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Letters from Proxima Thule

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Too Hot to Live
(Waves to all the new people! Hi guys!)

In other news: grrarrgh. The tragically not-kylecassidy  but very nice and fun photographer/blogger came this morning, so I had to be up extra early to shower and make with the pretty before she got here. After being up late working and cleaning so that photographs of my workspace would not be embarrassing (like, erm, taking down the Christmas tree. Don't judge me! It's not like it was alive and dropping needles since New Year.) It was in preparation for a panel at the local library showcasing island authors on Tuesday, and we talked a lot about island life and who lives here and man I need to meet people more! We also discovered we lived in the same grad student housing at UC Davis when she was a grad student and I was a wee sprig offspring of a grad student. Crazy.

So it's a million degrees today and justbeast  and I both collapses into an EPIC NAP right after she left and my brain is still rebooting. Too hot to go into town today. Possibly we will go down to the sea and swim later, it's usually bracingly cold. But right now, zombie cat is zombie.

Zombie cat is also amazed at the nearly 300 comments on the open letter post. Damn, guys. I guess we all needed to get that out. Smudge the corners of the internet and all.

And speaking of non sequiturs and the gay agenda, I was watching a documentary on the gay men's scene in NYC in the 70s, because I am secretly fascinated with NYC of about 1976-1985ish, not just the sexual patchwork, but the music, the culture, coupled with the Satanic scare in Middle America...it's one of those things. The doc did not tell me anything reading The Motion of Light on Water didn't, except to hit home that I would be a terrbut it left me wondering. What was going on with the lesbian movement/scene in that era? I know almost nothing, though much of the gay iconography of the time is common knowledge now. The lesbian presence in the film was summed up with this exact phrase, uttered by a straight woman:

And, uh...gay women, too. I guess.

Which made me frown. Because if the straights were all screwing away at Plato's Retreat and gay men were cruising the piers and trucks Fire Island and having the Stonewall riots and all the rest, where's my lavender menace in the house? It feels like a secret history, and I'm sure it's not secret, but I haven't seen any documentaries talking about how awesome it was and there are literally dozens from the gay male side of the era. Can anyone hook me up to that history, that world? It seems like such a big gap in the general fascination with the sexual universe of late 70s, pre-AIDS NYC.

Anyway, am trying to spin up to my actual personality. This is why I hate the heat. I am a Pratchett troll. I need the cold to live and breathe and think.

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I do and don't. My...hygiene alarm pings. I want sex to be constantly available, but I don't want it to be in dirty train cars where I might get shanked.

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