Today I collated, folded, stapled, stuffed and stamped all the zines going out to subscribers.  For the most recent issue, I asked those subscribers to send me writing prompts, like “Write about All the Horses” or “Write About Madonna,” and then I did exactly that, just as they came in, 22 small essays on 22 topics.  One small page each.  It’s a certain kind of writing to write for specific amount of space.  I like this a lot, actually.  You begin forming and changing the narrative in your mind as you see the box filling up, realizing you only have two or three more sentences, and then sewing it up becomes its own kind of challenge.  So, if you are reading this and you are soon to get one in the mail–some details may be exaggerated.  As per always with me.  As per always with anyone.

While all the above was happening, Kip was working on a tattoo he is designing and drawing for a friend’s shoulder–flowers and things, very non-literal allusions to her children and partner’s names.  It’s a nice way to spend the day, working quietly in separate rooms on projects and peeking in on each other for no reason.  It’s a small bonus to living together that I hadn’t anticipated.  Or did anticipate, but even now, almost six years later, I’m thinking about it.

Daniel Radcliffe is terribly sexy.

For dinner we were at Bashi Channel for soup dumplings and dan dan noodles.  It’s all good there, but you wish it were great.  The short rib is good, but not as good as mine, for example–and when you go out to restaurants, you want the food to be better than you would or could or feel like making at home.  The Weekend Punch was good–vodka, sake and seasonal fruit, I am not sure what it was other than pomegranate, but that was welcome.

Now we’re going to watch Spotlight via a screener copy that arrived in my hands via someone at the market.  That’s right, farmers get screeners.  Everybody relax.

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