Week 11 (26)
Blame
it on Anita.
Wednesday, 22:45
On the one hand: yay to the former lawmakers who’ve seen the errors of their ways, and are speaking out against the very madness they enabled years ago, and God knows I believe strongly in the power of redemption and forgiveness which most of this country seems to have forgotten (I’m just saying), so open arms and all that, mazel tov. But—
(That little voice just can’t help but mutter, how convenient. How wonderful to talk piously of righting the wrongs you did, now that it’s too late for you to take the risk of undoing them yourself. How situationally slippery. How Clintonian.)
Ah, fuck it. Let’s go mock Anita. Lookit that jacket—
Heard from the Swell Audio folks, and now I feel a little sheepish for petulantly posting a snerk at their expense, as they went out of their way to make amends. —To make sure the record’s straight: I’d always intended for them to post “Call and Response”; they did not post it without my permission. (They just hadn’t let me know right away that it had gone up on Sunday.)
At any rate: if every publisher responded to an author’s whine with as much alacrity, we’d all of us be in a better place.
Those
wacky Victorians.
Wednesday, 06:56
All hail Dr. Eugene Becklard, whomever he might have been.
What
to do, what to do.
Tuesday, 19:58 [posted 22:49]
More of a placeholder than anything else, I’m afraid. —Actually took pen to paper and made some notes about the next few Cuyahogas, since some ideas occurred as I was idly waiting for phones to ring, and I had nothing better to do than take them down. Other ideas have occurred, but since I’ve jinxed nascent projects in the past by mentioning them hereabouts before they’d fully gelled, I shall be superstitious today, and not.
Those waiting for me to take up the question of MichaelD and Amber and Amber and Mike (you wanna know how much you should trust my critical faculties? I’ve read this thing, and laid it out for Ruthie’s, and read Michael’s initial salvos in whatever this potential debate (scroll down to the Wednesday 6 March entry, “The Good, the Bad, and the Gang-Banged”) might have the potential to become, and it was only just now that I noticed the narrator’s name was Michael; of course, MichaelD wrote it as “Richard Bissell,” and while that’s a long story of a different color, it still doesn’t excuse the fact)—the whole question of whether and how and why Mike (the narrator) is evil, and the position of good and evil within pornotopia—and, of course—pornography—anyway, if you’re waiting for that, wait a little longer; it’s probably going to be this weekend before I have everything together and in one place and have some time to think about it and marshal my facts and my arguments and then dash something off at the usual last minute. —I will cop to the fact that I sputtered “This guy is evil” in a quickie note written while the serial was still being posted to alt.sex.stories.moderated for the first time; I will not, however, use that as some weaselly way of backing out. Mike is evil. In a number of ways. This does not, mind you, make him, or the story, or MichaelD, bad.
Swell Audio: I was (sort of) recommended to these folks by Vinnie (thanks, Vinnie! Go, read Victim/Victorian now!), and they contacted me about maybe running Indigo in some capacity, only they wanted me to remove the one mention (I think it’s just the once) of Lucy’s age (being fifteen, and thus problematic in the current climate), and I hemmed and hawed (still am, though mostly hawing: why not? It’s just a word. And I’d know. And you’d know. And anyone who knew anything about Victorian porn could easily guess) and ended up saying, hey, why not take “Call and Response,” and they said they’d look at it, and then nothing for a few weeks. Point being: someone clicked through to here from “Call and Response” over on the Swell Audio site. So: thanks, guys, but, you know, a note? Wouldn’t hurt? And you still wanna talk about Indigo?
Correspondence: for once, I have a backlog. (I do try to respond to just about everything. And I do like getting email. So.) If, then, you wrote recently, be patient; I’m sorry; I’ll get to you. (But I did get a note from a Blakely St. James. If you have no idea how cool that is, maybe I’ll get around to telling you, one of these days.)
Anything else? I’m sure people out there somewhere are doing something outrageously stupid to attempt to prevent someone else from getting off. —In the meantime, I’m sitting in the laundromat, tip-tap-typing away. There’s a Hispanic guy trying to show his (8-year-old?) son how to shoot pool; there’s a couple of collegeish girls in sweats unloading driers; there’s a yuppie couple (in sweats) talking about something I can’t hear from here; Archer Daniels Midland is telling me how cool it is they support PBS (public?); some guy in a leather jacket (and sweatpants) is reading “I Love Television”; and me—but we already covered what I’m doing. (No sweats. Blue seersucker pants, a Guinness T-shirt, a blue cardigan. I dress for the laundromat, darn it.) —Buffy’s about to come on, but somewhere else. The Spouse is taping it. And I’m tired.
That’s pretty much it, for the moment.
nicholas urfé
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