Friday, August 31, 2007

This story makes me happy

When warm weather strikes, all of New York turns into an outdoor reading room.

I've been thinking about New York a lot lately. I don't want to give up The Farm, but Adam and I were talking about asking Mike if we could sublet for maybe 6 months, maybe longer, give Brooklyn a try.

I love New York. I love that neurotic, pill-popping, shaky Woody Allen city. It makes me feel sane and calm.
"And I believe that just as good writing tends to come from good editing, good art comes from good curating."

Evany Thomas on Burning Man.
There is this overgrown frat boy trying to get laid at Spritzers. He's beyond obvious. Of course, so's the college freshman who's squeaking out answers to his retarded questions. ("Do you like to party?" "Yeeeesss ...")

I must come off as though I loathe a good part of humanity. Hm, I wonder why.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Words First

I'll be in this show in October ... but it's making its debut next week! It's free, so check it out and support your local artist!

The 411:

1310 Mission Street (x-street 9th)
Wednesday, Sept. 5
8 pm

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Prague dreamin'

Mike Daisey's pictures are getting me excited for February, when Adam and I are packing up and going to both Prague and Budapest. And of course, I'm going to be taking Daisey's solo performance intensive from Sept. 15-16. I have a bit of editing to do before I go to NYC for that one.

Just a thought

It's really amazing that after five years of being best friends with someone, and more than two and a half years of being in a relationship with them, you can still tear up thinking of how much you love them.

On Sunday night, Stevie Wonder sung "You and I" and followed it with "Overjoyed." It didn't take long for me to sink into a big old puddle of happy tears.

Here's to a lifetime of them. I love you, baby!

Monday, August 27, 2007

Stevie Wonder

Tonight, after 12 years, he returned to the Bay Area. I got to see him. Amazing.

A twofold tribute:


Thursday, August 23, 2007

Amy Sohn

"I didn’t hate them for being married when I wasn’t or for breeding when I hadn’t. I hated their expansiveness, the way they seemed to take over whatever environment they were in."

Interesting read.

I love how Sohn is so self-aware -- at one point, she writes: "We had become Them." We see her wrestling with it throughout the piece, and that's awesome.

I like this quote too:

“There are two sects of people,” says Elora Cosper, a 33-year-old space designer in the East Village. “One group has children and adores them and expects everyone else to get onboard with how adorable the kids are, even when they’re being inappropriate in public places. The other group likes kids but can’t tolerate parents who can’t control them. No matter how disruptive the child is being, if you address the parent, she will jump down your throat.”

Sometimes there really is this tiered system. You're just expected to Understand.

Hey, look. I'm in awe of the job parents have to do. That's why I've chosen not to do it. And that's just it. I haven't chosen to be a parent. That means I shouldn't always be called on to understand.

Later Sohn talks more about the sharing of public space in a transforming city:

"Part of what is at issue in this tug-of-war is the changing nature of public space in the city. Self-employed freelancers can now earn a living entirely in caf├ęs, conducting business on laptops and cell phones at the same Tea Lounges and Starbucks where new mothers congregate to discuss mastitis and Maisy books."

I have just as little tolerance for the freelancers who take up six tables and yammer on their cell phones while others are trying to find a place to relax. I really try to not be that person. I take one table, am courteous with my power cord and other tech acoutrements (not that there's many of them), and am well known by my friends for being just about unreachable by cell phone. And as Sohn notes in another article: the only thing worse than a loud-parent jerk (her words, not mine) is a loud cell-phone jerk.

I don't know. Maybe I have a weird funny bone about all this.

Nice one, Violet

I don't always get into Violet Blue, but I loved her Burning Man column. I'd really rather lick a live wire than attend this retarded event. I remember my old friend David totally pissing off a party full of hipster lesbians by talking about how much he hated Burning Man and would never, ever attend. This black guy who looked like Lenny Kravitz, sitting there with his sunglasses on and a neutrally amused look on his face, making all these dykes so raving mad. It was priceless.

Of course, this is the same guy who dressed as a KKK member at Halloween (and was very proud of the blood on the bedsheet he wore as a costume -- yeah, he got the shit kicked out of him, all Fight Club-ish) and attended only one BGESS meeting before he pissed them all off enough to stop inviting him (he wore his sunglasses and sat in the back, not participating in the least), so it was par for his course.

He also is one the smartest people I ever met and, oddly, one of the most down to earth.

I miss David. He's a true original. Doesn't kowtow to anyone and doesn't give a fuck what anyone thinks. I like that.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

"'Girls, you shouldn't be talking to a stranger,' I say. This is one thing I do know about children ...

"The man spreads his arms defencelessly. 'Sorry. You're quite right.'

"'I know,' I say. I take the girls by the hand, tuck Rosie's coat under my elbow and march them to the door.

"'Kitty,' wails Emily. 'He was nice.'

"'You don't know that,' I say. Just before going through the door, I look back and he is standing watching us, not annoyed, a pleasant smile on his face. It's true, he does look nice. But you can't take chances on people. It's safer to assume they're hostile." - Clare Morrall, Astonishing Splashes of Colour

What really matters

I am damn good for Adam and he is damn good for me. We motivate each other, we challenge each other, we support each other and we laugh like demon howler monkeys.

The rest can go to hell.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

"The walking's better in Berkeley"

My brother would get that line.

Took a long stroll from College and Alcatraz (Rockridge area) back home. It was particularly heartening, seriously, to pass all the new freshmen with their Target bags, maps in hand ("Where's the Tang Center?") and suitemates who, within months, will become enemies or lovers or, more likely, both.

It's 80 degrees and I feel like I accomplished something today ... just by walking.

Monday, August 20, 2007


I really want to go back there.

New York next month.

Prague and Budapest in February/March.

Maybe Costa Rica in December? I'd definitely try to make it back to Antigua.

Alabama Rain

Quotes for today

I’ve said it before to people who have a romanticized view of the artist and hold creation sacred: In the end, your art doesn’t save you. - Woody Allen

I love my past. I love my present. I'm not ashamed of what I've had, and I'm not sad because I have it no longer. - Colette

To love what you do and feel that it matters -- how could anything be more fun? - Katharine Graham

It is better to be hated for what you are than loved for what you are not. - Andre Gide

Trouble is part of your life, and if you don't share it, you don't give the person who loves you a chance to love you enough. - Dinah Shore

Let us hope that we are all preceded in this world by a love story. - Don Snyder

Saturday, August 18, 2007

I had decided that I loved Dr. Ledford and that I wanted to see her constantly. For reasons I did not understand, I felt related to her. When she described her accident and the fire and her ugly face, I felt like she was describing me. Even though I wasn't burned. For some reason, I felt like I was the same. And suddenly, I liked her face very much. And I almost wished I had the same face. Because then I would have a reason for feeling the way that I always felt: defective. So if I looked ruined on the outside, at least I would know why I felt ruined. - Augusten Burroughs, "Little Crucifixions", Possible Side Effects

And a perfect day it was for it, too.

Biked the Ohlone Greenway to El Cerrito and back. A nice little run, particularly coming back, where it gets steeper ... and then brings me home.

It looks something like this, actually. Except less blurry. And a bit less level in places.


Liked this review.

I particularly like the Travolta slam:

Which leads me to the third point—who the heck thought of casting John Travolta as Edna Turnblad! Every time he comes on the scene all you can think about is “Oh my god that’s John Travolta in drag and in a fat suit!” It’s stunt casting that’s so distracting that it pulls you out of the story. Now Waters has done his share of stunt casting but it was always slyly appropriate–like having Pia Zadora and The Cars’ Ric Ocasek as a Beatnik chick and cat. That was funny. As for Edna Turnblad, Divine owned role and was sheer perfection. No one could fill his shoes. On stage, Harvey Fierstein at least had the right sense of fun and a ridiculously gravely voice that he refused to cover up even though he was playing a woman. The problem with Travolta is that he’s a handsome Hollywood celebrity trying to milk laughs from the fact that he’s making himself fat and female. There’s a constant sense of wink-wink-nudge-nudge look at me I’m acting and I’m getting laughs from frumping my gorgeous self up.

And to make matters worse, the film changes Edna’s character from the Waters’ film so that she’s some kind of agoraphobic housewife who hasn’t come out of her home in ten years because she thinks she’s fat. Travolta’s Edna is crushed by the opinion of the sexy Velma who implies that she’s overweight and shouldn’t be eating an ice cream sundae. You’d never catch Divine crying over her weight or wondering what some establishment slut thought of her. Hell no. There’s nothing greater than the scene in Waters’ film where Divine’s plus size Edna and daughter Tracy (played by Ricki Lake) go strutting down the Baltimore street in their Hefty Hideaway frocks. There’s no sense of apology in them–they’re big, bold and beautiful–and they boast a refreshing bravado that only an outsider thumping his/her nose at the establishment can muster. Plus Travolta’s face looks like its been pulled tightly back so he looks oddly younger than usual, and he has a strange accent that often makes him sound like Mike Myers. All in all, this Edna is a disappointment.

I need my personal space

In a cafe that's HUGE, with tons of tables, this guy takes the couch right across from mine. He LOOKS normal. Why isn't he?

I'm not (totally) nuts. Two links to back me up:

Salon on personal space.

And Bernhard Goetz. I remember this from when I was kid. More about crime than personal space, but interesting nonetheless.

In an ideal (or idealistic) world, we could all stand people in our laps, but really, I just need a little space to myself.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Earthquake in Peru

"One man shouted at the bodies of his wife and two small daughters as they were pulled from the rubble: 'Why did you go? Why?'"

Sometimes, for a second, you forget the petty shit that worries you.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Oakland Ambassadors, revisited

Glad to know someone else thinks Jane Brunner's proposal is brain-dead. Jesus. We call these people leaders?

Sunday, August 12, 2007

On death and felines

ME: I won't care. God forbid, if I die in some goofy-ass way, and someone's laughing at it, I'll be right there laughing with them.

ADAM: You'll be up in Heaven -- or really, down in Hell -- laughing and pointing and saying, That's funny! Because you know, you always point.

ME: Yeah.

ADAM: Oliver will have his black fur on. He'll be doing the rending of collars.

Friday, August 10, 2007

Carole Migden watch

She pleads no contest to reckless driving. Talking on a cell phone and not paying attention. Didn't bother to show up in court. Yes, this is the very picture of a leader.

The secret to enlightenment

Play with your cell phone a lot. Just ask the hippie scourge sitting next to me at Mudrakers.

Signs from somewhere

It's weeks like this that tell me yes, you can. And yes, you need to.

Thursday, August 9, 2007

What a great day

I'm sitting at Cafe Reverie in Cole Valley ... and Craig Newmark walks in! "Hey, Craig," the barista says. Wow, Mr. Craigslist himself! He was just standing like 2 feet from me and I was way too awed to say a word.

Also, I'm going to New York in September to take a workshop with Mike Daisey! Wow!

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

PCOS and check-cashing joints

It occurs to me that I'm making a career out of my humiliations.
The ride tells you you're alive.


It's gorgeous here. Perfect, amazing weather. Sometimes I think renting a room up here and spending a few days would be paradise.

My brother will be here in less than a week! With goodies.

Tuesday, August 7, 2007

A public thank-you

As I'm starting to write about PCOS here (and I'd better get used to the idea of addressing it in public if I'm going to be talking about it onstage), I want to thank my boyfriend for standing by me. Adam's been there after nervewracking doctor's appointments, blood tests, and CT scans that left me nauseous, flushed and dizzy from stress. He held me and listened to me when I told him about a botched cosmetic procedure that had me blistered, swollen and frantic a world away from home, and he tells me I'm beautiful on the days I don't believe it myself.

I couldn't do what I'm doing without him. Baby, I love you.


One out of 10 women in America has polycystic ovarian syndrome. I'd say it's about 99 percent certain that I'm one of those women.

That's what I'm writing my solo show about, and that's what I've been battling with visits to the doctor, with medication that may or may not help matters.

Some days just getting out of bed is the challenge. That's why I've learned to be a performer -- to try, anyway -- to draw attention to more than just what I suffer healthwise.

There's no point in not talking about it any more. There's no point in keeping secret what really isn't very secret anyway.

Oh, it could be worse. It could be so much worse.

Most days that makes me feel better. But only most.

"Popular car wash faces eviction"

Read all about it.

I have a theory: Once someone dies, they are near-automatically eulogized as "popular" in the press. ("Popular dictator Idi Amin died ...") I wasn't aware the rule also applied to car washes in the ghetto. I'll sure mourn the fact that there's one less place to get my car's rocker panels scrubbed clean to the sweet sounds of Marvin Gaye.

Nothing against Marvin.

Sunday, August 5, 2007

Tonight's realization

Sometimes you don't need to put the observations into print. Sometimes it's just enough to have them.

Thursday, August 2, 2007

I can't get over this

"People who were pinned or partly crushed told emergency workers to say 'hello' or say 'goodbye' to their loved ones," he said.

Death is all around. Violent and unexpected and terrible. In Minnesota, in Oakland, everywhere. I can't handle it.

Repo Violence has breakfast

I wonder how much it cost taxpayers to hand out continental breakfast to this pool of piss and his assorted buddies. A boot in the butt is free, guys.

Check out Repo's blurbs:

"About me:
("FUCK YEAH FREIGHT TRAINS!"-Burnout) so im a new-age hobo... makin my way across the country to sleep in YOUR houses/forgotten buildings, eat YOUR trash, and bum YOUR change for beer."

Am I getting older, or is the world getting sadder? Or both?

Speaking of sad, go no further than the murder of Chauncey Bailey or the bridge collapse in Minnesota. I really should stop reading the news.

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

"I Google myself"

Hey! I've performed in that "dingy basement theater." Makes me feel really good during a week (or two or so) when I've been feeling really crappy about my art.

And yes, I Google myself too.


ME: So, should I get a "Hippies Suck" bumper sticker?


ME: Why?

ADAM: Because you'll end up with your car vandalized with patchouli oil.