Tag: politics

I’m no graphics genius, but…

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.”

Dazed and Confused

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.

Waiting for the Plumber

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.

Random Thursday

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.