perfectly all the same. I also liked Phill Niblock, the drone artist who I especially wanted to see, though there's something increasingly unsatisfying about noise musicians who just sit behind their laptops and don't do anything. At least Robert Rich still brings a bunch of equpiment with wires and stuff. If you're going to use a laptop, then at least pretend it's an instrument and that you aren't just hitting "play." Move the mouse around, or something. Bunny enjoyed the show, too. It's her kind of thing, and it was nice to catch up with her. The show ran past eleven, and even though I dropped off Bunny and went straight home, I still didn't get to bed until nearly one, which is way past my bedtime. To be nice to myself, I set the alarm for six rather than five. A whole extra hour to sleep! I was on the hamster wheel at the gym by half past seven, and at work by nine. So weird to not be the first one there. Plenty of fires were raging with clients (as they have been for weeks now), and I put most of them out. Kept me plenty busy. Since I won't be going to the gym on Friday at all—getting the squid tightened a couple hours before hosting a show will be all the physical trauma I need—I went to the gym again this evening. Raphaela was there both times, in between clients, and made me doubly promise that I'll take Friday off. And maybe even Saturday? Nah, probably not. | ||
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Wednesday, 3 September 2008 (blood on my hand) 2:45pm I didn't sleep so well last night, which didn't keep me from getting up at five this morning to go to the gym and do an hour of cardio. This is the only way it works. Speaking of working, from today's SF Weekly (September 3 - 9, 2008), page 34: Minimum RageThe picture, taken by Sister Edith last week, looks better than I thought it would. Tonight, I'm going to Project Artaud for the San Francisco Electronic Music Festival with Bunny, whom I haven't seen since the Fourth of July. We've both been busy. | ||
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Tuesday, 2 September 2008 (counting back from ten) 5:15pm Good heavens, but there's something wrong with my brain lately. As though losing my Wayfarers wasn't enough, I left my regular glasses at home this morning. I really don't know how I managed that, but they aren't in my regular bag or my gym bag or in Phoebe, so that means they're at home, which means I have to go home before the sun sets. Which I was probably going to do anyway, but still. It also meant I had to wear my icky backup sunglasses during my hour session with Raphaela today. I have to wear glasses when working with her so I can see her and/or see myself in the mirror to make sure my posture and stuff is correct. Otherwise, I'd just as soon be a misshapen blurry figure in the mirror, as opposed to the misshapen clear figure I am with my glasses on. She said that she's taking the Pilates stuff to "the next level." I'm not entirely sure what that means, but it seems to involve saying frack you! to gravity. I won't be seeing her again until next Monday. Normally I'd have an appointment with her at noon on Friday, but I cancelled it because I'm getting my squid tightened that afternoon, and between those mini-traumas there's no way I'd be up for hosting Working for the Weakened that evening. It's going to feel weird going that long. I know it's not like all the progress I've made this past month will reverse itself because I'm only seeing her once this week, yet part of me a feels a little bit panicky, like I'll lose my momentum. But I know I won't. 7:01pm Falling firmly into the "no surprise" category is the fact that I can't find my glasses at home. They kinda have to be here, and yet they aren't. When I lose things, I lose 'em real good, dagnabbit. (As I was scouring the apartment, I listened to George Carlin's "Losing Things" routine, which has always been one of my favorites. It made me feel better.) Fortunately, much like with my errant sunglasses, I have a backup pair from '03, which are ironically newer than my newly missing '99 vintage pair. The frames are broken near the swingy part on the right side side and I don't care for how they look on me (hey, did my hair used to be black? when the hell was that?), but they work and I know where they are. Yay for redundancy. 10:11pm Sometimes—most of the time, more like—you have to accept that something's gone for good and be ready to move on before it reappears. In this case, I'd figured that my glasses were gone for good, probably having fallen out of my bag into between my apartment and the car this morning, or possibly just sucked into that localized black hole that's claimed so many small items in this place over the years. I had the older pair, and though I would need to get the frames fixed professionally, they'd do the job. Moving on. And then I found my regular glasses far under the Phoebe's front passenger seat, that part where one runs the risk of getting one's arm stuck if they reach. But my arm didn't get stuck (for a change) and I got my glasses back. Yay. Moving on. | ||
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Monday, 1 September 2008 (the other big lie) 3:52pm At my office, because where else would I be on Labor Day? Did the salad-movie-early-to-bed thing on Friday night. Went to the gym on Saturday morning for the requisite half hour on one and half hour on the other, had lunch at the office, then walked to Ilene's place. Since the semester began she's been neck-deep in homework, and requested that we do something to get her out of her apartment. A walk, or something. So, walk we did, the entire length of Polk, from Fox Plaza to the Maritime Museum and back. Four miles total, not counting the mile or so I'd walked between my office and her place, nor the hour of cardio I'd done earlier. On the return trip we had an early dinner at Miller's Deli. Ilene had never been there before, nor even had any real exposure to Jewish deli food, and I'm always happy to expose people to it. Not that I'm any sort of expert on the Jewish deli experience, but I like it, and I have fond assocations with the food in general and Miller's in particular: it was part of the last really good night between Vash and I, of the final burst of hopefulness. (That less than forty-eight hours the center ceased to hold for good doesn't detract from the happiness of the memory. If anything, it makes it stronger.) We left Ilene's place at three and returned at six. I promptly crawled onto her bed and fell asleep, fully clothed and in what I've come to think of as the Perdita Position. As I slept, she returned to her homework. I was up again at half past eight, though it was the kind of nap where the only way I knew for sure that I slept was because time had passed, and there was simply no way that I'd just laid there awake for two and a half hours. That, and I did feel rested. By the time we'd returned to Ilene's place after the walk I was already planning on calling it quits for the night, but the disco nap got me back on my feet. So, we took a cab back to my office and drove Phoebe to The Mighty, a SoMA club I'd never heard of. It was a work-related event, the unveiling of NakedSword's Dirty Dozen, our "street team." Evidently they'll represent us at the Folsom Street Fair and other events. (Which reminds me, I should contact Rhonda about working the Power Exchange booth again this year.) Ilene and I were mostly there for the open bar—a White Russian, followed by the Seven and Seven—and so I could build up my Good Employee credit. Though my job is quite secure from a professional standpoint—especially after these past few weeks, when there have been a number of fires involving my clients that I've successfully navigated—the powers that be also appreciate it when we participate in work-related extracurricular activities as well, and more often than not I give the impression of someone who Doesn't Play Well With Others. Especially when I get dragged to a group lunch and end up sitting next to my archnemesis. But they weren't present, and Officer Dave and others were, and once the formalities of introducing the Dirty Dozen were over with, there wasn't much left to do but dance. Which Ilene and I did, though it took a bit of coaxing to get her onto the techno-heavy dancefloor, since she covets her Goth Points far more than I covet the few I have left. I intend to start getting my points back after the shape of my body has changed, working with Raphaela as well as daily on my own. (This is the only way it works.) I'm thirty-five, solo, and so help me, I will rock the Hot Topic look again. So we drank and danced, and we were seen, and I got bump-and-grindy with fellow employees because we're a gay pr0n company and we can do that outside of the office and it doesn't have to mean anything except that we work well together and that I fit in with the company culture, and that's a very important point for me to make. I've been at NakedSword since April of 2005, for forty-one months now, and the turnover in the meantime has been such that (not counting the owners of the company) there are only a half-dozen other people who've been here longer. I'm a survivor, I know that much. Ilene offered to let me crash at her place, but by the time we left (after most of the other NakedSword folks had left and there was no longer any tactical advantage to staying), I'd danced and hydrated the booze out of my system, so I went home. Made it there safely and everything. I've promised Raphaela that I'll take one day a week off from exercising, so I didn't go to the gym on Sunday. In the afternoon, Rhiannon reblondified my roots. Did a damned good job of it, too. (This Friday the squid gets tightened, a few hours before the opening night of Working for the Weakened. I'm not going to be seeing Raphaela that day, since between and hour with her and squidtightening, there's no way I'd have enough energy to host a show at ten in the evening.) From there we went to Pete and Sarah Goldie's place for their anniversary barbecue, and finally to The Dark Room for Bad Movie Night. It was a fantastic evening, with a nearly full house (not surprising, since the buzz around the feature Howard the Duck had been strong), and I was on my game in a big way. I'm not always. Some nights are better than others, and last night was one of the better ones. Naturally, I took the opportunity to push Working for the Weakened. Here's to hoping. | ||
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