Posts Tagged ‘The Castro Theater’

One of Those Weeks

June 24, 2016

And I just don’t care.

Things spill.

Pink hair dye in my purse.

Blueberries in my basket tonight, all over my liner bag on the back of my scooter, splashed blueberry juice all over my pink riding jacket.

Ugh.

Who cares?

I don’t.

I don’t give a fig.

I’m having a great fucking day.

Heh.

I just scored four tickets to Mike Doughty’s September 1st Living Room Tour here in San Francisco.

One night.

Someone’s living room.

27 people?

30 people?

Intimate like.

I messaged my three people who are Doughty fans and said, “save the date bitches.”

I don’t even give a fig that it’s the day before my first day of classes.

Fuck it.

I’ll be a little tired.

But I will be happy.

Oh so very happy.

Live music, getting to hear someone who I really like and respect, musically and from my own private personal view, we have a few things in common, a few friends, it feels special.

I’m really grateful and I didn’t blink at dropping the money on the tickets.

I love my people and I am super psyched to get to share the experience with them.

Now.

Not one of the bastards has responded to the wildly ecstatic message I just sent them, but I ain’t worried.

If, for some reason, any or all of them can’t go.

I am sure I will find three other Mike Doughty fans that would love to go.

I can actually think of a few that I should probably message and say, hey, there was 27 tickets available when I bought my four, which means 23 are left, and um, in San Francisco, that’s not going to last long.

I just had this pricking in my thumbs.

My blueberry stained thumbs.

To go check the website and see if the tickets were up.

And voila!

They were.

I whipped out the wallet.

Didn’t think twice.

The only thought I had was keeping it to myself until tomorrow when I see my ladybug at the cafe to do the deal, but I didn’t think I could keep it under my hat for that long.

I am not the best at keeping a surprise.

I mean.

I can.

I suppose I could have written this blog about how despite prepping for the poetry podcast yesterday and feeling really excited about it, that the recording was cancelled.

I suppose.

I mean.

That was what I was going to write about.

Also that I didn’t find myself all that wrapped up in that either.

I was like.

Cool.

God’s got better plans for my time that day.

Yoga.

Doing the deal.

Sex.

Heh.

Who knows.

All three.

Although not all three at the same time.

Ok.

Anyway.

That signals to me that I am in a good place in my life in general, that when something unexpected happens, getting this cancellation, I can look at it and say, well, something else is supposed to happen and here’s to knowing that what ever that thing is, it’s the thing that is supposed to happen.

Just like getting blueberry juice on everything, I mean, shit everywhere, I didn’t really get upset, just pulled the stuff that needed cleaning and tossed it into the wash.

Came inside my little studio.

Hopped on line.

And, ayup, bought tickets to see a small, intimate little show of one of my favorite artists.

Luckiest girl in the world.

And.

Tomorrow’s Friday.

Yes.

Plus.

I’m listening to the Cars greatest hits and that puts me in a good mood too.

I mean.

That synthesizer.

So good.

You’d think that I would want to listen to Mike Doughty’s Stellar Motel, but this is what called and when I feel a call, I got to go with it.

“What is this,” my lover asked (which one, wouldn’t you like to know).

“Wooden Heart, Listener,” I replied.

I love the album, but have found that nope, not everybody does.

In fact, the disdain for which someone says something about the music I’m wanting to listen to can be off putting.

“What is this shit?” An ex-boyfriend, “can you change this?”

I might.

But I might have to dump you first.

I was listening to a jazz mix which had some old Soul Coughing songs from Ruby Vroom on it.

You know that band Mike Doughty was the lead singer for, the band my long time boyfriend took me to see at the Eagle’s Ballroom, the album that gave me goosebumps when I first heard it and I resonated so hard to it that I still can tell you all the sense memories that I get stirred up even writing about it.

Yeah.

That relationship didn’t last long.

“Do you like this,” I asked my lover, the asker of the Wooden Heart album, “do you want to listen to something else?”

“Anything but this,” he replied.

Fucker.

So I put on Thomas Dolby’s The Golden Age of Wireless.

Take that.

Ah music.

How I love thee.

I remember when I first came out to San Francisco and was reading through an SF Weekly and all the music shows that were listed and I was just like a little gluttonous piggie in heaven.

I probably do not take advantage as much as I thought I would.

But.

I still love a live show and I was telling a date last weekend about a pen ultimate San Francisco night I had with a friend many years back where we went to see Tron at the Castro Theater, then hopped on his scooter and burned rubber to get to the Fillmore and we rocked out like maniacs to Gary Numan.

So close I could see how angry the lead guitarist was, and jaded.

So close I could see the black eyeliner on Numan blurring underneath his eyes.

Magic.

Goldfrapp that same year on her tour for Supernature.

God damn that was a good show.

I really must be on a synthesizer kick, now that I am thinking of it.

Heh.

And I still haven’t heard back from any of my friends.

Oh.

Ha!

I just remembered one of them is out of town camping, well, hopefully he’ll be happy when he returns from being off the grid to the knowledge of another good show that we get to go to.

As for me.

Whelp.

I got the weekend relatively free.

What’s happening my people?

Let’s.

Shake it up.

Shake it up/make a scene.

That’s right, I said
Dance all night
Go go go
Dance all night
Get real low
Go all night
Get real hot
Well, shake it up now, all you’ve got.
Shall we?
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Bring Me The Money

November 11, 2015

Or at least the secret password and internal knowledge needed to figure out BMI.

My friend alerted me years ago that he had listed me as the lyricist and vocals for While You Were Sleeping, an album he put together using my poem as a framework and inspiration point for the album.

I never did anything with that knowledge.

Well.

I started a BMI account.

But I never registered anything with it.

I have no idea how to do it and I have sort of let it lapse.

However.

I keep getting e-mails from BMI and most of the time I just think, oh there’s that again, maybe I should do something about it.

Then.

I never do.

But as the days wind down and the nights get shorter and chillier, I am thinking, hmm, what if there’s a few dollars there, I could use that money to go to Paris.

I also recognized that I wasn’t investigating it because the likelihood is that there is no there there.

I mean.

It’s sometimes a nice little fantasy, that somewhere, unbeknownst to me, just when I really could use it, say in a few weeks when I fly to Paris, there’s a few grand just lying around.

Granted.

I got my grand.

And I used it.

Have you seen my scooter?

Damn she is cute.

Still parked in front of my house, haven’t gotten the permit paperwork forms from my boss yet, but they are in the works and I will get them and when I do.

Watch out!

Money comes in and money goes out.

I also paid my phone bill today.

And that’s nice.

Because that’s it.

The only thing I owed money on.

Well.

Aside from my student loans, but we won’t go there for a few years yet, ‘k?

I believe in happiness and abundance and prosperity and God will give me exactly the right amount of money to enjoy in Paris.

It would be nice to be properly registered on BMI, however, and to that end I did reach out to my friend who is the musician.

And.

Yeah.

I should get a hold of the gentleman because in a google search I just came across an Andreas Saag remix of the piece.

Nothing of my vocals, but those words.

Well.

Those are words are wrote and if there’s a remix being sold I should think that I should be getting a smidgen of the proceeds from the sales.

I was also thinking, in a less capitalistic, I better get mine sort of thing, that I would like to record again with Sunshine Jones, and perhaps record the sonnet sequence that I wrote.

Thoughts.

Random and parsed out while I type.

I am spending too much time trying to flip around websites and seeing what is out there.

I don’t know much about many things.

I am distracted with thoughts of Paris, thoughts of dating, hormones.

“You should go on a date,” my friend said to me tonight.

Um yeah.

In what time?

I will say, I am pleased with the amount of reading I succeeded in getting through this morning before work, though.

I have a big paper I have to write next weekend and all the reading is done.

Now to winnow and sort and figure out what is going to go where.

Plus.

Um, yeah.

The other three classes I’m in.

I have to do the reading for those classes too.

So up a little early, again tomorrow, and reading some more.

I just have to keep up the momentum.

And perhaps I can squeeze in a movie date on Saturday.

That would be nice.

Although the movie I wanted to see, Rock the Kasbah, doesn’t seem to be playing anywhere.

Which is a shame.

I do quite adore Bill Murray.

There’s nothing out there that seems appealing either, other than the double feature at the Castro, but it’s big time commitment: Apocalypse Now and The Thin Red Line.

I mean.

Brilliant.

But will I be completely burnt out after sitting in the Castro Theater for four hours?

Too bad it’s not the movie that was on the marquee tonight as I pushed my bicycle up Castro Street towards Market.

Dazed and Confused.

Dude.

That’s like the perfect date movie.

Seriously.

But.

Not to happen.

It’s only running tonight.

I love the Castro Theater.

I’m not going to worry about Saturday.

It will take care of itself.

And if I’m to see a movie, then it will happen.

There’s other things for me to do.

Like read and write papers.

Bwahahaha.

Ugh.

There’s work to keep me busy and doing the deal and meeting folks and just life.

Which when I woke this morning, letting myself get an extra half hour, but still getting up earlier than I needed to so that I could read, I rolled up out of bed to greet the beautiful clear blue skies, high and blustery with wind.

The sun was out.

The day was bright.

My scooter parked in front of the house.

My bicycle, my steady and faithful steed, taking me to work.

The gratitude filing me up as I pedaled up Lincoln Avenue.

The hawks circling over head, lifted my eyes to the sky and I smiled.

Deep in my body, happy in my soul.

“Happy is my principle today,” I said out loud to no one in particular.

Perhaps just to hear myself say “happy.”

And I rode.

Knowing that I had a good job to go to.

That I still can afford to live in San Francisco.

That I am sober.

That I am healthy.

That I have amazing friends.

I have community.

I have a beautiful home.

I have a scooter.

I have a Macbook Air and an Iphone.

I have so much.

I have a trip to Paris.

I have love and abundance beyond my wildest dreams.

So if I don’t get some royalties from BMI.

Whatever.

I’m still going to investigate though.

Seems the adult, next right thing to do.

And whatever happens.

I’m ok with it.

Because there is nothing at all wrong in my world.

Not one damn thing.

Luckiest girl in the world.

Hello Stranger

November 17, 2014

Where you been?

I have taken the last couple of days away from the computer, the laptop, the internet, the interwebs, the social media, the facebooking, twittering, chirping, instagraming, tinder, okcupid of it all.

I have been busy living.

I am being a little oblique.

I understand.

Curiosity it killed the cat.

This may be one of the harder blog posts I write.

There was and is a very good reason I was offline for the last couple of days.  I mean, I wasn’t totally, I checked a few things on my phone, I’m not a Neanderthal after all, but I haven’t booted up the lap top to input the blog.

I have been, um, busy.

Yargh.

This is hard.

I just recall certain things that certain folks have passed a long for a little while now, snippets of suggestions, dollops of care, maybe I sound like your mother, but I love you, advice.

And you know what is happening?

I am listening.

I am really listening.

To my heart, to my gut, to my instincts.

There are truly some things that I am not going to write about.

I can’t.

Too much is at stake.

Therefor I stayed off the blog the last few days.

I let things unfold, I discovered what feelings were in real-time and had them and processed them and went about my life with new and unusual information about who I am and let myself enjoy the fuck out of it.

I will drop a few hints and if you should be curious, I know one or two of you might, please call me on that old-fashioned thing called a phone and we can have a chat and I can give you details.

There are details.

Be assured.

Some things that I am willing to cop to.

Number one.

Get Tinder off my phone.

Don’t want the app, not interested in using it, not needed, get thee gone.

Except I can’t figure out how to get it off my phone–it may have something to do with the fact that I never was successful at installing the app in the first place; it wouldn’t load and I spent more time watching the error sign come up then swiping left or right.

Second.

I killed OkStupid.

Yup.

It’s done.

I’m off the site.

Now.

I know my friends are some smart monkeys.

If a + b = c one might surmise that.

a. No OkCupid

b. No Tinder

c. No blog for last couple of days.

I will say no more.

See.

I can do this!

Not certain for how long I can keep the hat on it, but I am going to give things room to grow and breathe and be, myself included and keep focus on the practices that I am currently doing.

Writing, writing, and more writing.

Maybe if I’m not writing about certain things I can be writing my autobiographical statement for graduate school.

Not tonight.

I’m too tired.

I had a busy weekend.

I got behind on some things and played catch up a lot today.

For instance, my Sunday soul soup is still cooking on the stove–my food for the week is a vegetable three bean chili with brown rice–I didn’t get to the cooking for a little while today and it still needs a good hour of simmering on the stove.

I did have an awesome late lunch at Thai Cottage, but that’s not cooking for the week.

I did get groceries done, but far later in the weekend then I normally do, same with cleaning the in-law and doing laundry–one load left to go.

I was a little behind on things, I had my attention elsewhere.

I enjoyed that attention being elsewhere.

Especially as I head into a busy week.

One with dancing at the end of it and a lot of service thrown in between.

Two speaking engagements this week and it feels like there’s another lurking around the corner, but I can’t put my finger on it.

Thanksgiving is coming up, which is frankly weird, not the holiday, just that it’s so close already.

I had some plans for the day, and I still think that it will probably happen that I end up in the Castro with Honey and the orphans and take out and a movie matinée at the Castro Theater.

I have plenty to be giving thanks for.

I tell you what.

So many things.

Like already booking dates in December for Christmas parties and on into January for a night at the symphony (the San Francisco Symphony is doing a big screen viewing of the original God Father and the symphony will be playing the soundtrack to the movie).

I actually opened up my closet and started poking through it, could I wear that dress to the party, would this work for the symphony, what about those heels?  Are they too high?

I may have to go out and buy a holiday frock or two.

I can’t remember the last time I had plans around the holidays that required some more formal attire.

I have dresses, but they are not so formal.

Ah.

Yes.

What every woman needs, or just this woman, an excuse to go dress shopping.

I can handle dress shopping better than jeans shopping.

Yikes.

I really do have to buy a new dress, probably two, and maybe some new heels.

My ankle should be all healed up and ready to prance about.

Speaking of prancing, I shall be dancing this weekend too, very much looking forward to the party at the Armory and getting to see some friends who I haven’t had much chance to catch up with since Burning Man.

This party I have clothes for.

And I won’t be wearing heels too, oh no.

Sneakers.

I may lace them up with some pink ribbon shoe laces for flair, but I am wearing flats for my night out dancing.

No hurting the ankle.

Well, the soup is simmering, the tea is in the process of sipping, the night is young and full of stars.

Far away messages of mystery in the sky.

Dumped over the bowl of dark covering the ocean and beach, drizzling me in sweet dreams and delicious thoughts from the weekend.

~End vague blog~

 


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