"I've asked myself, 'How much do you commit yourself?'"
This is me trying to push the anger away, trying to pretend that I am not, in this moment, blindingly angry with every stupid motherfucker who voted for Trump or who voted third party or who simply refused to vote or who wrote in the name of someone who wasn't even running. Now, add to the long list of things we wouldn't be suffering under Clinton: The appointment of Jeff Sessions as attorney general, a man deemed too racist for appointment by the Reagan administration. Now the whole country gets to be Alabama. And we get Tea Party celeb Mike Pompeo as CIA chief. And Michael Flynn. Oh, but wait! My bad. Clinton and Trump are EXACTLY THE SAME, aren't they?
My mother's calling this the Alabamazation of America, and she's spot on.
It's sunny today. The sky is wide and blue and carnivorous.
A good writing day yesterday. I did 1,004 and found THE END of the still untitled thing. I have a maybe title, but I'm not yet entirely sure. Also, more talk with Katharine Duckett at Tor.com, starting to nail down dates for the book tour. I'll be doing Mystic, Connecticut, it turns out. That one was unexpected, but cool. I should be posting some dates soon.
There was a trip Outside, to the post office on Thayer Street and to Eastside Market and Whole Foods. Back home, there was spaghetti for dinner, and then Spooky and I failed magnificently in GW2, attempting a five-person fractal with only two people. And then I packed up my Asus laptop, the huge stealth jet of a gaming machine I bought in April 2011 so that I could play Rift, and it was also used for SWtoR and City of Heroes and Villains, for Wildstar and The Secret World. But I no longer play any of those games. So, I'm sending the Asus (aka "Zoe," aka "the Anus") away to storage in Pawtucket. May I never again have to suffer a Windows box. Anyway, after getting our asses handed to us by the fractal, we watched George Stevens' Woman of the Year (1942) and H. C. Potter's Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (1948), two of my comfort films. Woman of the Year is, of course, the first Tracy-Hepburn film. When I was a kid, my concepts of romance were formed by Hollywood films from the thirties and forties. And Tracy-Hepburn films are, for me, romance for grumpy intellectuals with hearts of gold.
Today, we have to carry a load of stuff to the storage unit. Tomorrow, I'll be putting together Sirenia Digest #130.
TTFn,
Aunt Beast
My mother's calling this the Alabamazation of America, and she's spot on.
It's sunny today. The sky is wide and blue and carnivorous.
A good writing day yesterday. I did 1,004 and found THE END of the still untitled thing. I have a maybe title, but I'm not yet entirely sure. Also, more talk with Katharine Duckett at Tor.com, starting to nail down dates for the book tour. I'll be doing Mystic, Connecticut, it turns out. That one was unexpected, but cool. I should be posting some dates soon.
There was a trip Outside, to the post office on Thayer Street and to Eastside Market and Whole Foods. Back home, there was spaghetti for dinner, and then Spooky and I failed magnificently in GW2, attempting a five-person fractal with only two people. And then I packed up my Asus laptop, the huge stealth jet of a gaming machine I bought in April 2011 so that I could play Rift, and it was also used for SWtoR and City of Heroes and Villains, for Wildstar and The Secret World. But I no longer play any of those games. So, I'm sending the Asus (aka "Zoe," aka "the Anus") away to storage in Pawtucket. May I never again have to suffer a Windows box. Anyway, after getting our asses handed to us by the fractal, we watched George Stevens' Woman of the Year (1942) and H. C. Potter's Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (1948), two of my comfort films. Woman of the Year is, of course, the first Tracy-Hepburn film. When I was a kid, my concepts of romance were formed by Hollywood films from the thirties and forties. And Tracy-Hepburn films are, for me, romance for grumpy intellectuals with hearts of gold.
Today, we have to carry a load of stuff to the storage unit. Tomorrow, I'll be putting together Sirenia Digest #130.
TTFn,
Aunt Beast