Last week, K. called me up and said, “We’ve already planned this, so you can’t say ‘no.’ Just be gracious and agree to it.”
“Agree to what?” I asked, already sensing that this would be something that went against my every Midwestern instinct to just pretend that, if we just never mention something, it’s the same as it not being a problem. And then she told me and then I cried like a baby.
Some of you have been asking for a way to help with the expense of the ceiling and I was ignoring your requests because that’s the same as it not being a problem. See, everything’s fine! I don’t need to accept help!
But I am going instead to just be grateful. No pressure. Times are tough for everyone, so please don’t feel obliged. Honestly, that you read here every day is more than I can ask of anyone.
But here’s the information, if you want it. I will be reading the crap out of almost everything I have to read to people on the 18th. Please, feel welcome to come. I will probably be a snotty, weeping mess, but I will be a snotty, weeping mess happy to see you.
The Butcher and I were watching videos this morning and I swear, we hit a whole block between commercials that was just fantastic. I kind of feel like we’re living in a really wonderful moment in music. Either that or I have no taste. May be either thing, truth be told.
My favorite new thing I’m listening to is Jack White’s new album. I’ll admit, I tend to love everything Jack White does for like six months and then I just can’t bear it. But eh, who cares? Those first six months are wonderful.
I also dig this kid’s dancing, a nice mix of Elvis, Michael Jackson, and then–surprise–a little breakdancing.
I’m also tickled by St. Rita’s dance. It clearly should be St. Vitus’ Dance, especially with the subject of the song, but I like the idea of the patron saint of battered women having a dance she does. Why not a little joy from St. Rita, you know?
It’s remarkable how it can say to me on one day “Well, you know, this thing isn’t right for that place, but you should go ahead and submit it on the outside chance they like it. No harm, no foul if they don’t” and then on another day say “Oh my god, they didn’t accept it. They probably hated it. You suck as a writer and should go back to just dreaming about doing it.”
Same damn brain in the same damn head. It’s like it doesn’t listen to the very pep talks it gives.