Sherilyn Connelly > Diary > August 21 - 31, 2005

My Face for the World to See (Part II):
The Diary of Sherilyn Connelly
a fiction

August 21 - 31, 2005


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Wednesday, 31 August 2005 (another rough september)

The 2257 deadline has been extended for a month (again). Thanks, guys.

sometime after midnight

Driving to work this morning, I flipped between AM stations. Rachel Maddow on Air America was talking about how funds and resources for emergency services in Louisiana have been crippled by the Bush Administration over the last few years; some wingnut on a conservative station was complaining that the rest of the world isn't rushing to help us the way we always do when there's a disaster elsewhere. Business as usual.

I keep thinking of Commander's Palace, where Poppy and Chris generously treated us to the best meal of my life. (That taking us to dinner there was a belated wedding present is on that long List of Things I Try Not to Think About.) According to the Indianapolis Star, half of the facade is gone. I have no idea what happened to my two other favorite restaurants, Deja Vu and Michael's Mid-City Grill. Or the coffeehouse where I read in the open mic. They may be fine, or they may no longer exist.

And, of course, Poppy's cats. They're fine. I'm sure of that.

This is affecting me much more than The Great Overshadowing ever could. I suppose it helps that I've visited New Orleans within the last year, whereas I've never been to New York. (Much like Arthur Dent, I'm not entirely convinced it exists.) But any feelings I could have possibly had about the Overshadowing were soured by the almost immediate jingoism which sprouted up around it. Hell, I was putting together a mix CD at the time, and dropped Willie Nelson's cover of Paul Simon's "American Tune" because, well, it had the a-word in the title. Sure, people can and will try to somehow make this an American tragedy, but it really isn't.

Now all that's left is for the ground under my feet to start shaking. It'll happen anytime now.

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Tuesday, 30 August 2005 (timesteps)

According to the New Zealand Herald,
The renaissance of rock music has been confirmed at one of the world's most glitzy music awards ceremonies [the MTV Awards], where veteran punk rockers Green Day picked up seven prizes.
...on second thought, I'm not going there.

Pirate Cat Radio was back on the air as of last night, and still is, remarkably enough.

Speaking of cats, there's no telling when Poppy will be able to get back to hers, seeing as how New Orleans is deeply flooded. If you can, please donate to her cat fund.

I'm glad Maddy and I were able to visit New Orleans over Xmas. There was a lot wrong with the trip, especially in the form of unseasonably harsh weather, but at least I got to experience the city as it was. Won't be that way again for a long time, I suspect, if ever. And, yes, I get the irony of calling snow "unseasonably harsh weather." Meanwhile, it's sunny and warm out here. Figures.

What's happening is Louisiana is necessary reminder: bad things can happen anywhere. We can get our asses kicked by a major earthquake at any time, and with no warning—at least Poppy had time to evacuate, and was wise enough to do so. Am I prepared? No, of course not.

I've started chatting online with Maddy again. The time seems right.


Note to self: when I'm having body-image issues, trying on clothes at Target is a bad idea. If I'm lucky, an XXL will just fit me.

I think I'm despairing over the gym going away. It really fucks up my plans, and it's hard not to get nihilistic—why even bother? i'll never get into shape, i'll always bear the sins of my youth—as my eating habits over the past twenty-four hours will attest. And the Inner Sunset location, it's just so impractical, my will simply isn't that strong...

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Monday, 29 August 2005 (it's gonna rain)

Poppy has evacuated New Orleans. I can only barely imagine what it would be like to leave Perdita (or Oscar and Mina) behind, let alone the twenty-odd cats which she had no choice but to leave behind. My heart is breaking for her, it really is.

Meanwhile, Maddy is getting sick and tired of people making jokes to her about the hurricane's name.

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Sunday, 28 August 2005 (no time or space)

The feature at the Queer Open Mic, who I hadn't thought I'd met before, said he recognized me from when Lynnee and I read at The Ugly Mug in Orange County last year. I think that mildly impressed the cute dyke I'd been quasi-flirting with.

After the show, I joined Cindy and a few friends on her traditional post-show dancing excursion. I'd been tossing around the idea of hitting Divas anyway, and the places she had in mind were in the area (within a block or two, in fact), so we headed out together. Her bars with obnoxious straight people, so when we finally made it to Divas, it was something of a relief. My people. Really, I'd much rather be around cross-dressers, tranny hookers and chasers than drunk breeders. (Yes, I know, "breeder" is a horrible term and I shouldn't use it.) Even the ten dollar cover charge was worth it. Last time I went I got in free, but that's because I was with Danielle. I haven't heard from her in a long time, nor am I expecting to. She's doing her own thing.

my experience are my own. if you shared them, that makes them yours as well. but i can do whatever i want with them, and so can you.

We closed out Divas—it's always jarring when the white lights come on—and marched over to Grubstake for the equally traditional post-clubbing meal. Their tuna melt doesn't quite compete with UC Berkeley's Tuna Suicide, but it's not bad for three in the morning.

Saturday afternoon was spent on an impromptu shopping excursion with Maddy. My idea.

Last night, Collette and I did the acid we'd decided against dropping last weekend. It was a nice experience, and it was nice to be in the headspace again (I often wondered if I ever be again, if LSD would go the way of the Quaalude and pass into wistful legend), but I think I've pretty much gotten all I can get out of tripping in the Black Light District.

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Saturday, 27 August 2005 (longer waves)

I slept until ten this morning, which is unusual for me. Then again, I didn't get home until four, which is equally unusual.

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Friday, 26 August 2005 (the cut that never heals)

Co-hosting the Queer Open Mic tonight, as is my recent custom on the second and fourth Fridays of the month. Aside from my regular assorted hosting duties and a couple panels next month, I don't have any actual gigs coming up. I'm not feeling as bothered by that as I usually do.

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Thursday, 25 August 2005 (melting down)

Woke up two minutes before my alarm went off and decided that yes, I'm going to the gym. I'd been considering not returning until next week, for no other reason than I'm a fundamentally lazy person. The anxiety kicks in a lot, though, so I went. Good thing, seeing as how they're closing next Wednesday. Seems the lease has become untenable (is that a pun?), so they're shutting down. My membership will be valid at their other location, but that's much farther away, tends to be more crowded (surely to get worse), and the parking is scarce and metered. Feh. Feh, I say. Guess I'll have to start running or something. I'll manage.


Last night, Collette and I descended upon Lilah's apartment to watch the first couple episodes of Deadwood. Lilah didn't much care for it, but Collette and I will probably be continuing after we've finished the next couple seasons of Six Feet Under. (I heard a massive series finale spoiler on Fresh Air yesterday morning. Terry, how could you? Not all of us have HBO, even if we could afford it.) Meanwhile, while eating dinner on Monday I tried to watch the first episode of Alias. I lost steam about twenty minutes in, realizing that I wasn't giving a shit about the characters, the constant stream of pop music on the soundtrack was making me itch, and watching Jennifer Garner living out the costume designer's fetishes would do my self-esteem no favors. So I watched another episode of the new Battlestar Galactica, which I'm enjoying even more than Firefly. That's heretical in some circles, so don't tell anyone I said that.

In the morning, I usually have Futurama playing on the computer. I was burning a copy of the second disc of Carnivale this morning, however, so I put on an Arrested Development DVD-R. It was originally going to go with The Office, but that requires a bit closer attention than I could give it at the moment, what with the British accents. I'm going to be reading the Television Without Pity recaps of Deadwood, since the downloaded episodes weren't subtitled, and the dialects and brogues are sometimes thick.

But, you know, I don't watch teevee.

sometime after midnight

What's the most productive way I could have spent my time this evening? That's right—gathering the music I'll be playing on my radio show on Monday, a tribute to recently departed synth inventor Robert Moog. (My biases being what they are, the setlist is leaning heavily towards Wendy Carlos.) Anyway, it's good to know I have my priorities straight.

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Wednesday, 24 August 2005 (exchange and dissent)

Though I'm feeling recovered from this weekend energy-wise, my knee has been hurting, so I gave the gym a miss this morning. (This is not me losing steam; after all, I just started the new J. K. Rowling book.) I decided to get to work as early as possible, and was all proud of myself when I pulled in to the office parking lot at just after eight. The lot was predictably empty, save for one car—

A fuckin' BMW. In my space.

What should have been simple annoyance at a car being parked in my spot, nothing more than a violation of my unearned privilege, morphed immediately into anger at the fact that it was a BMW. Or, more accurately, a fuckin' BMW. I can't not call it that. (Granted, one of c0g's speech peculiarities is the frequent use of the word "fuckin'" as an adjective, and I have a tendency to pick up on it when I'm around him for more than a few hours.) Some fuckin; conspicuous consumer was in my spot. Had it been another peeling, rusting Neon like mine, it wouldn't have been so bad. But I'm such a lefto-fascist, I couldn't help but feel heavy class rage. Of course it was nothing personal against me, but that wasn't the point. And, no, I don't think it was jealousy. I really don't want one of those things, and I've long since come to terms with the fact that to make that kind of my money would require sacrifices I'm not prepared to make. Besides, even when Maddy and I were collectively making close to six figures prior to The Great Overshadowing, we never considered moving into a bigger apartment or getting a better car. My ire was all about this wealthy bastard (being a sexist, I assumed it was a man) taking up what little space I can call my own.

I almost tried to find street parking, but no. Fuck that. I pulled up as close to the car as possible, then went upstairs. Every so often someone from the law office below us will come up and k'vetch that one of our cars needs to be moved. They'll seldom say why it needs to be moved, which is infuriating. You'd think a lawyer would have been communication skills, but i guess not. Maybe they don't feel like they need to explain themselves to pr0nographers. Whatever. Presently, I was working up the courage to go into the law office and reciprocate when I looked out the window and saw the car's door was now open. Ha! I bounded down the stairs, jumping down the last few steps of each flight, gearing myself up for a confrontation. Motherfucker's gonna move his fuckin' penis extension, now, and that is that.

The guy turned out to be much scruffier than I expected, with a knit cap and at least a day's worth of facial hair. Probably had something to do with the nightclub on the ground floor. Still, he was driving a fuckin' BMW, and I'm a financial bigot. He vaguely acknowledged me, paying more attention to his cell phone, and drove away.

As I was on my way down the stairs, I decided to sign up for Girl Army's Basics Course this fall. Lilah's already signed up, and I've been wanting to take it again. I think the time is right.


According to Maddy, there's been some rumblings of "Must See TV" at The Dark Room next year, live versions of the NBC sitcoms my generation so revered in our youth. It's still very much in the wouldn't it be neat if... stage of rumination, but just in case, I've claimed the "Alex does speed" episode of Family Ties.

Speaking of such things, at Rite Aid the other day I saw this sign on an empty shelf:

Why is your decongestant now located behind the pharmacy counter?
Pseudoephedrine, the active ingredient in many nasal decongestants, is being chemically altered by criminals to produce illegal drugs.
Is it me, or does that sign not actually answer its own question? How does putting the stuff behind the counter prevent crooks from engaging in their nefarious alchemy? Is it available only by prescription now, or did it have to be put behind the counter because the scofflaws were shoplifting? Besides, I had no idea that pseudoephedrine could be used to make drugs. Thanks for the tip, guys.

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Tuesday, 23 August 2005 (dancing for summer zero)

For reasons which were left vague, neither Ali nor I will be getting our business cards this time around. It's a shame, because if the comps could be believed, they looked real neat. (And go me for figuring out the "smudge" tool in Photoshop.)

Meanwhile, I've been asked to speak at UC Berkeley's FemSex class next month, along with Lynnee and Kara. That the instructor was in The Vagina Monologues with us back in February is, of course, no coincidence. She'd originally asked us to speak later in the week of the show, in fact, but I declined since I'd have to leave work early and didn't really have much to say about female sexuality. I also wound up having pneumonia that day, so I wouldn't have been able to do it anyhow. Now, my supervisor has given me permission to leave work early that day, I'm fairly confident that I won't have pneumonia, and I have a little more to say on the subject.

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Monday, 22 August 2005 (of healing)

No gym this morning. Decided to give myself a chance to get caught up on my rest after the exhausting weekend. Of course, my body doesn't work that way.

It figures this would be the first time in recent memory that shrooms weren't available at c0g's mother's party. That was okay, though. A little grass with hash was perfect for both Collette and I. Ecstasy and acid (!) were both available, but the setting was all wrong.

Saturday night was Collette's first time camping (even though, as most people pointed out, it wasn't really camping), and I don't believe I've camped since '91 or so. Sleeping in a tent proved not to be quite as cold or traumatic as she expected, and having the house with its running water thirty feet away certainly helped. As experienced as he is at these things, having spent more time growing up outdoors than in, even c0g wasn't going truly primitive; in his homemade, roomy canvas yurt was a laptop with dialup access.

We spent much of the Sunday seeing the sights of Bolinas with c0g, including no small amount of hiking. I'm still worn out and (stupidly) sunburned, but it was worth it.

By all rights, the Sunday Afternoon Depression should have hit hard on the drive back to San Francisco. But it didn't. I guess that means I don't dread my weekday life.


Pirate Cat Radio is off the air; after eleven months and not so much as a peep from the FCC, the owners of the house where the transmitter was located realized that it's an unlicensed radio station, and want nothing to do with the station. As a result, my pre-show dinner plans with Maddy morphed into spending the evening together. We went out for sushi, then watched a movie at her apartment. It was nice.

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