i know, i know. I KNOW.

It isn’t that I’m trying to ignore pamie.com. I am in front of my computer every single day, but between the twitter account and the photography deadline, I feel like my life gets updated. I’m working on edits for the new novel, I’m developing a half-hour with a studio (read: Yo, I got a job!), and going on meetings that range from wildly successful (see: earlier where I got a job), to not too terribly successful at all —

It’s the head tilt that kills me. When they shake your hand with their right ears to their shoulders, going, “It was so nice to see you again.” That’s it. That’s the “no.” But you actually have to wait a day or two for your agent to call to give you the official “no” that you already knew when they were like, “Hey, thanks for putting on clothes and talking for twenty minutes straight about a show we don’t want to buy. We know it’s way easier to stay home in your pajamas.”

–Then there’s roller derby and travel and the fact that I have hundreds and hundreds of words I have to write, so this space doesn’t feel like a very productive use of my time.

And, to be honest, the things I’d want to write here, the stuff that makes me enjoy writing pamie.com falls under two categories:

1. Things I’m not allowed to write about here, or at the very least I’m smart enough now to know that I shouldn’t, and

2. Stuff I want to write about but I haven’t had the time to sit down in order to write it properly.


3. I seem to be unable to write a sentence these days without having a kind of mental breakdown that involves massive use of the delete key, several cups of coffee, much rubbing of the eyes and verbal rants to invisible people, wondering why words don’t seem to make sense anymore. Sometimes I go to write one word, and a completely different one ends up in front of me on the screen. Like, three days ago I typed the word “sceene” when I meant “seen.” It took fifteen seconds of staring at the “screeene” to figure out what I had done wrong.

This cannot be a good sign.

So this place ends up being roller derby announcements and videos I saw and books I’m reading and is kind of a sad, sad space. I’m sorry. I really am, because I care very much about pamie.com. Eleven years is a long time to have this site. I just have to figure out what I’m going to do with it next.


In my defense, my lack of updates is not due to wanting to ignore you, but rather that life has made it difficult to update lately. Case in point: Moveable Type. Hates my work computer, for some reason. Hates the new Mac operating system, I think, because it doesn’t matter if it’s Firefox or Safari, but it takes forever to be able to get this new little entry box to work. I actually have to publish a blank page first in order to get access to–

hey, WAKE UP! You asked, didn’t you?

You didn’t? Oh. Continue reading


We moved into our new offices for Season Two on Monday morning. It’s been five days now, and I still keep getting lost. So much so that Correne made the kind gesture to make this sign just for me, so I can find my essentials.

Monday and Tuesday I gave myself excuses. I figured I kept getting turned around because I was distracted, or used to the old offices. In fact, both mornings I walked to our old offices until I remembered. But I’m not the only one who walks into a hallway, only to turn a full circle and stare, wondering which direction is which.

At least five times this week I walked into the kitchen when I meant to walk into the bathroom. And speaking of the bathroom — where the towels should be is a tampon dispenser. I can’t even tell you how many times this week I went to dry my hands only to have to turn in a circle. The towels are by the stalls. The tampons are by the sink. I know I have a lousy sense of direction, but this place makes no sense.

My new office is the opposite of the old one. I’m now tucked away in a corner, so easily hidden that two days ago during lunch I overheard my coworkers discussing me until it got suddenly silent, as one must have started wildly gesturing towards my door.

So, I keep spinning in the hallway, trying to figure out which direction I meant to be headed. I’ll get it eventually, but with virtually no break between season one and season two, and yet everything changing in the meantime, it’ll take a few days to get adjusted. I really like my new office, and will just have to get used to the fact that I have to be aware when lunch is over and we’re back to work, instead of hearing everyone chatting around the table.

Like… oh, I think right now. Gotta go.

At least I know where to find the coffee.


It appears this site has been on an unintentional post-Dewey break for the past week or so that might continue for a bit longer. Otherwise I’ll never get this novel written.


My days look like: coffee, dewey, clean, drive, book, work, dewey, write, book, semi-lunch, work, dewey, book, work, work, write, think, drink, read, dewey, sleep.

(As opposed to Sara’s, which looks like: House, House, House, House, House, House, House, House, House. I have seen her exactly once since the strike ended, and that was late on a Friday night after she was finished working but before she had to get up early to go work again.)

We’ve got a new contest at Dewey that ends today.

Yesterday morning I heard on the radio that 40% of Americans say they never worry about anything at all. I’m worried about those people.


So, some of the archives aren’t working, and the pretty Amazon links went away when we upgraded to the latest Moveable Type. We had to, because my website stopped working entirely for about a month. I’m sorry for the mess while we try to figure things out. But you know, the people who keep this thing running do it mostly out of the kindness of their hearts.

Glark and I are still working hard to get the newest Dewey Book Drive up and running. We picked something a little ambitious and that’s taking some extra time, but hopefully we’ll be able to launch soon.

In the meantime, you might want to send a little help over at Sarah’s amazing contest. Not only has she raised an awesome amount of money for Donor’s Choose, she’s about to have to dance in a tomato costume in Rockefeller Plaza with Claire Danes. Yeah. She really is. Go check it out and help a few kids in need.

It’s Not You, It’s Me.

No, I’m not still reading that book. And no, I’m not still listening to the Violent Femmes (thanks Delphine and Dave for your concerns about my iPod’s state).

I can’t even really blame the job, but I will anyway. I’m working, and AB’s here, and life is hard and I’m trying to get this year’s Dewey project up and running and AB’s thinking about doing a little redesign over here and maybe when the colors change I’ll feel like telling you all about Taylor, (who has stopped licking himself) or Cal (who wails through the night like a crazy woman in a ghost story), or Los Angeles (where yesterday at a Rite Aid I watched a young blonde with a post-op bandaged nose walk through the door, followed by an older Russian woman who was pushing her yippie dog in a baby stroller), or work (which is good and everybody’s really nice and I fail every day at not being the weird one), or the status of my toes (in need of a pedicure; keep dropping large objects on them), or how Sara wrote a book I can’t seem to get a copy of, and the other Sara got me addicted to So You Think You Can Dance?

But until all then, here’s something funny from Jason, Brently and Liz, filmed quite a few years ago. Look for a special cameo from my old kitchen in Silverlake.

Come back to me, Silverlake kitchen! You were so sunny and spacious, with so much counter space and an abundance of electrical outlets! Oh, how glorious it was to have an oven vent that worked, and a freezer with space for things that needed freezing! You might have been made for the extremely tall, but you were so, so, pretty. And you were attached to a garage. I miss you, Silverlake kitchen. Ti amo.

Sorry to be so absent, pamie.com.


I’m sorry. I’m sorry, everybody. I don’t mean to be neglecting this space. I don’t mean to. And then, a little I mean to. Because I’m supposed to be focusing on writing other things, and then when I’m not, I’m trying to focus on not writing. Doing other things that are healthy and good for me. And other sentence fragments.

But you’re still very pretty. Please don’t think I’ve forgotten you.

because i feel stuff.

To put it mildly, I’ve been dealing with an overabundance of feelings. Apparently this is all very healthy and normal, and I’m handling it with the closest I can come to grace. “Grace,” for me, is crying until snot falls, flailing around my bed like an angry pre-teen, whining to any friend who will listen until he or she says the one thing they all say, “You will be okay.”

Visiting my book at a store the other day, I came across Andrea Seigel‘s To Feel Stuff. I was drawn to it for two reasons: Continue reading