“Using the platform of a magazine founded by men in academia who likely hadn’t heard of Autostraddle before now, like The Baffler, to criticize independent women’s media doesn’t indicate a good-faith interest in pushing women’s media to better itself and more suggests a recognition of the fact that feminine internet infighting is good for pageviews.”
If you’re going to come after independent, queer-owned media, doing it on The Baffler isn’t a great look. Even if you can pull the look off, where are you going to find the shoes to match? Nowhere, that’s where.
1. It is a radical and a good thing for queer women to make money through any means they can.
2. I would read “Cosmo for Queers,” no questions, one hundred dollars, right now. Love the way the OP throws “Cosmo” around as an insult, as if being a successful and profitable print magazine is somehow a shameful thing to aspire to.
This is me with my little brother, the Futurama- and Animorphs-explaining physicist. Please note my wonderful hat and his smushy li’l face.
(The dress is from Bee’s Knee’s in Oakland.)
That one tree in Africa that’s on every book cover.
This isn’t new, but I make everyone I love watch it eventually. Give it time. Let it grow on you. If you don’t have a spark of affection for it after the ginger ale speech, you can give up, but at least make it through that scene.
Because I have a lot of things, Hannah. Oh, wait. No, I don’t. I had one thing. Ginger ale.
Is my sister the Zodiac Killer? I certainly can’t explain where she was in the 1970s.
I’ll just assume she’s claiming to be the Zodiac. “@lkoturner: Taking shape… pic.twitter.com/TsaN6hJBQK”
— Nick Pavich (@Nick_Pavich) May 13, 2014
***
Just call me Oakland Red.
“The brainchild of Colonel Lawrence Varsi Castner (1902–1949), an Army intelligence officer serving inGeneral Simon Bolivar Buckner’s Alaskan Defense Command, the band was organized in order to create a unit that was fully functional with only minimal outfitting. Castner chose men skilled at flourishing in the tough conditions of the Alaskan wilderness including the native Aleuts and Eskimos, sourdough prospectors, hunters, trappers and fishermen. Their background in survival and hunting made them ideal scouts. Hard and dangerous men, they often had names in keeping with their unit’s nickname, such as Bad Whiskey Red, Aleut Pete and Waterbucket Ben. Appreciating their unique talents, Col. Castner did not enforce standard military procedures on his unit, who gave themselves the name “Cutthroats” in honor of their irregular status.”
Really starting to get the hang of Tumblr.
Stanley Lombardo, world-renowned translator of global literature and beloved Classics professor, is retiring! My one semi-exciting connection to the world of classicists is that my dad attended a dinner party while he was in seminary with Barbara Reynolds, who finished the Dorothy Sayers translation of Dante’s Divine Comedy after Sayers’ death.
Shortly after arriving in Lawrence, he met and married Judy Roitman, a KU math professor and fellow poet — “my favorite poet,” he’ll tell you, without a trace of marital obligation.
How many people get to marry their favorite poets? Stanley Lombardo and Robert Browning, maybe. (Pointedly ignores Ted Hughes.)
“It’s only a golden age if you don’t mind doing the work of telling the world that your book is coming and it’s worth reading. If you find that impossible, or embarrassing, or painful, then this is a nightmarish era for you. Traditional PR doesn’t move books any more, and a reliance on the occasional notice in a newspaper or magazine that people don’t read will inevitably lead to disappointment.”
Do you know, I find myself thinking about this not infrequently. I think I’ll feel quite stupid and embarrassed if my book doesn’t sell very well; I want to seem impressive and successful without having to try very hard, but I also feel embarrassed at the prospect of acting as my own hype man. Luckily, the cure to all ills is “just continue to exist, pretty much.” Eventually, all problems go away with that technique.
Shipwrecks are the greatest. Not at the time, obviously, but now, many hundreds of years later. Not to brag or anything, but I once toured the Mary Rose in college, so if anybody wants to make out, you know.
