Candy Perfume Girl

Here we are on a college football Saturday1 (GEAUX TIGERS!) and all is quiet in the Lost Apartment. I ran errands yesterday, got the mail, picked up my copy of the new Tananarive Due (yay! Hello, October Halloween Horror Month!), and after working at home, I did the laundry and cleaned up around here–somehow the kitchen had somehow gotten out of control again–while the Real Housewives screamed at each other on my television. I don’t know why I find that so entertaining, but I do and I am not apologizing for it. (And yes, I am going to write about it at some point.) We also watched The Traitors: New Blood and started the new American Horror Story: 13, which hurray for Jessica Lange, and hurray for Joey Pollari, who is playing the male lead–been a fan since catching the young openly gay actor in American Crime, an excellent anthology series from the 10s that didn’t draw near the audience it deserved for its writing and incredible cast, which included Regina King in every season. (I’ll watch Regina King in anything.)

I also went back through the book cases and massive TBR stacks to pick out an ambition list of reading for October, especially given how little I’ve been reading lately. My rereads are going to be The Dead Zone (long overdue for a reread, at least since 2016) by Stephen King and The Amityville Horror by Jay Anson. The new to me reads, if I manage, will be Christina Henry’s The House that Horror Built, A House with Good Bones by T. Kingfisher, and Shadowlands by Peter Straub, which I’ve never gotten around to in the forty years and more it’s been available (people always say their favorite Straub is Ghost Story; mine is Floating Dragon); I started it when it was first out in paperback, but never finished. I guess it didn’t grab me, but I grabbed another copy when I read a really interesting piece about it sometime earlier this century. (I also met Straub at Stokercon in Nassau, Long Island at least fifteen or sixteen years ago–the same conference I first met a pre-Gone Girl Gillian Flynn. Both were delightful and charming.)

I actually started my reread of The Dead Zone, and while I only got a few pages into the prologue, I was immediately reminded of why I love King, and that Johnny Smith is probably one of my favorite King characters, and while this book was always overshadowed in my mind by The Stand, which is my favorite King, as the books were released consecutively. I remember back when King was still a new writer and unappreciated by critics and reviewers while his books were literally flying off the shelves–one of my English professors in college, was very disdainful when he noticed I was carrying a copy of Firestarter with me, again shattering any thought I may have had about pursuing English as an undergraduate major because the professors were the worst kinds of snobs and my fellow English majors put no thought into their reading or analysis that wasn’t spoon-fed to them by the professors, whose egos definitely needed stroking (they all had mediocre minds).2 The irony is that while King has always done work of the highest quality, he was unappreciated while he was doing his actual best work. That run of novels, beginning with Carrie and ending with It, is probably unmatched by any other author in the canon of US authors; certainly in horror and crime….and those earlier works stand the test of time; I’ve reread all of those books numerous times.

Yes, a revisitation of a King classic is de rigeur.

Yesterday was a stunningly beautiful day. When I walked out to the car to run said errands, I was amazed at how gorgeous is was outside: warm but not excessively hot, and a coolness to the air that was very refreshing. Then I got in the car, started her up and looked at the temperature gauge and laughed. It was 86 degrees outside–but it wasn’t humid, which makes all the difference. (It’s currently 77 degrees outside; the kind of weather where you want to sit outside and read….or would, if I had a comfortable place to sit outside and read.) This is how the summer breaks us here. Anyway, as I drove around I was reminded again of how beautiful this city actually is, and again how lucky I am to live here so I can be continually inspired by this stunningly beautiful city.

I ordered myself a pair of Apple Beats Pro to finish off the gift card Dad sent me for my birthday. One of the most annoying thing to me about the new iPhone I got last year was that wired earbuds don’t work when plugged into them–and besides, I can’t use earbuds and my hearing aids at the same time. The other night when Paul came home I realized he uses over-the-ear headphones that wirelessly connect to his phone and a long overdue lightbulb turned on over my head. I can use over the ear headphones too, so I went ahead and ordered them. They came this week, but alas, I haven’t had time to set them up yet, so I intend to do that this morning. Just in time, too–since the weather has changed (hopefully for good) and I can go for walks now with them. My goal is to go back to the gym in January, and I need to start building up my stamina before that return.

At this point, kicking Ed Sheeran when he’s down is a bit mean and bullying, but I did laugh when his shows at Kraft’s stadium wound up canceled because of this huge nor’easter heading for New England, which has me worried about my friends up there. Take care everyone, don’t take unnecessary chances, and stay safe up there, okay?

And on that note, I am going to get cleaned up and head into the spice mines for the day. Hope you have a marvelous Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be here bright and early before the Saints game tomorrow. See you then!

Love this image of birds over a bayou near Lake Borgne.
  1. Very bad news for the Tennessee Vols, though–Trump is coming to their game with Texas today, and wherever he goes, the home team loses. I don’t like either team, but will watch and hope for a good game. ↩︎
  2. My college experience remains the biggest disappointment of my life. I expected so much more than a continuation of high school, you know? But…I also went to two really shitty colleges. ↩︎

To Have and Not to Hold

Friday work at home day blog and here I am in the Lost Apartment, sipping coffee in between the windows. Sparky’s sleeping in a puddle at my feet and I am very excited for the day and the weekend. There are some excellent games to watch on Saturday (GEAUX TIGERS!), and of course, tonight there’s a new episode of Traitors: New Blood, which I can’t wait to see. After bingeing so many seasons, it really is torturous having to wait a week for a new episode. Heavy sigh, but that’s okay, really. Bingeing has really changed how I watch television, hasn’t it? We had started the new season of The Gentleman on Netflix last week, but despite the appeal of one Theo James (Christ, there should be a law against being that pretty), I didn’t get into the season 2 premiere, and haven’t exactly been itching to get back to it for some reason. I was thinking I might go back and watch the earlier seasons of The White Lotus so I’m not mindlessly scrolling through Youtube videos. It’s not only addictive, but it’s time consuming.

I worked more diligently on the short story last night, and almost have my new first draft finished (even though I am using the same title, the same story but with a different perspective, which I think is working). I am pretty pleased with it; it’s a very strong draft I should be able to get finished later today. It’s amazing how much I enjoy writing, but my process has changed–as I have changed–and it takes me longer to write than it used to. I used to be able to average about three thousand1 per writing day when working on a book; short stories are a different animal, but I don’t remember it taking me this long to complete a first draft of a short story; it’s a do-over of one I finished years ago but couldn’t place anywhere, so I tore it all apart and put it back together completely differently. I personally think it works better now, but I won’t be surprised if the anthology I am writing it for doesn’t accept it. Not that it isn’t good, but it’s not the kind of crime story people usually are looking for when compiling an anthology of them.

When Paul got home last night, we finished watching a documentary called A Killer Story, which is wild; true crime documentaries are absolutely terrifying to watch, especially when you see how easily a prosecutor can convict someone entirely on a theory with little to no evidence to corroborate their theory of the crime. Documentaries, though, can easily be manipulated to convince the viewer of their point of view, something I’ve noticed before. (One of Americans’ biggest fears is wrongful imprisonment, along with not being believed; being wrongly accused of murder and put on trial is definitely terrifying.)

I slept pretty well last night, even if Sparky got me up before seven. I’m a bit physically tired this morning–the Achilles tendons again–but I know once I get cleaned up I’ll feel more recharged. I have a meeting this morning, after which I am going to go run some errands. It being 9/25, the Krewe of Dolly is having a second line in the Quarter today for our departed Queen, Dolly Parton. If I could walk that far, I might have gone down to participate; it’s the kind of fun thing New Orleans loves to do at the drop of a hat. I also saw last night that Jamie Davis has come within four points of beating Julia Letlow, the Harkonnen and janky governor endorsed corrupt piece of MAGA shit, and Louisiana is getting fed up with all of this bullshit. Turnout will be key in Louisiana; if the Bill Cassidy supporters who are still pissed over the MAGA turn on him don’t vote, or vote for Davis…we could have our first Democratic senator from Louisiana in over twelve years. The data centers in north Louisiana and the spaceport on the coast and all the NDA’s everyone involved signed (Letlow owns stock in both companies) so the sweetheart deals Janky Jeff gave them will never be exposed has even Louisiana voters, notoriously blasé about political corruption, aren’t happy about how blatant this all is…it’s so blatant it’s insulting. And the way Janky Jeff keeps fucking with the LSU athletic department isn’t good, either.

I am cautiously optimistic about the midterms, but know there’s going to be some fuckery involved.

And on that note, I am going to have some breakfast and take a shower before starting my work day. I’ll run errands this morning after our meeting, and then come home from that to sit in my chair and go over paperwork this afternoon. The coffee is starting to kick in, too. So, on that note, tis off to mine spice with me, and will return again tomorrow morning. Have the loveliest of Fridays, Constant Reader!

Ah, the beauty of youth. But they just look like pretty children to me.
  1. On the other hand, last night I managed over two thousand words, which wasn’t bad.
    ↩︎

Sky Fits Heaven

Thursday last day in the office for the week blog. Yesterday wasn’t unpleasant; I paid the bills, as one does once one has the funds, and it was very quiet around the office yesterday, which was odd. I didn’t feel terribly tired at any point during the day, which is always a pleasant surprise. October and Spooky Season are just around the corner, and I think I will go ahead and enjoy my annual October Halloween Horror Month. I generally reread The Haunting of Hill House and a classic Stephen King every October, but my reading focus just hasn’t been there for a while. I think it might be because I am out of practice with both writing and reading, and every time I start reading something I think oh I should be writing and that brings me to a crashing halt, every time. My copy of the new Tananarive Due should be arriving today or tomorrow; so I am definitely going to read that for Horror Month. I need to look through my horror TBR pile, and maybe I should give Peter Straub’s Shadowland another try. (I started it when it had just been released in mass market paperback, and for some reason it didn’t click with me; maybe I can listen to it in the car on my drive north next year, take the physical copy with to keep reading if I don’t finish it in the car…should see how long it is, shouldn’t I?)

I was a bit tired after getting home from running errands last evening–my headphones arrived; more on that later–and putting away the paltry and meager bags of groceries I’d made for sixty dollar, heavy sigh, and things were on sale–and so I made a Sparky bed out of my lap while I caught up on the news and watched some videos bashing Ed Sheeran (which will, at some point, I imagine, get old) before Paul got home late, and we hung out for a bit before I went up to bed. I slept well, too–woke up at four rather than three thirty this morning, but was able to get back to sleep without a problem. I feel alert and awake and ready to go, which is quite unusual for Thursday morning. I’ve even had breakfast already and feel pretty good. Today is the busiest day in the clinic for the week, and so I imagine I’ll be a bit worn down when I get home tonight. I am going to head uptown to get the mail, so I won’t, hopefully, have to get in the car this weekend. Huzzah for the convenience of deliveries!

I did work on my short story some yesterday–not as much as I would have preferred, but my mind was buggy and I was tired, so I really just started revising what I had already written, which was more than a little bit on the messy side. I am trying to write more fiction in the present tense, which seems to be more common/popular these days, and my sweet spot is past tense/first person…so trying things differently, I think, is kind of important to my continued development as a writer. Anyway, I noticed the prose sometimes slipped from present to past tense, and sometimes even from first person to third. Honestly, my first drafts are so fucking dreadful….which is why nobody ever sees my first drafts.

It’s in the seventies this morning, which will have to do for the transition to fall. They’re saying we’ll get colder weather and a lot of rain next week, which is fine.

And on that note, I should get going on my day. I’ll be here again tomorrow morning, from my workspace at home, and I hope to see you then, Constant Reader.

Frozen

Wednesday Pay the Bills Day has rolled around again somehow, and here we are. I woke up from a very deep sleep around three thirty this morning, and napped/dozed until the shattering shriek of the alarm pierced through the darkness, impacting my ear drums with such a brutal assault that I had no choice but to hit snooze…followed by turning the alarm off and getting up before that horrendous noise erupted again. I feel pretty good this morning. I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home after work and errands; I sat with His Majesty sleeping in my lap for a while as I caught up on the news (that UN Speech–so aspirational and inspirational. Cut to media: “He’s finally sounding presidential.1” Eye roll to infinity) before getting up to clean up the kitchen. I unloaded the dishwasher and ran another load overnight, and cleaned off the counters, took out the trash and recycling, too. If I can keep up with the dishes and stuff all week, I don’t have to do that on the weekend and thus can get more of this long overdue deep clean of the house done. There are some awesome games this weekend, too, capped off with Texas A&M coming to Death Valley for a night game.

The Saints play at home this Sunday in the afternoon, as well, so I can get things done in the morning and early afternoon and then settle into my chair for the game. And while I have some work to do on work-at-home Friday as well, it’s just paperwork.

I feel pretty good this morning, and like I have finally managed to adjust to getting up at six. I am so not a morning person, and for most of my life succeeded in not having a 9-to-5 job–I’d rather sleep and get up when I am done sleeping and work in the afternoons and evenings. Then again, whenever I had an early morning job in the past, it would eventually get to the point where I’d look ahead and just see this kind of nightmare existence stretching on and on forever. Maybe I don’t do that anymore because an end is in sight? Granted, that’s dependent on being able to retire…which, by how things are going in this country, may not be possible.

I realized yesterday, when I saw that the “Clavicular” creature (Braden Peters, because of course his name is Braden) was arrested for allegedly drugging and raping a minor, that my essay series (which I am way behind on) for the newsletter about my not being a “typical male” and my personal struggles with the straitjacket of heterosexual values was primarily because I can’t really write about masculinity and my outsider’s view of it without defining those qualities that defined it when I was growing up–but reading this arrest news reminded me that I am not the only man who’s wrestled with masculinity tropes. Headlines have been screaming at us for years now about the “crisis” for straight men who are bewildered at how to be a man in this modern age…and wind up turning to idiots in the “manosphere”, or people like this idiot (or the Tate brothers) selling them a bundle of lies and bullshit about what “women really want” and so on, making men the victim in a society that continues to center them. (If only we could all be as oppressed as the straight white man in the US, amirite?) And there it was–how interesting that the issues a gay guy had with masculine tropes is now a straight man’s problem.

Years ago, Paul and I watched a horrible gay dating reality show called Boy Meets Boy, and something I noticed in that show–which had a terrible surprise twist that makes me think I should somehow rewatch and write about it again. Anyway, something I noticed about James–which I was noticing on other matchmaking shows as well–was he always talked about who the perfect man for him would be. That’s fine–we all have that kind of image in our heads when we’re single, don’t we–but…the premise is “I’m perfect and this is who he needs to be”, when the entire time I’m listening to him and watching and thinking, what do YOU have to offer? (My dream was a husband who liked to laugh, read, and was smart. My dream came true.) I mean, being chosen by him was how you won the show, but at the same time it was an awful lot of I and not a lot of we, which made me think he’d never find someone.

But this reminds me very much of the male loneliness epidemic and all these “crises” people are monetizing by telling young men how to be men…rather than doing the actual work they need to do in order to be attractive to a woman as a life mate. Women don’t care about muscles all that much; the truth is, the bar is set so low for most men that it staggers the mind that they can’t meet it, you know? Flowers on special dates, the occasional candy, and just listening to them and treating them like an actual living, breathing human being actually goes a very long fucking way.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, and I will see you again tomorrow morning bright and early. See ya then!

  1. I am being facetious here, but how many times have we heard some stupid pundit say something like this in the past? ↩︎

Skin

Well, we survived Monday, didn’t we? It wasn’t even iffy this time. I woke up before my alarm yesterday morning, only hit snooze once, and then got up, wide awake and feeling rested (Sunday I was still feeling a bit worn out, not sure why), but I felt very good all day yesterday. I ran a couple of errands after work on my way home, which was nice. We weren’t terribly busy yesterday so I was able to get caught up on some things around the office, and somehow tomorrow we get paid again? It seems like we did just get paid, you know. And it’s almost October, and we’re well on our way into football season. I feel pretty good this morning, now that I’ve got some coffee and my breakfast sandwich into my system and my body is going oh yes, we like how this feels. I also ran some errands on my way home, but Sparky was very needy when I got home. He didn’t even want to be fed until I’d picked him up and let him wrap around my neck while headbutting me and purring. After he ate, he wanted my lap (he’s so needy after he’s not been home alone all day for a few days) and so I thought let me catch up on the news but once he was asleep in a puddle in my lap, I was done for the evening. When Paul got home we caught up on Lanterns–which is really phenomenal and may be the best super-hero TV show of all time–and then we started a Spanish language show, Oasis, which is the same kind of show as Elite was, only with a summer spa/resort in the place of the school. I guess it’s more The White Lotus?

Tonight I have to swing uptown to get the mail, and may stop to get some things on the way home; we need some bananas (they get so overripened so quickly these days) and maybe some ice cream as a treat? We’ve not had anything like that in a while–we’re consciously trying to be more healthy, food-wise–so maybe, maybe not. I’ll see how I feel once I get in the car and to the store. The weather is still scorching during the day, topping out around 100 or thereabouts, but it’s dropping into the seventies at night. This is what passes for fall here in New Orleans, or football weather, at any rate. I know next month is when we’ll experience the big drop, down into the seventies/low eighties during the day but dipping into the sixties overnight, and sometimes colder. I doubt we’ll get snow this winter, when it finally comes, but you never know anymore, do you?

I see that Jaxson Dart got injured last night1, the day after Aaron Rodgers did. Shame that karma came for you both; I wonder whatever for? What could either quarterback have done that would…oh, who cares. Fuck them both. I don’t waste empathy on garbage.

I am going to try to be productive today, since I failed so miserably last night. I need to empty the dishwasher and reload it, pick up things in the kitchen, take out the trash, and straighten the rugs. I made lunch for the rest of the week this morning, so that’s taken care of for now. Outside of the bananas, I don’t think we really need anything else….maybe I should just stop at the grocery in the CBD on my way home from work tomorrow? I don’t know. Decisions, decisions, right?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, and I will check in with you again tomorrow morning!

The Krewe of Dolly is anchoring the second-line on 9-25.
  1. Can a Congressional investigation be far behind? ↩︎

The Power of Goodbye

Monday morning and a return with me to the spice mines. Sparky again let me sleep late yesterday, which was nice, and I didn’t feel bone tired when I got up, either; Saturday was a bit hit or miss for the day, frankly. But I did get up, worked on a newsletter as well as cleaning up computer files (and finishing some unfinished chores from Saturday) before turning on the Saints game at noon and sitting in my easy chair with my laptop and an early lunch snack of mozzarella salad, which I love. Paul came down to watch and nap with Sparky during the game, so we were all in the living room like the sweet little family we are, and when I am the most content. That literally is my happy place.

In one of those weird moments, the other night (Friday, to be exact) we were running around doing our errands and one of my favorite songs, Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain,” came up on the mix, and as I was humming along with the lyrics one in particular stood out to me. The thought process went something like this: “Running through the shadows, chain chain chain, we go together, running through the shadows…hmmm, running through the shadows is a great title, wait didn’t I have a story in an anthology called that yes I think I did and I think my story was called “The Rosary of Broken Promises” and the main character was the Oracle of Orange Street, my psychic I wanted to write a book about”–it was something like that. Anyway, imagine my delight and surprise to find an email about that anthology in my inbox Saturday morning. (I don’t, however, read emails on the weekend; I only delete them.) I’ll read it later on, when I am more functional and awake.

The Saints did win, which was a lovely way for the day to go, and then we watched the first two episodes of The Traitors: New Blood, which is quite fun, and retired to bed relatively early to get a jump on the morning today, which I did. I only hit snooze the once, and got up, feeling rested and relaxed this morning over my coffee and a slice of coffee cake. We finished Reacher off over the weekend, and tonight, it’s back to Lanterns. I also actually wrote for a while yesterday–working on a short story that is due soon, clocking in at about fourteen hundred words, which was nice and felt good. I also finished paying the bills this weekend, and we get paid again on Wednesday this week. I also sent out my latest newsletter, about The Stepford Wives. I’m not sure what the next one will be about, and the goal is to get it out on Wednesday or Thursday, but we’ll have to see how that goes, won’t we? I have a few that are close to completion; we’ll have to see how it all goes, won’t we, though? The kitchen is a bit of a mess this morning, alas, so after running an errand or two on the way home, I am going to have to pick up around here a bit before going to the easy chair for some Sparky time.

LSU is still ranked in the Top Ten this week, and I am very pleased with how zen I am about the loss on Saturday night. I’m even happy for the Mississippi fans1; they haven’t had much for a very long time, so more power to them and I wish them well on the season. We still don’t know how good either team is, but they are about equal, really. Texas A&M will be fired up after losing to Kentucky (!!!) this past weekend, but…it’s at LSU, so it will be loud and raucous in the stadium. I didn’t read any write-ups, local or national, on the game this past weekend because I don’t need to know anything more than the result. I like this new policy of “it’s just a game” and just enjoying it for what it is–something I enjoy watching–without all the emotional ups and downs and swings from watching. That actually isn’t fun, and neither are the “trash talk” bullshit, either. Whether LSU wins or not doesn’t change or affect anything in my life unless I allow it to–and while a lot of people seem to enjoy that aspect, I don’t and never have.

And unless you’re on the field and in uniform, there’s no “we” or “us” when you’re nothing more than a fan–even less so if you’re not an alum. As someone who is not an alum of LSU (I just live here), I try to be careful in never including myself as part of LSU as anything other than a local fan with opinions, usually based on what I’ve watched on the field. Yes, I want LSU to do well, but if they don’t–the sun will still rise in the morning and my alarm will continue to go off at six every day.

Ed Sheeran has only made things worse after performing Saturday night in Philadelphia? I’ve stopped paying attention because at this point he’s managed to make everything somehow about him and his poor choices; it has always been my experience that if you have to cry and tell everyone you’re not a bad person…well, you might be a bad person. Your mistake was caving into that Kraft creature. It doesn’t seem like you’re even aware of what you did wrong….and a little bit of advice? Maybe stop centering yourself in everything? No one was asking you to speak about Palestine, you know; they were mad because you caved to a billionaire’s demands instead of standing on principle. That was your mistake, and that’s the one you need to acknowledge–you are complicit in that. It’s not a good look, Gingerdoodle. That’s why everyone on both sides is mad at you–and you need to save your anger and reproaches for Pink–she started this whole mess.

Again, don’t get into parasocial relationships with celebrities. They will always disappoint you because you actually don’t know them at all.

Sigh.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I will see you again tomorrow morning.

  1. It also doesn’t hurt to remember that when Nick Saban came back to college football at Alabama, that we beat them his first year there. ↩︎

Nothing Really Matters

LSU lost last night to Mississippi, and wow–the world didn’t end. It was disappointing, to be sure, but I don’t go on the emotional roller coaster that I used to, and that’s a much better way to be a football fan, methinks. No need to foam at the mouth or jupup and down or scream at the television. There weren’t many surprise outcomes yesterday, other than Kentucky beating Texas A&M, right after the Aggie crowd cheered Pete Hegseth, and why was he even there in the first place? Remember, the UT fans booed and embarrassed Ted Cruz, and won. Everything they touch dies, seriously. Alabama needed a hot minute before pulling away from Florida State, the Georgia-Arkansas game was so bad I couldn’t watch, and it sounds like Florida-Auburn came down to the wire, maybe being even the best game of the weekend. (I also didn’t know before that Lane Kiffin had played at Fresno State, either.) The Saints game with Baltimore is on at eleven this morning, and I’ll probably turn it on while do other things; I did a lot of cleaning yesterday while Paul was out, which was nice and very overdue.

I really do like this being old meaning you have less fucks to give about shit. No one told me about this side-effect of getting older…maybe I’ve finally become wiser? Nah, not likely. Just don’t really have any extra energy lying around that I can waste on things that really doesn’t matter anymore, or things I can’t control. (I always tried not stressing out about things I can’t control, but before medication, that wasn’t the way my brain was wired.) Hence, not being angry or super-disappointed about LSU losing last night. I’m still going to watch games every weekend; part of the fun of being a football fan is seeing how the season plays out–which is the more graceful and adult way to approach the season.

I did manage to reread The Stepford Wives yesterday, while taking breaks from cleaning and game-watching during the earlier games of the day. I had just revisited the book and wrote about it last year on this blog; I may write about it on the newsletter today, I don’t know. But there are other points to be made about the book and films, and I can go in more depth in the newsletter than I could with this blog. Ira Levin was absolutely one of the greats, and what he was able to do in his novels with so few words was a gift from the gods. I hate that I am unable to focus enough to read something new; I am going to try again this morning with The Shards. I also want to reread The Miracle at St. Bruno’s as a way in to talk about the Tudors and all the reading about them I used to do, and of course, Mary Stewart’s The Ivy Tree is also sitting there in my Kindle.

I also watched this week’s Real Housewives of Orange County, which keeps limping along and somehow escaping cancellation. The new season of The Traitors has also already dropped its first episode, and hey announced the cast for the next season of celebrity Traitors for the US, and it includes Bianca del Rio! That news more than makes up for them casting MAGA skank and Charlie Kirk worshipper Kristen Chenowith, who is probably trying to rebuild her image after she revealed her true skank self last year. I’d want to be a traitor in that season just to make her the first murder.

And on that note, I am going to get more coffee and repair to the easy chair for a bit, so I can wake up a bit more and do some reading. I also hope to write today, too, so we’ll see how all that goes, won’t we? I will, however, see you again tomorrow morning bright and early before I head to the office. Till then, have a marvelous Sunday however you spend it.

This is what we call in Louisiana an allée–a straight unpaved pathway through. matching trees or shrubs. It’s a very fun word that I want to use more.

Bedtime Story

Saturday morning here in the Lost Apartment, with a big day of college football ahead of me, all leading up to tonight’s LSU at Mississippi game, which most everyone in the country will be watching, I suspect. ESPN has really been riding the Lane Train, haven’t they? You’d be excused for thinking occasionally that there isn’t anything else going on in college football than LSU and Lane Kiffin (Dad calls him Fast Lane, and it’s not a compliment), and all that attacks and criticism (some is justified; I ain’t that big of a homer for LSU to think they can do no wrong) has certainly solidified Kiffin’s standing in the state of Louisiana; there’s always been this “everyone is out to get us” mentality LSU and Louisiana buy into very heavily1. But it also got the LSU-Clemson big ratings, and tonight’s game is going to be a big ratings hit, too. ESPN is doing it’s damnedest to push LSU this season for some reason.

I do miss watching Game Day–or having it on while I do chores, or read–but as long as that douchebag Pat Macafee is centered there, no fucking thanks. Sigh.

I was tired when I got home from all the errands yesterday, and after putting all the Costco stuff away, I just collapsed into my easy chair to mindlessly watch the news and old college football highlights to help get ready for a day of marathon-watching college football. I’ll kick off the day probably watching Georgia-Arkansas while picking up and doing chores, then will be switching between Kentucky- A&M and Florida State-Alabama (both should be bloodbaths), before finishing off the day with LSU-Mississippi, with occasional looks at Florida-Auburn. I think I do need a day of resting in my chair and taking it easy. Sparky let me sleep late this morning, so I woke up with him curled up next to me, and of course, had to come down and feed the little piglet. I felt a little physically and mentally tired as I came down the stairs, but coffee is now kicking in and my mind is much clearer and sharper than it was when I made that first cup (I am not on my second, for those keeping score.

Okay, I was hungry and a bit groggy still, so I cleaned up, got another cup of coffee, and a slice of the lemon-blueberry loaf coffeecake I got at Costco yesterday (it’s delicious, highly recommend) and am settled into my easy chair with my laptop and more coffee and SEC Today on rather than College Gameday–I always forget that’s an option, and has always been a better one than Gameday. I don’t care much for Paul Finebaum (he looks like he’s had his head shrunken), but he’s not Pat Macafee, so eminently more watchable than that buffoon. I feel so much better now that I’m cleaned up. I do have some picking up to do around here, and Paul is going to his trainer and then will. stay at the gym riding the bike, so I have the afternoon to work on the house and get everything ready to focus on the game tonight.

This has really been a week, hasn’t it? Between the Ed Sheeran mess, the continued crash-and-burn of everything and everyone (remember, the really horrible parts of the BIg Beautiful Bill don’t go into effect until. January and after the elections; I think that’s part of the reason they aren’t as worried about the midterm blowout that’s coming because they plan on blaming everything on a Democratic controlled Congress–just like they always do; “they aren’t cleaning up our mess fast enought! It’s their fault!”) on the right, and our economy is circling the drain. Are we great again yet? I can’t speak for everyone, but I know I’m tired of all this winning. He was right–Americans are so sick of his version of “winning” that the entire world is begging him to stop. We are going to come out of this completely isolated and with no allies willing to trust us….not that we have any allies left besides Israel….and I don’t know that I would call them an ally so much as a collaborator.

Converse came out with probably the most offensive ad in advertising history this week, and for the record, I am white, and the first thing I saw was a Klan robe and a lynching. I used to love Converse; I can’t wear their shoes anymore (haven’t in decades) because they aren’t good for my feet and. ankles–so I can happily state this morning that I’ve not given Converse any money since the early 1980s. Sydney Sweeney also released an ad for a gambling site (a new cancer on society) that wasn’t even sexy; it literally was just vulgar. The female form is beautiful, but this ad wasn’t sexy or beautiful at all; it was like comparing Playboy to Hustler. As someone who has never been aroused by a woman’s body, I thought Playboy was always tasteful and classy and beautiful; Hustler was always like “here’s my vagina! Can you see my cervix?” It’s her body, and she’s certainly entitled to do with it as she pleases, of course. I just don’t think it’s healthy for her acting career to focus on being a sex(less) symbol rather than the actual, you know, acting. By the time she’s fifty she’ll have had so much plastic and poison injected into her face she won’t be recognizable. I hate it when women don’t have enough confidence in their talents and rely on their looks and body for success.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Hope you have a lovely Saturday and whatever team you root for (if you do have one) does well today. GEAUX TIGERS!

  1. A lot of SEC/Southern football fans are almost cult-like in their worship of their school and team, and LSU is no different, of which I am well aware. That is a whole other subject, which I will explore in more depth at another time. ↩︎

Substitute for Love

Friday morning work at home day, with a trip to Costco on the horizon for later. I feel good and rested this morning, despite the fact Sparky tried to get me up around four in the morning for some reason. I did wake up, gave him a look, and went back to sleep while he cuddled with me, which was lovely. I was physically tired when I got home from work last night, so didn’t do much of anything other than writing. I did managed to get a (very) rough draft of that pesky chapter–which still needs some work–which has kind of log-jammed me these past few weeks. My goal for tomorrow is to edit everything I have done so far, preparatory to moving on to the next chapter and reacquainting myself with the characters, the voice, and the story. Woo-hoo! There are also a lot of great football games tomorrow, capping off with the one-two punch night games of Florida-Auburn and LSU-Mississippi.

The amazing thing to me about this Ed Sheeran thing is that it keeps going, and every day and hour it continues to go on the worse he looks. That’s what happens eventually when you’re more interested in being inoffensive–you wind up offending everyone. The fact that so many people he’s friendly with (and works with) are in the Epstein files kind of shows how morally and ethically compromised he is. When I was watching the news last night, I saw someone–I don’t remember who–talking about how entertainers, like Sheeran, are the modern day version of “bread and circuses” from the old Roman Empire (first time I have thought about the Roman Empire in days, if not weeks, for those keeping track–entertaining the populace and keeping our minds off everything else going on in the world. They keep us distracted (look at social media sometimes; it’s why there’s so much celebrity worship) so we will spend money and not see what the Epstein Class has done (and continues doing) to the world and society. Ed Sheeran got very rich doing his part to entertain and not talk about anything substantial (although the white children of Ukraine got him to be political)–he even says it in his pitiful “it’s not my fault” Pilate handwashing statement (“I want to provide a space for love and peace and escape”)…that’s very telling–and it’s hard to look at any of this and think Sheeran has any values, has any compassion or empathy or is, at heart, a decent person. He fucked over a friend at the bidding of a billionaire, has tried to deflect his part in this from day one, taken no responsibility for anything, and shows that he stands for nothing but the Epstein class he continues to make money for.

Does that sound like someone we should support? Christ, Ireland hates him now.

This entire situation is a classic example of what is fucking wrong with this country: a billionaire who diddled kids got his widdle fee-fees hurt, and he stamped his foot in anger and demanded he get his way, and he got it. They are above the law, an unelected and unchosen ruling class no different from the old British aristocracy, entitled fools with too much money who didn’t give a fuck about anyone other than themselves, while people went hungry and sick and died while they gambled away small fortunes at night while too drunk to see.

And the fact that both Sheeran and Robert Kraft are too privileged to shut up and stop digging their own graves just adds fuel to the fire. Sheeran went along with the silencing and suppression of a voice because it upset a billionaire.

That tells me everything I need to know about the Gingerdoodle.

And that’s it on this subject1–I’ve given too much time and energy to this nonsense already, but this naked abuse of money and power is infuriating to me, and always will be.

Ah, the coffee is now kicking in. I want to get another newsletter finished this weekend, clean out my email inbox, and of course, work on the book some more after I get my work duties done today. Costco and the other errands will undoubtedly wear me out, so I won’t do much tonight when I get home from all of that, other than finishing the laundry which I am starting this morning. I know the new season of The Traitors dropped its first episode last night, and there’s something else starting up again that I like watching, but can’t think of it right now. I also want to read a bit this weekend–which reminds me! The other day I mentioned a copy of The Miracle at St. Bruno’s, and I said there would be more later…and forgot.

The Miracle at St. Bruno’s is a historical Gothic set during the turbulent reign of Henry VIII and the great divorce–and how what was going on at court politically affected those every day citizens who had no control over the ever-changing legality of, well, everything. The Tudors were my real entryway into world history (or rather, modern European history) because Henry VIII was such a fascinating monster. I read a lot of Tudor biographies, but the only historical fiction I had read up to that point was mostly fictionalized biographies–history as entertainment–of royal Tudors. I even read a biography of Lady Margaret Douglas, one of the lesser known but crucial pieces of the Tudor body politic and the very thin line of succession that Tudor sterility caused. Philippa Carr was the by-line on the book, but it was another psuedonym of Eleanor Hibbert, a British writer who also published under the names Victoria Holt and Jean Plaidy. It was vastly different from another other Gothic I’d read, taking place over the course of about thirty to forty years, with the turbulent reigns of successive Tudor vastly differentiating in their religion and policy. It was also the first in a series called Daughters of England, because she wrote about the main character in Miracle’s sequel–each new book a new Gothic romance featuring the daughter of the previous book’s main character–and history and politics are also driving forces in those books as well. I may start a reread this weekend; I need to get back to reading fiction again.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Have a lovely Friday, everyone, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

Live oak stumps always fascinate and sadden me. The size is impressive, and they are beautiful to look at…but the sadness is from the tree being cut down. Our live oaks are so beautiful here in New Orleans, and we’ve lost so many in the thirty years we’ve lived here.
  1. I do love watching people reap what they’ve sown, you know? ↩︎

Take a Bow

Thursday morning and I got up before my alarm, wide awake and feeling rested. Weird, right? On a THURSDAY last day in the office for the week morning? Madness. Sparky is also being super-affectionate this morning. He keeps wanting to sit on my shoulders, so he can head-butt me and purr up there while I walk around doing things. I don’t mind, I just don’t know why he is some mornings and some mornings he isn’t. Of course it doesn’t make sense because cat, but I can’t help but try to make sense of it, because I ain’t right in the head, you know?

Last night wasn’t bad. I headed uptown to pick up the mail (my copy of The Miracle at St. Bruno’s that I got from ebay, more on that later) and swung by the grocery store to make a few bags. I came home, Sparky needed a lap, and that was the end of that. I watched news and examined my new book–a paperback in pristine condition, like I picked it up off the rack at Zayre like I did my original copy–and watched the news—along with any number of videos ripping Ed Sheeran1 and Robert Kraft new assholes. Paul brought a pizza home for dinner, which was lovely, and we watched LSU-The Difference on ESPN, a documentary series they are filming for this season (think ESPN isn’t all in on LSU? I don’t they are doing one for every top team in the country, and there wasn’t a guarantee LSU would be any good this year, and really, still can’t be sure how good they are anyway at this point). I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home and put everything away, but…I slept very well for the first time this week, and it felt marvelous. I think we’re going to Costco tomorrow after work, too. Huzzah!

I’ve fallen down a wormhole of Internet research thanks to a Facebook friend who shared a post about a “ghost ship” that can be seen under the right conditions on the Tombigbee River in southwest Alabama, the Eliza Battle. The ship was a classic steamboat of the era (which I will always associate–steamboats, that is–with Mark Twain), transporting cotton bales and passengers when a fire broke out in the cotton and the entire ship went up in flames before sinking. I like the idea of a ghost steamboat (I am also partial to steamboats, maybe I should write about that sometime), which could make an interesting story. I love these old folk tales of Southern states, and feel like some of them could be used to write novels or short stories; I’ve been trying to write one about the legend of Freniere and the 1915 Hurricane, which wiped the town out, for years now. Learning Alabama and Louisiana history, legends, and lore is ever so much fun, too!

Has the entire world gone mad? After the Pink meltdown, the Ed Sheeran disaster, and Arch Manning proving he has no home training, I pretty much thought we were done with ignorant celebrity bullshit, but Sarah Paulson decided to say hold my beer and gave an incredibly tone-deaf white woman interview, in which she expressed disappointment that her Black male costars on The People v. O. J. Simpson got movie offers and she didn’t–she was trying to make the point that it’s more difficult for women to get parts in movies because those roles are few and far between for women, whereas male-centered movies are a dime a dozen. It was tone-deaf to make the comparison with two Black actors, who face an entirely but equally horrifying different kind of fight–yes, they are men, but they aren’t white men. And she left out the most obvious reasons producers don’t think about her when they’re casting–girl, you’re an out and proud lesbian. Hollywood is not only misogynist and racist, but it’s also incredibly homophobic. It’s getting better, but there are still an endless amount of problems in that “liberal” community.

Speaking of homophobia, I kind of love that congressional candidate Chris Gallant did, in his pre-politician life, posed in BDSM gear and there are also pictures of him on Fire Island in his underwear. YAWN. He’s running for a House seat on Long Island, is an openly gay former Marine and firefighter…and the only thing his MAGA opponent can come up with is him posing for some sexy pictures that exposed nothing prurient and was in the past…newsflash: most gay men, have sexy photos of themselves, in bathing suits at the very least, and more have nudes than a straight person might realize. I also love that he’s being defiant and refusing to be shamed out of the race. Pictures in BDSM gear doesn’t mean you’re into BDSM, and if you are, who the fuck cares? ANd seriously, the party of MAGA and the buffoon they worship has some fucking nerve trying to morality police anyone. Yo, you’re party leader is a pedophile rapist psychopath. Why don’t you start policing him? Anyway, I donated a little to his campaign.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely, lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning on work-at-home Friday!

  1. I’ve taken to calling him “Gingerdoodle.” ↩︎