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every hour, every day
Sep. 7th, 2004 06:12 pmDear Livejournal -
It's been a while since we've spoken. I'm sitting at a so-called Internet Cafe (all the Internet; none of the cafe, though there's a peculiar textbook/cigar smell and some Snapples in a refrigerator) and I've got all of ten minutes to catch you up on my wossnames. In brief:
1) Elijah Wood has a crush on me.
2) But I am holding out for Zach Braff.
3) We still don't have Internet at the Sabine Hollywood Youth Hostel, though thanks to a charitable donation from our delegates in France, Comcast will be paid and the Internet will be restored circa week's end.
4) Yet, we throw a mad Labor Day barbecue nonetheless.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sorlklewis, weaselchopsaw, thassalia, wearemany, hederahelix, sinead (?), lizlet, friend one another at will and rock on with your bad selves. Thanks for all the meat.
5) By day, I remain a writer pro tem (hey,penknife, do you need me again?); by night, I'm spinning straw into gold for the Democratic National Committee, making fundraising calls from 6-9 tp support Get Out the Vote efforts, counter-attack ads, swing-state registration drives and whatnot. The file they've got us night-shift folks calling is the low-rollers list, namely, Democrats over the age of 85, on Social Security or fixed incomes, in the Pacific Time Zone. If you've ever tried to get $167 (the symbolic price of a symbolic one-way bus ticket from DC to Crawford, Texas) from a Social Security recipient who's 93 and on her fourth heart bypass, you've got some idea of how insanely spent and psychotic I am by the end of a three-hour shift.
Now for your PSA: DUDE. If you got that photo in the mail from the DNC, or if you got the other photo from James Clavell, or if you got called by some poor schmo like me, DUDE, DONATE. I will give you my whole guilt-ridden pitch if you don't. Go to www.democrats.org right the fuck NOW and DONATE.
That's all I got as far as politics go, today. Also, it's hotter'n hell here in Hollywood and I forgot my Speedo.
6) While unwired, I've read a goodly number of books that you should all also read. I've got ten minutes left on this thingy, so, hyperfast:
The Zanzibar Chest by Aidan Hartley, which is a knock-down drag-out memoir of an expat foreign correspondant, or, rather, a Brit born in Africa, returned to England, then returned to Africa to retrace his father's footsteps and also cover the hardscrabble wars of East Africa in the early 90s for Reuters. Brilliant, readable, scary, sad, romantic, genius.
Breaking Clean by Judy Blunt; memoir of a Montana homesteader and a sort of twisty and very human comparison between her homesteader farmer ancestors and upbringing against her own children's suburban teenage struggles. It reads like Kingsolver's Arizona stories, or the best parts of "Little House in the Big Woods" or anything with epic blizzards and farming, as seen through the prism of a single mom's view of her own past through her softer children's eyes. Plus Judy Blunt writes like a hot knife through butter.
Crap, that was more than ten minutes. Now I gotta sweet-talk this guy into letting me off with a warning, this time. *g*
Register to vote, if you haven't, duh. Donate to the DNC; I swear to GOD it's worth it and we need you. And, lest I forget, WATCH SCRUBS. Heather Graham, yo!
If there's anything I've forgotten, remind me. I miss you like crazy.
*
Oh, say, if you want a gmail invite, holla. I have five. Just gimme a first name last name e-mail addy in comments and I'll thingy.
*
It's been a while since we've spoken. I'm sitting at a so-called Internet Cafe (all the Internet; none of the cafe, though there's a peculiar textbook/cigar smell and some Snapples in a refrigerator) and I've got all of ten minutes to catch you up on my wossnames. In brief:
1) Elijah Wood has a crush on me.
2) But I am holding out for Zach Braff.
3) We still don't have Internet at the Sabine Hollywood Youth Hostel, though thanks to a charitable donation from our delegates in France, Comcast will be paid and the Internet will be restored circa week's end.
4) Yet, we throw a mad Labor Day barbecue nonetheless.
sorlklewis, weaselchopsaw, thassalia, wearemany, hederahelix, sinead (?), lizlet, friend one another at will and rock on with your bad selves. Thanks for all the meat.5) By day, I remain a writer pro tem (hey,
penknife, do you need me again?); by night, I'm spinning straw into gold for the Democratic National Committee, making fundraising calls from 6-9 tp support Get Out the Vote efforts, counter-attack ads, swing-state registration drives and whatnot. The file they've got us night-shift folks calling is the low-rollers list, namely, Democrats over the age of 85, on Social Security or fixed incomes, in the Pacific Time Zone. If you've ever tried to get $167 (the symbolic price of a symbolic one-way bus ticket from DC to Crawford, Texas) from a Social Security recipient who's 93 and on her fourth heart bypass, you've got some idea of how insanely spent and psychotic I am by the end of a three-hour shift.Now for your PSA: DUDE. If you got that photo in the mail from the DNC, or if you got the other photo from James Clavell, or if you got called by some poor schmo like me, DUDE, DONATE. I will give you my whole guilt-ridden pitch if you don't. Go to www.democrats.org right the fuck NOW and DONATE.
That's all I got as far as politics go, today. Also, it's hotter'n hell here in Hollywood and I forgot my Speedo.
6) While unwired, I've read a goodly number of books that you should all also read. I've got ten minutes left on this thingy, so, hyperfast:
The Zanzibar Chest by Aidan Hartley, which is a knock-down drag-out memoir of an expat foreign correspondant, or, rather, a Brit born in Africa, returned to England, then returned to Africa to retrace his father's footsteps and also cover the hardscrabble wars of East Africa in the early 90s for Reuters. Brilliant, readable, scary, sad, romantic, genius.
Breaking Clean by Judy Blunt; memoir of a Montana homesteader and a sort of twisty and very human comparison between her homesteader farmer ancestors and upbringing against her own children's suburban teenage struggles. It reads like Kingsolver's Arizona stories, or the best parts of "Little House in the Big Woods" or anything with epic blizzards and farming, as seen through the prism of a single mom's view of her own past through her softer children's eyes. Plus Judy Blunt writes like a hot knife through butter.
Crap, that was more than ten minutes. Now I gotta sweet-talk this guy into letting me off with a warning, this time. *g*
Register to vote, if you haven't, duh. Donate to the DNC; I swear to GOD it's worth it and we need you. And, lest I forget, WATCH SCRUBS. Heather Graham, yo!
If there's anything I've forgotten, remind me. I miss you like crazy.
*
Oh, say, if you want a gmail invite, holla. I have five. Just gimme a first name last name e-mail addy in comments and I'll thingy.
*
