January 17th, 2005

I Will Not Defame New Orleans.

What Do You See Yourself Doing In Ten Years?

An interesting, but ultimately bullshit question we've all been posed. I mean, what's the prize if you prophesy correctly? Small kitchen appliances? Money? A life-upgrade?

I like to speculate in reverse. Where Were You Ten Years Ago? It's far more illuminating because it's based in fact, maaaan, fact, and helps delineate [DING! Love that word!] the complicated criss-crossy path we've taken. Learn from history. Unlike Hitler, Bush and like fellows.

So I exhumed an old journal. Thus follows my entry from 18 January, 1993, twelve long (but where-oh-where did they go so quickly?) years.

I was in San Francisco, living in a cold-water, wall-less room with five other early-to-mid 20-somethings South of Market. This is years before SoMa was called "SoMa" or had any of its über-hip identity that it apparently does these days. In 1993, it was pure industrial. We lived (illegally) over a furniture factory ferchrissakes and next door to the corporate hdqts. of Bear Magazine. Grrr!

I spent my early San Fran years doing degrading work via various temp agencies. (Yes, I was a Kelly Girl! WØØT!) I had recently had a major break-up with my g/f (yes, g/f) from my London/NY/DC days and I had just dropped out of college and traveled west. Life was new, exciting, and very scary. I was meeting fantastic people (enter changingthesky, blastmilk, Mordantia Bat, et al), San Francisco pre-dot-com was a cultural oasis, despite its being located in California. I was struggling so hard to define myself. I really had not a clue who I was. As should be apparent by this:

January 18, 1993,

The woman I work for at Colossal Pictures, Kathy, reminds me of Mrs. Aiken from[Andy Warhol's] "Bad," the super-fly flick I spied last night. This is not such a bad thing to say about someone. Minus the baby killing and some of the other nastiness she's up to, Kathy is Mrs. Aiken's sister. She looks like the headstrong housewife, impeccably dressed with a low key, sweet-but-cold voice. She said to me, emotionlessly but sweetly, "This won't do," when I brought her the xeroxes that I shrunk down and lost a column. I want to be like her.

Tonight I asked a question of Rachel about one of her characters … does she expect the audience to "like" Joanne? If so, what's likeable about her? I think at first, she was put off by my question, but then realized it was really just that … a question! When I take something the wrong way, I seldom find the courage to change my opinion about it. If I thought someone was asking a question deliberately to be cruel, it would take a lot of convincing to change my mind. Mrs. Aiken wouldn't have this problem. God, how weird, this despicable character is my icon-o-the-night. More than that, my life thus far is proof that the "good guys finish last." I have a tough time being evil, but I'll do my best.

Now, on a completely different cerebral choo-choo … it just hit me that I'm not doing what I despise myself for not doing before in London and DC. I'M NOT GOING OUT ENOUGH! This is probably untrue. Probably springs from an earlier thought … I need to go to the post office … but I have no time. I work during business hours. How do 9-to-5'ers get anything done? Why is my mind so muddy tonight? I drank kola tea. It usually makes me on-line, whereas, ce soir, j'suis "off m' rocker." Tired now. As per fuckin' usual!

[Note: I used the term 'on-line'. This was before the internet. SFNET, a local dial-up BBS/chat room was just being born and it was the most incredible thing I'd ever seen.]
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