September 12th, 2007

corset & bougainvillea

DV Cameras

Hey, video friends:

What's a good, not-too-terribly expensive DV camera? It needs to be simple to operate, easy to upload clips, and have the capability for easy memory expansion one way or another.

I'm clueless about this. Any suggestions?

Danke.
corset & bougainvillea

Reading this Friday.

Come to the 3rd birthday party for Queer Open Mic
At Vince & Pete's Three Dollar Bill Cafe
1800 Market St @ Octavia
Sept 14 - Show starts @ 8pm.
$1 - $5 sliding scale.

The third annual features only birthday show at Queer Open Mic features an all star literati line up of some of the best queer writers in San Francisco including Daphne Gottlieb, Katia Noyes, Lauren Wheeler, Meliza Bañales, horehound stillpoint, Thea Hillman, Alvin Orloff and Jen Cross.

In other words - bring the kids - this one is for the history books.

Hosted by Cindy Emch and Mollena Williams - Queer Open Mic works all year, every 2nd and 4th Friday of the month to create a space for queer folks and their pals to gather together in the revolutionary and sometimes hilarious act of sharing art. Shows are often a well structured free for all with a variety of accordions, naked readers, lap dances, musical saws, belly dancing, award winners, first timers and just about everything in between. Join us in celebrating this wacky gathering of plucky poets, performers, and perverts as we celebrate with a rocking fucking hootenanny. OMG YAY!!!

And it is a birthday party and so there will be cake. So please come out and support your humble QOM turning three years old.
close up

Long Distance Romance

After so many years on the left
side of the country, wondering when
I'd grow the ovaries to move to The City
where I was always supposed to live, The City
that I still think I might die in, eventually,
my friend asked me, "So, why are you still here?"

And I couldn't answer him immediately,
I needed time to think about how to reply,
and he interrupted my reverie and said, "See.
That's just it. You don't move fast enough
to be a New Yorker." I couldn't disagree with him,
but I was enough of a New Yorker to not admit that.

I said, "That's not actually true," and then
I went on to tell him, my speech mutating
into an Oakland/Brooklyn hybrid as the words gained momentum,
that I'm still here because I like loving New York
from afar. I like knowing it's there, like that lover
you see only once in a while, and it's always wild,
it's always hot, but you know you'll be in trouble
if you spend too much time together. You'll be so caught up,
you'll lose any ability to leave, and then you'll be broken.
You know that The City will break you.

And so, instead, you live for the red-eye flights
that seem so sordid, so desperate. There's something
gorgeous and filthy about The City and I
in our sweaty embrace for a few days or just a weekend,
a couple of times a year, while San Francisco sits at home,
waiting for me to call, to let it know I've gotten in safely,
to tell it that I love it and miss it and will be home soon.

My friend looks at me with one eyebrow cocked,
and I can tell that he's turned on by this illicit
bi-coastal affair. I take a sip of my liberal coast latte,
lick the foam from my lips, and smile.