Now I can’t stop thinking about Condi. You know what I think she needs? A good slumber party. So I’m officially inviting Condi to my house for an old-fashioned slumber party. (Note to Condi: You don’t have to bring the Secret Service. There are ALWAYS “phone trucks” on my street, and I know what that’s all about.)
Me, Condi, and a few friends. (Note to Readers: Feel free to invite yourselves.) Queso and chips, plenty of Keebler cookies, popcorn, pink sponge rollers, those little thingies you fit between your toes when you give each other pedicures, a Ouija board to commune with Bob Dole and Newt Gingrich… What; they’re not dead? Whatever.
I believe a slumber party could make Condi smile. It’s just a shame that *69 and Caller I.D. have ruined the world of crank calling. I’ll bet Condi knows a LOT of good numbers.
I try not to share my longass dreams very often, because dreams are generally more interesting to the dreamer than to anyone else.
But in my last moments before waking, I dreamed that Tim and I worked for the current occupant of the White House. We were doing PR for a government program we really believed in and were talking to a group of people about it. A journalism professor walked into the room with a large poster and a candle. The slogan on the large poster said, “Thirty-five years ago, I carried this in protest.” Beneath that was a smaller poster that said, “GET OUT OF VIETNAM NOW.” He had crossed out VIETNAM and written IRAQ. He sat down on the floor in front of us with his candle and faced a mostly hostile group. Tim and I looked at each other a moment then, without a word, we both slid out of our chairs and sat down next to him, knowing that was the end of our employment.
My dream switched to election day, year unknown, and I was looking at results on TV that said Bush had received 8% of the vote. I frantically looked at the other candidate’s name to determine which election it was and saw, “Gore, 90%.” And in that split second before I woke up, I was happy because it was like rewinding a tape to a world before 2001.
It is to be hoped that everyone within the Times-Dispatch’s
circulation area is on amazon.com right now ordering Greg Herren’s books to see what all the fuss is about. I’m currently looking up places that may refuse to let Famous Author Rob Byrnes as well as Almost As Famous As Rob Byrnes Author Timothy J. Lambert appear. It’s great when the Frantic and Fearful do your public relations for you, no?
Saturday Tom and I had lunch with three of the eleven liberal Democrats we know in Texas, one of whom is a librarian. We talked about Rep. Gerald Allen’s attempt to remove and bury any GLBT-themed books now in the public libraries of my home state of Alabama.
I mentioned that I was envious that author Michael Holloway Perronne
had sent Rep. Allen a shovel along with a copy of his book A TIME BEFORE ME. My friend Christine suggested a little photo doctoring of Timothy and me, and the result is what I like to think Rep. Allen might call “Unamerican Gothic.”
Today I felt like ranting about politics and religion. Then I took a nap instead.
It’s bizarre to accidentally stumble into the blogs of Republicans.
One time, more than twenty years ago, when there were still movie theaters in malls, on a whim I went to an afternoon movie by myself. I don’t remember what movie. But it was so engrossing that as I left the theater and returned to awareness of my surroundings, I stopped dead still and thought, “Where the hell am I?” Somehow during the movie, I’d forgotten which city and which mall I was in, and the stores facing me weren’t the ones I’d expected to see.
It was disorienting and frightening.
It’s raining. And Denece e-mailed me two articles on the perils of neoconservatism. They were long and made me think too hard. Before noon. You know, life is easier for sheep. Just going along, doing what they’re told, without regard for how it affects the rest of the planet. And oddly, they can afford plumbers.
I still don’t want to be a sheep, though. Thanks, Denece.
Well, I see the idiots are at it again. And they say GLBT people have
an agenda a manifesto. If those religious extremists get away with this, soon they’ll be baptizing their dogs.
I won’t be watching any television today, and I have a feeling my friend Nora won’t either. I had no idea that she took the election so hard until I saw her at our booksigning. I love the way friends can still surprise you (in a good way) after—eek!—I’ve known her thirteen years. Doesn’t seem possible.
I’ve got so much e-mail to catch up on since emerging from the writer’s cave I lived in for the last year. All my business stuff is organized and under control, but my personal correspondence fell by the wayside. Plus I have phone calls to return. So…here I am, writing in my live journal and wondering what CDs I put in at four in the morning in preparation for today. Sounds fairly mellow so far; I’m still in decompression mode.
The writers’ meeting went well. Grievances were aired without whining or casting blame. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits, personal relationships undamaged, and writing relationships a little more seasoned. There are still things that vex me, but I’m just going to have to live with that and move on.
Barney the dog has the most personality of anyone in the White House, and they use him to good effect. His movies at www.whitehouse.gov are the only thing the White House has given me to smile about since January of 2001.