Thimblewinder

Trying to decide if I would prefer reading or audiobook of Mötley Crüe’s _The Dirt_.

Wow the gray floor in Atlanta is an unfortunate choice.

It’s just me and my popcorn front and center for a matinee of The Devils (1971)

Sending a package of my zines off to be acquired by the UC Berkeley library! Look ma, I got in!

Yay Valks!!!! 💜🏀

I love how the Valkyries home game is a sea of perfectly-matched lavender, players disappearing into the floor when they go out of bounds.

Just ate a room temp cannoli from Boston while awaiting my bag at SFO Harvey Milk terminal, no notes.

There is at least one guy in my hometown who drives a car with some kind of attachment that makes his engine sound 1) loud and 2) kind of like a semiautomatic weapon? Anyway, not a fan.

Fuck ChatGPT flyers. The future is broadsheets.

Watched Goodfellas last night and uttered a fond “aw!” every time I recognized someone who played a shady character on the Sopranos like I was at a family reunion. Actual MISTY EYES for Paulie Walnuts (RIP).

SF Zine Fest was SO good. Maybe I’ll write more about it or maybe I’ll save it for my journal, but people really came out and wanted zines and that is beautiful.

How “old” can I be, I’m the same exact age as international recording artist Robyn!

SF Zine Fest is this Sunday 9/6 in San Francisco! I’ll be at table A57-58 in the main room with perzines & assorted goodies. #sfzinefest #sfzf2026

“… it was time to fax my resignation to Hole.” Fax?!?!? Ugh, what a perfect and amusingly formal nineties detail (currently reading Melissa’s memoir).

Did a 1-pager zine layout entirely wrong but it’s nothing that needs to be consecutive so I’m just rolling with it. My Patreon supporters will again receive the reminder that I am extremely human.

Do you ever think about how good the blues are in Wayne Thiebaud paintings? SO good.

You know, when I was laid off from my art director job in Ed tech (FKA textbook publishing) I was very scared, but in retrospect it couldn’t have happened at a better time bc I’m sure by now I’d be forced to use AI to optimize all my cover designs [FX: too many fingers] and emails [FX: just yuck]

I love when people who don’t usually draw comics make a comic!!

Forgot how restorative it can be to have an evening of hand-sewing binding on a quilt while watching old monster of the week episodes of The X Files.

I dreamed Jonathan Richman was my troubador boyfriend; I awoke with a cat foot in my face.

I’m on vacation and I’m reading The Westing Game, my favorite book when I was nine, and thoroughly enjoying it.

As my artistic output ramps up, my energy for personal correspondence gets, uh, worse than usual, so I’m feeling proud of writing three short notes to mail off with zines last night.

Before you knock anyone for “speaking ill of the dead” it’s helpful to reflect on what aspects of that public figure’s life and conduct might inspire someone’s first thought to be “I hope it was the explosive diarrhea.” LOL.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m probably never going to own a boat, so I’d like to share my clever boat name: Mist Opportunities. I ask that if you use this name, please invite me on the boat, preferably on a cool day so I can wear my wool fisherman’s sweater.

Watching World Cup games is another opportunity to be irritated at all the celebrities in commercials. Too many! I only want to see guys (of all genders) I can’t quite place.

THAT GAME WAS INCREDIBLE

Since nobody asked, my lukewarm take on the World Cup is that I genuinely love watching games where I don’t really care who wins! All the fun of sports but none of the anxiety! Go teams!

How’s your morning? I sent a marketing email to 30,000 people with the draft subject line still in place, which COULD have been totally embarrassing, but because I’m an actual adult all of my draft titles are merely topical and boring, rather than something hilarious like “pile of farts 2000”.

Midlife hack: compliment a fellow middle aged person on their cute perimenopause-inspired personal fan. WE’RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER content.

I dreamed I was a fabric buyer; I dreamed my pal MMC was French braiding my hair.

Commercials are either overwhelmingly loud, gambling, or pharmaceutical lately, so imagine my delighted cackle at a silent pan up a very long pair of legs, abdomen, and torso that winds up focusing on the face of Kevin Durant holding a tub of CeraVe. PERFECT.

It’s not hyperbole that part of what kept the queer liberation movement going in the Reagan era was the partying part of the “bury your friends in the morning, protest in the afternoon, and dance at night” schedule. Without joy there is no air left to fight

Friday night can be anything you want! Churn your own butter; watch the NBA playoffs (like meeeeeeee)

Can’t wait for the inevitable commercial announcing Jack In the Box’s full English breakfast value combo.

Just gave bedazzling advice to a teen at work, sharing the depths of my 80s childhood craft knowledge. The circle is complete; praise Allene.

Feeling the thrill of making a damn zine about my self-imposed art residency while cat-sitting. Narrative? Yep. Little drawings? Of course. Photos I converted to halftone? Mmm-hmm. Clip art from the most perfect issue of Craphound? INDEED.

Spotted in San Francisco