The Volstead Act

I have come down with a cold and am coughing up all kinds of colors. I am also heavily medicated. I am also whiskey-seeking, as this thins mucous and makes me almost human, especially when put in lemon ginger tea. However, the alcohol situation in this house is . . . a situation. Basically, most of us are moderate drinkers who have wine with dinner, sip our shots, and make an occasional five o'clock cocktail. However, there are other people in the house who, along with their friends, drain every bottle brought into the house with a quickness (although gin is somewhat safe, and certain bitter apertivos it would be difficult to drink in quantity. If there is anise in it, it's safe.)

It's tricky, because Mom and I for instance would like to share supplies with each other, and neither of us really wants to police everybody else, who could certainly drink less than a bottle without us minding, and we don't want to seem ungenerous, but neither do we want to be looking for whiskey late at night when we're coughing only to discover that none exists although there was a 2/3 full bottle that morning. We are thinking of creating a secret hiding place with backup bottles. Or several. Which makes us seem like the alcoholics, but we are trying to be more enterprising and think of ourselves as the bootleggers. Mom does look good in a flapper outfit, and I sometimes wear pinstripes.

Yesterday mostly uneventful. Made a couple of runs to the town dump, which as I've mentioned before is a tidy place and the social center of Winchester. (If you want to campaign for a candidate, or fund raise, you don't go to the town commons. You go to the dump. The commons does host the farmer's market and music events.) Also grabbed a sandwich at Dag's, the local deli. So with the sandwich and the dump, it is clear I am actually here and the house has not moved.

Otherwise, just killed time, by which I mean unpacked another box, wrote several pages outlining the Arthur script, and reviewed footage from the music video I'm cutting for James. It's going to be a challenge (which is the only kind of editing I like). To put it diplomatically, it looks as though James and the singer had pretty strong disagreements about how to present the singer, and although I side with James the central performance is therefore . . . overconfident in context? In any case, I think I can make something out of it that will be acceptable, or at least fulfill contract.

Still Sniffling

Got my hair cut today, but can't tell whether I look cute, because I'm sick. So I mostly look tired and puffy-faced. I can look at my hair from the back and sides (thanks to advanced light-bending technology, a.k.a. sequenced mirrors) and it has a very good shape. But as soon as my face comes into the picture, forget about it.

This jaunt into the city to see Scarlett's salon was padded out with REL clothes and art supply shopping, which meant a lot of admiring good design and pigments without the pressure to purchase, since I really shouldn't bring anything new into the house until I get what I have out of boxes, certain helpful electronics excepted.

Afterwards, the four of us went out for Thai food at a restaurant run by ex-pornographers (?), and then trekked in the cold, rain, and hail to a bar with an open mic I wanted to check out, even though I was sick, because as far as I know it's the only open mic in Boston which is not on a night I work.

But alas, it's not a scene I want to join. There were three good performers, but the venue was dominated almost exclusively by straight guys and most of the bad stuff was openly misogynist, with a blend of sports-y misogyny and the hipster misogyny all the kids like. Lots of jokes about how terrible it would be to wake up next to an ugly fat chick told by ugly fat guys who should be so lucky. When the host doesn't bother to stop by our table when we're the only non-regulars, and when one of the favored comedians decides it's a great idea to make a joke about how women are only good for lesbian porn, but not as directors, because women can't direct. . . I might not obviously be a director, but I sure don't look straight right now, and if I'm the person sitting right in front of the microphone, and the only person in the bar paying attention to you . . . maybe you recalculate your set? I'm just saying.

I could probably take the place over, but it's not worth it. None of these are fans I want to have or people who'd give me a hand up. It's a shame. I was hoping for an outlet. My life can get really echo chamber. I'll have to get somebody to give me a column somewhere, or something.