“The weather! My God! It’s…everywhere.”
Sunny, but also partly cloudy today. Our high was 89F, with a heat index of 98F.
Despite only four hours sleep, I wrote most of the section in the chapbook involving the John Sowden House, but...I don't think the voice is right. I don't know if this is something that can be fixed with a gloss or if I need to redo the section. Obviously, a gloss is preferable. I also worked on the jugal section of MP2, and I spoke (via email) with Mike P. and (also via email) with PS Publishing. Fuck sleep. Sleep is for pussies.
We are supposed to say that anymore are we? man, if those who agonize so much over proper and inoffensive speech could hear how the circle of dykes, trannys, fags, drag queens, bears, and what have you (we only had about six boxes back then, cavefolk that we were) spoke in the early 1990s, well, they would blanch, those infinite splitters. Oh, and I know we're not supposed to say "trannys" anymore (or "trannies"), that Ru Paul got in trouble for it, but I used it to refer to myself beginning in 1989, and...it still works for me. We all considered ourselves "queer," by the way. And, you know what? telling someone the approprate way to refer to themselves is about as fascist as it gets.
Last night, another good film, Ethan Coen's Drive-Away Dolls (speaking of dykes). Loved it. It owes much to a marvelous performance by Margaret Qualley (who I also loved in Tarantono's Once Upon a Time Ago...in Hollywood). Funny, irreverent, over-the-top, smart, and just the right sort of nostalgia. Plus Matt Damon and an uncredited Miley Cyrus. See it.
Okay, hate to bring this up again, but...the Rent Party Sale is not over. We're close, but no cigar. Not qute yet. I'm gonna draw you attention to a couple of things in the shop. First, an ARC set including both Bradbury Weather and Living a Boy's Sdventure Tale. And the other thing, and the other thing, the trade hardabck of the very long out-of-print Tales from the Woeful Platypus (2006). You can't go wrong with either of these. And you'll be helping us get over this line. Thank you.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
Despite only four hours sleep, I wrote most of the section in the chapbook involving the John Sowden House, but...I don't think the voice is right. I don't know if this is something that can be fixed with a gloss or if I need to redo the section. Obviously, a gloss is preferable. I also worked on the jugal section of MP2, and I spoke (via email) with Mike P. and (also via email) with PS Publishing. Fuck sleep. Sleep is for pussies.
We are supposed to say that anymore are we? man, if those who agonize so much over proper and inoffensive speech could hear how the circle of dykes, trannys, fags, drag queens, bears, and what have you (we only had about six boxes back then, cavefolk that we were) spoke in the early 1990s, well, they would blanch, those infinite splitters. Oh, and I know we're not supposed to say "trannys" anymore (or "trannies"), that Ru Paul got in trouble for it, but I used it to refer to myself beginning in 1989, and...it still works for me. We all considered ourselves "queer," by the way. And, you know what? telling someone the approprate way to refer to themselves is about as fascist as it gets.
Last night, another good film, Ethan Coen's Drive-Away Dolls (speaking of dykes). Loved it. It owes much to a marvelous performance by Margaret Qualley (who I also loved in Tarantono's Once Upon a Time Ago...in Hollywood). Funny, irreverent, over-the-top, smart, and just the right sort of nostalgia. Plus Matt Damon and an uncredited Miley Cyrus. See it.
Okay, hate to bring this up again, but...the Rent Party Sale is not over. We're close, but no cigar. Not qute yet. I'm gonna draw you attention to a couple of things in the shop. First, an ARC set including both Bradbury Weather and Living a Boy's Sdventure Tale. And the other thing, and the other thing, the trade hardabck of the very long out-of-print Tales from the Woeful Platypus (2006). You can't go wrong with either of these. And you'll be helping us get over this line. Thank you.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast