Friday, January 09, 2004
Yesterday? Another loss. Write it off and move along. There was sleet. And the wayward bookshelf finally showed up. I also received contributer's copies of Argosy No. 1, which includes my short story, "Riding the White Bull," which one of the editors describes as "part film noir a la Raymond Chandler, part The Thing from Another World, with a touch of Samuel Taylor Coleridge thrown in." That's a fair estimation. Anyway, I urge you to pick up a copy ($12.95 US). It's a very, very attractive little, digest-sized magazine, slipcased, printed on high-quality paper. It's the sort of fiction magazine that we need many, many more of, stylish and smart, artful and ambitious. I'll be doing a novella for them later this year.
More marvels from Spirit. Alien stones. An alien sky. The wide and alien horizon.
As Iowa approaches, the mudslinging intensifies, reminding me why politics leaves me feeling ill and disgusted. A right-wing corporate interest group, The Club for Growth, is running television spots in Iowa in which an elderly white couple opines "I think Howard Dean should take his tax-hiking, government-expanding, latte-drinking, sushi-eating, Volvo-driving, New York Times-reading, body-piercing, Hollywood-loving, left-wing freak show back to Vermont - where it belongs."
Well, I eat sushi, and I love a good latte, and I'm into piercing. I have two Hollywood agents. I'm left-wing. And I'd drive a Volvo if someone would be nice and give me one (though I'd prefer a PT Cruiser). I read The New York Times, but only online. I'm unquestionably a freak. I've never been to Vermont, but my lesbian lover has. So, all in all, I suppose, as a Dean supporter, I'm The Club for Growth's silly nightmare made manifest. They got me dead to rights. Frell.
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