Just back from Wakanda, sporting a new brain (or what feels like one). For newcomers, this is code for… I had another tonic-clonic seizure a few weeks ago and now I’m in a Technicolor reboot of sorts where everything feels brave and new.
The last time I woke up like this… an aging hippie was standing over me in a Muppet sweater telling me I needed some serious weed. She may not have been entirely wrong.
After being seizure-free for almost three years, here I am again… feeling just returned from an alternate universe and on even more Keppra than ever before. While I’m grateful for a drug that’s given me three extra years of life as a relatively ordinary girl, it still has a way of turning me into Elizabeth Taylor every now and then. Something to keep an eye on…
On the flip side, the super-duper happy news is that last week Gotham Girl Interrupted made it to #1 in Amazon new releases and I’m finally able to attend the Annual American Epilepsy Society Meeting in New Orleans for the very first time! I’ll be doing a meet & greet here tomorrow for the Epilepsy Foundation at 2 pm at the Convention Center in Room #7 of the Exhibit Hall. If any of you are in the area, DO come by!
If you’re going to be in the New York area next month, DO come out for an evening of snarky banter as I yuck it up with fellow writer Jessica Keenan Smith of Living Well With Epilepsy for the launch of our new podcast FITS N’ STARTS—recorded LIVE at EPIC. We’ll be discussing my debut collection of comedic tales GOTHAM GIRL INTERRUPTED (or SPAZ as I like to call it).
Join us on November 15 @ 7PM. Book signing to follow. Please do RSVP to Jean Dunn at email@example.com or call 516-739-7733, ext 155.
Good God… We are most certainly in The Bad Place. It was hard not to projectile weep yesterday.
Everyone needs to rush to their nearest public library and read both Kant and Lysistrata right now. And, WTF? If the actual FBI investigation had lasted as long as Susan Collins’s social studies disquisition… There might be some evidence to support the multiple claims that this pasty bro-bag is unfit for a lifetime appointment to any job… nevermind the highest court in the land. The whole thing makes me want to rage donate… The best curse I heard on Twitter was, “I wish her (Collins) a lifetime of wet socks.” Wet socks (along with damp bath mats) are the worst and so I wish the GOP an eternity of them. How do you like them apples, you hillbilly Mothertruckers?
I remember being a girl, watching Anita Hill from our tiny town in northern California and thinking then, “Why doesn’t anyone believe her?” The saddest thing is that in all this time nothing has changed. This whole “We-believe-something-happened-to-Dr. Ford” line but that she’s somehow damaged or “mixed up” because “it couldn’t be our guy,” when there are so many people attesting to his antics just tells us that nothing has changed. We still don’t believe women… not at work, not at home, not in the doctor’s office. Republicans… Fate and fury are coming for you because… WAY to step on ALL the women—and a fair amount of men.
“If you want me, I’ll be in the bar…” —said Joni Mitchell to just about everyone.
So, I was thinking… and yes, we’ve talked about this before, but you know how I really don’t like the title of my book that’s coming out on Nov 6th? That I wanted to call it SPAZ because, as a rule, even before I broke my whole face, I owned the forking-shirt out of awkward-nerd-girl. I was one spazzy cat according to most people. However, the chain bookseller data heavily supported us NOT calling it that so now it’s named after this blog. But I was thinking I could maybe-possibly be a little evil when it comes out.
Here’s my idea: I could sneak into bookstores with a bunch of stickers with the correct title… If I got in trouble for defacing my own book, voi-la…there’s some much-needed press and what a great story to tell my eventual grandlings?!
I’m not keen on jail—so Imma buy the books, put the SPAZ stickers on, and then slip them back onto the shelves. It’s my very own split test and then we’ll know for sure.
XOXO – Gotham Girl
PS… Yes, I did scream into an entire bag of Cheetos this week b/c of the patriarchy, but I’m better-ish now. Thanks for asking 🙂
I think I officially ran out of spoons yesterday. I had to stay in my PJs today and comfort-binge the Hallmark Channel just to recover from the dumb patriarchy.
Don’t even get me started on the GOP-Brett Kavanaugh hypocrisy. It’s simply too maddening. Don’t people like Lindsey Graham and Mitch McConnell realize that if they were prospective jurors, they’d be dismissed for their prejudicial views? How do they NOT know this? But… Too many other positive, exciting things are happening!
My partners and I are shooting the teaser for a new neurodiversity-enviro thriller for Lionsgate Television. We have to move lightning fast to make our deadline, but we’ve worked on this one for a million years and so to see it actually becoming real has me holding my face and making ultra-high-pitched, joyous screaming noises that scare both the neighbors and dogs.
I’m launching a podcast with one of the coolest women on the planet… Jessica Keenan Smith from Living Well With Epilepsy. Yes, our foray into the big scary world of podcasting, (currently titled) Fits & Starts, will explore all the snarky, funny, and poignant sides of dealing with what can be a seriously humorless condition. We’ll be taping LIVE at EPIC Long Island on November 15th @ 7pm, which means there will likely be loads of bloopers. If you’re going to be in the area, come and laugh with us!
My book of ridiculous anecdotes about owning my inner electric goofball in Manhattan is coming out in six short weeks. We just had to shoot all kinds of crazy pics for publicity. I think I completely wore out my face and can no longer actually smile with my mouth.
This is it for me… Stay rad and safe, Lovelies – xoxo – gg
PS – Don’t you just ADORE that it’s finally lightly quilted vest weather?
How the hell are you? Here’s a photo from the fires (taken by the exquisite Claire Kimple). Such a powerful, quiet reminder of the ‘tude very much needed right now.
I’m sure it’s all the scorched earth… but I keep having these wildly visceral time travel dreams where I’m plunked down throughout life at my different old homes. The last one was in Vermont at a house I’d really hesitated buying. In the dream, I’m there in full-body-sensory-Technicolor-smell-o-vision. When I land, it’s always very Dr. Who and hapless as I’m typically in the yard one or two houses over. It’s usually snowing and I have to clomp back over to our house in my jams where I’m suddenly having this very David Mamet-style conversation with the new residents about having lived there eons ago. I hesitated over buying this particular house because our kids were still dinky and it was too close to the road for my anxious-mom taste. In the dream, the new people have redone the kitchen all wrong—excoriating the very heart of the house—the butler’s pantry and the dumbwaiter. And I’m there shaking my head my head at the tremendous loss when all at once, I’m physically ripped out of the dream muscle by muscle only to wake up back in NYC with my whole body clenched and sweaty. Somehow, it all feels very much like Kelly Link dream logic + Quilt Theory. (You know, from physics and the multiverse?)
Things I’ve loved this week…
It’s college drop off time, which comes with all manner of anticipation, grief and feeling just plain lucky. I happened upon this hilarious podcast adventure, and thought maybe this next act is The Parker Posey Phase of My Life?
When I need solid fashion advice I check in with Grace at The Stripe.
When I’m at work and want to stop feeling like Ingrid Bergman from Gaslight.
When I want to repeat myself (like the broken record that I am) about how women in STEM can be such a kickass setting for a riveting psychological thriller, I think of only of Megan Abbott’s Give Me Your Hand.
When I need to recall that the word “Hobo” comes from the phrase “homeward bound” and that they had their own mythologized code.
Why New Yorkers (and many other humans of the world) hate slow walkers.
RIP Neil Simon, because whenever I need a lift from our overwhelming world I always watch Seems Like Old Times.
As it goes with most things noir… The blonde always gets it in the end.
Here’s Will Bunch’s column from last month about Reality Winner, questioning why she’s getting the longest sentence for a leaker in history — after releasing some of the truth about Russian hacking that the current scuzzy administration didn’t want you to see.
I am still dealing with the bits and pieces of the CA wildfires, but let’s just hope these disgusting dye jobs get it in the ultimate end…