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At the risk of jinxing myself—there's still about twelve hours to go—I seem to have made it to New Year's Eve without my traditional illness. A little sniffly, but not much beyond that. I was actually worried about my throat for while; by the time we returned with the bed (and Nicole) late Sunday night, I was quite hoarse. It's better now, though. I think it was from having to speak up over the rushing air in Lynnee's van, in spite of the towels stuffed in the cracks of the closed windows. It's the old Tribe 8 van, which is no longer up to the grind of touring but still fairly reliable for a few hundred miles and back. It didn't break down on us, anyway. For a late night round trip to Fresno, it really wasn't that bad. We left town by eight, were at my mom's by half past eleven, on the road again at midnight, and back in San Francisco a little after three. Though it was six hours on the road altogether, it didn't feel very long. It helped that while I know the route by heart, for the first time in years I wasn't behind the wheel, and since there was no clock I had no sense of time. Besides, time always flies with Lynnee. It was the kind of clear, beautiful night you get in breaks between storms, so on the way back we stopped at Casa De Fruta to look at the stars. Lynnee also used it as a smoke and piddle break. I was going to follow on her lead on the latter part until some rustling in the bushes was deemed entirely too Blair Witch-y and we headed to the van. I refuse to let my last known location be Casa De Fruta. It's just not going to happen.
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The plan had been for Lynnee and I to go to Fresno tomorrow to pick up Nicole and the bed. Except that the storm, which has tapered off today, is supposed to return with a vengeance tomorrow, and Lynne hadn't wanted to make the trip in bad weather, for good reason. So I've both emailed and called Lynnee, to see if maybe we can do it today rather than tomorrow. Haven't heard back yet, and I'm not really expecting to hear back soon or for the answer to be yes, since it's last minute. Nor would I be surprised if we have to postpone tomorrow, which would especially be a shame since it means Nicole won't be able to come up. Alas.
12:31pm I just talked to Lynnee. She's busy all day today, but is up for doing it tonight—as in leaving SF around 8pm, getting into Fresno around midnight, back to SF around three or four in the morning. Lynnee's suggestion, not mine, and if he's up for it, then so am I. (I'm so punk rawk!) And we'll be picking up Nicole in the process. It's going to be an adventure, to put it mildly. But it'll be worth it, because, among other things, Maddy's back really needs the new bed.
5:48pm Looks like we'll be hitting the road a little earlier than anticipated. Yay. It means I'll get a few more hours of sleep afterwards, which will be nice since either way I have to call AAA around eight tomorrow morning to get my car towed to the garage. No sleep 'til Brooklyn!
sometime after midnight The new bed is here, and we pleased the rain gods: the trip was dry.
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The loot list, though I'll probably forget something. From Maddy, James Lileks's The Gallery of Regrettable Food, Kevin Murphy's A Year at the Movies, Michael Moore's Stupid White Men, Jello Biafra's latest spoken word album Machine Gun in the Clown's Hand, and an Alternative Tentacles bike messenger bag, which is almost as punk as a Misfits t-shirt. (Speaking of Alternative Tentacles, punks and bike messengers, if you're looking for that perfect belated gift, buy Lynnee's book.) From my mom, a bunch of passes to United Artists theaters—which is particularly cool because unlike the more popular AMC or Loews megaplexes, the UA theaters only have a few screens each, and tend to show smaller, more indie films. From Maddy's sister Ritt, the special edition DVD of Star Trek III: The Search for Spock. From Pike, The Gothic & Lolita Bible (the very definition of ego-crushing) and a Star Trek 2003 day-to-day calendar. From Aleister, Stephen M. Fried's Thing of Beauty: The Tragedy of Supermodel Gia, Clara Bow: Discovering the 'It' Girl , and Tori Amos's Scarlet's Walk. At first we weren't sure who they were from, as they were ordered through Maddy's Amazon wishlist and the card simply said "A+E." Before opening them we correctly guessed "E" was Aleister's Sister of Perpetual Indulgence name, Edith. We hadn't been at our neighbors' party on xmas eve for five minutes before that came up. Just in case they'd ever doubted that our friends are as incredibly queer as we are. From Michelle and Rocco, Innocence by Jane Mendelsohn. We felt kinda guilty about that one, because we went over to their place on xmas day and all we had for them was a package of Tofutti Too-Too's. But they know we're even less employed than they are, so I'm sure they understand. Besides, Michelle's looking forward to us reading the book so we can discuss it with her. (I really need to film Rocco's life story so I can get Olympia Dukakis to play his aunt.) And, from Dana and Costanza, a care package including assorted candy and a Windstone Little Happy Cat Gargoyle. Not a bad haul. Yesterday morning, Ritt called to inform Maddy that their great uncle died. He'd had an accident the week before, went into a coma, and never came out. The world spins.
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Last night went better than we'd expected. It helped that they have a niece, slightly older than but reminiscent of Nicole (with a nosering and a penchant for wearing black) who we could hang around. We felt a little more comfortable with her than the guys in their thirties who looked like they stepped out of a J. Crew catalog. Everyone was very nice, though, and we didn't feel like too much of a sideshow. I'd never spent more than a few minutes up there before, and it was Maddy's first time at all, so it was easy to forget that we were literally above our own home. Our original plan had been to just make an appearance—indeed, we waited until half an hour after it was supposed to start—but ended up staying for dinner, a seafood soup of some kind. It had an actual name which I was told twice, but I don't speak Klingon so I never quite grasped it. When I was asked what I do, I said I temp occasionally for CNET. I didn't mention that I'd been laid off from there over a year ago. I'm not sure why, especially since other people had their own tales of downsizing to share. On the bookshelf was both Bill O'Reilly's The O'Reilly Factor and Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States. Haven't figured that one out yet. Between also noticing The Autobiography of Malcolm X and certain things they said (plus their apparent comfort at having us there), I'm guessing the O'Reilly book was more of the anomaly. We didn't entirely fit, but we didn't entirely not fit, either, and if we're invited for something else we'll probably accept. I'm reminded of Charlotte Rampling's character's response in Stardust Memories when she's asked if she understands the Schopenhauer she's been speed-reading: no, but I can fake my way through most situations.
10:50pm "People are so stupid." The first bit of genuine negativity I've heard about kittypr0n, complete with a rolling of the eyes. They hadn't seen the show; it was simply their reaction upon hearing about it. It's entirely possible they wouldn't have said it had they known the producers were standing a few feet away—or maybe they would have, since an apology was not exactly forthcoming when they were told, and I wouldn't have believed it anyway. It's good to have that perspective, though, since there was never any doubt in my mind that it was out there, that for some people our show would be the dumbest thing they've ever heard. But I hadn't really heard it before. And now I have. In a way, it's as encouraging as the positive feedback from people like Michelle or Lynnee—annoying some people can be just as strong a motivator. It means we're doing something right. According to Jean-Luc Godard, the best way to criticize a film is to make one of your own.
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Everything happens for a reason. And it's always the right one.
6:32pm If we weren't staying in town for xmas, we probably would have left for Fresno today. It's therefore a very good thing that we're in staying in town, since when I got in the car to run some errands this afternoon, I discovered the battery was dead. Better to have it happen in those circumstances than, say, after having stopped in Gilroy or Los Banos—or even this morning on the way home from the gym, or Saturday night while leaving Lynnee's with passengers in the backseat. The guy from AAA (the best $49 a year I spend) says the fan relay isn't working right, so when I turn off the car the fan continues running, thus draining the battery. My mechanic doesn't have any openings until Monday, so I'm going to be sans automobile until then. Which particularly sucks because Nicole's going to be coming into to town on Thursday and staying until, you guessed it, Monday. We'll have Maddy's car, so we won't be stranded. Making Monday even more interested is the fact that Lynnee and I are going to be taking her back to Fresno and picking up the bed from my mom at the same time. So I'll have to have the car towed to the garage before leaving town. When things happen, they all happen at once. But that's all okay, because soon we'll have billboards which customize ads based on the stations to which passing car radios are tuned. Like, if I'm listening to NPR, I would be shown an ad for an expensive car or a gourmet grocery store, since that what their demographics say I'm interested in. Isn't that great? What a wonderful world!
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Seeing as how we didn't leave the party until half past three in the morning and didn't go to bed until five, the gym didn't happen. Although I should really know better by now, I tend to take party start times as literal, so I was the first to get to Lynnee's. (I was by myself because Maddy went to a Tori Amos show as the plus one of a guestlisted friend, and she took a cab to the party afterwards. Ironically, she ended up wishing she'd skipped the concert.) Having me there early was fine by Lynnee; she recruited me into decorating his xmas tree, the first time I've done so since the mid-nineties. I also helped her figure out what he was going to wear, as she was worried about looking too girly—a red shirt might make the lips look red, for example. Not that there's much of a chance of Lynnee looking less than butch with me around for contrast.
7:03pm From today's New York Times, a headline which makes me very happy: "Despite a Marketing Blitz, CD Sales Continue to Slide." Yay! I'm always glad when aggressive marketing fails. Serves 'em right, especially the RIAA.
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No gym for me this morning. I've gone for the last six days straight, so a day off seems okay. Besides, since I didn't set the alarm, I woke up fifteen minutes before it opened, and I'm way too anal to get there after it's opened, especially on a Saturday morning. I'll probably start going again tomorrow morning, depending on how late we get back from Lynnee's party tonight. I love my City and the part of it in which I live, even if being next to a large body of water can result in inconveniences during storms, such as the closure of the Great Highway. The combination of wind and sand and rain and the ironically named Pacific Ocean can have that effect. Being a serenity prayer type (though not a 12-stepper, thank you very much), I accept that. But I'm not surprised to learn that a lot of people don't:
"I called for years about this and finally gave up," said [the interviewee], who lives near Lawton Street on the normally quiet frontage road, a block off the main drag. "The city public works guys give me the same lame excuse every time. They say they can't stop the sand and wind, and they don't have the budget to clean things up."Yeah, not being able to control the weather is a pretty lame excuse. The storm is clearly the fault of the public works department. And just when I thought I couldn't feel less sorry for her:
Meanwhile, she said, getting to her own car in the morning is a death dash through a moving obstacle course of steel and rubber. On Friday, she had to wait for two dozen cars to rumble by before she could weave across the street to where she'd parked her wheels. Okay. I know the area she's talking about; there's a preschool at the corner of Lawton. What's more, there's a stop sign. Which means, if she's weaving across the road, it's because she doesn't want to walk down to the corner and cross at the intersection where the cars are supposed to (but don't always) stop, or at least where they expect to see pedestrians crossing the street. She's pissed off because she can't jaywalk anymore. I'm picturing her finally getting into her SUV (the type of car isn't mentioned in the article, but I'm going to be an automotive bigot and assume that's what she owns), then driving to Starbucks and doubleparking while she runs in to get her latte. And she probably complains to the person ahead of her in line about how congested the traffic is.
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