Sherilyn Connelly > Diary > February 11 - 20, 2005



11/2/04
My Face for the World to See (Part II):
The Diary of Sherilyn Connelly
a fiction


February 11 - 20, 2005

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Sunday, 20 February 2005 (sidereal inseam)
5:11pm


Okay. Screw this. After fifteen years of putting up with it, I've reached my limit. If I ever again hear anyone say The Second Season of Twin Peaks Sucks—and I will hear it again—my response is going to be yeah, if you're a fucking idiot. I don't care if they're entitled to their opinion. Fuck them. They're stupid and wrong.

That is all.

10:25pm

Never did read much Hunter S. Thompson, aside from the required Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. (The title of one of my better stories is a rip, in fact.) My oldest brother was always a big fan, and even gave me a book whose name escapes me, but I couldn't really get into it. That said, I never have forgiven the asshole writer of this article for invoking Thompson to justify his castration anxiety. Oh well. Not that any of it matters now. Didn't matter before, either. Whether or not he's a coward is for wiser minds to decide. No, you don't qualify, either. And don't let's get started on the drug aspect, hmm?

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Saturday, 19 February 2005 (ashes of daylight)
sometime after midnight


Maddy went to see The Nice Lady today, her first time in a couple of years. It's been so long, in fact, that The Nice Lady (tm Lynnee, by the way) was surprised by Maddy's weight loss. That's always a wonderful feeling. Lord knows nobody's told me I need to eat a cheeseburger in a while. I don't care what I may have said six years ago. I'm feeling too large right now. Besides, I'm not the same person I was in '99. or '00. Or even '02. But I digress.

They discussed the stresses (mostly but not entirely the opening of the relationship) which have been taking our union to the edge and back so often. Sometimes it's like a cartoon character, racing off the edge of a cliff only to screech to a halt in midair upon realizing where they are, then turning and scrambling back to the face of the cliff. Of course, in cartoons they usually do fall, while thus far we've been able to avoid succumbing to gravity. So maybe that isn't the best example.

Meanwhile, I went on a library run, getting Bitch: In Prase of Difficult Women by Elizabeth Wurtzel and Woman: The Incredible Life of Yoko Ono. Both are books which I'd recently decided I simply must read. Perhaps I'm looking for inspiration in my own life, guidance from those who've come before, women who didn't do what was expected of them, who followed their own path in spite of the scorn and even virulent hatred heaped upon them. I can only hope I have even a fraction of their courage.

Toward the end of my Monologue, I proclaimed that i want to be yoko ono crossed with courtney love, to bear the sins of humanity, to take the blame for the weaknesses of men, to go too far because someone has to. It's hard not to suspect that I'm one of the few trannies who would openly list those two as role models.

Speaking of that recent big show, Lynnee says a pal of his was able to get a decent digital video of our sets, and that we should be able to put clips online soon. Neat. I'm as curious to see it as anyone.

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Friday, 18 February 2005 (delaying the static)
3:01pm


The third and (presumably) final day of working from home. I'm quite surprised at how much I've gotten done. If I'd been this focused on my writing while I was unemployed...well, I would have written a lot more. The difference, of course, is the turnaround time of getting paid.

Got an email from Danielle's roommate, who I pinged a while back about her. Seems she's alive and well, just quiet. As is her wont sometimes.

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Thursday, 17 February 2005 (grace of sin)
5:07pm


Did the working-from-home thing again today. There are worse ways to be employed. Might be well enough to return to the office tomorrow, and I might not. I seem to have moved from the "feverish" stage to the "sore throat and hacking cough" phase. Charming.

7:57am

From an article earlier this week about the show in The Daily Californian, UC Berkeley's newspaper:

The campus show draws largely from Ensler’s monologues, in which she plays a range of women speaking candidly about their sexuality, but adds local references, speeches from transsexuals and topics like intersexuality.

<snip> <sorry, Kate>

Three transsexual performers brought up personal issues relating to both sexes.

“People always ask me if I’m a woman or a man,” performer Lynne Breedlove said onstage. “I say, ‘What are you asking me for? Do I look like I fucking know?’”

Being me, I have to find something to complain about. "Speeches from transsexuals?" How come everyone else was doing monologues (sometimes with several people on stage, latin be damned), but we were making "speeches?" The ones from last year had a certain...stridency about them which could arguably be considered speech-making, sure, but I don't think that was the case this year. Breedlove and I were practically doing stand-up comedy, especially Lynnee, and Kara's monologue resembled prose poetry more than anything else. (It's hard to believe, but Spalding Gray never crossed my mind once while I was working on my piece.) We weren't pleading for tolerance or acceptance or anything like that. Lynnee even openly reveled in the confusion he causes people. All the same, we were making speeches. Sure, okay.

And, while I'm glad they printed the profanity, it's spelled either "Lynn" or "Lynnee," not "Lynne." But pick pick, and they probably got it out of the program. I'm perhaps more sensitive to these things than I should be, and it happens all the freakin' time. I can relate. Of course, it hasn't been happening to me for fifteen yearslike it has been to him, but, well, give me another dozen years or so.

Meanwhile, here's a not-at-all-bad picture of Kara, Lynnee and myself, taken by director Tiffany Hsu. That's my spooky skeleton-gloved hand you see creeping around Lynnee's side. I was constantly amazed that nobody ever asked me to, you know, not wear it.

9:12pm

immovable object, meet unstoppable force. unstoppable force, this is immovable object. i'm sure the two of you will get along just fine.

9:41pm

Naturally, it isn't until the breakup announcement I wrote for the Tribe 8 website starts getting reposted elsewhere that I notice the typos and generally poor grammar. Makes perfect sense.

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Wednesday, 16 February 2005 (at the time)
5:24am


My temperature remains firmly in the classic rock zone, but I'm going to work anyway. I'm in the middle of a big data entry project which, while time-sensitive, requires minimal brainpower. So, I'll load up medication—which I did not do yesterday, instead letting the sickness have its way with my body and head—and sally forth. Whether or not I'm running the risk of infecting other people is an issue I'm choosing to ignore. Besides, I need the money. I have debts to pay.

7:45am

I got to work about five minutes before my supervisor arrived, and she immediately told me to go home. Well, nobody can say I didn't try, that I wasn't attempting to be responsible. I've only been here a few weeks, but I think I've demonstrated that I'm worth keeping.

10:42am

Maddy and I got married a year ago today. Last month, the man made it possible (however briefly) filed for divorce.

3:50pm

The day isn't a total loss, though. I've been working from home, doing the telecommuting thing. Ironically, I think I've been able to get more done than had I stayed at the office, since I have more control over my surroundings and my clothing, thus allowing better actual concentration. Working in my jammies—it's the American Dream.

Meanwhile, I've been invited to be a "guest cook" at Heather Gold's show in March. Sweet. I must get pecan-chopping lessons from Lynnee before then.

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Tuesday, 15 February 2005 (requiem for ethan)
8:50am


...and that is that. The show closed last night, with a bang. I really fucking nailed it. We all did. My energy level was strong, and my latest changes strengthened the piece. I got the laughs I was hoping for, and the part which always got the unintentional laugh, didn't. It felt wonderful. holy shit. i can do this. It feels like I'm actually becoming what I always wanted to be when I grew up.

It was also the first time I got to see the entire show. Lynnee, Kara and I appeared towards the end of the second and final act, and the producers tended to prefer us second-acters to stay out of the theater during the first act. In a lot of way, it's just as well I hadn't seen the rest of it. I was intimidated enough by the caliber of the performances I did see. It was Maddy's first time seeing it at all. I think the timing was about right.

The moment I stepped off the stage I began to feel the sickness which had been invading my system since that morning. I'd felt it on the periphery of my consciousness, and kept tissues handy, but otherwise it wasn't slowing me down too much. A Tuna Suicide and C Monster helped. I know how horrible this sounds, but I'm going to associate being in The Vagina Monologues with tuna. There was the original Tuna Suicide last Wednesday, then the horribly disappointing tuna melt also from the Golden Bear on Thursday. They close at four on Fridays, so I wandered into The Bear's Lair and got a tuna poor boy. There's a good reason they call it a poor boy and not a po-boy, 'cuz it sure wasn't the latter. (Having recently spent a week in New Orleans, I am of course an expert.) The Golden Bear was closed again on Saturday, so Lynnee and I ventured to Smart Alec's on Telegraph. Their tuna sammich was not bad at all, the best one since the suicide, largely because of their unusually thick wheat bread and hardcore dijon mustard, which gave me a nice bitchslap. Last night's Suicide was pretty damn good; no provolone, both yellow and dijon mustard, and chopped olives, among other things. No mayo. Decided against it. Because I have principles, you see.

Anyway, it hit by the time I made it back to my seat, and hard. I was in full-on sniffly stuffy and not too bright mode when the show finally ended, but I joined some of the cast on an outing to the bar portion of The Bear's Lair. It was fun, and it was nice to get to hang out with them some more, but the place was crawling with straight college boys. They were staaaring at Lynnee and I. We're freaks. That's why we exist, for their confused gaze.

A castmember named Ally and I were perusing the jukebox, money already inserted, when a couple of the boys came over and start looming over us, making suggestions. Loudly and obnoxiously. At first I responded to them, mostly shaking my heads at their pointed requests. (oooh, you want me to play something from the fourth Led Zepplin album? wow, you're a rebel!) After a while Ally and I pointedly ignored them. What I should have done was told them to step the fuck back, inform them they were invading our personal space, that they could wait their turn. Hello, male privilege! But I didn't. I don't know why, with the possible exception that I'm not as brave and strong as I should be.

Feeling all kinds of ill at the moment. But that's okay. Now's a perfect time for it, really. The show's over, and I'm relatively settled in at the new job, which I can do without the use of my entire brain. Some things in my life are good, and some aren't.

I've been invited to speak at UC Berkeley's Femsex class on Friday. Some of the current facilitators were in the Monologues (one practically got a standing ovation every time she appeared on stage), and Lynnee's girlfriend Jenn taught the class some years back. Anyway, I'm honored that they'd ask, but I'm going to have to decline. It would require leaving work early (and I've done enough of that lately because of the show), and, sadly, I don't have much to say on the subject.

12:28pm

Embeth says I'm "such a thelemite." She assures me it's a compliment.

3:57pm

After work, I'm taking my poor, ripped-up jacket to Taos. She has mad sewing skillz, and has offered to repair it as best as she can. We've also talked about going out, but that will have to wait for some other time.

6:27pm

Once again, I'm struck by the difference twenty-four hours makes: in addition to a totally icky nose, I have a fever of one hundred one and a half. There is simply no way I could have performed last night, especially not a show like that. Then again, maybe I already had the fever, and I just didn't notice it because of the adrenalin.

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Monday, 14 February 2005 (a small eternity)
10:24am


Starting to sneeze. If I simply must get sick, twenty-four hours from now would be just about perfect. That's all I ask. Give me tonight.

Lynnee has asked me to go on tour with him this year, possibly in May. A real tour, across the country, not a little micro-jaunt around half a state like last July. The logistics are daunting (I just started this new job, I owe Maddy and others money, et cetera), but that's no reason not to try to make it happen.

Has anyone else noticed that the Carpenter in Disney's Alice in Wonderland is a dead ringer for King Joe?

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Sunday, 13 February 2005 (regulations)
10:02pm


It's a cliche, but after being unemployed for six months, I really had forgotten the power of a day off. It's absurd, because I've worked for more of my adult life than I haven't, so you'd think I'd remember. It's kinda like how you're always caught a little off-guard by the change in the seasons, especially after the setting the clocks forward or back. wow, it's eight in the evening, and it's still light out! that's so weird...

Not that it's been a restful day, mind you. It's been a rather emotionally hectic one, as has been the case around here. But not having to be anywhere is nice.

Tomorrow's the final night of The Vagina Monologues. It blows my mind to think that only three weeks ago did Kara forward me the email saying they were looking for trannies. So much can happen in such a short period of time.

This has been my most fulfilling theatrical experience since Night of the Living Dead, and I'm sad that it's ending. Three performances (four if you count the dress rehearsal) just isn't enough. I'm in awe of the rest of the cast; the depth of their talent astonishes me, and I feel like a rank amateur by comparison. My own piece does keeps improving, though. Tomorrow night is going to be the best yet, I'm sure of it.

Now that I know I don't have to rely on the page when performing, I wonder if I'll continue to. Maybe it's time to take that next big plunge.

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Saturday, 12 February 2005 (two thousand, one hundred and eighty-eight)
10:42am


Last night's show? Much better than the first. Did some last minute rewriting (re-remembering, anyway, since the pages were locked away) which strengthened the piece, and the audience reaction was closer to what I'd hoped for. Still a few tweaks to be done. Should be totally solid by the third and final performance on Monday. At least I'll be able to get mileage out of it for a while.

Speaking of mileage, I started this diary six years ago today.

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Friday, 11 February 2005 (slowed, blackened)
9:03am


Getting to bed by midnight makes all the difference. I'm feeling much more awake after five hours of sleep than three. It's still only five-eights of a healthy amount, but, hey, you know.

I remembered my jacket this morning. Be proud of me.

Even with those two extra hours of sleep, my energy level is still a little low. It's been a grueling week, and the next few days aren't letting up. No Odwalla, but I did get a "Revive" Vitamin Water. It was on sale at Walgreen's, because I'm a smart shopper.

I think I know what went wrong last night. For dinner, I went back to the Golden Bear, in the deli section of which I'd gotten the Tuna Suicide the night before. Last night, however, I decided to be adventurous and get the tuna melt from the grill section. After all, after Monday I probably won't be eating at UC Berkeley again for a long time, right? Big mistake. I didn't get to supervise the making of the sammich, and it was very anemic and disappointing. It wasn't even on rye bread. Isn't a tuna melt supposed to be on rye bread? Or is that only a patty melt? Hell, either way, rye bread should be an integral part of the melt. Call me old-fashioned.

Fuck it. I'm getting all the adventure I need on stage, thank you very much. The food should be about comfort. Tuna Suicide it is tonight. Definitely on the focaccia bread again, but sans the provolone, which didn't add anything to the experience. Instead, some of the sliced pepperoncini, and perhaps some yellow mustard mixed in with the morass of dijon and guacamole. Maybe even throw a dab of mayo in there, too, to make up for the fat and cholesterol of the cheese. What the hell. It's all for the theater.

12:50pm

Club Pirate Cat is no more. Temporarily, anyway. The venue has pulled the plug, and a new one is being sought. Venue, I mean. Not a new plug. Actually, maybe a new plug, too.

Meanwhile, the setlist from KROB's takeover of Rush Hour on the Event Horizon is up. The name of that evening's program was his idea, but I approve wholeheartedly.

1:40pm

I've considered asking the director if Lynnee and I can switch places in the running order. Breedpal himself is fine with the idea, but I don't think I will. Among other things, one of the trannies in a previous cast was extremely high-maintenance and troublesome, so much so that they came very close to just kicking her out entirely. That isn't me, but as a result, I'm all the more gunshy about being demanding. Because I have issues.

I wonder if some of my anxiety stems from this being one the most vulnerable pieces I've ever written. I'm no stranger to what Lynnee calls compulsive self-disclosure, but this one is about where I am right now as opposed to (just) being about my past, and I dig a little deeper into my psyche than usual. It bears a thematic resemblance to a piece which I abandoned a year and a half ago about my body issues, but it goes further in a lot of ways.

Then there's the fact that I'm performing it off-book in front of large audiences who aren't necessarily my folk. It's not a question of personally knowing them; the only times I've ever read to audiences composed entirely of people I know have been my birthday readings. Those have tended to be very small audiences, especially if the RADAR reading is happening the same night. Or a sale at Macy's. There's always competition in San Francisco.

Cotillion and Fray Day were both big rooms filled (well, half-filled) with people I didn't know, but they were trannies and literate San Franciscans, respectively. Even at Porchlight, one the straighter crowds I've played to, felt somewhat familiar since it was at DuNord. I'd never read there before, but it was deep in the heart of my City and on the outer edge of the Castro, making it home turf. The second show on my microtour with Lynnee last year was in front of a fairly straight audience, but at least it was a poetry reading in a coffeehouse. In Orange, yes, but a poetry reading in a coffeehouse all the same, and we could see their faces. (We still marvel at how much they loved us.)

Not to mention some unpleasantness on the homefront, never too far from my mind, and...this show is messing with my head in a number of new and interesting ways, and that's a good thing. (Fuckin' great!) It's important to raise the bar as often as possible, to keep challenging myself, to find out what I'm capable of. I refuse to believe I've plateaued. I'll be dead someday, and there's so much left to do...

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