I discovered - not much to my surprise - that the only pink clothing I own is a pair of pink underwear, so I wore them under all black clothing.
I turned my work desktop pink and I have a Dalek and a weeping angel at my desk.
I listened to the free internet radio station that usually reliably gives me at least 2 - 4 Bob Marleys a day. Alas, it only gave me one and that was just as I was leaving for lunch. It did serve up 2 Lenny Kravitzes which I mentally dedicated to ita, and a bunch of Death Cab for Cutie, which I always associate with the show The OC, which I always associate with ita, and I got the Time Warp.
I had to make do with ginger snaps at 3 pm, but it seemed doubly appropriate.
Was it the episode "Out of Gas" that ita moon was mentioned in?
Kat, could you forward the letter I wrote to ita's sister? I think she'd like it.
Hamilton. I bet she would have had thoughts about Hamilton.
"Immigrants! We get the job done."
I was thinking about that the other day, Dana, and I couldn't remember if ita ever discussed musical theater.
Anne, ita's own two flickr accounts are here and here.
(sob) Ginger's collection of ita photos is here.
Jesus. Yeah, Ginger did that for us. For ita.
I don't remember the story behind the pink gingham junta. I know that it's a thing (obviously), but I realized I can't explain it to Tim. Can someone remind me of its genesis?
Steph, alibelle explained here. Also, I think it was also wrapped up in the Group of 7 and us taking over the board? Or something.
Wore black and pink today, though unphotographed. And thought about ita, so much. A few nights ago I pinched a nerve in my right arm sleeping wrong, and it's been pinging and throbbing ever since, and even at that very low level (maybe 2.5 out of 10 at most) it's been unrelenting and miserable. And all I've been thinking about is what a tiny shriveled speck of discomfort it is compared to what she endured daily, for years, with such fury and grace and eloquence.
Through it all she worked, wrote, drew, coded, belt-tested until she absolutely couldn't manage it, baked, joked, ficced, photographed, loved the hell out of her family,
functioned.
Somehow. Past what anyone else could have managed, past what any human should have had to endure, in the face of bureaucrazy and bullshit and petty administrative nonsense. I can't imagine what steel she was made of that she not only endured but created and mattered and fiercely lived through it; I still can't believe she's gone, and I still almost can't believe she was real, is real, that this world ever had the capacity to contain her improbable self.
