I went to bed on Thursday, pondering the situation with Gina Carano and her getting dropped by Disney and her talent agency. By the end of Friday, EVERY ONE of my Cara Dune action figures (up until this week, portrayed by Carano) had sold. It hadn't even occurred to me to jack up the price, just as it never occurred to me to try and gouge people on Black Panther figures when Chadwick Boseman died last year.
But now, I'm going to get a jump on this, and not get caught with my pants down a fourth time (the first was when all my Princess Leia in Slave Outfit figures sold on the same day . . . the same day that Disney announced that costume/name/concept was inappropriate for merchandising). I'm going to buy up all the Aunt Jemima pancake products in all the stores, so that when the price shoots through the roof, I've got it all, baby!
Heh.
There's almost nobody at the library tonight. I got here with an hour before closing, and started writing right away, finishing the scene--which I quite like, and should share as part of a podcast sometime--where Lara has her new boyfriend over for Sunday dinner with her and Old Widow Holcomb. She has begged her foster mother to be on her best behavior, but the old woman is used to doing--and saying--whatever she wants.
Holcomb is such a delightful character to write, sort of an Archie Bunker with magical powers, that I could see myself doing one of these a year until I'm known as Old Wanker Outfield.
Sit-up Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 1373
This weekend, traditionally, is when that writers conference I go to every year would be held, and I have to say I miss it. But since I'm writing anyway, and every single day since the last one, going wouldn't make as much of a difference to me as it traditionally did. Still, maybe the various panels would have me jumping at the chance to plug my stuff on social media (read my story "Never Let Him Go" HERE!), or trying to make my female characters more complex, or asking an artist to make me some cover art, or maybe just getting inspiration on a new story from something that somebody said in a panel.
Cards on the table: they did have a scaled-way-down version of that conference this weekend, where the panelists appeared in Zoom calls or perhaps submitted video presentations, but I couldn't figure out how to watch them (I went to the site three times, clicked on various links, and started the paid registration process before I gave up, fearing I wouldn't be able to view the panels once I had paid).
So, I missed it, something I look forward to every year. And I'm sure two or three great things would've been said that would've helped me, motivated me, encouraged me, or made me want to jump out of a building. Ah well, next year.*
Push-ups Today: 134
Push-ups In February: 1189
I came across a phrase I had never heard today: Thirst Trap. From the context of the sentence, I still didn't know what it meant--except it seemed to be sexual, perhaps gay in nature--so I looked it up. I went on Facebook and posted my own example of a Thirst Trap, using this picture:
But now, I think that I may have missed the point. A Thirst Trap is when someone posts an attractive picture of themselves online, in search of people saying that it is hot, that they look good, that their bulge/bulges are quite impressive . . . begging for attention, in other words.
But my understanding was originally that it is simply posting somebody you find attractive, so that others will comment, "Oh heck yes, I want 2 B on them 2!"
THAT'S why I posted Cookie Monster. You know, to be funny.
I'm sorry I failed you, Father.
Words Today: 774
Words In February: 8920
*I originally wrote "Next year . . . in Jerusalem." But then I thought about whether that was insensitive, or could be perceived as so, and ended up dropping it. I'm not Jewish, and while I really dig those guys, it's easy to sound like one of those eff-wads on the internet I'm always seeing type (anonymously), blaming the world's ills on the Jews or the n-words or uppity women or liberal elites . . . and I don't want to be lumped in with those guys, not even by accident.
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