Off I go to read. When you speak of me, speak of one who blogged not wisely, but too well.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 08:41 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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. . .we never talk about transexualism?

It's important, I think. Scripture says not one word about it, of course.

Thoughts?

Posted by: Attila Girl at 01:59 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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Well, I got through the day yesterday without freaking out: mostly, I did it by imposing on my mother. I crashed at her place on Friday night so I could get some stuff done in the office where I do my nonprofit work, and she fed me oatmeal and tea on Saturday morning before I washed up, changed clothes, and went in for Meeting Day.

I knew I'd be receiving some [well-deserved] criticism at the Board for some of the paid work I do for them, but I also came under [undeserved] fire afterward for the volunteer side of my activities there. And I handled both just fine. In the first case, I admitted to the problem ("yes, I do have a tendancy to misplace receipts—which I must stop doing"), and in the second case, I was feisty-but-ultimately-accommodating ("I'm sorry you don't find our system for doing this convenient, but we are a volunteer-run organization. Here's my contact information; sometimes we can very likely find a way to make things easier for you, but I'm not promising anything.")

Today will be even harder, but B. removed me from the food committee and instead had me negotiate a better rate for the room we'll be using. So my role in setting up today's event will be more on the support side, which suits me fine. I haul the supplies in. I help with the setup. I put out fires. I avoid taking control, and I don't let myself get so wound up that I snap at anyone.

(Last year, I didn't go off until the event was over, and it was because two cops saw me loading supplies into my car, which was parked in the handicapped zone. We exchanged eye contact, and I figured they were going to give me five minutes to finish loading the organization's stuff. But when I came back out with my arms full of supplies, they were ticketing my car. We had a rather spirited discussion in which a friend of mine tried to intervene on my behalf, and I eventually told her loudly that it was no use trying to get them to change their minds, since both cops were "assholes." Thirty years ago, that might have got me arrested. This time, I hope it gave them some pause about how they are getting along with the community they supposedly "serve.")

And there's an event next weekend, too. May can't come fast enough.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 04:22 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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. . . for a nice fag. I mean, really: who doesn't?

Except those who are dreaming of spotted dick. Professor Purkinje's ten-year-old daughter once asked him if "dick" meant "penis." When he confirmed that it did, she asked about the spotted dick she'd seen on English menus.

"It's a sort of custard," he explained. "If you meet a boy who really has spots on his dick, you run fast in the other direction."

The next morning he woke her up and asked her what she wanted for breakfast. "Spotted dick!" she announced.

"We're fresh out of that," informed her. "How about cereal and milk?"

Posted by: Attila Girl at 11:32 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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The Accidental Mind is getting more media attention—albeit obliquely, in this case.

But a profile in Newsweek: Fuckin' A. Furthermore, Jan Steckel is buying copies for her near and dear.

David is now Bloomsberry-in-Chief from among the Santa Monica High School Crowd of Pimentos or whatever it was that they called themselves. Unless one counts Sandra Tsing Loh. I would certainly count David Coons. That is, David B. Coons. And Nora Zungri certainly qualifies, along with Kate Sanford, Greg Turk, and Keith Goldfarb, whose icon at the top of the page appears to be a photograph of him taken by a brilliant young photographer in her 20s, using a borrowed medium-format camera.

Aw, heck. One cannot be thorough about this, but I'm starting to dig embarrassing people: I've always liked doing that sort of thing. Let's mention Eric Enderton, his lovely wife Elaine, Jon Mandel, and Mike Marinacci, as well as Janine Ellen Young.

Here endeth today's catalog, but it remains to be seen who will emerge as the group's Virginia Woolf—and who's destined to only be Maynard Keynes.

BTW, I'd actually love to see an intelligent creationist take David Linden's book on. Alas, I'm one of those "creation through evolution" milquetoasts.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 10:02 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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. . . that it isn't a freakin' blast to live near the sea. We walked down to the bluffs of Shell Beach today from my uncle's place, and it was really, really nice.

Memo to self: get rich again. Soon.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:48 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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. . . between my 70-year-old father and my ten-year-old nephew. (Well, nephew Ray will be ten in May.)

The difference is, my nephew doesn't just sort of blurt out whatever thoughts jump into his brain. My father does.

Grandpa J: If you ever want to know what Auntie Joy is thinking, just go read the blog Little Miss Attila.

Me: Dad!

Grandpa J: Oh, right. Ignore the naughty words. There are naughty words.

You know, your aunt is a Republican. She's sort of rare, inasmuch as she's a Republican who attended college.

[Thanks. Like I wanted to be out to my brother's family.]

Aunt Joy: Did you know your grandfather once came within a hundred pages of actually finishing a book? I'm so proud of him.

Nephew Ray: Keep arguing, you two. I like this.

Grandpa J: So, is your older brother (13-year-old Alan) showing signs of heterosexuality yet?

Nephew Ray: I don't think he's made out with anyone—and he doesn't talk about girls to me or my parents. But I think he has thoughts.

Grandpa J: Lots of thoughts, but no action?

Aunt Joy: Sounds like your grandpa's life.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:26 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I just took my evening sedative; if I get my page quota done today, it'll be a minor miracle. Well, that's why I set it high: I knew there would be days I wouldn't be able to write.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:15 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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