Lazy Friday post: or, this is just fun to watch

Big Friggin Announcement

Hello, loyal fans. Many of you think of me as a close friend, a confidant, perhaps a sex object. And those of you who don't know me personally certainly think of me as a bringer of news, a blogger, a paranoid whack job. Well, here's a new title for you to put by my name in your brain books' margins:

Writer.

Real, serious, honest-to-god-is-getting-somewhere Writer. I don't know if you all know this, but there's no time like the present to come out with it: I've been writing about sex and pornography for several publications and for my own book project for almost two years now, and it gets weird. Being a practical, if not radical, feminist, an intelligent, career-minded woman, and a porn writer all at once can be surreal and sometimes even difficult. But, as a writer, the money is what matters. And so is the chance to turn my experiences into a column or a book, that would maybe someday turn me into a capital-W Writer.

That day has come.

I have just landed, in no uncertain terms, a column at McSweeney's Internet Tendency. They announced it. McSweeney's is a great website, but also a prominent publisher of books by notable authors, including (I can't help it, I've gotta name drop here) Dave Eggers. And they LIKE ME! Gah!

I'll be publishing, starting sometime between now and mid-October, two columns a month for them on the subject of being a sex writer and a woman, and the issues/weirdness/hilarity that goes along with it.

I waited a few days to post this announcement because, honestly, when I got the initial e-mail I was at first too excited to type anything. I literally slammed my hands on my desk, got up and jumped up and down for a good minute, then danced around and tried to get my heart rate down to a safe level. For the next two days I convinced myself that I'd dreamed it and that it was, in fact, too good to be true.

But now it's online. And as we all know, once it's online, it's forever.

As for how this development will affect my blogging on this here site, I can't say just yet. This fall is going to be a big lurch forward for me as far as the amount of material I have to produce each month, and along with my many other projects, my blogging could be taken back a notch. We'll have to see what happens. In the meantime, I'm gonna just bask in my Writerliness. Is that a word? Hah! Who cares? I'm a Writer! I just MADE it one!

(PS - Also just got word that an anthology featuring a story of mine, which was supposed to be released in April originally, is finally finished. A buy online link with more info should be available soon. I'll post it when it is. GOD, I'm on FIYAH!)

For Jenelle

Prepare to go on a trip, whether you've eaten drugs or not!

Good Things Should Never End.

The great mosquito conspiracy: or, I am really itchy...

The mosquitos are in league with somebody, folks. Some force of evil out there has caught on to my prophesying and has hired a force of mosquitos to hunt me down and persecute me mercilessly for trying to warn the masses about their plans to kill off humanity. It might be the slime molds; in their multi-species proclivities and doom-mongering depravity, they would seem to be rather well disposed toward going into cahoots with a group of blood-sucking, still-water-loving jerk-offs like mosquitos. But then again, it could be the robots, because they know it'd seem unlikely for them to team up with any organic life form and therefore I might not catch on to their little scheme. Or, god help us, maybe it's the slime-mold robot! God, I hate that guy.

Anyway, the point is, I'm wise to their game, whoever it is that's overseeing it. I'm no dummy. I know the difference between the acceptable number of bites I can expect to get in an evening of sitting outdoors in the city. For me, the number is higher than it is for many, since I've always been a mosquito magnet, but it hovers somewhere around 3. 10, however, is unacceptable, abnormal, and extremely f-ing uncomfortable. Especially given that on the night in question, during which said 10 bites appeared, I was with a group of at least 6 people at all times, none of whom have told me they are suffering from a single bite. Furthermore, for much of the time in question, I was seated in a beer garden the size of a football field, surrounded by hundreds of other people. There is no way that my 10 bites are proportionate.

And, yes, I know it's been a wet summer, leaving more than the typical amount of standing water sitting around in the city and leading to a lot more mosquitos than there usually are in the urban colossus. I know this. But even my usual high level of attractiveness to vampiric bugs, multiplied by the above-average number of the little monsters hanging about, still does not equal the overwhelming number and intensity of bites I'm trying to cope with in this hot weather. It's just not mathematically correct (yes I've done the math, but it's way too complicated to post up here. Most brains just can't handle it.). These bloodthirsty cretins are after me, specifically. I'm certain of it.

I know it sounds paranoid. I was thinking maybe it was. So last night I put my theory to the test and took a chance on walking outside in a friend's backyard to see his tomato plants. It was around 11:00, and we stood out in the garden for less than 2 minutes. When I went back inside, I told myself that if I didn't have any mosquito bites, I'd let the mosquito-robot/slime mold theory go. If the bastards aren't really out to get me, I'd be unlikely to get a bite in such a small amount of time.

Well. When I walked back in and looked down at my knee, there was a mother-f-ing mosquito ON IT, sucking out my lifeblood. 2 minutes, people. 2 minutes of outdoor activity (during which I was constantly swatting the air, running my hands over my limbs, etc, in pre-emptive fear of blood-letting), and I was already a banquet.

That's it, you bastards. I'm on to your game. You will NOT drain me to the point of hospitalization, thereby shutting down my warnings about your plans for world domination and doom! I will not leave my readers in the lurch of your evil scheming! Anopheles quadrimaculatus, you, your gang of buddies, and your robot/slime mold employers will not bring me down!

I bought some bug spray, dammit. And I'm using it every time I step out the door. For all your scheming, mosquitos, you're pretty easy to repel with storebought spray. So take that and shove it up your proboscus! I'm armed and ready. Bring it.


(Post Script: I figured all this out last night and am now carrying my bug spray in my purse, displayed prominently near the top to warn the suckers that I'm not afraid to fight back. Well, whoever it is that hired the mosquitos to track me is apparently on top of things. This morning, at the 59th and Lex stop, I got literally attacked by a COCKROACH. They're bringing in the big guns. I was walking toward the staircase to the street, and a cockroach the size of my big toe suddenly came running at me--me, specifically, out of the entire crowd of people!--from across the stairwell. Well, screw you guys. I can carry Raid around, too, if you want.)

The underutilization of English majors: or, how I plan to make a living...

Well. I have not been posting much lately, and I do apologize. I've been going through an intense period of thinking about my writing as per its career aspects, and where I'd like to consciously take it from here. It's been quite overwhelming and stressful, and I've been pretty busy to boot.
But I think something is afoot. Last week I purchased a new computer, which will arrive in a day or two and hopefully make my life as a would-be writer easier (the one I have now will no longer work unless hooked up in just-such-a-way to one single socket in my apartment and no other, nor will it connect to the internet, no matter what type of connection I try to establish; its Graphics driver has stopped working, and I think it basically just wants to die, so I'm letting it), I'm embarking on several new projects (co-producing, casting, story editing, and generally helping a friend with his awesome webisode, taking night classes in Illustration and publishing starting in a few weeks, and working with a musician on an album), and... oh my god, you guys... I just accepted a year-long, once-a-month column at McSweeney's Internet Tendency!!! AAAAHHHH!! I'm a writer!! Holy crap!!!

!!!!Exclamation points!!!!


...ok. Now that that's over with. There's a reason I'm exposing you all to my own self-congratulatory festival. Namely that, with all these projects and classes going on, I'm looking at my schedule and thinking: "This is nuts. How am I ever going to make time for all this without going crazy?" And, of course, since I'm at work, my brain is giving me sneaky answers like: "You're probably going to have to quit your full-time gig at the gallery." Which, my other, less sneaky, brain answers with: "That's ludicrous. How could we ever pay our bills?"

To which my third, more rational yet also creative and fun brain, answers: "Work the English major angle."

Ok, I know some of you are probably snorting with laughter at that. "What English major angle?" you're giggling. "That's no angle at all!"

And it would seem you'd be right.

But think about this. When's the last time you walked down the street, drove down the road, or even sat down at a restaurant without seeing a grievous error in spelling, grammar, or punctuation? I might see these errors more often than others because I live in a predominantly Spanish-speaking neighborhood, but I'm sure many of you share my annoyance when you're handed a menu at a decent dining establishment and find an option like "Chicken Brest" or "Sasoned Rice." It's infuriating to me because I'm trained to notice things like that, and I would imagine it's mildly annoying to other people; but more importantly, it hurts a business when the people who write the signage and menus are made to look like fools to their clientele, or to anyone else who can read. Websites are even worse; I don't really even want to talk about the horrific crimes committed against the English language on the Web. But, suffice it to say...

That's where I think English majors should come in. Like many other people these days, English majors are hurting for cash and jobs, but unlike many other demographics, for English majors this is almost always the case. We're the slightly more academic Art Historians of the modern world; we have lots of practical knowledge but rarely find good ways in which to use it. Why not mobilize against the forces of stupidity? Why not take arms against a sea of idiocy, and by opposing, end it?

I think, if in my frantic writing/singing/running about this fall, I should lose my full-time job, I would march directly from the gallery over to Staples and have 250 business cards with my name and number and the words "English Major for Hire. Will proofread, edit, and correct any and all signage, menus, and online text."

I'd then go around to every business I could find and drop off my card. Simple. You pay me a very small amount, I fix your language problems. My fees would be modest. $5 for all your signs. $10 for signs and over-the-counter menus. $20 for paper menus. Maybe $.05 a word or something websites, maybe less (haven't done the math to see if that makes sense). It would benefit everyone: the business and its employees would look smarter, which would draw more clients, and the general public would be exposed to less bad English, thereby reinforcing good English.

Soon enough, we'd have a movement. English majors being paid for what they're good at anyway, making some money to pay the bills, and feeling good about their decision in college. More people knowing how to spell and use punctuation. It'd be a happier, better world.

Now, I know I'm too busy right now to start this revolution, but who knows what might happen in the next few months? If I do get kicked out of this high-falutin' gallery anytime soon, I'll start it myself. And if not: English majors, I urge you to unite! Help your less-educated neighbors learn how to spell! Become a positive force in your society! I emplore you! Please, for the sake of the Chicken Brest with Sasoned Rice.