104 Spam Mails, Four Boats, Two Planes and a Long Car Ride Later

So here’s a piece of advice. When a guy loading your ass onto a ferry from Cozumel to Playa del Carmen tells you the ride might be “a little rocky,” consider the difference between what “a little rocky” means to you, a dumb landlocked American, and what it means to him, a man who makes his living from the sea. Understanding that distinction will save you, I say from bitter experience, about three and a half barf bags.

What I mean by that is, God, am I ever glad to be back on dry land and in regular communication with all of you.

I have a bunch of mail to wade through from the past week, so you can expect ferrets and Galactica tomorrow bright and early. But here’s a couple of quick public service announcements before I get back to deleting offers to give me larger breasts.

First, a huge thank you to BlackSheepOne for filling in for me this past week. I hope you were all nice to her, and I’ll just pretend I didn’t see that stain on the wall in the hallway, okay? Let’s assume some bleach will get the smell out.

Second, for you three tragically undersedated people who wonder what I do with my time when I’m not here, I’d like to direct you upwards to the ad at the top right corner. Sirens is the love’s labour of my dear friend Fabulous Jennifer, with whom I once worked at a paper here in Chicago. She went to New York, worked for Entertainment Weekly, and has now started this venture, which has got to be one of the cooler things with which I’ve ever been associated.

I don’t go for women’s magazines, really. There’s way too many stories out there about how to Get Him To Settle Down and way too few about how to deal wth the fact that you’re not ready, at 27 or 35 or 42, to settle down yourself, and all he wants to do is stay home and have babies and your career is taking off. There’s way too many stories about makeup that looks like ass on real people, clothes nobody can afford, and authors who write books about women who have the same problems as the women who read these magazines, and I find the whole thing exhausting and annoying and I have yet to find a story in Cosmo that has any relationship at all to real life.

I am, it turns out, the exact target market for this magazine. I’m also its political editor, trying to move political discourse for women beyond some kind of incoherent mix of What About The Children and stuff involving our ovaries. I wanted to talk politics to a non-blog audience the way you talk politics with me: I was describing to Jennifer one night our liveblogging of the debates and the hearings and some of the stuff that goes on over at EschaCrack, the incredible energy of the back-and-forth you give me, and she said, “Is this politics or cybersex?” We get excited about it, and the magazine’s Soapbox section is all about what excites us, politically, what shakes us out of our apathy and disinterest and gets inside us and makes us fight this fight.

So give it a look if you get a chance. I think it’s going to be a lot of fun.

A.