We learned about feelings in our mortal history class

And tonight I brought derspatchel to Viking Zen's for Movie Night and they showed me Xanadu (1980). Fortunately there were caipirinhas, although I still have this memory of catatonically hugging the bottle of cachaça during the Don Bluth-designed sequence nobody warned me about. But there was also Gene Kelly, who was a lovely, lovely man even on rollerskates and dripping with cowboy fringe: I watched his dance-duet with the memory of his muse and I was just smiling. It might have been his last screen role, but I don't think he was capable of being without grace. And the big-band prog-rock fusion number was genuinely quite good. There are tentative plans next week to watch Big Night (1996), but only if (Alison's) Rob makes his family lasagna.

And then I came home and found the mail had brought me contributor's copies of Rose Lemberg's Here, We Cross: A Collection of Queer & Genderfluid Poetry from Stone Telling 1–7, in which my poems "Persephone in Hel" and "The Clock House" are reprinted. The table of contents includes some of my favorite poets working in the field. I am very pleased to be in their company.

And this is the world's greatest commercial.

I am going to bed before I write anything about muses.