Skip to main content

The return of Twitter, and other things.

What a weird, almost dissociative weekend. Rocky, floorset, and angst, and no twitter to joke/complain about it on. How the fuck did I survive that?

Well, good news is my twitter's no longer suspended! That was an awful 4 or 6 days, guys. Don't ever take your twitter for granted. It's more important to you than you know, and you won't have anyone to tell that to (well, no one who'll care half as much as the twitterverse).

Rocky was pretty badass, guys. I MC'd Friday night--and did fabulously :) Apparently I went on for 25 minutes, but neither I nor my cohosts remember it that way, which is just plain weird. Oh well, I had fun and did great and if I went on too long I'll just have to be quicker in the future. No biggie :)

I also held the house left spotlight and played Crim, and pretty typical and fun combination as far as I'm concerned. I hadn't played Crim in a while though. Good times :)

Saturday I was dropped in as a Tranny/prop person. Jesus. That was crazy. I can't remember ever playing Tranny before; I haven't done props since last October or September, and things've changed muchly since back then.

Still, did my best to haul ass. With the exception of missing a few striking cues and tripping on & thus pulling off the black sheet hiding the transducer, I think I actually did pretty well at it.

That's the hindsight appraisal, mind you. I was convinced--especially after unveiling the transducer much too soon--that I was going to get yelled at. That it was only a matter of time or crap. I was already in a surly enough mood, I guess, without that to sour things further. I'm pretty sure I had my kill face on when was by myself/taking shit back to the prop room. Of course, I was still wearing my tranny eye makeup so I prolly looked more hilarious than terrifying, but it's the thought that counts.

Well, no one yelled at me. In fact, everyone thought the show went rather well. ... Really? I mean, I'm cool with that. Just expected more lashings.

I did floorset Sunday, which was pretty ballin. I mostly focused on clearance (which I love almost as much as floorsets generally, which I love almost as much as processing shipment) and it was pretty ballin. Of course, it had rained so our bikes were decidedly too uncomfortable for us to bike home on. So after Parker and I grabbed some donuts at Dunkin with our coworker Alfonso, we walked home. It wasn't too awful, but still. Grr. Sigh.

Yesterday...kind of...didn't exist. It was kinda weird, but yeah. They didn't need me for shipment, so it turned into a pajama day (no ADD meds = sleepylots). I think I actually kinda needed that. A bit of bounce-back time to recover or stuff. Mmm.

Anyway, I needa get on with life for the day. Remind me to write stuff later.


Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Sarracenia 'Palmerpink.'

So I posted the other day about my rekindled carnivorous plant obsession—I mean, hobby. I mentioned, in passing, that I had "discovered" a possible cultivar, so here's the lowdown on what that means and what I meant.

The term "cultivar" is short for "cultivated variety," and signifies that a particular plant is so desirable and interesting that people want exact copies of it rather than simply seed from it. Some famous American pitcher plant (Sarracenia) cultivars include the legendary Adrian Slack, the massive Leah Wilkerson, and the classic Judith Hindle.

Part of how these come about is that, unlike horses x donkeys = mules and certain other hybrids, Sarracenia hybrids aren't sterile and can be crossed and recrossed without limit. Further, random chance can create crazy combinations of genes such that even hybrids between the same species—heck, even the same parents—can demonstrate quite the variety. More on that elsewhere.

Depending on how easy…