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And this is the part where I discover whether or not I actually can get any work done at home, in spite of the desk in my bedroom being directly below Giraffe Ground Zero. Much to my surprise, Vash joined me for Straight to Hell at KrOB's Film Farm last night. She's not much of a movie person—she's attended maybe a half-dozen Bad Movie Nights since we've been together—but it's always wonderful to have her along. Meanwhile, I'm reading at Writers With Drinks on August 11. Feh. The Ixmae Soundscape Performance Series is tonight. Wanna go, but shouldn't play hooky.
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Not exactly a standing room-only crowd for the Queer Open Mic on Friday night, but that's okay. It was the loss of the people who didn't show up, and the feature, David West, is a pro who takes it in stride. Hell, I got to hear him, and that's the bottom line. Saturday was Paul Rebuens Day. Unlike last year, Vash and I gave the March a miss and instead helped with setting up for the Afterparty at the Stud. It was much fun—the event, not so much the setting up—and afterwards Vash and I had dinner had Manora Thai, which was where we went after the MOMA on our first date in September '05. (For that matter, it was where I ate dinner Ali the previous week, following the opening of the Exiles art show Ali was in which Vash was curating, the night that Vash and started flirting heavily. Seems like a long time ago, because it was. It hurts, sometimes, because things have changed that I don't want to change and I'm having a very difficult time accepting it. We went back to the Black Light District, crashed and slept for nearly twelve hours, Vash sleeping more than me. Once we finally got out of the house, we walked to the DeYoung Museum, then into the Haight for dinner and clothes shopping. I had a bad moment in Wasteland when my usual veneer of cool about how huge and misshapen and alien and so obviously not what the rest of the universe considers remotely female-looking got the better of me. Happens now and again. We took the 71 back to my place, then headed back out into the world again, this time to Marlena's so I could reasearch an Eros Zine article. Gotta keep in practice. The office reshuffling has occurred. I am in fact staying put, and people that I don't want to see leave have been moved.
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Ennui and I saw Ratatouille at the Kabuki last night. Seeing an animated film in a mainstream theater is one of those things for me that happens maybe once every few years; I think the last two were Finding Nemo (2003) and Titan A.E. (2000), which covers most of the decade. That it's a Pixar film by Brad Bird kinda sealed the deal, since he also did The Incredibles and The Iron Giant, both of which I loved. Besides, the only other movie showing right now that I'm interested in is Sicko, and, y'know, date and all. There was a bit of a push at the theater to see an indie film which was playing, complete with the producer/director/somone outside talking to people about it, but we'd come to see the big computerized rat movie, and that's what we saw. What few kids were there were quiet, actually engrossed in the movie, which I liked a lot. I was glad I already had a passing familiarity with restaurant culture thank to Poppy's Liquor series. It's impossible to leave that movie without being hungry, plus it was pushing nine in the evening, so we poked around Japantown and wound up at Benihana. It's far from haute cuisine, but it was there and sounded good. (We've talked some about making a special trip to Fleur De Lys sometime, which is about as close as either of us will get to Commander's Palace anytime soon. Ss for Benihana, I'm about as much of a fan of the "meal with strangers" concept as I am of the "theater full of children" concept, but it was really nice. Been doing a lot of the cooking-at-the-table thing lately; Vash and I recently went to a Korean Hot Pot restaurant for the first time, though that was a bit more labor-intensive, as we had to do the cooking ourselves. Anyway, Ennui and I were the only ones at our table who were actually watching the cook. We were talking to each other, of course, but I'll never understand why someone would go to a place like that (which ain't inexpensive) and not enjoy the show. After dinner, I dropped her back off at her place and returned home. Latest rumor around the office is that I'll be staying put, and Sister Edith will be moving. I almost wish I was moving too. Almost, but not quite. As Vash suggested, I just need to get some more plants. Sister Edith loaned me her copy of the Harry Potter novel today. I'll probably get a chance to start reading it...oh...Sunday, with any luck. Busy weekend ahead, and I'm hoping to spend much of it with Vash. Tonight is my second-to-last Queer Open Mic.
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Finished Girlbomb last night, and have now moved on to Cooking and Stealing: The Tin House Nonfiction Reader. Other books I've recently read (yay for time on the bus!) include Chuck Klosterman IV: A Decade of Curious People and Dangerous Ideas and Stephen King's On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. I made it through half of David Mamet's Bambi Vs. Godzilla: On the Nature, Purpose and Practice of the Movie Business, but found it too diffuse and unfocused to finish, which is saying a lot for me considering it's a movie-pr0n book. It also annoyed me that Mamet not only got the title wrong—the original cartoon is Bambi Meets Godzilla, not Vs.—but when he discussed the movie, it was obvious that he hadn't set aside the minute and a half necessary to watch the damn thing. I got about a chapter into Robert Graysmith's Zodiac before realizing that in spite of my obvious fondness for nonfiction, I have no taste for true crime. Which is a shame, since it was made into a movie by one of my favorite studio directors (David Fincher—what is it with me and directors named David?), but it just didn't engage me at all. Maybe it was the lack of a colon in the title, which is an affectation I'm entirely too fond of in my own work. Waiting in the wings is Joan Didion's Where I Was From (uh-oh) and Hunter S. Thompson's Better than Sex: Confessions of a Political Junkie. Of course, whatever I'm reading will be immediately set aside when Sister Edith loans me her copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Because I wanna know, too. I'm seeing Ennui tonight, and I'm pretty sure she's finished by now. It'll probably drive her nuts not to be able to discuss it with me.
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Updating the diary is one thing, but uploading it—which I've managed to not do since Friday evening—makes all the difference. Spent most of the evening continuing the massive housecleaning project. The desk in my bedroom has been completed cleared off, which has not happened since before the Lewinsky scandal, if even that recently. It is now my home office space, yes it is. Not only can I actually write at it, there's space for Perdita to be on the desk and not be in my way. Not that she cares if she's in my way. I've heard tell that my work-office space is about to undergo some reshuffling, and that I'll be losing my cherry area and moved to the other side of the building. I really like where I am now, but, well. All things must pass. I've just finished Dean & Me: A Love Story by Jerry Lewis (it's been my bathroom reading) and I'm almost done with Girlbomb: A Halfway Homeless Memoir by Janice Erlbaum. I'm rather embarrassed that it took me this long to realize that, in addition to being an utterly accurate title, "girlbomb" is a play on "Erlbaum." I mean, duh, really.
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2:57pm Splodey power plus dead server equals getting sent home from work early. The 71 at this time of the day is not especially pleasant, though, packed as it is with tourists who can't help but nudge and stare at me, since it's okay to do that to freaks. Welcome to my particular circle of hell.
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We spent Saturday night at Wonderland, crashing around midnight. Vash was up and working again around six, but aside from getting up a few times to piddle, I slept until nine. Five hours of sleep is about average for me; six feels like what most people would consider to be a vacation; eight generally open happens when I'm ill and my body is all but hibernating to heal. Nine hours, then, is a goddamned miracle, especially given that Wonderland was sun-flooded from the skylights. The art opening was fantastic. Good turnout, great performers, and a terrific vibe altogether. When Vash and I returned to the Black Light District on Sunday night, there was a strong smell of burnt plastic. I traced it to my computer's surge protector, which was fried. Actually, not so much fried as baked and literally (if partially) melted. The desk was also scorched where it had been sitting. I can only imagine what would have had happened if I didn't have such a hifalutin' surge protector, or if it had been on the carpet rather than on the desk. I might not have had (in ascending order of horribleness) a computer or a house or a Perdita to come home to. Best twenty bucks I've ever spent at Walgreens. I bought another one this afternoon, and currently have it plugged into a different outlet entirely. My landlord said an electrician came by on Sunday, and I've assured him that their work is not quite done. Hayley wrote last night; for assorted reasons there will not be a third date, at least not in the foreseeable future. A shame, but it was nice while it lasted, and my memory is selective enough that when I think back to the second date, the head going 'splodey isn't the only thing I remember. Or even the main thing. Somewhat ironically, I went with Leyba tonight to KrOB's Film Farm at Chez Poulet. My first time there, and probably not my last. | ||
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that's horrible--it's a guy! hey, dude! dude! Gosh, I love the Mission sometimes. Which is unfair, since it happens everywhere in town.
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Went to Clue last night, both to get away from the horrible noise and both because I was going to go anyway. Hung out with Sadie for approximately ten minutes afterwards, then came home, feeling vaguely loserish. Because, you know, being home on a Friday night and all. But Vash was going to come over around eleven this morning, and the giraffe would start rampaging by eight no matter what, so I decided to opt for a good nights' sleep rather than have fun. Miraculously found myself in the mood to continue cleaning the apartment when I got up this morning. It's the purge-mode kind of cleaning, rid of piles rather then re-arranging. I did some laundry since the machines were actually empty, but by the time I used the dryer my lights started dimming. Then the dryer itself died, and I spent the next hour or so troubleshooting the machine and the electricity with my landlord. It was frustrating on several levels, both because not only did I want to get on with my cleaning, but the upstairs was silent. Not a peep or a stomp. Of course, after my landlord left, they started banging and crashing around again, just in time for Vash's arrival. We're now at Vash's place in Oakland. She's making cookies for her art opening tomorrow, and I'm editing the solo show. Trying to, anyway. It's hard to know where to begin.
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