This week was a bear. A lot of work. A lot of stuff.
This was the highlight. My favorite panel is the biking-to-the-store one. Her tiny, thin legs. The determined face.
Today, I wrote about how to be a journalist:
I’m standing in the dressing room of a strip club in Texas interviewing a stripper herpetologist. There are two giggling girls crammed into a toilet stall that isn’t a toilet stall, really; it’s a gold curtain hanging in front of a toilet and that’s it. A girl with long brown hair wanders around, looking for something; she’s wearing glasses and jeans but she’s topless. A girl in a pink and black polka-dot bikini preens at the mirror. Nearby, a girl pulls up her black lace top to put on deodorant. A makeup artist applies makeup to a dancer’s upturned face; “Full face with lashes $30, no lashes $25,” the sign reads. It smells like perfume and strawberry lotion and a lifetime’s worth of Aqua Net hairspray. On the other side of the wall, the music is thumping for the girl on stage.
That made me realize I need to do some real journalism soon, or my head is going to explode.
In other news that is great, I'm doing another interview for The War Project next week.
I am ready.
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