always drama for me. I’m the worst dresser. Trying to get better. Don’t put thought into it because I work alone. But that should not matter!
So I’m trying to wear real clothes every day. For me.
This is my go-to dress. Wear it at least twice a week.
15 bucks. From Target.
Yup.
It’s black. Which is my fave. It fits. And it’s easy.
It’s gonna rain today. But I don’t wear my galoshes. I wanna wear my new fake Chanel ballet slippers. Hmmm. What to do…
*Okay. This is not new music. But it’s new to me. So there.
Eff that Swiffer. Always running out of absorbent pads. Eff him! It was always you dear mop. Always.
Definitely like Laura Veirs. So glad I was nosy on Friday and discovered her. I listened to a few snippets on itunes and liked everything I heard: snappy folksy music with great instrumentation. And her voice is soothing. She reminds me just a bit of the Moldy Peaches, the group behind the super-amazing music on the Juno soundtrack.
It’s Saturday morning. I usually make a point to spend weekends with my family and not do any work unless it’s completely unavoidable.
Frank Lucas said he’s ready to make revisions on the book.
So I gotta go.
Left the house and came to the office to go over the manuscript before I head to Frank’s house at noon. (God help us…)
I stopped by Omar’s to get my cafe con leche.
I’ve been in and out of Omar’s for months. Never a change in his behavior toward me. He always give me a questioning look that means what do you want. Even though I order the same thing every time I come there. I tell him coffee. He grunts. He makes the coffee. Sugar? I say yes. He puts it on the counter and walks away.
Today, I come in. I’ve never been in Omar’s on a Saturday. It was bustling. All families. None of the blue-collar workers I usually see at the counter. Parents and children crowd tiny tables and eat Omar’s world famous cubano bifstec.
Omar gives me a head nod. I had to look around to see if someone was standing behind me because I knew he couldn’t be headnodding at me.
But he was.
He turned away and made. my. coffee. Didn’t ask me if I wanted sugar. Just made it the way I like it. And plopped it on the counter. His eyes were on the soccer game.
I put my dollar on the counter and picked up my coffee.
Omar took my dollar. And he said, thank you.
I’m thinking next year this time, we might actually have a conversation…
Thisbe: By John William Waterhouse 1909
I came in here this morning to write a post about how to find the email address of an editor you’d like to pitch a story to. (Stay tuned for that one… it’s good.)
And then I remembered that Blender magazine announced yesterday that they were closing. And I immediately started writing about that. (I wrote in the first issue of Blender. I think it was either on Afu-Ra or RZA. Is that bad that I can’t remember which? It was ten years ago…)
So, I’m sitting here at Starbucks, tap-tap-tapping away about Blender and Afu-Ra/RZA. And then two random white guys sit down next to me.
Like most writers, I study people. People I observe become characters in fiction. I also love to listen to how people talk. It helps with writing dialogue. (Real human speech is much more stilted than what we write. It’s very hard to capture.)
And on top of all that, I’m easily distracted. So if I’m not wearing headphones, I will definitely wander into someone else’s conversation and hang out for a while.
TH and I often play a game called Who Is That. We listen and observe strangers in restaurants and then decide if they’re dating or married, kids or no kids. Rich or poor, etc.
I start doing that this morning, watching the two guys and listening closely to the conversation… (more…)
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Aliya S. King 