Blog Index
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Thursday
Dec122013

Happy hour

Monday
Dec092013

Mad respect for the one-and-done school of holiday light design.

Thursday
Nov142013

NaBloPoMo Out

Blog down, blog down.

I think I'm out. 

I'm still rolling with NaNoWriMo though, and really loving the opportunity to write-write, so I'm going to let BloPoGo. 

PoMoOut. 

Hang in there if you're still in!

Wednesday
Nov132013

Deer Hunting

It's deer hunting season north of here. So I hear.

My first copy editing job was for a fishing and hunting quarterly. When I took the job I was sad that unlike campus or advocacy work, I wouldn't be around queer people all day.

 I met a number of hunters. Listened to their tall tales. I listened to learn what they wanted in a magazine, to what they wanted in Bass Pro Shops, and to what they wanted in a hunt. I learned how to shoot a shotgun, how to walk fencelines to flush quail, how to behave in a deerstand and in camp, and almost how to stay warm. I learned to discern between different patterns of camo and the mating calls of turkeys. I learned that some hunters approach hunting season as an art, others as science, others as escape, or as a mission, or as work, or as a spiritual practice, or as connection to conservation, or as an homage to heritage or as a thrilling hobby. They all had their reasons. They had tricks, too, most of them put time and money and thinking into tricks, strategies, superstitions, plans and obsessions.

I knew deer hunters who bathed ritualistically, to erase themselves by removing their man-scent. They carefully dressed in their special wardrobe and spritzed themselves with the scent of apples or with actual or synthetic doe urine. They moved cautiously, thinking like a doe, walking where she would walk, mimicing mating calls or the scrape of her hooves or the antlers of lesser bucks who didn't deserve her. Their entire focus was seducing a buck, the bigger the better, wanting nothing more for hours and hours and days and day on end to pass as a doe, to pull that big buck close close closer. Close enough to possess him. 

That's when I learned that we're all pretty queer, just about different things.

Tuesday
Nov122013

You Won't Believe the Shocking Thing This Woman Did, and Then Didn't Do, and We Don't Know Which Is Worse

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by selfies, liking autocorrect lists,

dragging themselves through the digital streams at dawn looking for an easy click,

curiousity-gapped headlines drooling for the pageview heavenly connection to the traffic peaks in their analytics accounts,

who buzzworthy and upfed and status-eyed and liked sat up Tweeting in the timezoned Tweetdeck of long-dead quips scheduled along with notes of contests and easy giveaways,

who broke their blogs to Pinterest or pledged TED and became inspiration spraying unneccessary advice like Iyanla illuminated

[stay tuned to view the rest in a 40 part slideshow gallery]