'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,

this week in way busy

I just told the boss how (well, not really) (more like that) I was mightily sapped by yesterday, and that it left me mighty sapped, and then I signed the email "Sappily, The Sap".  I now find myself thinking of the riches of "sap" as maybe in the league of "spot," which word love I.

I've pretty much decided I'm only doing boy drag for the queer chorus concert this coming weekend.  Was gonna do girl drag one night, boy the other, but, I dunno.  The '40s hair thing is a bit daunting, and I don't know if the welding goggles are cool enough to join my sweatery shirt, a 'do rag, and some jeans and boots for a fun Rosie kind of deal.  Meanwhile there's this marvelous shirt  bigfinedaddy has lent me, along with a fedora, and I've got good tie options, and some girl pants that look like boy pants, with their pinstripes and suspenders.

Been laughing to myself, and telling other people, how it's all drag to me.  Either way.  But the girl drag is less comfortable for me.

I've volunteered to do one of the "patter" verbal intros to a song.  Dude gave me "I'll Be Seeing You."  I do love that song.  Oddly enough, I have the movie by that name on the DVR and have started watching it these past few days, in bits.  As I wrote Tim, It involves Joseph Cotten as a shell-shocked soldier on furlough from the mental hospital and Ginger Rogers as a convict on furlough from prison.  They meet on a train.  Of course they're going to be falling in love, but that hasn't happened just yet.

Shirley Temple's in the picture, too, as a teenager, but ho hum.  Let's get back to the wounded ones.  The walking wounded.  Cuz what I like, and wasn't expecting, is that they're both, our lovers-to-be, survivors already.  They were complicated before they met.  I like that kind of story so much more than the blank-slate innocents meeting and loving and then being torn apart by war.

Ironically, the patter I'll deliver celebrates two "victories" for queers that I don't celebrate terribly fully in my heart:  the marrying and the military---the political goals I have had such qualms about our front-and-centering.

But, I mean, yeah, I'm awful qualmy sometimes.  Like I believe, as friends and I were discussing the other night, that folks doing with their bodies what they please is and must be okay with me and the rest of us, alright maybe if I had a kid I might claim some responsibility for influence there, but, like, grown-ups, and even on many things kids, autonomy all the way.  Yet when I just heard of yet another in my acquaintanceship going in for the stomach bypassing mutilation ---which yes and thank bejeebus isn't as dangerous as it once was, sure, but--- well of course I am not asserting that that's not that person's legit choice, regardless of circumstances.  I mean, I remember seeing body modification books --- like maybe that RE/Search one, not Angry Women, but from around then, what was that one called? Was that the one with the wild stretchy stuff and all? --- Oh, hell.  I got my acceptance on about that shit a long time ago, and the whole range of body altering surgeries is in the same category of none of my business.  Or course.  But oh god when there's that intersection with culture and fatphobia and big medicine and stigma and health-vs.-"health" and surely-whatever-the-idea-is-there's-got-to-be-a-better-way.... I guess I'm saying this phenomenon triggers me politically every bit as much as (and maybe more than it does) personally.

But what'm I doing.  I've gotta get back to work.  Uncertain Dynamic Systems: Stability and Motion Control.  That's right.

It's a bad week to have major freelance going on too.  I can't seem to teach the dog to do dishes and laundry, and I bet t'boot there's no conveying upon her a nice set of editorial chops and some decent typing skills.  Not to mention a willingness to chip in in that fashion.  Like, on a treadmill, so she'd be getting enough exercise too, while I go about my spate of other business.

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