An important message for a Sunday morning

Durka durka Mohammad jihad.

The cat gets dustbusted

Bruce, you get my panties wet

Oh, hells yeah.

On my last day in New York, I was enjoying the beautiful afternoon in a park in Greenwich Village. I felt my cell phone vibrate in my backpack.

"Are you near a computer?" Adam asked. "The FDA just showed up."

So I hauled out my laptop and booked the tickets. Bruce, I'll see you next month.

A few weeks back, Adam and I were at Ritual and spotted this huge, unkempt dude taking ass pictures of women with his cell phone.

Now that's just pathetic: The idea of this quasi-human snapping butt shots so he could go home and jack off to his Nokia. If I see him again, I'll laugh in his face.

My adorable Berkeley High boys are here. And they've gotten taller over the summer!

Someone Saved My Life Tonight

I would have walked head on
To the deep end of the river
Clinging to your stocks and bonds
Paying your HB demands forever

- Elton John

At Peoples

I'm listening to these two hippies pat each other on the back.

I never go to Wal-Mart.
I only go to, uh, engage the people who shop there, try to show them the truth.

And a combined ... tee-hee!

Look, ladies. If you're going to enroll in the Michael Moore school of douchebaggery, I reckon you're in the right city for it. It would be nice, however, if you acknowledged that not everyone subscribes to your straw-hat way of thinking.

One addition to the last post

I know that there are family members who read this blog. I've made a deliberate decision not to censor myself, and not to leave out what I would ordinarily mention here.

I'm also extending trust and simply assuming what I say here will not be judged unfairly, or held against me. I can only hope this trust is warranted.

It was fun meeting Jennifer last night. It's good to see someone who's as cool in person as in email.

On a totally other note: I've been seeing things from different perspectives. Feeling sorrier for homeless people who have to trudge by fancy restaurants and watch yuppies laughing and eating. Feeling for parents who now can't board first at Southwest -- shit, let them go first, they're the ones dragging all the heavy crap, not to mention the kids themselves.

My head is unsettled and it's not a bad thing. Of course, I did have one of those dreams last night (the wake up yelling "fuck you", hitting kind of dreams) but that's unfortunately par for the course. What can those be blamed on? Things in the past that can't be changed but that I still chew on? My family upbringing? (Oh God, no, please, I can't blame my father for everything.) Shit, I don't know, it's lunchtime.

Fuck California Pacific Medical Center. And fuck Dr. Clinton Young. I'm thousands of dollars in debt, and with dick to show for it.

Fuck them.

A reason to be proud of being from San Diego!

San Diego mayor Jerry Sanders says he will now support gay marriage. Snaps up to you, Jerry!

Had my first acting class last night at the Berkeley Rep. I really liked it!

The barista at World Ground is adorable. He gave me a big grin as I came in all happy from having listened to Crowded House at top volume on the way to downtown Oakland. (I love my new car stereo!)

Just grinning back at him made me feel great. Hey, I'm not dead, I can flirt.

In every ghetto, in every deportation train, in every labor camp, even in the death camps, the will to resist was strong, and took many forms. Fighting with the few weapons that would be found, individual acts of defiance and protest, the courage of obtaining food and water under the threat of death, the superiority of refusing to allow the Germans their final wish to gloat over panic and despair.

Even passivity was a form of resistance. To die with dignity was a form of resistance. To resist the demoralizing, brutalizing force of evil, to refuse to be reduced to the level of animals, to live through the torment, to outlive the tormentors, these too were acts of resistance. Merely to give a witness of these events in testimony was, in the end, a contribution to victory. Simply to survive was a victory of the human spirit.

– Martin Gilbert, The Holocaust: The Jewish Tragedy

Let me close with this comment. Frankly, and in all candor, Mr. President, I doubt that you will have the intellectual courage to answer these questions. But your avoiding them will in itself be meaningful to us. I do expect you to exhibit the fanatical mindset that characterizes so much of what you say and do. Fortunately, I am told by experts on your country, that this only further undermines your position in Iran with all the many good-hearted, intelligent citizens there. A year ago, I am reliably told, your preposterous and belligerent statements in this country (as in your meeting at the Council on Foreign Relations) so embarrassed sensible Iranian citizens that this led to your party’s defeat in the December mayoral elections. May this do that and more.

I am only a professor, who is also a university president, and today I feel all the weight of the modern civilized world yearning to express the revulsion at what you stand for. I only wish I could do better.

Wow. That's why Columbia let Ahmadinejad take the stage -- so he could speak his whacko piece, yeah, but also so he could get the smackdown from the president of one of the world's most renowned universities. You go, Lee Bollinger!

I don't understand how you can still want to marry someone you can't forgive.

Because I love you. I always have.

Shit, now I've heard it all. Next time I think my kin need a good reason to protest and act as though I'm a perfect saint -- even though I'm carrying a gun down a major street and not only try to run from the cops, but reach for my piece while doing so -- I'll be sure to head to 54th and Martin Luther King.

What the fuck are these people smoking? Confidential to the King family: Getting your son's entire gang together to march to City Hall does not a convincing protest make.

Interesting therapy session. Much of it seemed to center around:

- How fast I am and ways to slow down
- The way I react to people who have expectations and take up space.

Hmm. Explains a lot.

September 25 is an anniversary of sorts.

It's the first time I started to become aware of how deeply I might feel for Adam. It also predates by several years the time when we started going out.

I imagine this might be discussed in my first session with a new therapist today.

I'm tired of being pissed off about how it started, and about how long it took him to wake up and get his shit together. I don't know what it means or if it matters any more, this piss-off about the past, but no matter what, I'd like to wrap it up and get to moving on.

The thing about being manic is that this is enough to make me want to pull out my credit card and book a trip to Tokyo.

I got back from New York a week ago. This last week I've been consumed with what I've come to call The Project -- what am I trying to say? What do I want to do?

I seem to make my best work atop things that are so difficult to discuss. Why not an entire project dedicated to that idea -- here's all the shit that humiliates me, here you go in one package?

Maybe a little neater than that, but it's a nice idea to start out with.

I watched Adam the other night, talking to my mother on the phone. It looked easy and comfortable. Their relationship, in fact, is easy and comfortable. She already calls him her son-in-law.

It's like that with him and most of my family, really. He's closer with my mother and with Jonathan than the rest of my family, but it's always been pretty cordial.

You know, in-law relationships don't have to be warm or close. But it sure is nice when they are.

Iranian president addresses Columbia University

Do I think the guy's a prick? Does it matter? Let him take the stage and hang himself.

Me, looking at some random person's engagement photos: If we paid that much, we could get pictures of ourselves looking adorable at the beach too.

Adam: They couldn't.

Is New York going to the dogs or the kids?

See above? That used to be Alt Cafe (home of coffee, pinball, and attitude). I think the changes are obvious.

And this article about the West Village:

The children replaced the gays — the men have left for Chelsea, the women for Park Slope. A shop for maternity clothes replaced a longtime gay bookstore on Hudson, and across the street from that shop is one just for children’s haircuts. Also on the street now is a shop for children’s clothes and chairs and a children’s drugstore. In the future, the Village will spawn the Playground Uprising, followed by the annual Child Pride Parade.

At first I didn't get that "Child Pride Parade" is facetious. I've since been corrected.

Lots of travel

- November 15: Speakeasy Stories in NYC
- Thanksgiving: San Diego to see my family
- January: FronteraFest in Austin
- February: Prague and Budapest

I'm pretty booked for the next six months.

When stupidity meets stubbornness, it creates resentment that lasts far longer than its expiration date.

When I was walking from the Village to Penn Station the other day, I heard the sounds of someone struggling behind me. I turned around and there was a woman with a double stroller, trying to navigate everything that is a city (sewer grates, construction, limited space).

I did what I could: I stepped aside.

She looked back and gave me a big smile.

I loved how she seemed like she wasn't expecting the small courtesy, but that she was grateful for it. It felt like a nice exchange.

Sometimes Adam and I will be in restaurants and a kid will pipe up, getting loud, revving up to cry. It really pisses him off -- worse than me, actually. I'm not going to go so far as to say the presence of kids pisses him off, full stop (to poach a limey phrase that I like) ... but it's the ones who take up space, physical and aural and mental. Yet I know he would be courteous to this woman on the street as well.

There really is no one type of parent. There are those who move through life as part of the world, and those who act as though they own that world. I think both Adam and I can tell the difference, and we act accordingly.

Carole Migden really is insane. As predicted, I've gotten hits not only from the Senate of California, but the Legislative Data Center. Also, I noticed that one of my postings was emailed to someone else -- this may or may not be Migden-related.

Adam did an evil, evil thing when he put this SiteMeter on my web pages. As he says, I tend to be a shit disturber, and if you're looking at what I write and I don't like you (and odds are that if you're driving like a fucking lunatic and then act as though you're entitled because by some stroke of ungodly luck, you are a state legislator), I will continue to needle you, because really, it's the limit to what I can do. Unfortunate, but true.

Of course, I'm sure I'm not the only one in the blogosphere talking about how Carole Migden is a raving lunatic who should retire from so-called public leadership and just drool quietly for the rest of her days. Sucks for you, huh?

Rethinking my story

I've been working on the same project since my second year of grad school. This weekend, the way that I work was blown open.

Your most memorable stories are the fixed stars, Mike Daisey said, but you can rearrange the constellation.

This means moving away from written scripting, a direction I was taking anyway. The idea of writing out a script, memorizing it, and blurting it out onstage was starting to seem almost -- not tedious, but less lively than I'd like. This new approach means more talk and less typing, which isn't a bad way to go.

In other news (and I seem to be blogging a ton today -- which is what happens when you're sick at home), I heard from Pavla, who sent pictures of her, Steve, and the boys. I haven't seen them in five years and there's changes, but I still recognize them, of course. I can't wait to see her in February.

Just spoke really quickly with Marilyn -- she was eating lunch with her sister in Solvang. It was so good to hear her voice -- she's one of my biggest advocates.

Come to think of it, though, I've always had a lot of parental figures. I was always the kid whose friends' parents liked me. I'm not sure if that's how I was raised or that's just how I am.

I always want to be liked. Sometimes I can't tell if that's an asset or liability.

On a lighter note, I took a long walk today that led me to Safeway in North B'kly and back. Maybe 3 miles total. Berkeley is magical today, wild, with wind that will lead to rain today. Thank time and technology and yes, money, for the fact that just two days ago I was pacing around New York City in much the same awestruck fashion.

Overflowing with gratitude

Adam kindly shared his cold with me. If I thought I felt like the shit had been kicked out of me while I was dragging myself through the Port Authority-Times Square changover (and really, it felt like the goddammed breath was being squeezed out of me), I was wrong. Now the shit can be considered officially kicked out of me.

Thanks, baby.

Oh, Sinead, I liked you

Especially these lines:

I will live by my own policies
I will sleep with a clear conscience
I will sleep in peace

Stay off the road!

Looks like Carole Migden's back behind the wheel.

Now why do I love this story so much? Well, other than my adoration for women who resemble schnauzers, I love this story because of the fact that I know Sen. Migden will read these words. Either she will, or the unfortunate minions who she sets to seeking blogosphere information about her.

How do I know this? Because every time I post something about Carole Migden, someone at the Senate of California looks at this blog. She must have staffers obsessively running her name through Google and Technorati. Must suck to be that neurotic, even when it's justified. Especially when it's justified. Carole, honey, email me before you drive through Berkeley. I'll have sharp spikes waiting for your SUV's tires.

A better version of the lion pic

Subtle differences, but they're there.

Sushi delivery is here!

It's just about here!!!!

New York pix

Produce in NYC is the unspeakable, according to Scott ... but it's still pretty. This was taken in Greenpoint before I fled the mousetrap.
Garlic knots. Of course!
Gray's Papaya. Oh, Gray's!
This was taken on Scott's street in Queens: A lion fencepost that I half-expected to come to life, Ghostbusters-style. I really love this picture, actually.
I saw her on my March 2006 trip, took a picture, and now can't find it. This time I had a second chance. A planter near Canal Street, if I remember correctly.

The Alternatives to Marriage Project

I may be engaged, but I wholly support this. Society gives mass kickbacks to those who follow the conservative life path of marriage, buying a home, and having kids. It's nice to see some advocacy I can actually believe in.

Back from NYC

Highlights of a truly jam-packed long weekend:

- Taking pictures of guys selling bootlegged porn DVDs in the Village (Adam: "I don't think they appreciated that.")
- Getting Gray's Papaya before the class performance on Sunday -- a Recession Special is two dawgs, one papaya drink, and costs $3.50 -- maybe a dollar more than the first time I had it in '94.
- Blowing money at Mercer Books.
- Calling Adam at 3 am with the voice I use exclusively for sex and terror: "There-is-a-mouse-in-this-room."
- Checking out the next morning after spying said mouse and staying the rest of the time at Scott's, which was far, far nicer.
- Performing onstage at The Tank and eating cupcakes graciously provided by Jean-Michele Gregory, Mike Daisey's wife, who is a director and a damn fine baker. It was very cool of her to show up with support and confectionery for all.
- Going to Dunkin' Donuts with Scott. Why don't we have Dunkin' Donuts here? Why?
- Getting reacquainted with the East Village, starting with the Yaffa Cafe (amazing chai!) and ending with a walk that took me up Manhattan to Penn Station, with a stop along the way to book Bruce Springsteen tickets. That was to be Adam's job ... but the FDA showed up for an inspection. The nerve of them -- didn't they know?

Then there was the workshop. Awesome, awesome time. I met 15 very cool people and learned from someone whose work I admire a great deal. If you told me before I headed out to NYC that I would develop and perform a new short piece, especially discussing what I discussed onstage, I would've laughed. But that's exactly what happened. Just awesome.

What a nice feeling taking Scott to dinner here. Lo those days ago when my bank card was declined at (laugh if you will) Spaghetti Factory. That's why I work every day at keeping up the freelancing.

Can't wait for the Mike Daisey workshop tomorrow! (And really, I should go to sleep now.)

In New York

I'm well and alive and at the Tea Lounge in Park Slope. I can see where New York can both inspire and wear you down ... and I want to live here someday!

There is only so much you can try with some people. There is only so much charm you can put on, and only so many times when you decide maybe this time it'll have some effect. Then you say fuck it, and you're better off.

Frontera Fest

This was the first fringe festival I ever attended. I saw several shows there when I visited Austin in 1999. In January, I'll be returning to perform my own!

Six years on

"Construction at ground zero was stilled for the day, but the roar of an awakening Manhattan filled the air. Cars crept along West Street, sirens yelped, and workers in nearby office buildings peered down from windows at the proceedings, and then retreated back to work."

New York mourns ... but continues to move forward. Such an incredible, vibrant, kick-ass city. I can't wait to be there on Thursday!

Sometimes you remember the first time with the person you love. And it's so awesome.

Lesson from last night

One Captain and Coke
One Tequila Sunrise
Popcorn
A lamp that keeps bumping your head
House of Curries

= Awesome! Not even a hangover.

Tomorrow

Sept. 11, 2007 will be the sixth anniversary of the worst terrorist attack on our shores. It's also my mother's birthday, for those keeping track.

September 11 was painful for so many reasons. There was the universal -- the fact that the New York skyline was altered permanently for such a terrible reason, and that the Pentagon fell under attack, and that a plane nose-dived into an empty field in Pennsylvania. There was the personal -- I was standing in an airport check-in line as it all came down, and eventually had to reschedule a planned six-month stay abroad. (Which, I might note, is far less important than the pain others were enduring at that time and up until this day.)

One of the hardest things about September 11 was living in the Bay Area, where people are so quick to pull out the self-hating anti-American sentiment. I certainly don't believe in blind patriotism, but hearing Amy Goodman on KPFA in those days was pretty much tantamount to sticking toothpicks into my eyes until they bled.

Healdsburg

I am Amy Winehouse

It's worth saying over and over

I can't believe how I'm confronting -- and publicly discussing -- things that have been major demons throughout most of my adult life.

I owe so much of it to the person who I share my life with. Adam's love for me is consistent and constant. I couldn't do it without him!

Cute boys

My brother. As Adam says: "He's a 6-foot-one version of Landa." Indeed!
Christ, I'm marrying a hippie. Cartman would be disgusted.
Hippie and hippie cat. Note the huge gold tag. It's the feline version of Flava Flav.
Cute boy and masters degree girl. Last year at the St. Mary's MFA graduation.

Under the knife?

In 33 years of life, I've never had surgery.

That may change. Since PCOS makes it near-to impossible to lose weight, I've begun to seriously consider the lap band procedure, which is less invasive than gastric bypass as well as reversible. I may not weigh 300 pounds, but that doesn't mean this procedure can't be helpful for me. Considering the amount that I eat (which really isn't that much, and I eat well) and the amount I'm active (I don't run multiple miles a day, but I bike and walk and have a gym membership and even use it every so often), I should not weigh what I do.

Also, despite being butchered by this guy seven years ago, two days before I left for a monthlong trip to Europe (looking like a meth addict throughout Venice and Innsbruck before it finally started to clear up a week into the trip), I'm researching laser hair removal again. There's been a lot of advances since 2000, and this time I'm not willing to take any bullshit. By the way, if ANYONE is considering Laurence Berkowitz at The Clinic in Campbell, Calif., email me. DO NOT use him. Not only was his staff completely incompetent, they were unresponsive and unhelpful. I will do what I can to get the word out so no one has to suffer as I did.

Fuck, I'm going to stand on a stage and talk about this shit. I might as well start with my blog.

On a lighter note, by this time next week, I will be in New York City.

Changes

In the next few years, I'm going to look a lot different than I do today.

Flashback to high school

Put the Message in the Box, by World Party. Great song. Makes me happy. Also like the positive comments it received.

The Fever

Over lunch I read Wallace Shawn's The Fever. I admire Shawn's career, but this monologue had me shaking my head. It's pretty off-putting to read the literary equivalent of a finger shaking in your face. Come on, Wally. I think you can do better.

The New York Times review and the TimesSquare.com review, which pretty much say what I'm thinking ... but more articulately.

CPMC wants to be my Yelp friend

They also want to publish my one-star review of Dr. Clinton Young, who is one of the most rushed, uncaring physicians I have ever had the misfortune to encounter.

Below is my response to "CPMC B":

Hello:

You certainly may use my review of Dr. Clinton Young. Please note that my one-star review of Dr. Young is echoed by another, making two negative reviews out of four.

I am extremely disappointed in Dr. Young's care -- or lack thereof. Short of filing a claim against him, this may be the best I can do.

Thanks for your help.

- Allison

Adam on niche marketability

"Why aren't there any PCOS books for men? Shit, that ain't right."