More good news. Also on the Patreon front (the password protected directories are for Patreon subscribers), a large 6 color (black, cyan, yellow, magenta, light magenta, and light cyan, no, I don't know why the two extra; Doc's got a background in commercial printing and he has absolutely no clue, he's never seen such a thing) was given to me by a work friend of Doc's. In new condition. They just didn't want to bother buying more ink. FFS. For $20 + shipping I can get two of each color, and three black, high capacity from amazon.com. Thanks to my Tech Patron, I have five boxes of photo paper, so I can post ten or so photos and have Tier 4 Patrons pick two or three to get copies of over six months or so, autographed only if they want.
So I've got to get scanning. I have a two foot high pile of journals, diaries, notebooks and file folders of loose pages that need to be scanned in, optimized and turned around and put in some kind of logical order.
Yes, indeed, on twitter, I am following 666 people. It was a total accident. I ascribe no meaning to that or any number. But I understand that some do and might get a giggle out of it. I stopped following all "inactive" users of twitter. I'm following about 60 news/journalist/celebrity accounts that don't follow me back. The other about 600 are real people, who log on and tweet regularly, and presumably are exposed to my tweets on their time lines because twitter doesn't do any of the cursed throttling stuff that facebook does. I post at all different times of the day because I have followers from the UK and across Europe and Asia, all different timezones and I never know who's I'm in. So, if I get 6 plays from the average twitter slam/spam at the right time of day, that's 1% reach. (Yes, I'm still on this, will be for a while.)
It's finally Hot today. 105 or some such. Chewy stepped outside and started panting. He is such a pussy. He is a terrier, he has a medium to light coat. And he's little. There's a Siberian Husky and 2 Alaskan Eskimo Dogs up the street that have to run at least one full block before they start panting on a 110 day. No, Chewbacca isn't spoiled with our fancy air conditioning.
You know, I really have a lot of stuff. All of you guys have been really generous with me over the years. The letters you sent when I had a public mailing address, I still have them. The trinkets you sent me, they are here. I have a wood case of glass shelves backed with a mirror, I think Doc got it from a shop or something. It is generally referred to as my Precious Things. There be all the trinkets. With all of the stray rocks and gems I have captured. They live among the triggers of my most cherished memories.
And for those of you that have given practical things, books that are now dog-eared and highlighted, read and re-read. Computer components, though I'm down to just the two laptops, the one being nearly useless, I have all the stuff I ever got, and someone with free time and talent could build me a pretty robust Windows 98 desktop with the stuff I have. The pretty things. The drawings. The wee sculptures. All the Tigger this and gargoyle that. My entire Tigger collection was spared from the bed bug infestation. An unlicensed pillow with Tigger on it from Wal-mart got hit, but like I said, unlicensed. The art supplies, oh those! So many things have been inspired by what I have gotten in the mail from you guys. Collages, mainly. Sometimes small sculptures of wire and trinkets.
So . . . there are a lot of comments I want to comment back to. There's a really old one from Cryo, that I need to answer, it is really important. And I get scared. I know that a lot of Amanda Palmer's secret is her interaction with her fans, which is frequent and very engaged and on many fronts. That is where I need work. I suck at the banter. Whenever I answer someone on here, I always feel like I talk too much. I feel odd, not made for it. I Want to answer every comment I get here. And on Twitter. And Even on Facebook. I mean, since I don't get trolled, why not answer everyone? I'm scared.
My own experience has me scared to talk. I used to be so together, like Sai Sai sleeping on the couch top, behind me. And I'm more like Boomer, who just ran in here twitching, stopped and bit her own tail, and then ran out twitching. Some cats take on different parts of my personality. Boomer spends a lot of "crazy time" with me.
Okay, I'm done. I can't have a cigarette until I get this off my lap. And I can't put it down until I'm done because it has become obvious that Doc can't sleep and he will grab it the moment me and my coffee go to the place we can smoke. So . . . bye!