My Face for the World to See (Part II): The Diary of Sherilyn Connelly a fiction February 11 - 20, 2003

Thursday, 20 February 2003 (si tu non veneris ad me, ego veniam ad te) 2:58pm The gym was bad this morning. Their stereo was turned up more than usual, and The Nutty Morning Show Krew was feeling the need to SHOUT EVERYTHING. Which leads me to wonder, for neither the first nor last time: why does everything in the public space have to be so loud? Why can't I open my eyes or remove my hands from my ears without someone trying to sell me something? And don't tell me it's because of where I live. It had nothing to do wth being in San Francisco; it has to do with the way America is. Commercial music will be played in libraries before long. Mark my words. Most of Tuesday afternoon was spent at Vale's apartment, which doubles as the RE/Search office, getting his blog set up. He's asked me to come back, which I'm more than happy to. I pretty much have free reign on his site, so I'll be trying to tighten it up a bit. Ironically, much of what I have in mind could probably be done faster at home on my own computer, as his is considerably older, but I don't mind at all. I like the sense of local-slash-punk-slash-alternative history there, and not just because it's around the corner from both City Lights and the old Mabuhay Gardens. Payment is in RE/Seach books, but that's okay too. There's a few I don't have yet. A mere six months after the fact, we finally got our Best of the Bay plaque. They spelled kittypr0n right. Last | Top | Next

Wednesday, 19 February 2003 (persistence of loss) sometime after midnight Haven't been at our computer much lately. The connection's been spotty anyway. Last | Top | Next

Tuesday, 18 February 2003 (setting course) sometime after midnight I knew sexual fantasies were okay and normal. I said so inside my sexual fantasy book. I believed it, it helped me not feel bad when my privates burned at the tales of women being tied up and attacked and raped by men, by gangs of them sometimes. It didn't mean that I wanted that to happen to me, the book assured me. It was a sexual fantasy. When the house was really empty, I would hunt down this book with the flower on the cover. I would sit as close to the front window as I could without filling it, without being the dirty girl in the window, mouth slack, hurriedly poring over the pages, rereading my favorites. I clamped my hand over my underwear and pressed. My coochie burned. It never occurred to me that this was only the beginning, my body ringing the service bell. I thought the burning was the point. I read the book to feel the singe. Eventually a car would come coolly up the street and I would fly up like a freaked-out bird, stash the book back in its nook, hoping I remembered correctly the angle I'd found it in, the exact way the bra had been been draped across its cover. Slam the bureau drawer and zoom back into the living room. It was like breaking the surface of water—brighter, disorienting, with that nagging thump in my crotch. Michelle Tea, The Chelsea Whistle Last | Top | Next

Monday, 17 February 2003 (the empty reservoir) 10:46am Maddy and I sat in front of Bruce Campbell and director Don Coscarelli at a showing of their as-yet-unreleased movie Bubba Ho-tep at the Roxie last night. If I'm going to have to block somebody's view—and at the Roxie, it's a given—it might as well be the person who made it. Bruce, sitting behind Maddy, had a considerably better view. Last | Top | Next

Sunday, 16 February 2003 (the llama's dream) sometime after midnight Everyone did a bit of starfucking tonight, and mine was telling Don Coscarelli that I liked Phantasm IV. Not many do, so he was happy to hear it. Last | Top | Next

Saturday, 15 February 2003 (temporal tributary) 5:22pm Thanks to inertia, I've been going to the gym every morning this week, even on the dreaded weekend. Still, in spite of the two to three hours of daily cardio, I'll probably end up gaining weight. My current reading (after having finished Liberace: An American Boy and zoomed through Michael Moore's Stupid White Men) is Re/SEARCH's Zines! Vol. 1, through which I've discovered Inconspicuous Consumption, my latest vote for The Greatest Site Ever. A mere two weeks after we'd originally discussed it, I finally worked up the courage to call Vale. I'll be going to his place on Tuesday to help him set up a blog. (Kinda ironic, considering how remiss I've been in my own online duties lately.) It's times like this that I love my City. Last | Top | Next

Friday, 14 February 2003 (among icebergs) sometime after midnight If I can't save my soul, I'll save my body. Last | Top | Next

Thursday, 13 February 2003 (shadow out of time) 6:22pm New glasses. Headache. Coincidence? Perhaps. Last | Top | Next

Wednesday, 12 February 2003 (number nine) 10:29am The Spang Bang was last night, and Lynnee was there, working on his standup routine. She did a great job, and since I'm his fucking secretary, she enlisted me to take notes during his set. (I didn't mind, of course.) My piece seemed to go over well, though at times reading to the mostly straight male audience, I was struck by just how queer/femme my perspective can be. Well, it's what I am, y'know? As usual, the majority of performers were comics, and most were pretty good. At one point, I hurt myself: I doubled over laughing and banged my forehead on the seat in front of me. I'm not entirely certain when it happened, but it might have been at one of the most tasteless jokes I've heard in a long time, involving The Great Overshadowing, which we're not supposed to joke about yet. It also happened to be extremely funny. It works that way sometimes. Afterwards, I had my first piece of pizza in a long time. I gave Lynnee the pepperoni from my half of the large slice we split, and I tried to allow as much of the excess cheese and grease to slide onto my plate (there was plenty of both) but I still didn't like it very much. Burned the roof of my mouth, even. If that isn't a sign, I don't know what is. I started this diary four years ago today. Last | Top | Next

Tuesday, 11 February 2003 (niemandswasser) 10:29am kittypr0n debuted in Portland last night, and in prime time. (I'm pretty sure 10pm is still technically prime time.) I doubt CSI: Miami lost any viewers, but I'd like to think we stole at least one soul away from Jack Van Impe. Last | Top | Next