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Monday, 30 September 2002 (come down easy) 9:10am Oakland International Airport: Hell, or at least a suburb thereof. A Raiders game had just let out at the nearby Coliseum, so the the area was crawling with cretinous, mouth-breathing football fans. Which is to say, football fans—although these were mostly Raiders fans, which are the second worst kind. (The worst, of course are...aw, heck. You know who.) I got there about an hour early, and there really wasn't anywhere to go that wasn't devoid of people or noise, though listening to Nurse With Wound's Soliloquy for Lilith through headphones helped keep me grounded. The stare factor was also fairly high, with plenty of nudge-and-nods; one man actually pointed me out to his kids. (Probably the sort of person who doesn't trust anyone of Middle Eastern descent. Because, you know, they're not all terrorists, but you never can tell...) I wondered if he had the first clue what was going on across the Bay at the Folsom Street Fair. Me? Compared to that, I'm nothing. It made me think of Danielle, who's going to be visiting Ixe in Ohio soon; in addition to seeing him, she's enthused about being, as she puts it, "a big fish in a little pond." I suspect she's been in a big pond for so long she's forgotten how much little ponds can suck, especially when the little fish have a tendency to stare. There was a post-ForWord Girls/pre-Folsom brunch at Mission Grounds on 16th that morning. I met a number of people who'd read on Saturday, many of whom were from out of town but recognized me from Poetry Mission. Those who hadn't been at Poetry Mission still noticed me at ForWord Girls, since I'm all noticeable and stuff. I got a lot of compliments about the piece I read (which felt very nice), and they seemed genuinely disappointed when I said I wasn't going to be joining them at Folsom, though they appreciated my reasons. The word "community" got used a lot this weekend, often prefaced by the word "building." I think I'm beginning to understand what it means. I'm part of something. These people are mine, and I'd like to think I'm theirs. A lot of things have been put into perspective. Some voices matter, and some are just noise. I can tell them apart better now. | ||
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Saturday, 28 September 2002 (the ghost of electricity) 6:24am I was about to start the shower when I realized something wasn't right. I went into the living room, squinted at the digital clock on the VCR (there's an analog clock in the shower, but I was in no condition to actually have to tell the time), and went back to bed, seeing as how it was only half past one and I still had another four hours to sleep. Evidently there's some anxiety about getting to ForWord Girls on time. 2:00pm My official reason for not taking part in any of the open mics is that I don't have anything which fits their themes. Indeed, all I have on me at all is the piece I read at Poetry Mission, and while I'd love to try it on this crowd, it wouldn't quite fit, and it would go over the time limit. (I can't help but notice that hasn't stopped other people, though.) Besides, I need to be sure to be able to leave by 5:30pm to meet Danielle by 6pm. 11:06pm My empathy for my mother continues to grow; I now know how she felt when she took me to church. No, that's not really true. Church bored me to tears; Danielle wasn't bored, and she was paying attention, you just couldn't tell by looking. Sitting still and watching the performer is not a strong suit of hers. It's just the way she's wired, I suppose. She was there for the last two sets, each with several readers, and though she spent much of the first set writing or flipping through a book (Shauna tells me she often does the same thing at readings), by the second set she was actually watching the stage. (I feel so square.) In any event, she did enjoy herself, and she's interested in reading at K'vetch next week. (It's a long way from her one-woman show Breakfast in the Flesh District, to let it be known she's still around. There were certainly a few people who were suprised to see her tonight.) Earlier in the evening we'd discussed possibly doing something after the show—I found very tempting her offer to take me to meet her friend John Shirley, one of my favorite writers (and quite the trannychaser, as I'd deduced from his work and Danielle confirmed)—but in the end we ended up going our separate ways. Probably just as well, since my energy levels were starting to dip. I probably won't become a night person again until my current job contract ends. And of the show itself? ForWord Girls was, in a word, fantastic. (e), Shauna and the other organizers did a damn good job. Well-paced, a terrific range of readers, informative panels and workshops, and a wonderful, welcoming vibe. Everyone was warm and friendly; there was no sense that anyone would judge or look down on you, even if they didn't necessarily agree with your point of view. It's a painful cliche, but the strangers were just friends...well, you know. Sometimes it happens to be true. Although I did know a lot of people to begin with. Jennifer Blowdryer was one of the readers, so I got to hang out with her for a while, which was cool since she's heading back home to New York soon. (She again referred to me as "precise." Oh, if she only knew...) Also, for a dollar you could get a custom-made haiku, on any topic. Naturally, I chose flying monkeys: Goodbye, my sweet ones:I have no idea what the current market rate is for custom-made flying monkey haiku, but I'm pretty sure I got a bargain. I will read at ForWord Girls 2003. Sadly, I forgot to bring kittypr0n flyers. It was that best kind of long day, a good one. Maddy comes back tomorrow.
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Thursday, 26 September 2002 (generally regarded as safe) 9:21am I had another productive night at the studio. Believe me, they aren't always. In addition to completing kittypr0n #9, I rerecorded the music for #8, which airs in October. I replaced Spacemen 3's "Ecstasy Live Intro Theme" with "Requiem for Dying Mothers, Pt. 2" by Stars of the Lid, and fixed the sound levels, which had been way too high before. They should be less distorty now. I hope. The toughest part of the show for me continues to be the sound; it seems like there are eight different controls which have to be juuuuuust right or the sound is fux0red, and there are a few different meters which never seem to quite jibe. It also doesn't help that, as in the case of #8, there are four pieces of music from four different sources, and their individual levels are different. Not to mention my hearing is slighly damaged from years of loud music, as anyone who's ever spoken to me for more than five minutes and had to repeat themselves as many times has probably surmised. On the plus side, the show's biggest audience seems to be found in bars where it can't be heard anyway, so it's kinda academic. 10:49am So let's see. Poetry Mission tonight, ForWord Girls on Saturday (plus the kickoff party on Friday), a lot of apartment cleaning and birthday present-wrapping, and Ixe has given me Danielle's current address so I can see how she's doing. Oh, my dad's in town and we're having lunch tomorrow. The next seventy-two hours, before Maddy's return, are gonna be busy. 4:13pm I realize that teevee prides itself these days on being hip, edgy, a little dangerous, and certainly what the kids like to call "in your face." (Those nutty kids and their vernacular!) Hence, your "reality" shows, your Fear Factors, your fourth/fifth/sixth-network sitcoms, your big-lipped/big-tittied Vulcans, and the like. Which is fine. Gotta pull in those advertising bucks, and that's what works. More power to 'em, says I. However. In the Civic Center Muni station, there's a billboard for a show called Good Day Live. It's unclear what the show is, exactly, but it appears to be a gabfest of some kind, featuring two Hot Chix and a Malcolm McDowell lookalike. All fine and good. Except for ths show's tagline: "We Dare You to Watch." Okay, I'm calling foul on this one. You can NOT have a show called Good Day Live and have THAT as a tagline. It's cheating, pure and simple. I don't care how edgy or "outrageous" the show tries to be, it's called fucking Good Day Live, and there's something pathetic about a show which sounds like something Maddy's grandparents in Kansas would watch "daring" people. Do the producers wanna be daring? Change the name. As long as I'm on the subject of advertising, the ads for the Manhunter remake are probably the silliest since that movie with the wrestler: "To understand the origin of evil, you must go back to the beginning." Uh-huh. Webster defines "origin" as The first existence or beginning of anything; the birth. "Beginning," meanwhile, is That which begins or originates something; the first cause; origin; source. Therefore, it follows: "To understand the beginning of evil, you must go back to the beginning." Or, if you prefer: "To understand the origin of evil, you must go back to the origin." Heavy, man, heavy..
On the ad for Ballistic: Ecks vs. Sever in Chuch Street Station, someone wrote "Movies like this are horrible!" Testify!
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Wednesday, 25 September 2002 (up for grabs) 9:07am I edited kittypr0n #9 last night, and will be returning to the studio tonight to add the music. The bulk of the episode is the 1947 silent short The Private Life of a Cat by Alexander Hammid and Maya Deren (courtesy of the invaluable Prelinger Archives). Strictly speaking, only Alexander Hammid's name is on the film, but a number of sources cite it to both of them and I wanted to see Maya's name in our credits, so there you have it. Besides, they were her cats, too. As always, the episode begins and ends with Oscar and Mina, although as an experiment I made their footage black and white to sort of match it up with the film. Well, technically it's "monochrome," according to the button on the console. Frankly, given the show's extremely limited palette, I doubt anybody's going to notice that the colors went away entirely. I considered tinting it all blue or sepia, which was frequently done with silent films, but didn't feel comfortable doing that without Maddy's input. She was cool with the b&w idea, but I hadn't talked to her about tinting—it only occurred to me at the studio—and like the cats were also Maya's, the show is also Maddy's.
The music is the
Eraserhead
soundtrack, edited down from 37:47 to 28:30. Normally when a piece is longer than the episode we
just let it run and it gets cut off, but in this case I wanted to retain the arc of the soundtrack as much as possible. A couple bits of dialogue
have been removed, and "In Heaven" had to go, but otherwise, I think it's going to work nicely. If it doesn't—well, hey,
it's just a cable access show. It doesn't really have to work, and there's always the next episode.
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Tuesday, 24 September 2002 (blues for sister someone) 6:31am Oakland Congresswoman Barbara Lee rocks my world. I wish I could vote for her. 10:46pm Note to self: though a short skirt and bare legs may be fine for the warm afternoons downtime, it doesn't work so well in the mornings or evenings, there or anywhere else. And you look better in stockings anyway.
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Monday, 23 September 2002 (waiting for it to end) 9:17am The Ex's plans to relocate to San Francisco have been, to put it mildly, sidetracked. Her mother's health, which has been declining for years—that drunken ex-baseball players get higher priority in organ transplants than non-celebrities who contracted diseases through blood transfusions hasn't helped—has taken a turn for the worse, so she's moving (back?) to Fresno to be closer to her. She has my sympathies on many levels.
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Sunday, 22 September 2002 (surrogate drone) 4:17pm I went out to the Wave Organ this afternoon. Unlike the last time, I was there at high tide, and there was actually sound; very difficult to describe, but the word "organ" is a bit of a misnomer, as that implies tones. It was the sounds of the water and the water interacting with the PVC pipes and becoming something different yet similar. Quite beautiful if you're into that sort of thing, which I evidently am. I brought the book I've been reading (The Shining, since I taped the miniseries recently and want to compare it to the movie, and would like to have accomplished this before Maddy returns since it's all nightmare fuel for her) and stayed for about an hour, outlasting everyone else. The sun and wind are really not what my recently zapped face needed, but it got me out of the apartment for a while, generally considered a good thing.
Though I wasn't so sure of the goodness of it all as I was driving out there. Must remember: driving on Sundays is evil.
People are very bad. Of course they are—it's Sunday, traditionally the evilest day of the week.
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