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


June 11 - 20, 2001

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Wednesday, 20 June 2001 (careless idle chatter)
8:57am


Oh, what I wouldn't give for a print copy of this ad. To commemorate that justice was served, of course.

Meanwhile, it's finally been driven home to me that The Fidget Queen is gone: apparently Togo's is giving away free sandwiches today, and yet I read about it on sfgate. It's not so much that I personally care—I have my bagelmich, and even if I didn't, I would want to deal with those crowds—but it's precisely the kind of thing TFQ would have spammed the department about. He also kept us apprised of J. Crew and Footlocker coupons, whether we cared or not. Sadly, he didn't allow an opt-out.

Which, for some reason, brings to mind an incident from February '99, when we were both still new at the company. I needed a transparent gif for a page we working on, and since he was the graphics person on the project, I asked him to make me one. He said he didn't know how. And that was that. Never mind that it fell within the most basic parameters of his job title ("Junior Graphic Designer"), and that he should at least feel obliged to look into finding out how to do it. Nope. He couldn't care less. Fortunately, this was back when Lee was regularly online, so he was kind enough to tell me how. I then forwarded the info to TFQ, for future (and present) reference. Because I'm all nice like that.

It's nowhere near as morally satisfying as watching the boogeyman being put to death (which we got gypped outta anyway), but tomorrow morning if you're up at the right time with a functioning RealPlayer you can watch a live total solar eclipse in Africa. That's almost as cool, right? I mean, it won't make your children safer or anything, but...

Note to self: brush teeth in morning before putting on shirt. Because the only thing that looks more like a come stain than yogurt is toothpaste, and it's a lot more insidious. (In answer to the obvious question, because at the time I thought I'd cleaned it off sufficiently. Whoops.)

4:07pm

After the daily hacking away at it of last week, I'm giving my face a break and not shaving this week. I'm not exactly trying to impress anyone (or, heaven forbid, pass), so there's no real point. As has been well established I don't like the resulting facial hair growth, but constant shaving isn't doing my skin any favors, either. I probably won't until before the Dyke March on Saturday. Or whatever event I've forgotten we're attending on Friday.

I have no idea when I'm getting zapped again; probably not until late next month. There's too much going on between not and then, including our anniversary on July 10. I actually got zapped on our anniversary last year, which speaks to both how pathological I was about it and how unwell our relationship was; indeed, we'd functionally broken up the previous week, which is generally considered a sign of malaise.

The point being, I won't be doing it again this year—the anniversary zapping, or the pre-anniversary breakup. Both sucked in their own way, and thankfully neither of them feel necessary this time around.

Anyway, our anniversary plans this year originally included dinner at The Mountain House, a restaurant up on a mindbendingly beautiful stretch of Skyline. If I could live anywhere I wanted regardless of the cost, that area would be a contender. (Which is a fundamental difference between barefoot and I. After lunch last week we went driving through the Oakland hills so he could show me the houses he's been coveting, even though in another six months they may have to strongly consider finding a cheaper place to live. His favorites had views of the Bay, and more importantly, the cities and bridges; I preferred the ones surrounded by trees, without so much evidence of civilization. Not that I would necessarily mind a bay vu, but...) You haven't seen Neil Young's "Harvest Moon" video, but if you had, you'd have seen the place. We'd originally tried to go last year on Maddy's birthday, but when those plans collapsed in a puff of drama entirely too characteristic of 2000, we decided that we'd go on our anniversary.

A swell plan, in theory. Fairly romantic setting, good (if expensive) food, and best of all, a very rare single of Neil's "Opera Star" b/w "Surfer Joe and Moe the Sleaze" on the jukebox. Can't ask for more than that. And, just to be on the safe side, we'd make a reservation; the trick to that would be remembering to do so after 3pm Wednesday through Sunday.

Knowing us the way I do, I'm rather proud of the fact that with about a month to spare, we realized that our anniversary falls on a Tuesday this year. Which is as good a day as any to have it on, but that detail, combined with not being able to call and make reservations on Tuesday...

So we're going to Blowfish Sushi here in town instead. They're open on Tuesdays, and their site strongly implies the possibility of euphoria. Not like Neil on the jukebox, but anime-related music and stuff like that on the walls, so it'll do. And, most importantly, we'll be together.

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Tuesday, 19 June 2001 (broken butterflies)
9:39am


I didn't feel much different when we left Chevy's last night, except feeling fuller and a little guilty for it. My eating habits have been questionable over the last few days, and I no longer have the birthday/vacation excuse. Still, though, there must be some kind of chemical reaction that takes place when their tortillas hit ranch dressing, like the sodium turns into heroin. The cravings can get that strong. Like all, I suppose, they're usually best ignored. Haven't been to the gym for a while, either.

12:28pm

Still, this is a world in which in a year's time we'll be blessed with a Powerpuff Girls movie. So it really isn't such a bad place.

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Monday, 18 June 2001 (bus to baton rouge)
10:07am


Back again, as I knew would happen. The light wasn't on in my office, which is all I can really ask. Everything seems the same, although I think I may be a little different.

There've been stylistic changes made to some of the projects I've worked on, stuff which I probably would have been openly unhappy about had I been asked to do them. Of course, I would be flattering myself to think the timing is anything other than a coincidence. They didn't wait for me to leave; I just happened to be gone. More oddly, there's now a temp working with Leigh. Probably because we're entering into a crunch time. I'm sure it's nothing to be concerned about.

5:13pm

I think I'm depressed, though I'm not sure why. All I know is that Chevy's sounds really appealing right now, and that's never a good sign. Maybe it's emotional residue from the lows I hit last week. In any event, I'm not a comfort eater by nature, or at least I haven't been one for a very long time (and lord knows I have the pictures to prove it). But when it hits...

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Sunday, 17 June 2001 (get right with god)
11:22am


So I actually blew out candles on a cake last night at Dana's. If I've ever done it before, I don't remember; maybe that awful party my parents threw in '88 or '89, the one which was a combo for my birthday and Father's Day. Certainly not since then, and of course my contempt for that ritual as part of the office birthday party is well-documented. Anyway, it wasn't so bad (even the singing), if only because it felt vaguely sincere, being surrounded by actual friends.

Lee gifted me with some of that magical Bolinas grass, and even rolled me a joint (of the genus fattyboombatty) which I didn't try until getting home. Just as well, because it's potent stuff. We also have tentative plans to go up to Lee's weekend after next. He seems to finally be ready to re-emerge into normal space; he probably won't get back into the scene (which is just fine with a lot of people who were happy to see him go), but at least he'll be keeping in touch more. Which is something I've been hoping would happen for a very long time.

In addition to indulging my desire to go out for sushi for the third day in a row, for my birthday Maddy got me the DVD of The Celluloid Closet, one of my favorite documentaries, and—laugh if you will—the paperback of Battlefield Earth. She insists that I don't have to read it if I don't want to, but I think I will. After seeing the movie, I'm more curious than ever. And, after all, pure and utter trash can be good for the soul.

Meanwhile, I stumbled upon a minor grail at a used bookstore yesterday: Mental Hygiene. Oh my yes.

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Saturday, 16 June 2001 (reason to cry)
9:22am


The vacation is over; it officially ended yesterday at 5:30pm. Now it's just a regular weekend. I used to hate that phenomenon when I was in school, because inevitably I felt like I'd wasted the free time I had. I don't get that feeling quite so much anymore, thankfully, and I don't dread going back to work nearly as much as going back to school.

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Friday, 15 June 2001 (essence)
12:01pm


I am so going to be hating it when I have to readjust my body to a normal (or, at least, "normal") schedule next week. Not that I've been staying up late and then sleeping late—I've been staying up late then getting up early, which is almost worse.

11:32pm

Last night we saw Evolution and Shrek at a drive-in (on the other screen were the David Manning-recommended The Animal and A Knight's Tale, so I think we made the right choice); today we (saw? marvelled at? were pleasantly assaulted by?) Moulin Rouge, then joined Pike and his boyfriend for the Courtney Love/Lili Taylor lezfest Julie Johnson. Tomorrow, if all goes well, we'll finally be seeing American Nightmare, then hanging out with Lee and Dana. Sunday, we rest. That's the plan, anyway.

Next time you're in a parking lot or garage with spaces marked "compact," notice how many SUVs and other non-compact vehicles are parked in them. Probably more than actual compact cars, if only because there are so many of the behemoths on the roads lately. As such, we weren't too surprised by the number of SUVs we saw at the drive-in last night—nor were we surprised by how many of them opened their rear doors, the kind that open upwards and obstruct the view of cars parked behind them. If we were in a theater, they probably would keep their cellphones and pagers on. Why, yes, I am suggesting that the tendency towards conspicuous consumption is a sign of low character. The evidence is certainly there.

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Thursday, 14 June 2001 (are you down)
8:23am


Hey, everybody, it's Flag Day! Get out your matches! (Yes, I've made essentially the same joke two years in a row. Tune in next year...)

11:54am

Since impulsion is a root of self-destructiveness, I bought tickets for a Jonathan Richman show next month within about three minutes of having heard about it, and now we're getting ready to go to Santa Cruz. It has a drive-in theater (showing the latest summer blockbusters rather than Herschell Gordon Lewis pictures, but hey, beggars and choosers), and I haven't had sushi at The Pink Godzilla since—well, since the last time we were there, duh. April of last year. And we both have today and tomorrow off, so, like, why not? I'm on vacation, damnit.

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'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail,
Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail,
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
Suddenly I turned around and she was standin' there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair.
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
Now there's a wall between us, somethin' there's been lost
I took too much for granted, got my signals crossed.
Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
I've heard newborn babies wailin' like a mournin' dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love.
Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn?
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation an' they gave me a lethal dose.
I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
Well, I'm livin' in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine.
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
Bob Dylan,
"Shelter From the Storm"
Wednesday, 13 June 2001 (out of touch)
7:50am


At about half past midnight I started defragmenting my hard drive. Four hours later I came back out to find it stuck on 0%, and I had to restart my computer. I'm taking that to mean my poor little computer is ailing even worse than I'd suspected.

6:41pm

Since the subject of his increasingly quixotic job search inevitably came up, barefoot showed me the spreadsheet he's using to keep track of the hundred-plus companies between here and Los Angeles to which he's applied. For my company, he included the annotation "Referred to by Sherilyn as well." Which is true; I did submit his resume through the seemingly dormant employee referral program, for which I got a bonus for Leigh's hire, and Summer got one for Madeline's. Although the company's intranet suggests the program is still active, all evidence suggests it is very much dead. Frankly, I don't care so much about any potential bonus as I do getting him a job, which is seeming less and less likely.

Anyway, what particularly struck me was his name choice. It's nice to know at least one family member has comfortably made the switch.

Then again, I'm very probably being unfair to the rest of them. It's a tendency of mine.

It occurs to me that I need to archive the first ten of this month's entries. I seem to be much more inclined to do that when I'm at work...

11:57pm

In as relentlessly beautiful a movie as Natural Born Killers, one particular moment has always stood out for me. (Actually, more moments than I have digits on which to count them stand out, but at this point in time...) (And, between going to film school during the height of Tarantino-worship and working at concurrently working at Le Video, I've heard every possible argument against the movie and Oliver Stone you can possibly imagine. If you happen to believe any of them, well, you're correct. I should certainly know better. What the hell's wrong with me, anyway, liking that sort of thing?) (If I sound defensive, it's only because I have gotten a lot of shit from a lot of people about it, and for simply having my own tastes which differed from theirs.)

Mallory has just left Mickey after a fight; she's driving down a city street in slow motion, smoking a cigarette with Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan wailing mournfully in the background. As she drives by a corner engulfed in projected flames, gunshots echo from behind her. It's always struck me as emotionally pure. By Stone's own admission in his commentary, not every stylistic element in the film is necessarily meaningful. Some are, some aren't. Just because the film stock changes in the middle of a scene (or shot), it doesn't represent anything other than switching from 35mm color to 16mm b&w. The cigar is just a cigar. But at that moment, we're seeing and feeling exactly where Mallory is at.

So we were on foot right around the corner from The Red Vic, intending to catch the 9:15pm of American Nightmare, when the entire evening imploded, encompassed by an ever thickening cloud of badly delivered apologies (mine) and even more badly hurt feelings (hers). Within ten minutes were back in the car, heading home.

Stopping for a red light at the typically inhospitable corner of Lincoln and 19th, I observe something odd: in the left lane, a car and a motorcycle come skidding to a halt side by side at the same time, as though the motorcycle were attached like a sidecar. The driver then got out of his car and the biker dismounted. (Is that what they call it?) I figured they probably knew each other, and were perhaps confirming directions or something. I see that occasionally.

If in fact they did know each other then they certain didn't like each other. I could tell they were arguing even though I couldn't hear them, and every so often one of them would either take a jab at the other—no actual contact, more like a warning shot—or go into a defensive position. I expected an actual fight to break out at any moment, and if so, I hoped that moment would hurry up and arrive since the light was bound to turn green—while my ethics apparently weren't above hoping for a little carnage, I couldn't bear the thought of genuinely rubbernecking and holding up traffic, ergo I'd have to drive away when the light changed.

They hadn't yet come to blows by the time I drove off, so I don't know what finally happened. The more rational part of me would like to think that they settled their differences amicably and went their seperate ways. The other part of me thinks it knows what Mallory felt like.

sometime after midnight

No Bondage A Go-Go tonight, obviously. (Though, for an instant, going and giving fate a raspberry was more than a little tempting.) But Stinky's tomorrow night is looking good, if only because it'll be another day. At least, it will be after I've gotten some sleep. At the moment it's still that same day, only longer than usual.

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Tuesday, 12 June 2001 (blue)
7:50am


As of last night, my temperature was 101°. I'm feeling a little better this morning, so unless the number has actually gone up, I'll be hitting a couple movies today.

8:39am

Well, it's not higher, anyway. And I'm on vacation, after all.

9:51am

Mmmmm...caviar....

5:56pm

So I saw Memento, which you've probably heard of, and Keep the River On Your Right: A Modern Cannibal Tale, which you probably haven't. The former is the "see it or lose your hip credentials" movie du jour. I'm still not sure what I think of it, which is usually a good sign. The latter is a documentary about a man named Tobias Schneebaum, who spent several months in 1955 with a Peruvian tribe which (among other things) happened to be cannibalistic. The movie mostly follows his return visit to the tribe some forty-odd years later, although the recurring subtext I found most interesting was self-righteous/patronizing view of Westerners towards aboriginal/"less civilized" cultures—both onscreen and off.

Onscreen, the most telling moment was a clip of Tobias appearing on The Mike Douglas Show in 1969 to promote his just-published book, the film's namesake. When asked if he ate human flesh, he says yes. The host, other guests and audience make no attempt to hide their disgust and disapproval, and one of the other guests, a snooty, overdressed woman whom at several points I wanted to reach out and whap on the head, cries out, "How can you say that?" Tobias barely has time to reply, "Because it's the truth" before she interrupts him with the followup question of, "What did it taste like?" Pork, as it turns out—and, of course, everyone is grossed out. Typical Americans, wanting to have their flesh and eat it too.

Offscreen, I had a couple sitting behind me who probably would have been even happier seeing The Mummy Returns for the sixth time down the street at the AMC 1000. I mean, there's something heartening about the fact that they were at this obscure documentary playing on what's probably the smallest screen in town, but jeez, the least he could do is not act like he's still in a multiplex watching cars blow up. It was like being back in school. Worse, being back in film school, where my most of my fellow students laughed at every movie we watched, usually because they were older and made during a less ironic time. It's the same effect that happens with most movies at the Castro, especially (but by no means limited to) Hitchcock.

Anyway, they were laughing at stuff which wasn't meant on any level to be funny, usually stuff involving those savage tribesmen and their scary, primitive ways, and quite often were silent during parts which were meant to be funny. And, of course, any kind of stimuli had to be announced out loud. The admittedly jarring sight of satellite dishes in a New Guinea village prompted the observation comment, "They have satellite dishes!" A shot of a dog scratching its back on the ground was greeted with a laugh and "That dog's scratching its back!" Now, I'll admit that whenever the cats do something even remotely cute Maddy or I will usually call it to the other's attention (usually with a whispered request for the camcorder), but really.

The worst was after a tribesman spoke for a minute or two (subtitled, natch) about the cannibalism in the past, how they're trying to put it behind them and move on. The reponse from the peanut gallery was, "Wow, he's smart." And it wasn't saracasm, either; rather, the Ugly American seemed genuinely surprised at the speaker's eloquence. After all, he's just a primitive headhunter, with a bone through his nose and everything, so who woulda thunk he might actually be, like, intelligent? I was tempted to turn around and tell him that the guy on the screen would probably never make the same mistake about him, that no matter how much he spoke he'd still just be a dumb savage. Needless to say, I didn't.

sometime after midnight

Being sick had mainly been an annoyance until tonight, since I had to cancel my plans to go to Trannyshack and Camera Obscura. That's a serious bummer, since there's no telling when I'll have the opportunity again. (The opportunity to go and not have to work again the next day.) Feh. Maddy and I have tentative plans to go to Bondage A Go-Go on Wednesday night, and more likely, Stinky's Peepshow on Thursday, by which time I should certainly be feeling better. I mean, really, I must. No matter what, on Friday we're meeting Pike and his boyfriend for dinner, and then seeing this year's Courtney Love movie at the San Francisco International Lesbian & Gay Film Festival. (As opposed to last year's Courtney Love movie at the San Francisco International Lesbian & Gay Film Festival, you see.)

Meanwhile, though I'd originally planned on going to The Red Vic to see a documentary on seventies horror movies called American Nightmare on Wednesday afternoon, instead I'm heading into Oakland to hang out with Barefoot. He still hasn't found a new job, and is taking it kinda hard. Seems the least I can do.

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Monday, 11 June 2001 (i envy the wind)
8:04am


First day of my week off, and my stomach's very unhappy with me. Seems appropriate, somehow, especially since I have two appointments in the next few hours. I'm sure I'll find time to rest later. Yeah, definitely.

8:13am

By the way, Timothy McVeigh is dead.

Now doesn't that make you feel better?

5:52pm

I'm ill, but of course that didn't keep me from leaving the house twice today. Once to drop the car off and once later to pick it up. During the first trip I had my appointment at UCSF for a vision field test. If it isn't classified as a torture device, it should be. Although it doesn't help that I realized on the way there that I'd neglected before I left, making me even groggier than I would have been otherwise. I had to hold my head still in a chinrest and focus on an organge dot, clicking a button every time I saw a flash of white light somewhere on the white convex interior of the machine. Naturally, it was very difficult not to let my mind wander (and my head apparently wandered a few times as well, because the nurse had to occasionally nudge my head back into an upright position), particularly while doing the second eye. I'd made the mistake of looking at the computer screen and saw that for each eye the test takes fifteen minutes—not something I really wanted to know. Sometimes it's better not to think about linear time, 'cuz when you start doing that, it can crawl to a stop. As it did for me. I probably bungled the test so badly the results will list me as functionally blind.

I'd considered making plans with barefoot to get together tomorrow, but I never did. For the best, it seems.

Oh, I mentioned I'm on vacation, right?

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