Hello. My name is Imogen. I’ve lived in a couple places in New Jersey, a couple boroughs of New York City, a couple collective houses in the San Francisco Bay area, and a couple other places. I’ve mostly been working in bookstores in all of those places, for a long time as a novice book monkey and then for another long time as an initiate used book buyer. I’ve also played in a bunch of pretty bad punk bands and one or two pretty okay ones- before it closed, I played shows at CBGB’s with a good one and a bad one, which is probably the most subculture cachet I’ll ever get. Now that I am old I’m more post-punk than punk, though- post-punk in the “over it” sense more than the “Joy Division” sense. (“It” being the old boring misogyny that underlines punkerness the same way it permeates everything else. Not to be a pessimist.) (A flaw I have is that sometimes I fetishize bleakness.)

I’ve been a crisis counselor, an organizer with Camp Trans, a dirtbag bike punk in New York City, a book reviewer for Aorta magazine, and the writer/publisher of a zine called The Fact That It’s Funny Doesn’t Make It A Joke, which only comes out when I have an idea compelling enough to do an issue; sadly, the compelling reason has tended to be “I’m bummed out and I want to process being bummed out on paper,” which means as soon as I stop feeling bummed out- usually, as soon as I’ve processed it on paper- issues of my zine start to seem whiny and maudlin and I hide them all in a shoebox under a keyboard and a stack of magazines in my bedroom. The exception is issue 6, which collected my thoughts as I tried to have normal person hygiene- a complicated construction in the simplest circumstances, but one especially so in the context of living in Oakland and hanging out with crusty queers all the time. I kind of want to be like “I am not as dirty as I made myself out to be in that zine” sometimes, but I know that those are the magic words to the incantation that leads *poof* to falling into even worse hygiene habits immediately.

I’ve written novels and then decided I hated them and not published them in any way.

I’ve been with my girlfriend for a bunch of years and we have a dog we almost named “Practice Baby” but thankfully some good friends talked us out of it. We have tended to plant four-person queer collective houses wherever we’ve lived, where there are gardens and costume trunks and lots and lots of books.

I started this blog because I’d been using goodreads for a while and then one day I looked up and hundreds of people were following my reviews there and I panicked and stopped being able to write anything intelligent unless it was an attack on somebody doing a bad job writing about transsexuality- so I figured I needed a new context. I blogged a lot on livejournal a while ago, when I was younger and working some shit out and also convinced that my life was really interesting, but since I haven’t really felt like my life was that interesting for a while my old livejournal has withered. But I liked having a blog! So I started this one.

I’ve been reading a lot since I was little because when I was little, latent queerness and gender stuff got in the way of having honest interactions with other kids so it was just easier to relate to Lois Duncan or Stephen King, so even when I got bigger and got better at talking to other people I never really stopped feeling safe with books, so I just keep on reading ’em, in part out of habit and in part because they still feel safer than people and in part because they are what I like/like to dislike and in part because, I dunno, other reasons. You know.


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