Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

I was waiting for the bus home last night at the usual time, and as so often there was a mentally disturbed individual yelling in random directions and shuffling on by. I thought I heard him say something about faggots. A few seconds later, unfortunately, I attracted his attention.

I mostly avoided eye contact in an attempt to convey to him that I wasn't interested in what he was trying to say to me. I couldn't understand it anyway. About twenty feet away, a man yelled, "Leave her alone!" I didn't see who it was.

Yelly Dude shuffled in his direction, eyeing people, but then he kept on shuffling. It was a relief to have him gone, but to be honest, I wasn't that worried. I guess I've lived in a big city for long enough to have encountered plenty of people like that, and they're mostly harmless.

I couldn't help wondering, though: what if my rescuer had been as close as Yelly Dude, close enough to see my face in detail? Would he have done what he did? Some questions are both unanswerable and best left unanswered, like this one, and how my father would have reacted to the new & improved me.

The stop in front of where I work is usually mellower than the ones just up and down the street; it's one of the many respects in which I've lucked out. (Seattle people can DM me if they want to know about bus stops. I'm the mass transit maven around here.)

Shallow fashion details: dark purple MAC lipstick but light eye makeup; dark purple turtle neck; black trench coat; lacy, black, calf-length skirt; black patent 20-eyelet Docs. It was pretty low key for me.

I took the Tickler to the Hardcore German Sparkle Party at the Mercury. For those who don't know, it started out as a joke and has since become the Mercury's biggest and most over-the-top event of the year. It's organized, decorated, and DJ'd by the only cishet woman I know of who regularly passes for a drag queen, DJ Hana Solo.

Seeing as how this was the ninth such party, the theme was "Deep Space Nein!" I'd been twice; the Tickler, never. The Tickler loves all costume parties and especially space-themed ones, so she painted herself up as an "Orion independent sex worker" based on the pilot of the first Star Trek series. There is green body paint in my bathroom sink and glitter all. Over. My. Apartment. Yeah, I expected that and it's OK with me.

To give you some idea of just how meshugah this party was, the Merc's legal capacity is 200. Hana Solo says there were over 500 through the door over the course of the night. The drink line stretched around the middle of of the club to the opposite corner from the bars, i.e. into the dance floor, despite some streamlining. Even at the wild, sardine scene nights of the early aughts that didn't happen.

The costume game was first rate: '50s retro spacesuits, a tentactled techno-Cthulhu, Trills, gay Star Fleet officers, and of course sparkly corsets, just to name a few. I wore my sparkly "unicorn vomit" harness & booty shorts that I got from Bawdy Love for Burning Man, along with my tall black patent Docs. I was surprised to find myself the only one with nipple tape.

I think I may have made a convert out of the Tickler. It's good to a) have a date for that event, b) go early, and c) wear comfy shoes. Afterward we took care of drunchies - or was it really early breakfast? - at Lost Lake at about 0300. I'm proud of myself for eating my vegetables.

Today we woke up crazy late, and made it to lunch with the Wendling at Uwajimaya. After that, the Tickler headed home and the other two of us went to the Wing Luke Museum, which is a museum of Asian American history, especially the Seattle area's, just a few blocks away. We didn't spend as much time as I would have liked because of my son's work schedule, but I have to say it was educational.

And, as you might expect, dark. From 19th-century expulsions and race riots to the internment camps to housing discrimination to post-9/11 suspicion of Muslims, much Asian American history here is a sorry tale exactly as long as Seattle's. (Did you know Native Americans were banned from living in the city in its original charter? Ordinance 5.)

On the lighter side, there's lots of Bruce Lee stuff. He was, after all, a favorite son of Seattle and is buried here. I didn't know he was a child actor from a theatrical family.

I saw King Gizzard And the Lizard Wizard at the Paramount last night with the Proprietress. It was... good, but not what I was expecting.

By the way, the Carlile Room - no S - is excellent for pre-show munchies & cocktails. It's catty-corner from the Paramount.

But on to the show! Judging from what I have of King Gizzard, I was expecting a pop-punk show. What I got was a metal show: shifting time signatures with a lot of 5/4, 7/4, and 6/8. I recognized one song in the entire set: "Planet B". I could easily imagine cupcake_goth digging it, at least in her younger days. Maybe bork, but this is psychedelic metal. King Gizzard is one tight band, which is no mean feat when you've got seven men on stage including two drummers.

On the way to the bus afterward I overheard someone saying that this show was completely different from the one they've heard in Portland not long ago; maybe they decided to go full metal because Seattle. I have to respect a band that can do that, but to tell you the truth I'd rather they hadn't, even if they are truly impressive performers.

Yes, I went to a show on a school night. Yes, I'm starting to feel it now. Oy.

Shallow fashion details: yours truly in a black short sleeve knit top, hot pink sparkly skater skirt from Coquetry, hot pink fence net hose, Fluevog Seventh Heaven Zachary stompy black boots, MAC lipstick to go with the skirt & hose; the Prope in her tallest platforms, leopard print flare pants, a crop top (Yay exposed Prope!) and a back leather jacket. She actually wore lipstick, which I don't think I've seen her do before. I'd say we were dressed just right for that show.

Why have I been so quiet the last few days? Because I was in a place with no cell service, namely the Cascadia Festival, which had been on my bucket list for years. Like so many festivals around here these days, it was at the Masonic Campground (?!) about 90 minutes' drive northeast of Seattle, which is a beautiful wooded site in the Cascades.

I left work a couple of hours early on Friday, finished packing, and bopped on up there. Arriving so late in the day was my first mistake: I got the least convenient parking, and since I was looking for a spot to pitch my tent in the twilight, I could have picked a better spot, as well. Moral: at the very least, take the Friday off and go early. Diesel Bleeper got an early arrival pass and showed up Thursday, but at Burning Man that's for people who are building stuff, so I dunno.

Then there was the problem of getting all my stuff - and remember, I'm used to Burning Man, so I pack a lot of stuff - between the bad parking and the bad camping spot, a distance of at least a quarter mile. At one point, when I reached my car, I had to refuse the offer of help from a drunk dude who was clearly interested in me. He became less interested when I mentioned my girlfriend. It's nice not having to lie about being a lesbian sometimes, and it's also nice that low light apparently makes me look more like a girl.

On way back to camp, a strapping gentleman and his girlfriend gave me and my stuff a ride on the tailgate of his pickup - only to have to pull over for half an hour to make way for emergency vehicles. Still, it was mighty nice of him to drive me to the center of things and help me carry my stuff.

I did get to hear my sister in transness Brit Hansen blow up the dance floor in the lodge, i.e. the only indoor stage. She was working CDJs & mixer like fiend. If you want to hear what it was like, she played some of the same tracks on her show for KEXP's Expansions show last night.

I had trouble staying awake past 0100, even with the help of caffeine; the lovely folks from Nectar in Portland drove their coffee truck all the way up. Speaking of substances, I only brought a third of a 750ml bottle of sake. Sobriety my have colored my view of the whole affair.

I have to say, though, that compared to Critical or The Thing In The Desert, there's not a whole lot of interest to me to do during the daytime. There was some shopping, including some beautiful stuff that was way more than I wanted to spend. Le sigh.

Excellent eye candy: unreasonably attractive younger women who do a lot of yoga & dancing and have even less modesty than I do. Ahem.

Saturday I got to see Lusine, local techno luminary with an airy, cerebral sound, at a stage with some really sweet Funktion sound. Promoter Michael Manahan seems proud if it, and rightfully so.

As I nommed some OK poutine, I got to chat with Riz Rollins, who was able to answer a "Whatever happened to" question that I'd had for years. I fondly remember grooving to DJ Eddie, mka Eddie Nonong, in the late aughts. It should come as no surprise that Riz knows Eddie. The latter has been raising kids and selling records at the Silver Platters in Sodo. (Riz busted my chops for not shopping there. It's not too convenient for me, a mostly-carless north ender, but I'll do it.)

Highlight of the festival: Sunshine Jones, who I'd never heard of. His vibe is old school, Black-church-on-Sunday house, only with some west coast acidic flavor. I got the ecstacy while stone cold sober, baybee. The lasers hitting the fir trees through the wood smoke were a nice touch.

A lot of the fun was running into people: Diesel Bleeper, Riz, Grenade in a mustache, et al.

No one offered to help me load out Sunday morning, so I walked a few miles, half of it laden with stuff. Uff da! I'll tell you what: I slept pretty well last night.

Lessons learned:

1. If you're going to go to Cascadia, show up as early as possible.
2. Bring a cart for all your stuff. There are such things as folding carts.
3. You'll probably want some substances in your stuff.
4. Bring somebody to camp with. It's a pity that the Tickler is so against camping, because she's all about the costumes and grooving.

SistaWendy: I make mistakes so you don't have to!

ETA: Grenade told me she knew I was at Cascadia because unbeknownst to me, I had introduced myself to her campmates because they had a wonderful Trans Pride Cascadia flag. They later described me to Grenade as "kind of Goth". Shallow fashion details: black patent 20-eyelet docs (perfect for the rain & mud), black & white floral Bombsheller leggings, black ruffly overskirt from cupcake_goth, hoodie with tails from Mishu, studded leather collar, black lip paint from Lime Crime. I do love to Goth up and go to raves.

I finally got around to wearing a dress decorated with the phases of the moon that I got at the most recent Goth yard sale, fully intending to go club hopping, when as I exited Capitol Hill station I felt distinct gastric distress. I stayed for maybe an hour at the Merc's excellent May the 4th night - long enough for things to settle down enough to get back on mass transit - and came home. I think I made the right decision, but there was no decision I could be really happy with.

Feeling sorry for myself, I texted the Tickler as I sometimes do. She gave me a bite from a perspective sandwich: her cat has been missing since Wednesday night. Remember, she just moved to the edge of the country a few months ago, so she knew that letting him out at night was a risk. I asked, "Coyotes?"
"Or raptors," she said.
I loved Iggy* the kinky kitty. He was a sweet cat who liked people, especially when they swatted him firmly and repeatedly just above the base of his tail.



*Named after Ignatius Loyola. He was black with a white spot at the throat like a Catholic priest's collar.

Unlike Ms. Waxy, my hair stylist razorbits decided to keep my appointment today. 'Excellent!' I thought. 'I had them scheduled too close together anyway.'

But as you know, Bob, Seattle just got whomped by 5" (12 cm) of snow yesterday and overnight, enough to keep me from my usual morning bike ride. That might not sound like much to you Rocky Mountain or Eastern types, but

1. It's the biggest February snowstorm since 1962, say the weather geeks.
2. Since big snow is such a rarity here it's uneconomical for the city to invest in much snow removal equipment, so the snow and slush stay everywhere.
3. Seattle is built largely on hillsides, some of whose steepness and height are comparable to San Francisco's.

So it was with some doubts that I set off for the E line with 65 minutes to go maybe three miles. Sure enough, the helpful little sign said the next one would come in twenty-eight (28) minutes instead of the usual ten or so. Hoofing it was not an option if I wanted to get there on time; my son has my car down in the south end, and I sure hope he didn't use it today.

So you know what I did: I jumped on FM Bike. No wipeouts, thank goodness. And no aggro from drivers, despite having to ride right where the cars go because the bike lanes and right edges were covered in thick slush. The few vehicles on the road were disproportionately US Postal Service vans, at least on the way there. One lady called me brave as I was locking up my bike. Flattering, but disturbing.

Biking on the residential streets as I usually do because of geometry? Not an option because of slush. Of course I found this out the hard way. Who do you think you're reading?

Mental note: next time I do that, wear my hiking boots instead of stompy 'Vogs despite the probability of seeing queer ladies. It just took me half an hour to get the feeling back in all my toes despite wearing three pairs of socks. God damn Raynaud's syndrome.

I'd really love to be social tonight, but nobody's going much of anywhere today or tonight. The few fun things to do that I knew about have been cancelled. Poo.

Saturday night: Cheezy Harry Potter-themed '90s ravey thing at the Blue Moon in the U district. It had been about 28 years since the last time I was in there. I'd forgotten how small and pinko it is: lefty stickers and posters are all over the wall and the ceiling, some of them possibly dating back to the '70s.

The promoters covered the pool table with paper and provided crayons and the makings for candy bracelets. I made one for myself that says "I AM OLD ENOUGH TO BE YOUR MOM". One of the DJs, Alice Blue, bounced adorably to her set at one hundred eighty beats per minute in a schoolgirl costume. She turns out to be trans. I asked her, "True or false: all the kids are enby furries."
"True," she said.

Getting home via mass transit was a long, slow bummer after 0030 as I don't think it should be from there, but get home without incident I did.

Sunday afternoon: circumflatulation frustration. Sleep.

Sunday evening: Eetz with J & R, followed by the inaugural Babe House night at the Timbre room. This night is by & for queer and trans people of color. I must say, the tunes and the vibe were right on, moving from old school to new as the evening progressed. I got my social on with random people, which you know I love to do. Sooner or later I hope to bring the Tickler or Funny Lady.

ETA: I did get to see the lunar eclipse, framed by the giant new buildings that surround the 1100 block of Howell. My son had called me while I was on the bus to remind me that it was happening. Aw!

SFDs:

• Fluevog Truths Teah
• The short, white velveteen skirt that I got from cupcake_goth at the most recent big Goth yard sale.
• The short-sleeve black velvet top that I've had forever.
• The necklace made of welded horseshoe nails that always gets lots of comments.

I did basically nothing all weekend except sleep, on Saturday, the go to the company holiday party that night, then recover. The holiday party was mostly lovely, with people all dressed up. Things didn't really get... excessive until the afterparty at the actual office starting around midnight. I hope I didn't say anything I'll regret.

SFDs:

• Gothy-Goth black beaded choker that was surely cupcake_goth's once upon a time.
• The green velvet strapless dress that used to be J's, pictured above. I wish it fit better; like most women, J is shorter and curvier than I am.
• Black Desmond pumps from Fluevog

Colonoscopy tomorrow. Hard-boiled eggs and yogurt for breakfast, nothing but clear liquids for lunch, polyethylene glycol for dinner. To quote my late father-in-law, feh.

I worked late on Friday, so I was feeling a little stir crazy by the time Saturday night rolled around. For once I paid attention to a Mercury theme: seelenschwester said "bare as you dare". As a Burner chick, I can so do that. SFDs: the pinky-blue iridescent straps-and-rings harness that I bought for the Burn, gaffer tape on my nipples, mesh skirt - I removed my overskirt upon arrival - and Fluevog Truth Melanie over-the-knee boots prevented from slouching with velvet ribbons. All MAC makeup, including screamingly pink lipstick and silver eye shadow. And I still have my Burner braids.

Got to see Much Younger Woman, who brought a date. Don't they all these days? Swapped Burn stories with a friend of durtro93's. Got a drink bummed off me, which was... a first.

Took a Lyft to MOKEDO, the venue for my 50th birthday party, for its last ever techno party. It was small but nice; Mokedo never looked so good. Proprietress Mollie Bryan seems to be holding up well to losing her space, saying she's even looking forward to taking a break from running the place and promoting.

Even so, goddamn this town and its artificially inflated real estate market. Seattle is well on its way to becoming a company town that's low on culture - again. And unlike Amazon, Boeing didn't do everything it could to turn this place into an unaffordable theme park.

As an old-school raver, Mollie had plenty of BYOB things going on. She expressed a desire to be rid of leftover alcohol. I helped out a little too much, and I've regretted it most of the last 24 hours.

After months or maybe years of not being able or willing to make it, I finally went to Pho Goth & Die near Broadway. I got to meet Goths I'd never met before - who promptly tried to get me involved in running the Gothic Pride organization. I didn't commit, but they seem like a perfectly nice bunch. Yeah, about half of us started merrily discussing our kinks; waddaya want in a group like that?

Went to Frankie & Jo's vegan ice cream across from the Merc. The cardamom flavor is even better than what I had in Sydney. If the Tickler doesn't know about this, she needs to, because she can't do dairy without unpleasant consequences.

The highlight of the evening, though, was on the way out of Capitol Hill station. There was a stunning, much younger woman in front of me on the escalator. I may have stopped climbing because oh my. I'd describe her look as Conventionally Pretty Corporate Straight Woman. Her SFDs: longish eggshell jacket, short straight matching skirt, bare legs, natural-colored suede strappy heels, carefully waved dark hair. My SFDs: Fluevog Half Truths, black hoodie with tails from Mishu, big black Chrome bag, and my Pride flag leggings from Bombsheller. She smiled at me and said, "I love your pants." Turning fifty is working out OK so far.