A friend of mine is making a short film and asked for my help. It’s some sort of steampunk-Western thing, so I went down to the basement to dig up my neglected riding gear and see what still might work.
The good news: I found my old chaps, and dammit, THEY FUCKING FIT. Sorry for the obscenity there, but it’s just when you have a garment that is zipped around your thighs, and you haven’t worn them in a decade, you have anxiety just looking at them. To strap on the belt — hey, it’s going to the old hole, whaddaya know? — and then reach down and bring them around to the zipper, fingers a-tremble? And then to find they fit, easily? That’s a good feeling.
The mildewy smell in the suede will be the next obstacle. I’d also like to maybe wear them on a horse again, but one obstacle at a time.
The other thing I found was this, rattling around loose in a box, yet another treasure from letters from my dear bff Deb.
We are a cruel people, journalists. Then again, sometimes those we are cruel to deserve it. Damn.
If you’d like a short list of what’s wrong with this story besides the dam/damn bit, let me lay it out for you:
** Don’t write the source’s name and lengthy title before whatever it is they’re saying. Information, then “said Smith.”
** Quotes should illuminate the information, not carry it. Especially when the quote repeats the information in the previous paragraph. Especially when it’s that boring.
** Actual drilling, as opposed to, what? Pretend drilling, I guess.
Back to work.