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Coming as no surprise to me, The Boss didn't say a word about our mini-altercation on Friday, nor his subsequent call. Just as well. The project had been for a meeting this morning, so it's all over and done with now. And the meeting is out of town, so he's been gone for most of the day, which is nice. I don't envy Kelly, however, who had to go with him. Here's hoping she got to at least have the window rolled down in that surely smoke-filled car. Even though it was only for a few hours each afternoon, it seems like the bulk of the weekend was spent rehearsing. We finally got most of the set and props on Sunday, and they're looking pretty damn neat. Two of the actors have been working with a fight choreographer, and their big fight scene is looking very authentic. Disturbing, almost. Even though it's pretend , one wrong move and it could get very real. And it doesn't even involve zombies. It's been difficult for me to watch, though that's academic—it takes place during one of the few times that I'm not actually on stage in one manner or another, so I won't ever see it during the run of the play. We've finally figured out how to put the hairfall in fairly quickly, and in the right position. It looks extremely nice. Something tells me I'll continue to use it after the play is done. After rehearsal on Sunday, we went to (ugh) Bender's and hung out with Chupa. She gave me some job leads (both in the City, both paying better than where I'm at now, and both just ideas which might fall through but have given me a little hope all the same), and I danced to Wilco's "California Stars" on the jukebox. All the bad things seemed far away.
3:29pm Those bad things, they have a way of catching up. The chair I'm selling for The Boss on Craigslist? I've had a few people respond saying it's a fake. Others have written asking to buy it, but I can't bring myself to sell it to them until I know whether it's real. The Boss doesn't know for sure, and doesn't really seem to care that much one way or the other. I'll admit my ethics are bendable, but I'm not about to sell something on false pretenses. Quite frankly, I'm not getting a big enough cut, and I just know I'd wind up in the middle of the inevitable shitstorm. The Boss has returned, and while ago he was standing over my desk talking to me. A minute went by before I realized I hadn't put away the job application for Rainbow Grocery I'd just printed out. Once again, his lousy eyesight (I think all the nicotine's backed up into his retinas) comes in handy.
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The voicemail from The Boss wasn't the only message on Friday. Later in the evening I received one of a considerably different variety, sent to both Michelle Tea and I, from a creative writing teacher at Diablo Valley Community College. She heard us read at the Camp Trans Benefit and would like us to speak to her class, either together or individually. Pretty cool, if scary. I haven't heard from Michelle about it yet, but I really like the idea of us doing it together, if only because it would significantly reduce the pressure. The fact that it's about writing helps too. A while back I got a tentative request to speak to a class about gender issues, but I turned it down. Educating people about this sort of thing is a perpetual task already without submitting myself as Exhibit A. Earlier in the week I heard from durtro, an experimental artist whose work I first found on the usenet in 2000. His music had a profound influence on me, turning me into the ambient/experimental/noise junkie I am today. Naturally, we used his music on kittypr0n. Presumably having come across the episode guide, he wrote to say that he was happy we used his music and could we please send him a copy of the episode. Oh my yes. I'm still bubbly about that one. It's gratifying that the artists whose music we've used (or intend to use) have all been cool with it—the responses have ranged from indifference to amusement, with nobody actually objecting—but this particular blessing means a lot to me.
10:40pm The official pictures from Fray Day are up. Jennifer looks great as always, but, um, what's the deal with my face? I didn't think my makeup was that thick. It looks like I'm wearing a mask, or have had that facial surgery which gives so many trannies—like a number of the working girls in the Tenderloin—that generic, reconstructed look. And then there's my nose. Good lord, it looks like it can crack walnuts. (My last name is also misspelled, but that doesn't seem like such a bad thing right now.)
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The Tom Ammiano fundraiser is on Sunday, October 26 at 6pm at Club Galia, 2565 Mission between 21st and 22nd. I'll be sharing the stage with Sini Anderson, MC Katastrophe (Rocco), Shawna Virago, Frankie Tenderloin & The Rent Boy$ (Anderson's group) and a whole bunch of other super-talented folks, all hosted by Fairy Butch. Sliding scale of $10-500; nobody 18-21 turned away for lack of funds. If you're so inclined, a 215KB pdf of the flyer is here. It's called "Trannies, Tutus and Tangos for Tom." Folks should come to this, though I am opposed to anything with a tango theme (except friends that happen to be into that).
10:29am Tallulah told me she'd plug the play on her show this week, but that doesn't seem likely now since the FCC raided San Francisco Liberation Radio. Again. Yep, America really is the home of the free. Only the greatest country in the history of the world would be so afraid of letting its citizens use the airwaves. Take that, Osaddam!
12:24pm My latest battle wounds from the play—and we're still in rehearsal—are cuts just above my left knee and on the bottom of that same foot. I'm still not sure how I got the one on my leg, really. You'd think I'd remember getting it, since it must have involved my leg coming up against something relatively sharp, but I have no idea. The one on the bottom of my foot is no great mystery. It came from walking around Spanganga barefoot, which isn't the wisest thing I've ever done, but I lose my shoes during the zombie attack in the first scene. I'll be wearing hose during the actual play itself, but I wasn't last night, and caught on something. Ergo. Good thing I usually keep Neosporin in my bag. We're planning on blackening my hair tonight. The roots are coming in something fierce, and the fall simply isn't matching correctly. Among other things, this means any plans I might have once had to go blonde are being put on hold in a big way. Which they already had been, anyway. That thought was right out of my mind, lemme tell ya.
3:01pm There's an inside joke in my 8:58am entry. But I'm not going to say what it is.
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I'm wearing a Final Girl shirt at work, even though it has the word "fuck" on it. 'cuz I'm a rebel like that.
11:11am In addition to the Hep, I also got a flu shot. The Waddell was its usual Tuesday night cross-section of San Francisco's tranny population, and barring unforeseen circumstances, I won't be back until January or February. After the poking was done (no weird muscle spazzing this time), I walked a few blocks to the hellish Rite Aid and picked up a refill on my 'mones. Yay free health care. I then hung out with Tallulah for an hour or two, mostly talking music; I get the feeling I may be one of the few people she knows who shares her interest in noise and experimental stuff. It was nice, low-pressure, a good way to relax after a particularly stressful day at work. She's also interested in being a zombie in the play. Keeping my fingers crossed on that one.
12:38pm I'm a few years behind the curve (as usual), but I think I'm joining the Neutral Milk Hotel cult. I don't pretend to understand much of In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, but I kinda feel like I'm Getting It.
1:11pm Although it's really annoying sometimes, quite often the Boss's selective/sieve-like memory can be a saving grace. It's like a reset button.
3:47pm We're losing a salesman today. A going-away soiree was held last night for him at a bar, but I had to miss it because I was off getting shot up and visiting whores. Priorities, y'know. Still, he's another one of the good ones, and it's not a good sign. The Boss has already been making noise about my responsibilities increasing with him leaving. No doubt when I ask for a raise in kind, he'll tell me that he can't afford to pay me more (lie) and that I'm just an intern (obfuscation). I might as well type up a script and hand it to him.
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Looks like I'm in trouble. There's a note on my desk from The Boss regarding something I screwed up a couple weeks ago, a name I got wrong on a business letter. What's annoying is he's asking why I did it that way, when it's quite obvious that I made a mistake. Human error, y'know? I'll cop to that. Heck, if he wants to call it "sloppiness" or "carelessness," that's okay too. Fine. But asking me why I made a mistake is rather insulting. It's his way, though. He'll be here soon.
10:03am ...and he seems to have forgotten about it. I had a hunch he might. That's also his way. Being able to distract him with other work-related stuff helped too. I figure I'll bring it up on my own later, so he doesn't think I'm trying to avoid the subject. Best defense, and all.
3:57pm He wants a new conference table. He wants it now, this very same day. Or, at least, in the nearest future. Depends on his mood at the moment. He's pretty specific about exactly what kind he wants, although he keep rephrasing it and throwing out different numbers, sometimes quoting me as saying things I didn't actually say. Unable to find one on craigslist, I start calling around to furniture stores in San Rafael. Finally I speak to one that sounds like they'll be able to build one to his specifications for the amount of money he's willing to spend. I get about as far as I can get on the phone; he'll need to go down there himself to speak to them. San Rafael is a short hop up the highway from the office, so that's no problem. And there's no way I'm making a thousand-dollar purchase without having him intimately involved. Last time I did that, we got stuck with a pair of useless airline tickets. Fuck that noise. Except that he doesn't wanna. Well, he says he's willing to out there and speak to them, but bristles when they, like, want to know when he's going to be out there. He says he's not going to make an appointment over a piece of furniture. Never mind that, as established before, it's a thousand-dollar piece of furniture. Finally, he gives me a rough estimate as to when he'll be there. I call the store and tell them. A solid forty-five minutes after he's supposed to have shown up, the store calls and asks. Because he never showed up. I have a feeling he's not going to. Why should he, really? And, somehow, I suspect it'll be made out to be my fault. I've sent my resume to be "assessed" by a temp agency which has had a pretty good track record at employing a friend of Embeth's. They actually asked to see it after I spoke to them on the phone, and that hasn't happened in a good long while. When they asked why I want to leave my current job, being paid just over minimum and commuting to Sausalito seemed to be acceptable. That my Boss can be a high-maintenance nutzoid didn't get brought up, and there's no reason it should have. I'm going to the Waddell Clinic this afternoon for the followup Hepatitis shots. I'm even less at risk now than I was when I got the first ones, but still, a free ounce of prevention and all. When I'm done there, I'm going to Tallulah's. No particular reason why, except that I haven't seen her since I was on her show in August, and it sounds like a nice idea. Comforting, almost. She has one of those kinds of voices.
9:51pm I love my friends so much. As usual, Michael had the right idea.
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Not one of my better rehearsals yesterday. I kept blowing my cues, and, really, it's not like I have all that many of them. We also experimented with putting the ponyfall higher up on my head, and the net result was making me look not unlike Lisa Marie in Mars Attacks!, or at least an extra in Hairspray (All things being equal, I prefer Lisa's look in Sleepy Hollow.) We're going to try it a lower next time, more like Chupa. Whom we visited after rehearsal at...ugh...Bender's. I don't like to say the name, but that's what it's called now. That's the bar occupying the same space and using much of the same infrastructure as Sacrifice, in any event. Bender's. Argh. Fuck me. Better yet, fuck them. But at least they're employing Chupa.
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I already felt sorry for Danielle for being stuck in Cleveland, but after reading this article—which I found via Bitch—on "hogging," about men who go have sex with large women as a sport (and, by their own admission, because they don't think they can do any better): Mark's had nothing but big women for a long time. On a woman of average height, he'll go up to 160, 170 pounds -- 225 if it's St. Patrick's Day or New Year's Eve.I am so feeling her pain. She needs to get away from there. Are things by definition better here? Is the West Coast completely devoid of people like this? Most important: It's a hookup and only a hookup. Never a girlfriend. Never wife material. "If it's a fat bitch, I don't want to see her afterward," Rick says.No, of course it isn't. But I'd like to think they're outnumbered in these parts. Although it depends on where you go. After rehearsal yesterday, we left the relative cultural safety of the Mission and went to the Serramonte Mall. On a Saturday afternoon. Not the wisest plan—I did get some stares, and a teenage kid literally yelled "Oh my GOD!" when he saw me. Maybe he was freaked out by the ponyfall I'd bought at Discount Beauty Supply on Fillmore earlier in the day. Anyway, my time is limited these days, and I've been wanting/needing some new pants. Preferably something black and shiny which aren't also baggy. Leather, vinyl, something like that. No such luck—not even at Hot Topic—although I did find a coat at Target that I really really really like. Beige suede with a bushy white faux-fur trim. Tres Penny Lane, and, judging from other stores in the mall, very trendy. It's like a negative image of my current jacket, which I love but is disintegrating by the day. Didn't buy it (sixty), but haven't talked myself out of it entirely. I do genuinely need a new one, after all, and good lord but it was comfy. Want. I saw something else at Target which makes me never want to shop there again (though I surely will): a Halloween "Rasta wig." The guy on the package, however, is wearing a bone necklace and face paint. Y'know, I'm a middle-class caucasian born and raised in Fresno, but even I know the difference between a "Rastafarian" and "a witch doctor from an old Hollywood jungle movie." I can imagine some low-level employee deep in the bowels of the Target Corporation objecting to the design and being told, Aw, what the hell's the difference? They're all from Africa, ain't they?
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