More Teeth
It was sunny today, and the high was 69F. The trees are getting fuzzy with a spring spray of green.
My office window is open.
I had the dentist at 2 p.m., to have the tenporary crown replaced with a permanent one. And it fit well. And then, at the last fucking minute, the dentist found another cavity he wanted to fill before the crown was in place (it's a weird crown; one prosthetic, two teeth), and I ended up in the chair for three hours. That's eleven hours between two vists. Theoretically, I can now eat real food.
This morning, I did manage the line edits on four of the stories in Bright Dead Star: "A Travelogue for Onieronauts," "In Utero, In Tenebris," "101 Richard Arrrington Boulevard South,' and "Sill[er] Life From Hunger." And I had a conversation with Mike P. about MP 2.0. I'm putting together a letter that will go out to all the investigators in the project. There are six of us (that number might go up to seven), and as prime investigator, I have to keep everyone informed and everything going smoothly, and I run all the communications past Mike, who has much more experience with this sort of collaboration. When I was in school, you were told it was best to write/work solo, single-author papers would look best of your CV, and most of my papers from my twenties and thirties are solo. That huge biostratigraphy paper from 2002, that's solo. That would never be a one-author paper these days. The new vogue is collaborative science, the more authors the better, and I am learning to work this way.
God, I'm sick of the fucking dentist.
It's sort of heartbreaking, in a manner that is undebiably pleasurable, walking through the old neighborhood, down Morris Avenue, which looks so much the same and yet has changed so much. The peculiarly wealthy hipster folk, the urban gentry at the end of the world, have taken over. The building I called home for five years, Liberty House, is somewhere I could not possibly afford to live. But Jesus, I still love that part of Birmingham.
----
Something I posted to Facebook yesterday (italics as I am quoting myself). NOTE: This is not actually a dig at zoomers. This is me TRYING to understand something I find unfathomable:
Of the many things baffling me these days, "Zoomer humor" is near the top of the list. Near as I can tell, it is largely an attempt at humor that cirumvents the first law of humor: it's funny when something awful happens to someone else (puns are a weird exception)*. Or at least mercilessly pocking fun at yourself. So, we are left with these bizarre, dadaist "meme"-centric...things. Me, I'll stick with the Marx Bros., Monty Python, Carol Burnett, John Belushi, Richard Pyor, Phyliss Diller, Don Rickles, and...so forth. You cannot sanitize humor and still HAVE anything that's funny.
And yes, cultural evolution, and yes, things change. But this is something very different.
"Zoomer humor is typically characterized by absurdity and cynicism. Oftentimes the memes will be nonsensical...But absurdity is the main trait of zoomer humor." But it's not, not really. It's something more inscrutable that absurdity. Monty Python were absurdist. Zoomer humor is indecipherable, except, presumably to those in on the "joke." By the way, a LOT of these memes are self-congratulatory, contrasting Zoomer humor to how mean Bommer humor was. You know, humor BEFORE this current mess was "cringey." For my part, I take "cringey" as a compliment. If my work as a fiction author does not make you cringe, I have failed. And humor and horror are kissing cousins. When they work, both are cathartic.
Also, how is the constant use of "be like" by white folks NOT offensive? I mean, by Gen Z standards.
There were many good and bad comments. But mostly good. I won't repeat them here. You can visit my Facebook if you're interested.
---
So, yeah. Between horrific vet bills, and my horrific dental bills, and the way our rent keeps going up, and the way I'm paid pretty much in 2024 what I was paid in 1997, and the fact that I am no longer able to write the vast amounts of fiction I once did, and the skyrocketing price of groceries, and on and on and on and motherfucking on...we can presently use whatever help charitable souls feel inclined to offer. I am going to start a GoFundMe in a few days, hoping to raise just enough to cover rent for April through June, while I finish The Sun Always Shones on TV and (mostly) The Night Watchers. I pray (figuratively) that it goes well.
Meanwhile, there's the Dreaming Squid Sundries shop, and there's FREE COLOUR monster doodles with Vile Affections.
And, too, Kathryn's Patreon is up, and I urge you to take a look, and think about supporting it if you can.
But these days, everyone is hurting, and I am not special, and I understand that. Still, I have always been most proud of those stretches (most of the nineties for example, and much of the time we were in Providence), when I was able to support myself with no assistance. I don't care what gasoline costs, I still feel like a failure at times like these.
Fuck it. Doesn't matter how many books I've published or how many new animals I've named; all that matters is the bank account, and my education and IQ (149) won't save me.
And So It Goes (Same As It Ever Was),
Aunt Beast
1:55 p.m.
* It was actually one of my literary heroes, Angela Carter, who wrote, “Comedy is tragedy that happens to other people.”
My office window is open.
I had the dentist at 2 p.m., to have the tenporary crown replaced with a permanent one. And it fit well. And then, at the last fucking minute, the dentist found another cavity he wanted to fill before the crown was in place (it's a weird crown; one prosthetic, two teeth), and I ended up in the chair for three hours. That's eleven hours between two vists. Theoretically, I can now eat real food.
This morning, I did manage the line edits on four of the stories in Bright Dead Star: "A Travelogue for Onieronauts," "In Utero, In Tenebris," "101 Richard Arrrington Boulevard South,' and "Sill[er] Life From Hunger." And I had a conversation with Mike P. about MP 2.0. I'm putting together a letter that will go out to all the investigators in the project. There are six of us (that number might go up to seven), and as prime investigator, I have to keep everyone informed and everything going smoothly, and I run all the communications past Mike, who has much more experience with this sort of collaboration. When I was in school, you were told it was best to write/work solo, single-author papers would look best of your CV, and most of my papers from my twenties and thirties are solo. That huge biostratigraphy paper from 2002, that's solo. That would never be a one-author paper these days. The new vogue is collaborative science, the more authors the better, and I am learning to work this way.
God, I'm sick of the fucking dentist.
It's sort of heartbreaking, in a manner that is undebiably pleasurable, walking through the old neighborhood, down Morris Avenue, which looks so much the same and yet has changed so much. The peculiarly wealthy hipster folk, the urban gentry at the end of the world, have taken over. The building I called home for five years, Liberty House, is somewhere I could not possibly afford to live. But Jesus, I still love that part of Birmingham.
----
Something I posted to Facebook yesterday (italics as I am quoting myself). NOTE: This is not actually a dig at zoomers. This is me TRYING to understand something I find unfathomable:
Of the many things baffling me these days, "Zoomer humor" is near the top of the list. Near as I can tell, it is largely an attempt at humor that cirumvents the first law of humor: it's funny when something awful happens to someone else (puns are a weird exception)*. Or at least mercilessly pocking fun at yourself. So, we are left with these bizarre, dadaist "meme"-centric...things. Me, I'll stick with the Marx Bros., Monty Python, Carol Burnett, John Belushi, Richard Pyor, Phyliss Diller, Don Rickles, and...so forth. You cannot sanitize humor and still HAVE anything that's funny.
And yes, cultural evolution, and yes, things change. But this is something very different.
"Zoomer humor is typically characterized by absurdity and cynicism. Oftentimes the memes will be nonsensical...But absurdity is the main trait of zoomer humor." But it's not, not really. It's something more inscrutable that absurdity. Monty Python were absurdist. Zoomer humor is indecipherable, except, presumably to those in on the "joke." By the way, a LOT of these memes are self-congratulatory, contrasting Zoomer humor to how mean Bommer humor was. You know, humor BEFORE this current mess was "cringey." For my part, I take "cringey" as a compliment. If my work as a fiction author does not make you cringe, I have failed. And humor and horror are kissing cousins. When they work, both are cathartic.
Also, how is the constant use of "be like" by white folks NOT offensive? I mean, by Gen Z standards.
There were many good and bad comments. But mostly good. I won't repeat them here. You can visit my Facebook if you're interested.
---
So, yeah. Between horrific vet bills, and my horrific dental bills, and the way our rent keeps going up, and the way I'm paid pretty much in 2024 what I was paid in 1997, and the fact that I am no longer able to write the vast amounts of fiction I once did, and the skyrocketing price of groceries, and on and on and on and motherfucking on...we can presently use whatever help charitable souls feel inclined to offer. I am going to start a GoFundMe in a few days, hoping to raise just enough to cover rent for April through June, while I finish The Sun Always Shones on TV and (mostly) The Night Watchers. I pray (figuratively) that it goes well.
Meanwhile, there's the Dreaming Squid Sundries shop, and there's FREE COLOUR monster doodles with Vile Affections.
And, too, Kathryn's Patreon is up, and I urge you to take a look, and think about supporting it if you can.
But these days, everyone is hurting, and I am not special, and I understand that. Still, I have always been most proud of those stretches (most of the nineties for example, and much of the time we were in Providence), when I was able to support myself with no assistance. I don't care what gasoline costs, I still feel like a failure at times like these.
Fuck it. Doesn't matter how many books I've published or how many new animals I've named; all that matters is the bank account, and my education and IQ (149) won't save me.
And So It Goes (Same As It Ever Was),
Aunt Beast
1:55 p.m.
* It was actually one of my literary heroes, Angela Carter, who wrote, “Comedy is tragedy that happens to other people.”