Mar. 14th, 2017

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So...I finally got the first section of "Always Tried To Be A Good Girl" into postable shape and put it up at AO3, over here ( Up to 21 hits thus far, with one kudos; I personally put that down to a combination of tiny fandom, femslash aversion and most people not wanting to see Beecher and Schillinger as anything like a functional coupling, but I knew what I was doing when I came in here, so.;) I'm pretty happy with how it's going, one way or another.

Next on the docket: keep fixing up "My Wife and My Dead Wife," blurb some books, write an honest-to-goodness class outline for a potential new Litreactor class(!), on to the next section. I still keep getting notes for "Good Girl" almost every day, and remain consistently amused that while toxic masculinity really is my favourite thing ever to read and write about, the way that characters shift when you transpose them over the gender divide is quickly taking second place. I also made some small reprint sales, got a bit of money through PayPal, and discovered I've been carrying the same two tiny little checks (one of them the yearly Wildside Press bitch-slap) around in my wallet for upwards of three months now without ever putting them in. That obviously needs to change.

It's March Break, which means Cal is with me 24-7, and makes it very difficult to do anything except what he wants or what Mom's set up for him. Today I had to get him over to a dentist's appointment at 8:30 AM, during which we discovered he has no cavities but is once again on the verge of developing a new tooth that's coming straight out the side of his gum, right above an existing tooth. Since his orthodontist said all his baby teeth are gone now, I can only think that one of these is eventually going to have to be extracted. One way or the other, he's starting to look like an upright shark.

Otherwise, I started to watch Whiplash. I'm really trying not to engage with the protagonist, which is easier than I thought it might be, because he's a bit of a moron. That way I can sit there thinking: "All this for jazz? Ha ha, you fuckin' pair of knobs," and just revel in J.K. Simmons's performative contempt, as well as Damien Chazelle's genuine talent as a filmmaker. I haven't seen La La Land yet, but I gotta say, to everyone who thinks he thinks talentless white boys are the only one who understand jazz? I don't actually think he thinks that at ALL, because Whiplash makes both Neiman and Fletcher look equally, stupidly proprietary and hell-bent on misinterpreting the genre for their own fucked-up sadomasochistic reasons. That Fletcher's almost sixty and still believes all this shit about Charlie Parker only becoming "Bird" because somebody threw a cymbal at his head is beyond pathetic. Hilarity ensues!


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