radfrac_archive_full

inlandsea isn't ready for it to be September, so keep it up. And smile, or she'll know something's wrong.

Magnificent dental news: I chipped my tooth on a corn cob holder. One of those shaped like a miniature corn cob itself, with two vicious metal spikes jutting out of it just as in nature. I stuck it through the corn cob at an oblique angle and bit down hard. Now I have a chipped front tooth to go with the crater-riddled molars.

Will you still love me when my teeth are false?

I've just read Carol Shields and Blanche Howard's A Celibate Season and intensely disliked it.

I've finished my essay for the childless men anthology. I'd given a draft to inlandsea and stitchinmyside -- not a draft I was entirely happy with, but I was running out of time. Then yesterday I panicked and decided it wasn't funny enough. I don't know why I decided an essay about childlessness had to be funny.

I'm easily infected by the prose style of whatever I happen to be reading, so I thought if I consumed some David Sedaris essays, I could strike the proper tone of lovably eccentric homosexuality. They were all checked out at the library, but I remembered that some back issues of the New Yorker contain his work.

I looked through the stack I'd donated/abandoned to the laundry room, but didn't find any Sedaris essays. So I went to look through the various book stacks in the apartment, and discovered that very nearly every pile of papers we have contains an issue of the New Yorker. There are almost more New Yorkers in our apartment than silverfish. Does anyone want a stack to read?

I found an essay about maddened birds that I must have overlooked the first time through, read it, revised the essay, and submitted it. Now I am convinced that it is flippant and shallow and will terribly wound my mother.

{rf}