1. Back in the 1960's, some people used to say "homophile" instead of "homosexual." I kind of like that term better, since the etymological emphasis is on attraction and love rather than fucking. It seems more inclusive. I wonder why it fell out of favor?

2. My grandmother keeps bungling Voldemort's name when she tries to talk about Harry Potter. ( Read more... )

Some people edit their livejournal posts just the way they'd edit a story or an essay. I...don't. Not remotely. Everything's pretty stream-of-consciousness in here. (Telling you this is my way of apologizing for the loopy, coked-up Never-Ending Sentences in that last post. I have to work on pruning those tangled thickets of syntax that tend to crop ( Read more... )

I'm feeling betterish than I was feeling earlier today. You know how sometimes you have a giant mountain of stuff you're obligated to get done and it seems utterly overwhelming until you just start and put yourself to the first task and it takes a little while and maybe it's boring or it's slow going or you know you're not doing it as well as ( ( Read more... )

I was convinced to join a team and compete in a spelling bee. It wasn't a very competitive or well-attended spelling bee. My team came in fourth (out of thirteen), but only because I let Cole try to spell "desiccate." It was me and these two tall boys. Nerdy boys. They remind me of my friend Carrie's younger brother, which is to say that they're ( Read more... )

( That is gross and disturbing, Julia. )

Dear Lots Of People Who Will Never Actually Read This,

A couple of things my name is not:

Julie, Jules.

What my name is:

Julia.

It's not unbearably long or difficult to pronounce. It's not incredibly unusual or exotic. If you want to call me by a nickname, please ask ( Read more... )

Oh dear christ I should not have had that pizza. (At least not so much of it).  Ugh. Tonight was the night-- well, afternoon/evening, really, but it got dark while we were working-- we on the editorial board of the college art and lit magazine went through each and every one of the eighty-eight submissions we recieved this month and rejected ( Read more... )

I want to go to the river and do what my cousin showed me how to do when we were ten: catch a trout in my bare hands. Bright and wriggling, sick from what's gone in the opaque and silty knee-deep water. I want to go to the river and leave my clothes on the high rocks the way I did when I was nineteen and I was meeting this girl called Freesia in ( Read more... )

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it when I can't say anything without having my words misinterpreted somehow, and I hate the unbearable smugness and self-absorbtion of the people all around me, including the one my narrator lives inside, this one, here, in the blue skirt, sitting at a keyboard in a small room with ugly ceiling lamps. I hate ( Read more... )

Dear Voice ( Read more... )