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Thursday, 31 July 2008 (the lesser angels) 11:42am In Fresno. Perdita and I arrived safe and relatively sound in the vicinity of one o'clock this morning. However, at Pete Goldie's request, I did call into Ask Dr. Hal to check in with him after his evening's Galactica viewing. I enter the podcast at 71:00, unknowingly interrupting their "sabbatical" (nudge nudge wink wink), and Hal sounds more than a little tired of our discussion by 74:30. Can't say as I blame him. | ||
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Wednesday, 30 July 2008 (knowing too much too late) 3:02pm It went well with the personal trainer on Monday. She was waiting just inside the front door when I arrived, and as soon as she saw me, she hugged me. Ah, San Francisco. She said: it's you! i've seen you around! I get that a lot. | ||
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Tuesday, 29 July 2008 (waiting for the miracle) sometime after midnight After work I went to the gym for an hour, then returned to the office and worked on the flyer for Working for the Weakened. I find I'm not as anxious to leave the new office as I was the old one, or am at least more comfortable staying late. Part of it is that Phoebe's right outside, and also that I don't feel as nose-to-nose with my archnemesis as before, thus my overall anxiety level is reduced. It's silly and immature, but, well, it's me. I stayed until half past eight, then headed over to Pete and Sarah's for Galactica. This was the final night of that particular ritual for us, at least until new episodes start in January. | ||
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Monday, 28 July 2008 (old and under the ground) 11:43am The power just went off at the new office. Down most of the block, in fact. Most everyone has stepped out, but, hey, I have a lot of my own work to do, and I bought a decent battery for this laptop for a reason. I genuinely hope it gets fixed and we don't get sent home early, since I have to stay in the neighborhood anyway: I have an appointment at Gold's with the personal trainer for half past three. It was originally supposed to be Friday at four, but a bit of unexpected work came up ("unexpected" in this context meaning "something that had totally slipped my mind"), so I had to call and reschedule. She was very gracious about it, though. I ended up going to the gym anyway when I was done with my work around five, because that's part of the plan. And I had a hunch I wouldn't be making it there over the weekend. That evening, I went to the Center for Sex and Culture for Getting In on the Ground Floor and Staying There, Beth Lisick and Tara Jepsen's new show. Also in the audience were Horehound, Bucky Sinister, Jennifer Blowdryer and Alvin Orloff, and even Lynnee, whom I haven't seen in roughly forever. We used to be so close, when we were both in the same city and the same circles. It was old-home week, which just figured seeing as how I was feeling rather shy and withdrawn and not really in the mood to talk. Though I did, of course, and even enjoyed it. Still, when the show was over I ducked out immediately. I just wasn't feeling up for milling about in the crowd, even with so many of my old friends there. I went to The Dark Room, since I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. Besides, I'd printed out some new Bad Movie Night flyers, so those needed to be cut up and posted. No time like the present. It was dependent on me finding a place to park in the Mission on a Friday night, which is generally a losing proposition. I won a spot around the corner, felt a little annoyed when I had to walk past my archnemesis standing outside one of the hip local watering holes (scram, you! this is my neighborhood!), and cut up and posted the flyers. I thought about staying there for a while, maybe writing or seeing if Jim and/or Erin were around. (There was no show that night. There haven't been many shows at all lately. Lots of cancellations. This is bad.) Instead, I headed toward Amnesia, where Rhiannon had said she might be ending up. On the way there, I heard my name. It was Lynnee and his French girlfriend. Seems they were going to Burger Joint for their traditional post-gig meal with Tara and Bucky. Would I like to join them? As a matter of fact, I would. So old-home week continued, as I hung out with people who used to be a significant part of my world half a decade ago. It was nice. KrOB saw me through the window and came in for a few minutes, though nobody else at the table knew him (circles intersect, it's what they do) and thus ignored him, probably just parsing him as a crazy person off the street. Which he'd probably agree with. As I write this, the literary agent just responded. (The wifi's off along with the power, but I can check my gmail on my phone, which I do rather compulsively.) She thanked me for giving her a chance to read my writing and said it was strong, but not a fit for her. Moving on. I went home, got up early on Saturday morning to do some laundry, then headed back into the Mission. It was a crisp, gorgeous day, and I spent most of the day at The Dark Room, writing and working on promo materials for Working for the Weakened. Didn't get as much done as I'd like, but still a fair amount, enough that I don't feel behind. I got gussied up and headed to the Center for Sex and Culture once again for Transtastic, the last-minute gig. Even though we didn't get the expected sloppy-seconds crowd from Beth and Tara's show down the hall or Perverts Put Out!, it was still a decent-sized audience. Heaven knows I've played to smaller groups, and as far as I'm concerned, if the audience members outnumber the performers you're doing all right. The audience included Jim, who hit it off fabulously with Robert Lawrence and Carol Queen. I read "vestri pen0r quod vos" from The Penis Issue (the show at which Ripley says she first saw me, further unnecessary proof that being in any place at any time can lead to unexpected results), I kicked a fair amount of ass, if I say so myself. And it was confirmed by others. Since it was pushing midnight, I was already in full battlegear and it was all of two blocks away, after the show I went to the Power Exchange. Hung out for a while at the door with Artwhore, who filled me in on recent events, including rumors of an impending closure in November. I'd heard the rumors from a few different directions, which only ever confirmed to me that it was spreading, not that it was necessarily true. Artwhore assured me that the issues had been cleared up, and the Power Exchange would not be closing in November or at any point in the foreseeable future. (I know a few people who must be terribly disappointed by that, who would like nothing better than to see it shut down.) Though I've been a semi-regular for almost two years, I seem to have finally landed on the owner's radar. He actually asked my name, and chatted up several times. During some pretty heavy one-way flirting, he also asked what was the evening's recurring question: you're only into girls, right? not boys? One of the other people who'd asked me had been at Transtastic earlier in the evening, a straight guy I've seen at these sorts of events before, a fellow with an unrecognizable foreign accent who seems to be metaphorically dipping his toe into the San Francisco secksculture. His first question had been: what you read, was that true? I assured him it was, surprised by the notion that anyone might think a piece so graphically personal could be fictional. Then again, he probably didn't know me from Eve, so he doesn't know that I can pretty much only write about myself, that I lack the fiction gene. From there it was Tranny 101 with him, including the aforementioned recurring question which was followed by that old chestnut, one which dates back to Maddy's coworkers in Kansas: but if you like girls, why did you go on hormones? why not just stay a boy? I politely explained the difference between sexuality and gender, wondering why I should have to explain it at all, since the question belies the existence of homosexuality. I liked girls when I was a boy; I continue to like girls now that I'm a girl. (No, really. I'm a girl. Roll with me on this one, 'kay?) So I went from being a straight boy to being a queer girl. I mean, where's the big mystery? What is it about transsexuality that causes people to assume we only operate by heteronormative standards? When I started transitioning, it had never crossed my mind that I might start liking boys. If it happened, fine, swell, great. As I've said on more than one occasion, and as I explained to the guy, I do wish I liked boys as well, because I'd get so much more action. And it isn't even, so to speak, the penis issue. The presence of a penis on a boy does not equal "boy" and or "masculine," as I'd like to think mine demonstrates, I enjoyed Jezebel's just fine. But on a masculine, unaltered male body? There's no appeal for me. Masculinity holds no attraction for me. Great for other people, gods bless every marathon cockslurper like Jezebel and Rhonda or everyone who shoots testosterone and ascends in status and fuckability, but I just can't get into it at all. My loss, I'd dare say. Presently, I talked with Artwhore until the end of his shift at the door then headed downstairs to the dungeon. It was a little slow for a Saturday night, at least as I remember them. It feels like it's been so long since there on a regular basis, I've lost track of the patterns. Rhonda and Al were both happy to see me, and as always, Al showed off his latest toy acquisitions, in both vibratey and non-vibratey form. A woman was watching us and asking various innocuous questions, finally getting to the heart of the matter: would you use that on me? She was referring to the Hitachi Magic Wand I had in my hand at the moment. I said yes. I was sitting on the wavy red couch (the one I slept on when I locked myself out last year) which had been moved from the Red Room into the smaller dungeon across from the Cage. She made herself comfortable, spread her legs, and as she predicted she would be, she was done in about three minutes. They're called "magic" for a reason, don't'chaknow. She wasn't my type at all and she never told me her name (and I never asked), but I was happy to help. We had been watched by a German-sounding couple, and the woman asked if she could go next. Sure, why not? I found her a little cuter, but that was really neither here nor there. I was just providing a service, holding the vibrator relatively steady while they went to town. I wondered if maybe I'd found a new niche (or even a niche at all, since I'd never really had one there before), but there were no more takers. Oh well. It was still more action than I'd seen there in a long time. I spent much of the evening catching up with Rhonda, finally bailing around three. I returned to The Dark Room (because it was Saturday night and that's where I go on Saturday nights) and slept in the Green Room, getting up again around ten, feeling much better than I did after roughly the same amount of sleep the previous week after Midnites of Maniacs. I'm guessing the sheer amount of junkish food I'd eaten the night of the marathon had a lot to do with it. So on Sunday I fixed my makeup and walked to Ilene's. We drank some bourbon, and from there her and I ventured to Rimma's apartment, conveniently located at the heart of the Dore Alley Fair. After taking a bong hit and while nursing a beer, I spent most of the day pleasantly buzzed and sitting with Ilene at Rimma's second-floor window, watching the never-boring-to-me spectacle of the fair going by. Adding to the surreality was the fact that in the next room over there was a fairly constant display of cocksucking and noodlety in the window, and we're pretty sure it was also happening in the upstairs apartment, so there, so there was almost always a crowd of people looking in our direction but not quite at us. I also felt an absurd sense of company pride at the sheer number of Nakedsword shirts, even though I kept my distance from our booth. I headed back to The Dark Room around five. The party was starting to wind down some, Ilene was bushed (and had never fully recovered from a recent sickness), and though I wasn't officially hosting Bad Movie Night, it was where I wanted to be. I sat in my usual place in the front row, with a microphone but doing my thing all the same. I like being able to do that. After it was over, a woman in the audience (a porn star, I'm told) mentioned that she'd seen me in the window at Dore Alley. I hadn't seen her, but I had noticed some Bad Move Night regulars in the crowd at Dore. That's the kind of demographic crossover that makes me proud. | ||
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Saturday, 26 July 2008 (a lifetime of temporary relief) 10:52pm Note to self: when I haven't read a piece aloud in over a year, be sure to give a once-over before performing it so I don't stumble over phrases like "thick latexy contraption." That can be tricky to say if I'm not prepared for it. | ||
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Friday, 25 July 2008 (the firmer core) 11:55am Wrote the agent, she replied and said she was interested, so I sent her samples. Moving on. | ||
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Thursday, 24 July 2008 (left of perpendicular) 10:35am Didn't make it to the gym yesterday. At least, not to work out. I did swing by earlier in the afternoon to finally make an appointment for the first-hit's-free session with a personal trainer. (Leoben's right, y'know. All of this has happened before and all of this will happen again.) The night before, I did what I told myself I wouldn't do: weighed myself. Since the last time I did it my weight was hovering around 210, I wasn't especially shocked to see that it's still in that neighborhood. These things take a while, and while focusing on the cardio stuff helps, more is needed. I know this from experience. And I do still have the notes from the last time, but I'll be fracked if I can find any of those machines at the new place or remember the details of what to do. Next to me on the desk is a nonfat latte from Caffe Roma around the corner. There's still a lot not good for me about it, but I'm laying off mochas, what with the whole chocolate aspect. Every bit helps. I've been watching The Sopranos at home. Ryder was a big fan, and in the brief period we were involved at all, called me her goomah, what the gangsters call their mistresses. It was not inappropriate at home. So I stayed relatively late at the office yesterday, both babysitting some work stuff—the kind of thing where all I can do is keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn't hiccup or choke, which it inevitably does—and finishing and submitting the book proposal. As near as I can tell from the timestamps on the bounced message, it took approximately seven seconds for it to be returned. I'd like to think that's the fastest rejection ever. Of course, it's not really a rejection, just a technical issue. I contacted them through their regular non-submissions addy to let them know the mailbox was full, and they contacted me this morning and told me to re-submit the proposal. Which I did. It went through just fine, and I got the standard automated got it, don't call us we'll call you response, and that's all. The arrow will land there, or it won't. When I left work I did shopped for a couple hours (including Fresh Choice, which is nowhere near as satisfying as it once was), then went to the Goldies' for Galactica. Afterward, Pete and I went to Pirate Cat Radio for Ask Dr. Hal. KrOB, Hal and Puzzling Evidence were already there, and John Hell showed up before long, so there weren't quite enough microphones to go around. I was happy to sit back and let the others have at it (especially because they were talking about the politics of Burning Man and a lot of other things which are outside my experience, but I got involved when an anecdote Pete told let to the question of what three movies Paul Reubens was watching when he got arrested in 1991. In the podcast, I jump on the mic at about 1:24:55, and when I can only remember Nancy Nurse and Catalina Five-O Tiger Shark, I fire up my laptop to check my Other Magazine article about Paul Reubens Day. At 1:29:00, I read a relevant excerpt from the article. (The name of the third movie was Turn Up the Heat.) For the rest of the show, my laptop was plugged into the board and I contributed to the KrOB's sound mix, including playing Pee-Wee Herman's anti-drug PSA far too many times as well as the short film "Ace of Light" and quite a few trailers from movies shown last Saturday at the Castro, like Day of the Animals and Alligator. It was fun, and made me realize how much I miss doing a radio show, especially with KrOB and I bouncing noise off each other. Alas. 12:17pm Just submitted a query to another publisher. I'm thinking I might contact the literary agent I corresponded with last August, the one who wasn't crazy about what I was offering at the time but told me to keep in touch. That was early August, this is late July...frack, has it already been a year? Meanwhile, I just snagged a gig for this Saturday: Transtastic! A Fun Queer Trans-Positive Reception to Divert you from the HRC Dinner. It 's an event which counterprograms the Human Rights Campaign's big fundraising dinner, protesting the fact that the HRC did not insist that trannies be included in the Employment Non-Discrimination Act. It's a worthy cause, to be sure, and gods love San Francisco, we'll use any excuse to have a party. The host is Theresa Sparks, whom I've always wanted to meet. She's both the president of the San Francisco Police Commission and a male-to-female tranny. Of course, she still can't get into Osento because how she was born makes her evil, but hey. You gotta have limits to these things, am I right?. | ||
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Wednesday, 23 July 2008 (for amplified ensemble) 10:58am Perdita slept next to me last night. She's all better now. 5:31pm I just submitted a book proposal via email (the publisher's stated preference for submissions), and it bounced back with an error message saying the mailbox is full. I suspect that's going to sum up my attempts to get further into the publishing world. | ||
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Tuesday, 22 July 2008 (the better of what's left) 10:13am I made it in and out of the Saturn place fairly quickly, and Phoebe got a clean bill of health. From there I picked up Rhiannon (whose keys I'd accidentally put into my bag the night before, because I was kinda dumb at the time) and we saw WALL-E, which I absolutely loved. I got teary at several points, which is how it should be. I like it when movies have that effect on me. If a story isn't going to have some emotional impact, it's almost not worth the effort. Life's too short. I'm aware of the controversies surrounding it—at least, I became aware when I read the linked article after seeing the movie—and as far as I'm concerned, they're missing the point. The movie's a love story, pure and simple. Of course, I also think Exchange and Descent is a love story, and most people will say it's about BDSM and furries, so there you go. We all bring ourselves into art and find whatever we're looking for. After the standard beans 'n rice lunch (complete protein!), I went to the Gold's Gym in the Castro, the one I'd originally planned on going to on a regular basis. From the moment I stepped in, I felt uncomfortable. The one near my office which I've been going to for the past week feels welcoming (or at least indifferent), but the Castro location, not so much. It's almost aggro, especially in that most important of areas, the women's locker room. I think I've figured out why, too: it's small. Both the gym and the locker room. The SoMA location is fairly spacious, but at the Castro location you almost can't help but rub elbows, and that's no good. Plus I just get a territorial vibe, like I'm in someone else's turf. (It's similar to the feeling I get in most dyke spaces these days.) I've showered a few times and felt just fine about it in SoMA, but there's just no way it's going to happen at the Castro one. I went about twenty minutes on the treadmill before the anxieties kicked into high gear and I left. I hung out at home for a couple hours, then took Perdita to her appointment. She also got a clean bill of health, because I'm a good kittymom, thank you very much. Went to the Goldies' to watch Battlestar Galactica (I like watching it with them, but I especially wanted to be present to see their reactions to the end of "Crossroads, Part II"), and I accepted the glass of wine Pete offered me as soon as I walked in. Antioxidants, don'tchaknow. Turning into my mom more and more, which isn't a bad thing at all. Counteracts how my developing taste for pepper makes me feel like I'm turning into my dad, which I really don't like the sound of. Anyway, from there I went to the Gold's Gym in SoMA, since I felt like my daily exercise from earlier was unfinished. It helped that I arrived at a quarter to eleven, not exactly their rush hour, but I immediately felt better there than I did at the Castro location. Stayed until they closed. This is the only way it works. 7:24pm Perdita didn't sleep in my bed last night. Instead, she spent it on the chair at my bedroom desk (the one which I tell myself every six months or so that I'm going to use it as a home office, for real). She was in classic sick-kitty mode, but I wasn't too worried about it, since she was given a shot at the vet's. I'm not sure what it was, exactly, but if I were to pronounce the acronym it would be something to the effect of "fivverbrivvek." If when I get home tonight she doesn't run in and jump on the bed the moment I go near it, then I'll be concerned. I had a nasty little start at the vet's myself when I looked at the receipt and saw Vash's name listed to next to mine as Perdita's owners. I don't remember doing that, but I'm sure it made sense at the time, seeing as how we'd decided that if something were to happen to me she would take Perdita, and in general I trusted Vash to watch after her. I briefly considering leaving Vash on there, but if we're not talking—if, more to the point, I'm not talking to her, since I've rejected her overtures towards communication, though for all I know she's decided in the meantime that she doesn't want to talk to me—then there's really not much point in having her listed as my cat's co-owner. I hated having to ask, though. It felt too much like having an ex-wife removed from paperwork, and for pete's sake, we were only a couple for a little over two years (a record soon to be broken, I suspect) and we didn't even live together. Bleh. Went to the gym after work this afternoon. My left leg is now feeling sore the way it often does when I haven't been excercising. I don't get that at all. | ||
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Monday, 21 July 2008 (unexplored genres) 9:03am After feeling dead to the world for most of yesterday, my energy level perked back up by the time Bad Movie Night rolled around. It helped that I got a mocha (nonfat milk, sans whipped cream) shortly beforehand, but my energy level and adrenaline always rises when I have a show to do. And it was a good show, me and Gerri Lawlor and Jim hosting Cloverfield. It wasn't a packed-to-the-rafters crowd like Reign of Fire last week, but a good turnout all the same. I'm feeling much better today, probably because I slept in my own bed. I'm at Saturn of Colma right now, and I should be getting Phoebe back very soon. In addition to her regular maintenance, the trunk-release thingy is being disconnected. From here, my plan is to hit the 10:50am cheapo showing of WALL-E at the Century (six bucks, and whoever else is going to movies on a Monday morning will be at The Dark Knight), then go to the gym, then take Perdita to to her five o'clock vet appointment and eventually join the Goldies for more Galactica at nine. And get some writing done at some point. Hopefully. | ||
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