rm | proper sundries

First, see earlier sundries.

I am starting to formulate an idea about the Luhrmann CFP thing. It's big, it's bold, it's sorta batshit insane, because of course the idea isn't just "what should I try to convince someone I'm qualified to write about?" but "how can I make this useful to the narrative of my existence?" Maybe I'll fail, maybe I'll succeed and maybe succeeding at this would be the worst thing imaginable, but I have a plan, or half of one, at least. And I can't believe that thing I wrote about sex work and my adventures in Australia is coming out in an anthology this year. Oh, actually I can. It's bloody PERFECT. There is never anything I have done without hope of reason.

I'm actively not working on writing the abstract for the Bristol conference at this very moment because my priorities need to be this essay about Madonna and the Powerpoint for the Snape paper at Dragon*Con and polishing the fic I'm reading at D*C and making more D*C plans for footage and audio recording, both for my own project and for a podcast I'm now involved with.

I also just finished a major and pretty awesome report at work, and it's just nice, suddenly, this very brain life I'm living. But seriously, I think my whole writer, actor, personality, pop-culture, independent scholar, person who talks about themselves thing is starting to come together. Like, really, really come together. It's super weird, and it feels exactly right.

That said, I don't always use the full power of my brain, 'cause if I do, it's very hard for me to be in the world. And I'm struggling a little bit right now, because I'm all wrapped up in linkages and words and ambitions.

The last week or so has been a struggle -- long hours, strange moods and a lot of frustration. But I've managed it with more grace and quiet and calmness than I usually do, and that's good. Patty, of course, has been super lovely to me and taking care of me.

Squirrels are fearless fuckers and they need to keep away from my plants.

Man, it is so bad out there in the world, it's hard to even formulate a response some days: http://onemildrat.livejournal.com/35643.html

And wow, I am really not kidding about the awesomeness of this outfit.

I find myself surprisingly sad at the death of Ted Kennedy. Being me, my response is more based in this event as the end of an era, than it is about current political realities (although they are deeply relevant). Kennedy was an epic figure, and it wasn't just because of the last name.

I remember watching him in the presidential debates of 1980, back when it was a civic duty to tune into the conventions and listen to big men with well-coiffed hair talking about how they would lead the world. I remember one of the debates so vividly, the contestants sat in the deep chairs that were the very height of modernism; I was so young, and I watched how they slouched and sprawled and tried to take up space to look powerful -- it is my first recollection of the body-language of men.

I find I cannot think of Ted Kennedy's death so much of an end of an era, but more as the national recognition that, that era ended long ago.

We are diminished today, and also more truthful.