Camp NaNoWriMo word count: 41,478 by Saturday morning, 27 April 2019 

One thing: I could go the rest of my life without yet another version of Les Miserables. I never liked that story to begin with. 

And second, watching Shields and Brooks on PBS Friday evening, I am reminded that I would prefer not to  have to vote for yet another old white man for president. [Insert here every disparaging remark spoken by white men about Hillary Rodham Clinton during the last election—and remind yourself that she still won the popular vote—and apply those terms to any old white man currently running for 2020. Many of the women too, but it is the old white men who irritate me—old white men talking about other old white men. Then apply narrow and smug to the men you are thinking of.) No, I never liked Biden. No, not even if he were the “reassuring” choice, and no, I do not think he gets it. Those who think saying he is sorry if he offered because “times have changed,” do not get it. His perpetual invasion of women’s personal space is not merely offensive because times have changed, it was always creepy. His intentions are largely irrelevant because sexual harassment is not based on the perp’s intentions but on the victim’s perceptions. All those offensive men after the Anita Hill hearings who said they thought women liked being harrassed, that they were flattered by the attention. Can’t you take a joke? That is the essence of sexual harassment law—and Biden is dodging responsibility with the way he talks about his actions. Admittedly, his behavior bothers some people less than others, it was always troublesome whether anyone complained or not. The only thing that has changed with the times is that women feel freer today saying they are offended.  

Don’t get me started about BS.

A review on Rotten Tomatoes has the writers of The Avengers series talking about what death in a film most shocked them, and all I could think of was: more middle-aged white guys talking about the deaths of imaginary white guys after writing a series about yet more imaginary white (mostly) guys. And look at the image on top. Seriously. Does no one even notice?

We deliberately chose to stay at a place without media or internet access. And the greatest thing about being at the Sylvia Beach Hotel for most of three days is that I did not have to see or hear a thing about Trump. He is not a decent human being. 

I ran into a former student Friday at the coffee shop—these happy meetings happen often—whom I had not seen in 19 years. It was impossible to believe she is in her later 30s; she looks just the same. Friday was my last writing-meeting with another former student, which has left me a little sad. I know many writers who have writing groups. For years I tried to find a writing group. One group liked getting high, another did not like fiction. One did not like me. I spent most of yesterday writing, feeling sad, and accomplishing nothing beyond that. I had left soup in the fridge when we went away and we had that for breakfast. I made toasted cheese sandwiches for lunch. I did not walk on the beach. We have nothing for certain planned for today. Three more days till the end of April, the end of the Camp NaNo challenge. The sun shines. It is time to shut down.