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Feeling much more alert today. Sunday was like the aftermath of particularly strong acid trip, that odd sort of sluggishness, a hangover without the nausea or headache. Actually, we did both have headaches, though only mine was related to Saturday night. Five and half hours of sleep last night was enough to get my head straight, even if my body did play its usual cruel trick on me: I snap awake in the middle of the night, think to myself i'm going to get up, piddle, and come back to bed, then look at the clock and see that it says four fifty-nine. It's set to go off at five. Fuck. I guess it beats being awakened by the alarm itself, but still. Happens all the time.
2:38pm Although I'm wide awake, I'm finding it very difficult to concentrate on work, even by my slacker standards.
8:20pm Oh, yeah. On Saturday afternoon, after seeing NASCAR 3D with Shane and Bucky, I went into Things From Another World and bought a 16" model of the movie version of the U.S.S. Enterprise, fully painted and detailed with light and sound. I've been wanting a model like that since Star Trek: The Motion Picture (still my favorite of the series) was released when I was six years old. But keep it to yourself, okay? I don't want anyone to know I'm a nerd.
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It really is possible to entertain yourself in this town without spending much money. It's all about who you know, and whether or not you're willing to work for it. Friday night, we went to a triple feature at Spanganga: a video show called Cultiplex, an Uphill Both Ways greatest hits-type revue, and David Henry Sterry's one-man show Chicken, based on his experiences as a (straight) male prostitute. Sean was working the door, and allowed us to get in if we ran errands for him throughout the evening. Which we did, both times he asked. Not a bad deal at all. It was great stuff from beginning to end. Cultiplex was a collection of short videos, most of them based on pr0n in one form or another. The feature was an abridgment of William Friedkin's somewhat controversial gay S&M opus Cruising, edited down to just the good stuff. Which is, not surprisingly, some of the nastiest, most homophobic-pretending-to-be-"objective" shit you've ever released by a major studio. I hadn't seen the film in years, and it was just as fucked-up as I remember. I'm glad they included Powers Boothe's helpful description of the hanky code. Uphill Both Ways was hilarious, as always. I'd never seen Chicken before, though I met David Henry Sterry at Litquake back in September. Of course, I asked him if he'd be interested in performing an excerpt from it at Wicked Messenger sometime, and he said he would. Oh, speaking of Wicked Messenger, I have both my pal Shauna Rogan (who read with (e) and I on my birthday last year) and Deep Dickollective confirmed for June. How cool is that? Incredibly cool, lemme tell ya. Not everything is free. Indeed, sometimes you pay the most for the least satisfying experiences. Like, on Saturday afternoon, I saw NASCAR 3D: The IMAX Experience with Shane Koon and Bucky. My idea, in fact. It was fun, and 3D IMAX movies are always neat, but it was still ten bucks and required going into the Evil Sony Metreon. I wasn't surprised that there were only a few references made to the pervasive corporate sponsorship which I find so distasteful and distracting in the sport. I get the impression that nobody in NASCAR nor any of the fans are bothered by it, so I guess it's no big deal. On a different level entirely, Maddy and I went to a private party that evening. We worked the door and coat check for an hour so we wouldn't have to pay the cover. Even if we had paid the cover, it would have been a bargain. I'm still finding the words. Things are different now, I think.
10:32pm Wow. What a long, intense weekend. I really ought to get to bed, so my head will be clear tomorrow. But then it'll be over.
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"Would you like to count it down again, or should I surprise you?"Sometimes, I surprise myself.
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MEAT tonight, I think. I hope Chupa's working.
1:47pm Then again, maybe not. Yen tells me Chupa doesn't work Thursdays, tomorrow's going to be a late night at Spanganga, and, frankly, it's not like it'll really matter to anyone if I go or not. (I am not fishing for comments. It's just how it looks from here.) My Boss accused me of "bad writing" yesterday. Y'know, I'm not a great writer, or even an especially good one—lord knows most of what I write in these pages is barely competent—but I'm not a bad one, either. He was confused and upset by an overly stylistic flourish in a report I'd rewritten, and when I attempted to explain my point of view, he told me to "get off my high horse." When I said I disagreed with Him on something else, He was flabbergasted. "How can you disagree?" Because I don't agree with you, was the best I could manage. A while later, I got Him to admit that saying those things and not letting me defend my position is unfair. I specifically objected to the "high horse" comment and said I found it insulting. He agreed. "In the future, I should just say 'Calm down, calm down.'" I told him it was only barely an improvement. All is not lost, though. Helpful soul that he is, he promised he would continue to help me out with my writing. "The one thing I do know how to do," he said, "is write." Whooboy. Well, if you sleep with the devil, he's gonna ram sharp pointy things up your rear. It's to be expected. The person at whose request I was actually rewriting the report, the cute Bill Pullman-looking boy, soon to be my immediate supervisor, liked what I did with it. Blue's Twilight Zone episode is being performed at the Odeon this evening. Mine is not. Which is about right.
sometime after midnight So, I stayed home. Does that mean I got a good night's sleep? Not exactly. After Maddy went to bed, I redesigned my root page. It's needed it for a while. Since day one, really. I don't know that it's necessarily an improvement, but it's different, that's for sure. Nothing spectacular, but I'm kinda proud that I did it all by hand. My mother's birthday was on Sunday, and I completely forgot. There was Dolores Park and Wicked Messenger, but neither of those qualify as an excuse. I called her tonight. I think I mostly made up for it.
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I am most proud of taking myself seriously as a writer, poet and performer, despite the lack of encouragement and often exclusion from the so-called "punk" community in which I reside.
3:52pm Word. That's what I need to learn: Microsoft Word. It's the latest idea bouncing around My Boss's head, anyway. He just spent half an hour telling me how much I need to really learn it, in and out and back in again, in order to make super-snazzy reports and stuff to justify the unjustifiable prices we charge our clients. Much like the other times He's talked to me about the promotion (though that word is never used), He keeps assuring—promising—me that I'll make more money. It sounds nice, but it also makes me uncomfortable, partially from the suspicion that He's bullshitting me and partially from a sense of shame at my avariciousness. didn't you learn your lesson from cnet? if you accept the raises they offer, even though you didn't ask for them in the first place, eventually you'll price yourself out of a job. It's the voice of the eternal child of divorce, I suppose. That, and the fact that He practically made me cry a few times yesterday with his haranguing. I'm still feeling a little raw from these last couple weeks, so that probably had a lot to do with it. Still, He admitted today (as He occasionally will) that He's unfair to me and can be a much harsher taskmaster than is necessary. I'm not sure if that makes it better or not. Anyway, Word. He's offered to pay for classes, and I've found some upcoming ones at College of Marin. I'm also going to be checking out the tutorials and stuff on the Microsoft site as well as the ones built into Word itself. Other suggestions would be appreciated. And, please, "Use something else" is not an option. This afternoon, He interviewed the person whom I suspect is going to replace me at the front desk. She seems very nice. I hope that doesn't prove to be her undoing. Training her without going into too much detail is going to be tough.
10:30pm Say what you will about this country (and lord knows I've said plenty), but democracy ain't dead just yet. Not when the president can fumble and gibber his way through a press conference and have it all faithfully transcribed and posted to The White House's official web page. This isn't commie pinko leftists trying to discredit him by quoting him out of context. It's all right there, and it's all accurate, based on what I heard of it on the radio tonight. One of my hardest parts of my job is to console the family members who have lost their life.Yes, I'd imagine it is tough to console someone who's lost their life. Something that never ceases to amaze me is the transparentness of press conferences. It's as if the man doesn't even bother standing behind a curtain, because he knows people will still believe in the great and powerful Oz. For example, when asked a question he didn't already know was going to be asked:: I wish you would have given me this written question ahead of time, so I could plan for it. (Laughter.) John, I'm sure historians will look back and say, gosh, he could have done it better this way, or that way. You know, I just...There's a concept in radio called "dead air." It means no sound is actually being broadcast, and is generally considered a bad thing. The President provided at least ten seconds of dead air, an eternity by broadcast standards, as he struggled for something to say. Finally: I'm sure something will pop into my head here in the midst of this press conference, with all the pressure of trying to come up with an answer, but it hadn't yet.Fair enough. Really, why should The President be expected to answer questions without a script handy? What is this, Communist Russia?
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After dropping Maddy off at work this morning, I discovered I'd left all my makeup at home. Occasionally I go barefaced, but I suspect that today I would need something, especially since My Boss is interviewing for my position. (Why does it matter, actually? I don't know.) So I went to Walgreen's and got the palest foundation and the darkest eyeshadow I could find. I chose wisely. It has, in fact, been that sort of day. I thought I had mostly recovered from last week, but it seems my emotions are still a little closer to the surface than I'd thought. I saw this pasted to a pole at 9th and Irving on Friday afternoon. It may be the greatest thing ever. (I dig Maya Deren.) You can even send it as a card.
7:56pm More about Wicked Messenger 4.11.
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C'mon, people. I'm trying my best here. I advertised the show as being at seven, meaning the show starts at seven. Therefore, showing up at half past seven is, um, late. Jeez. I'm trying to be cognizant of the fact that it's a schoolnight and get us home before midnight, y'know? In spite of starting an hour late, and subsequently having to reshuffle the running order of the second half, Wicked Messenger 4.11 went well. The Dark Room is a good venue, and though sparse (and late), the audience had a good time and saw some very odd things indeed. Made a nice chunk of change for Heather, too. (While speaking to the audience, Heather referred to me as being "professional." That means a hell of a lot, coming from her.) Would have been an even nicer chunk if we'd gotten a bigger crowd, but, you know, I believe I did everything I could to promote it. At least everyone who wanted to sit was able to.
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