This And That

It would have been such a relaxing weekend, had it not been for the psychic fair. Rather than reveling in the near completion of my annual reports for work, I spent the days talking to strangers and reading their energies and auras. Saturday night we were all required to attend an extra special trance channeling event, but it was remarkably unremarkable. As far as channeling spirits of the past events go I was really hoping for more colorful entities with something interesting to say.

Music: I’ve been listening to some tasty new selections, though realistically they all could get filed in different sections of the difficult listening hour. For the more adventurous check out the crazed J-pop of OOIOO. They kind of remind me of The Slits, I mean if The Slits were Japanese and it wasn’t 25 years later. Yoshimo Pee Wee is a superstar baby! I’m enjoying the latest from The White Stripes too, and I finally tracked down the mystery artist I have been searching around for months for – and it turns out she lives right here in Oakland – Faun Fables. I’ve been hearing her in the mornings on KFJC for some time, but I thought they said Fawn Fibbles. Amoeba records had never heard of them, or Fawn Fables for that matter – but the computer finally recognized Faun Fables tonight and that sent me straight into the unusual/experimental section. The track Sleepwalker sticks in my head for hours. Since she’s local I hope to catch her live sometime soon!

Movies: In the world of film I went to see Hedwig the weekend it opened. John Cameron Mitchell did a great job of taking it from stage to the screen. Choire and I went to see it off Broadway in New York a couple years ago in a small theater. I loved the play, but I think I love the movie even more. It is total brilliance. If you get the chance to catch it on the big screen do.

Peter Butler, my other NYC best friend – now a biker on a rampage – stopped by for awhile on his motorcycle trek across America. The soft lights of the tiki torches in our backyard cast a special glow upon us as we soaked up his tales of wildlife, jackalopes and free ice water at Wall Drug, the disappointment of Old Faithful, an endless assortment of white trash and front yard lawn furniture, the hip urban microcosm of queers and oddballs in Hot Springs, Montana, identical twin senior citizens at a rest stop on the Columbia River, driving through that giant redwood tree for $1.50, even a mud bath in Calistoga prior to landing at our place for a spell. The two of us rode on his motorcyle all over San Francisco, got burritos at Pancho Villa, espressos at Cafe Trieste, and took a bunch of photos at the Golden Gate Bridge.

There’s a lot to love about living in California. Even with our rolling blackouts, earthquakes and fires there is nowhere else I’d rather be. Someone once said that if you took America and shook it, all the fruits and nuts and anything that wasn’t nailed down would end up in California. I thought hey, so that’s why I live here! The house I’m living in is in an area I have little to no affinity for. The rent is good, it’s a cute place, but all I do is sleep and hang out online. Otherwise I’m never home. I like my room. It’s painted various deep shades of brown and mocha. It’s a little dark, but I’ve brightened it up with light wood furniture – such as the IKEA desk that my IMac sits on. In the corner is a large 70’s metal fake fireplace my mother and I found at a Salvation Army. It doesn’t give off any heat, but the motorized orange-yellow cellophane lamp behind the plastic logs can give the impression of a homey blaze on a rainy day. On my desk is a stack of bills I will get to one of these days, an array of post its to remind me of things I will inevitably forget, a small cactus garden and an assortment of compact discs.