I nearly lost my cheese.
I nearly lost my cheese.
I think this is my favourite picture of myself currently. You can actually tell my eyes are green. Why would it be one in which I’m wearing a false moustache? I don’t think I’m trans. I have actually thought about it, have thought about my relationship to my own body, my own gender, my own self-conception as a woman. I am very interested in trans issues, and have been for decades, but I’ve always felt quite comfy in this body, so no dysphoria, and no soul deep awareness of there being something misaligned between the frame and the spirit. I am repelled by the requirement for female bodies to wear certain kinds of clothes and makeup (for the convenience of men, and policed by other women BLEAUGH) and to be accoutred in very specific and specifically socially harmful, dangerous and infantilizing ways, so I’m a gender non-conformist. I might have thought I was non-binary at some point but not enough to have public opinions about it, or any ability to hold that idea in my mind as possibly true for longer than it took to acknowledge that as a cis white gal I really do have to question all this stuff since I may believe a bunch of colonial bullshit that just is not true. And no matter how hard I pull at the big ol rubber band known as reality I’m still a mostly straight cis white woman, coasting on my privileges to a strange old age.
I just backspaced over the next two sentences, and the world is a safer place. I have started taking a lot of hair off my face and I’m quite liking the results. I’m rounding out my hairline and keeping my eyebrows quite policed. Both men and women mess with their facial hair. Is it a gendered thing? oh yes.
Paul took me for a walk today and I got letters to Mary and Barry into the post, finally. Pork chomp and coleslaw and broccolini for dinner.
I am not Wilford Brimley
Allegra wisdom for the day “Peace of mind is harder to find than the outhouse on Gilligan’s Island.”
the circle a of anarchism DONE IN BISCOTTI
I M DED NOW
Not so much as a peep out of Planet Bachelor. This paragraph deleted, and there was much rejoicing. I’ve written him a letter, now I have to figure out what I did with the last stamps. Can you believe it? I bought 48 stamps a month ago and they are all gone.
I practiced for an hour this morning, including working up a mandolin accompaniment for “I Guess I Never Felt This Way,” which the kids helped me write while we were living in Montreal. Jesus, such a long time ago now. I wouldn’t trade my troubles then for now, that’s for damned sure.
Visibility outside has crashed from 3 k to less than 200 metres. A FOGGY MORN IN BURNABY.
Time to figure out what the MIT is for today… the Most Important Thing. I’m thinking letters… I have so MANY to ANSWER. Yup.
I’m not happy with my major project for next year, but honestly, if I just record one tiny little thing per day, that will still technically work, and it’s not supposed to be fun, it’s assembling my entire life’s work in one year, so yeah, it’s work. Not everyone gets the chance to do something like that, and most women throughout history couldn’t even read.
The other daily post, that is really really going to be a grind, but 2021 is going to be the year of ‘real content or die tryin’. I’ve posted all the Throwback Thursday pictures for all of November and December 2021 so progress, yay.
Just as an aside, a suicide bomber blew up a substantial chunk of Nashville on Christmas day, but the fucking media is spavining itself coming up with ANY CONSTRUCTION BUT ‘ SUICIDE BOMBER ‘ because that’s reserved for BROWN PEOPLE.
The racism of this society is heinous bullshit.
ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ ᵇᵉ ˢᵗᶦⁿᵍʸ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᶦᶜᵉ ᶜʳᵉᵃᵐ ˢˡᵃᵖᵖʸ
So this was labelled by @TheTattoedProf
DON’T BE STINGY WITH THE ICE CREAM SLAPPY
Like I said, I love this dorgle.
reddit user JjSerra photo credit
@micheinnz on twitter REPORTS as at
A ratrunner is someone who drives around too fast late at night. Because of the orientation of my bedroom window – faces west – I’m listening to the ratrunners on Kingsway. Sometimes it’s a Kawasaki or similar, blasting down the hill at what sounds, from the wound up noise, like they’re doing about a ton and a bit. There are lots of crosswalks and the roadway isn’t straight, and it’s just a terrible idea.
Anyway, they were out last night, and they are usually worse on weekends.
Despite it all, I practiced good sleep hygiene. Instead of playing on my computer or brO’s phone, I did my evening routine and then slept. Woke up at 3 on the nose, so that’s 7 hours of sleep, and I only woke up to roll over and curse the ratrunners.
@see_starling on twitter made this over four years:
Looks like a sixer’s favourite blankee!
Another fic came into my mind almost as soon as the last one was done. This one will be about the quarantine, and snow.
And, from Cory Doctorow, and who knows where besides, Kate Bush as a bat in 1978:
and isn’t the costume the sweetest hoot I looked for 20 minutes on the internet for a photo credit and gave up, fuck you uncaring universe, I try to give credit but the internet has eaten the attribution just as surely as names wear off headstones
Shown from the back, in front of high rise apartments, taken Wednesday, September 23, 2020, in the evening, a demonstrator visibly wearing a mask holds up a sign which reads
A COP SHOT A
AND WAS ONLY
FOR THE SHOTS MISSED
The demonstrator is wearing a sign saying say her name.
HER NAME WAS BREONNA TAYLOR
phone a friend
pick up prescription
3 work on tune Standard of a Crow – I was lying in bed last night and all of a sudden (this does not happen very often) I could hear all the instrument parts – guitar, octave mandolin, dulcimer and ukelele for the song – and what I should have done was got up immediately and worked on it but Jeff had been out cold for ’bout two hours at that point so that would have been rude, but I have i d e a s.
4 usual stuff on the daily list, and maybe a small shop, my bocconcini deficit is too much and here’s me thinking I’d keep my mouth shut about chichi food.
5. gotterdam I have to restring both guitars awwwwwready because I have beaten them to shit with my unrestrained whackdoodleries. There is much whack! there is constant doodlery! Jeff says he can’t hear the melodies, just me whacking the assortiment of twangy boxes in the basement
6 re cleaning: it’s all about staging and it makes me incredibly anxious and as an activity, it’s drowning in guilt and shame from unresolved ADD stuff. It’s toxic to my relationships and destructive to my mental health not to deal with it, but honestly only SOCIAL THREAT can motivate me to clean. I have recognized this about myself in the past but the learning doesn’t stick. I keep walking past the same dinosaur shit at the theme park of me, over and over again, because candidly the place ain’t that big, and saying, “WOW dInosaur shit, lookee hyar, hey, this is amazing!” It doesn’t matter how many times I see it, the lesson never sticks. It needs to stop being a lesson and start being a habit, but it takes a special desperation to think it possible to make the life you really envision for yourself out of the rags of what you’ve made of it already, in the middle of plagues and droughts and locusts and floods and fires. That or just my own special dopeynesse.
head in the clouds: