No, you're not rid of me

Well, this is some disgusting weather we're having lately. schreibergasse refers to this particular species of cold wet dropping dampness as "snain" and aside from my brain's tendency to append ". . . son of Snor King under the Mountain," I think it suits. It makes the sidewalks very slippery and is no fun to walk through.

Awaiting me when I returned home from my errands, however, were my contributor's copy of Not One of Us #57, containing among other things short fiction by Gwynne Garfinkle and Gillian Daniels, poetry by Holly Day and Diane Unterweger, and my protest poem "Andromache" along with a photograph from the Boston Women's March; and a rubber-banded package of mostly lesbian pulp in the form of Gypsy Rose Lee's Mother Finds a Body (1942), Tereska Torrès' Women's Barracks (1952), and Valerie Taylor's The Girls in 3-B (1959). These are a combination of reward and research material and I am looking forward, especially if I can locate my copy of Lee's The G-String Murders (1941) for re-read. I know the film adaptation, Lady of Burlesque (1943), was heavily bowdlerized from the novel, but on the other hand it stars Barbara Stanwyck and she did know from burlesque.

And now I am in Lexington because if it snows like the forecast says it will, my mother will need digging out in the morning. It's Dan Duryea night on TCM and I am going to try to exploit this fact. Watching a movie without Autolycus will be a weird experience these days.

(I am aware that I am behind on my Patreon obligations. This is a problem I had hoped to catch up on this month and instead fell further behind thanks to a succession of non-stop deadlines in the entire second half of the month. I hope to do some make-up reviewing next week before Lunacon. Which I will be attending this year, in case anyone else on this friendlist is.)