Yet another brannigan with Keith yesterday, once again via text. I made the mistake of telling him that black people are finding his current starryeyedlove fandom ‘problematic’ around race. His response was the kind of white hot and manly flameout one might expect.
If somebody walked up to me and said, “The treatment of race in Dorothy Dunnett’s oeuvre is problematic, especially the novels set in the modern Caribbean!” you might get a faceful of rapidly exhaled oatmeal, followed by me saying, “No shit! What it is! Gimme some skin, sister!” but I wouldn’t defend it. I would call it a problematic fandom, and I would be able to give examples and counterexamples of how that’s so.
Keith’s basic argument was I don’t see it so it isn’t there. Plus, the tone argument.
My many failures as a mother to provide my children with adequate tools to overcome cognitive bias are being written on the world, and there’s bupkes I can do about it. Heaving sighs over here.
Leo and Linda treated myself and Paul (Jeff declined with thanks) to Bombay Bistro last night. It was splendid and yommy and now my paltry return to them is a pot of oatmeal currently burbling on the stove.
Paul was singing and playing with me on the back deck when they arrived, and so that was very pleasant, and we’re also rehearsing for next weekend, but with the bug situation (Keith has found another live bedbug in their apartment, so the cheap exterminator turned out to be an expensive exterminator) we don’t know if Paul is going.
Buster is teaching Miss Margot to hunt.
I’m going to check on the oatmeal.