The international adventures of a singing, dancing zombie queen.

Monday, February 28, 2005


Oh my goodness... what in the world am I going to do without livejournal??!! It's so intensely sad that I am freaking out over my lack of LJ... damn maintenance. SHeESH!
And now that I've read CURLY GIRL already today... Herm...

It's pretty sad when you're waiting for work to come in. I suppose I can find some more poop to do... I think there's still a pile of mystery paper somewhere for me to go through and sort... Herm... Or I could triple re-sort the drawers... Or play with ACCESS... Maybe that's what I'll do; I'll try to make a query to find out what paperwork I can send far, far away to the land of storage. Ah, work. Dontcha love it?

At least tonight I can go to ~hopefully~ the new Burlesque class with my lovely super-friend, and then we could go and shake it at DG... Oh, the bumpin' and a-grindin' tonight. We're gonna dance the cooch!

I am really enjoying HBO's Carnivale, for those of you undecided about whether or not to watch it. It does start a bit slowly, but it's picking up nicely, fun to watch the characters... I like it. I wanted to put in a picture of the girls doing the cooch, but I can't seem to find one...

Okay; I'm going to jockey some database, baby.

Sunday, February 27, 2005

See me dance!

So, upon request, here is the reel that I am in for the dance class!!

It's quicktime only right now, but there's a link to free downloads on that page.

Where's the hope for White Chocolate?

I heard from the women that I took self defense class with that the man who has assaulted one woman on her doorstep and beat the shit out of her, and raped another woman at gunpoint three blocks from my house has raped another woman. And yet a careful of young men thought it would be a good idea just now, in the pouring rain and darkness of my corner, to stop their car at the intersection and yell at me, "Hey there, white chocolate!" and not drive away. And I really didn't feel like running into a different apartment building or something, like perhaps I should've so that they wouldn't see where I live. But now I'm thinking of taking the IMPACT Weapons course, so I'll have a better idea of what to do if I run into that guy.
There are some things that I just don't want to think about.
I was on my way home from a meeting with my dance teachers, who brought all of the dancers together to make the possibility of paid work seem more real, so that they can get a better sense of commitment from us. It made me feel scared. I think it is because I'm at a place in my life where everything seems so up in the air; my whole life can change based on how my grad school applications are responded to, this puts my job and relationship in jeopardy, and makes me feel crazy because I feel most safe when I can plan things in my future. But I can't plan much, because I don't know whether I will have to possibly start school in the summer or fall. And I don't know if I can rely on my relationship, I don't know what to do about having a job that wants to be able to make me commit to it, but won't know for months whether they can commit to me, and I don't know if I will be able -- or want to -- commit to it. And here come my dance teachers, who I want to respect and trust, dangling the opportunity of a dream life of performing, even just part time, that may or may not happen, that I may or may not be able to commit enough to depending on where my future may or may not lead me. And it's terrifying for them to say to me; trust us; give us your all; when I really want to, but know that it isn't certain. It makes me super emotional and scared.
But, on the other hand, I do know that I can rely on myself. And what they are asking from me is mostly that I discipline myself; commit to getting back into shape, and stay that way. It certainly isn't the idea of committing to rehearsals and performances that weirds me out; when I know I have a show going on, then being there for rehearsals and changing my life to work around that schedule is a given. What is really frightening to me is putting my hope on the line. Probably because I have so much hope out there already; school, relationship, moving, traveling.... And all of these things are somewhat out of my control right now; I've done most of what I can in those situations, for the time being. But to hope for dance; it requires such an immense amount of discipline and hard work and sweat and tears and pain that it's really hard to commit to without supporting that commitment with a large amount of hope and exaggerated expectations.
I suppose that I should take my own advice from earlier today, and think of my friend who has come to the bay area and created for herself the beginnings of a career in film, from which she is actually making enough money to get by on. It's stunning, really, what she's done. And I am nervous about putting myself in that venerable position of testing how good I am, since in some ways that feels like what I am doing with my grad school applications.
Isn't there some way I can flush some of this fear and anxiety out of myself and get back to the bravery that I know is inside of me? I know there must be... I just feel like my soul needs a hot sauna and a thorough scrubbing. But how?

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

"Did you see what God did to us?" ~Dr. Gonzo, Hunter S. Thompson

No more Hunter S. Thompson. There was a lovely article in the SF Chron today about HST, I particularly appreciated David Kipen's acknowledgement of the time it will take for HST's literary reputation to recuperate after his suicide. The conservative bastards who will waggle their chicken-greased "I told you so's" and crumby cruciform "You see what happens when you break the rules??" all over the glory of his writing for many condescending years to come. Ironic that the iconic flaunter of freedom from America's pressures to conform should be so impinged upon by the expectations of society in regards to such a basic, personal freedom as the choice of life or death.

The moral of this story is: You should read his books. And if you need reminders as to why you should read his books, you can look at some of my older entries.

Herm... I was just re-reading some of my stories from my visit to Vegas. I really, really want to go back there, and soon. I wish the hotel roomage were cheaper. I need to make friends with some folks who work in a Casino. I want to go and see Zumanity again. And there is a large road trip in honor of HST leaving San Francisco and Los Angeles for Vegas on March 24th. They're encouraging people to rent red convertables and REALLY do it up. I'm tempted, actually. I suppose I should email the guy... Here was the post I saw on LJ:

"We're leaving San Francisco and Los Angles for Vegas on Thursday night (March 24th, 2004]. Meeting up in Barstow. Thursday night.

Then on to Vegas.

Bring your own red convertable and ether jar.

No really. We're doing this. Email:

I'll see you before the bats see me.

Forward this. Put it on your blog. Post it somewhere cool.

I haven't had a two-week hangover in a few years.

Let's party and show the man we'll miss him."

Now, doesn't that sound tempting?

Friday, February 18, 2005

I heart bonni.

I'm sitting at work with nothing to do, and so I am pretending not to be blogging by writing this out in an Outlook email. Heh. It's been a little bit ... foreboding-?- to think about writing about Bonni. The sad truth of the matter, if you haven't already heard from me, is that she was hit last week by a car while she was crossing the street, and now she's in the hospital in a full body brace. She's going to be okay; she broke lots of important bones, but somehow managed not to splatter her innards, which is good.

There was a cabbie who saw it happen, and chased the hit + run Cadillac through town, onto a highway, over a bridge at 85 mph, while radioing in to the cops, who caught the guy because of it. And it's pretty fabulous that the guy will go to jail for what he's done to one of the most amazing, talented, beautiful women in the world. But he's been arrested before for drug offenses, driving drunk, driving without a license... So there doesn't seem to be much chance that he will somehow have managed to get insurance that will help with Bonni's plight. And Bonni was a retail slave, so she certainly didn't have any insurance. The hospital is trying to help her, there have been talks of bands playing benefits for her, and there is an account that people can donate to. Please, please do!! You just go to Washington Mutual and ask for the account under her name, Bonni Suval.

But all of these things won't even begin to cover the frustration and anger she has at having her life fucked up. She was just starting to make things work for her in New York, she had come to Seattle to play a show with her band in honor of their CD being released, and things were finally going good for her. And she deserves things to go well for her. Her quota of shit for this lifetime had been filled years and years ago. So, she finishes her concert, and crosses the street just a few hours later to be smashed into with a "sickening thud," after which she flies through the air and lands on the sidewalk and refuses to wake up. Who would want to wake up after that? I'm sure parts of her wish that she were in a coma through this healing process she's embarking upon.
He broke her tailbone, her back, her femur, her arm, her scapula. He fractured her ribs and her skull. And now she has to be in the hospital for probably at least three months, where well-meaning nurses try to change her body-brace, not realizing that it's attached to her leg. Bonni is a hardcore motherfucker. When she is sick with pain, you know she's not talking about some measly triple-root-canal-/quintuplet-birthing sort of pain.

You sick, sick fucking world.

And here I am, lusty with my drive again. Last night was the first time in 8 months that I've smiled in the middle of painful dance class exercises. And it felt good. I thought about the results of my grad school applications, and realized that I will be okay no matter how they turn out. Because, if I don't get in, I'll just apply to another school, and another school. And maybe it will take me an extra year to actually get to grad school. But there just isn't any reason for that to freak me out. In a couple of weeks, I will be next to my broken bonni, and I get to tell her that her life is going to be okay again, and that she can pull it back together after being tied to a sterile rack for three months. And I better believe it. That is my job. I can handle a possible postponement of my schooling, even though I've spent the last eight months thinking that I would lose it if it doesn't work out the way I want it to. But that's just ridiculous, because it could've been me walking across the street and getting hit and run. At least I have insurance, and job security. And I can handle some changes of plans.

I think that being reminded of that is making me feel a whole lot better about life.

She used to "trick" me into these situations... this time we had to do a photo shoot. Another time, it was for her performance art. Ah; the art of Bonni.. Posted by Hello

This is the Vampire Bat that my cousin, Cooper drew. His lovely mommy sent it to me as a Valentine. Yey!!! See, my influence stretches even though I haven't seen him in two years!! Hurrah! Posted by Hello

The Bonni is beautiful. Even when La Bete has scratched her nose. Schtinky wouldn't let that happen to her. Posted by Hello

Me and the lovely Bonni showing off our then-brand new tattoos... I love the Bonni!!! Posted by Hello

Friday, February 04, 2005

Crayzee watch...

On Tuesday? I think... I had a day full of crazy ladies. And not in the rollicking, vodka-drinking hotties sort of way, either. The first one was at work. She was really sweet, and really, she wasn't that crazy. It was mostly that she was about 40, and wearing pink pants with little dirt stains on them, and a banana clip in the side of her greasy, brown hair, diagonally holding a clump of hair behind her ear. And she talked sort of like a ten year old girl. She and her-- husband? son's baby-mama's (giving birth that day, which was why she was there,) daddy?-- were hanging out in the smoking shelter, and she commented on my shoes. She said things like "those are really cool. I like them. Those are cool. Yeah, I like cool shoes." And she was missing some teeth. In fact, she was missing almost half of her teeth. EVERY OTHER TOOTH was gone. Not a whole clump of them in one spot, but every other tooth. It looked kind of like she just had some really big gaps between her teeth. Man; at least floss wouldn't get stuck in there.
Later, I took the shuttle to the BART station at 16th and Mission, and there were some characters there, too. Immediately as I stepped on the sidewalk, an Hispanic woman came trundling past me, yelling, "those black bitches better stop talking shit! They better shut the fuck up! Those black bitches! They better stop talking shit!" She was wearing a knee-length skirt, and seemed to be totally speeded out of her mind. And, on each shin, she had at least 7 nickel-sized, black abscesses.
Then, I crossed the street, and stood next to a big young white boy-punk who had a little natural-red mohawk, and was playing electric guitar with a little amp in his backpack. He was playing Sabbath riffs, which was pretty damn sweet, so I stood next to him. Over his chords, I heard the voice of the next lady in question. She was tall, over-skinny, and African American. She was wearing clean clothes, but looked fairly cracked out, and got very excited about discovering an abandoned sleeping bag. "I got soooo much boogers!" she said, "I got boogers for sale! Come get your boogers for sale! You can pick 'em out! All kindsa boogers! Boogers for sale!!"
Ahhh, commuting.....
On a good note, the guy who I'm not working with has been deemed unable to return to work by his doctor. He'll be out at least a month, and he wants to go on disability, so this is good for him, too. They're putting me up to full time, and letting me be fairly flexible with my hours, although I will have to set them. eew. I'm great at working, I just don't feel very excited about having to worry about being late, ya know? Especially when I have a commute that varies by up to an hour, depending on whether I walk to BART, which train I catch, and whether--like today, both ways--I miss a shuttle and have to wait an extra 20 minutes for the next one. Poop. But all in all, it's a good thing, and if the gods of bureaucracy smile down upon me, I will get yet another raise/promotion. yey!
Here's hoping....

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Dance & Fitness Faculty member at San Francisco Peninsula Community Colleges, Director, Choreographer & Featured Dancer, Founder of the Living Dead Girlz, and Owner of the Steele Dance Company, which provides entertainment for festivals, corporate events, conventions and private events. Teaching private dance lessons and creating choreography since 1997, Steele graduated from the University of California at Berkeley with a Double Major in Dance and Comparative Literature and completed her Master of Fine Arts in Dance and Choreography at Mills College. She has toured all the major cities in Germany and performed at the Cannes Film Festival as the featured dancer in TRIP -- Remix Your Experience, a multimedia exhibition of film, live music and art. Steele has also performed as a featured dancer for RJ Reynolds (CAMEL) promotional events. Steele currently manages the go-go dancers of "Poor Impulse Control," who perform frequently in San Francisco's industrial, alternative, and rock venues.