Category: Alabama

Trouble in Shangri-La

Ah, Shangri-La. That name used to be very much in the zeitgeist when I was growing up; it’s a mythical place, a utopian paradise, a warm, fertile valley hidden in the Himalayas where no one ages, from a book (and two film adaptations) by James Hilton titled Lost Horizon. (In Tibetan Buddhism, I believe it’s called “Shambhala”–also the title of a hit song by the band Three Dog Night1 in the early 1970s.) I saw the original 1937 film version on the late movies when I was a kid, and became fascinated by the story. I read the book (Hilton also wrote Good-bye Mr. Chips) and really liked it, but you also had to suspend some serious belief because there were definitely holes in the story that didn’t make sense that both Hilton and the film’s director simply glossed over and ignored. The movie was remade as a musical in 1973, I think–it bombed and is considered one of the worst movies ever made; I’ve never seen it because I’d heard it was terrible (although I am now thinking it might be fun to do a project watching major Hollywood bombs). Shangri-La used to be a part of the zeitgeist, but it has faded as I’ve gotten older–funny how that happens; like how no one ever talks about the gold in Fort Knox anymore, or quicksand (Hanna-Barbera have a lot to answer for when it comes to the threat of quicksand).

Here we are on Sunday morning and the time changed, which I always hate. Can’t we just do away with Daylight Saving Time? The extra hour in the fall, while appreciated, never makes up for the lost hour in the spring. I had planned to get up early to offset the lost hour, but that didn’t happen and I stayed in bed until nine (eight, really); the bed was comfortable and Sparky was warm and purring, okay? I could have easily stayed in bed a few more hours, but Sparky eventually got hungry so I went ahead and left the comfort of the pile of blankets and made coffee and fed him and here we are, you know? I am about to get another cup of coffee and put some bread in the toaster. I bought a “gourmet” jar of strawberry preserves yesterday, just to see if it really is better than the Smucker’s brand I usually get; I love preserves so much more than jams or jellies, which I think is the result of my parents being from the country, and us bringing home jars of preserves back home with us when we visited Alabama; my grandmothers were queens of canning–the memory of their blackberry preserves makes my mouth water a bit. I do miss that about going to Alabama in the summer–the fresh fruit and vegetables right off the field.

The gourmet preserves are delicious, by the way.

After my late start yesterday, I managed to run my errands and make groceries, and had some things delivered later on once I was home. Paul saw his trainer and rode the bike for a few hours yesterday afternoon, which gave me a chance to do some chores around here (more of them to do today, too). Once the chores were taken care of and I felt a bit tired, I sat down in my chair to finish off season 2 of The Traitors-UK, and I am noticing a pattern with the different casts–your chances of winning are exponentially higher if you’re an attractive younger man; that was Season 2 from beginning to end, with handsome and sweet and young charmer Harry getting rid of at five other traitors (UK’s season 2 is very traitor heavy; they start with three and recruit several times; there were three of them going into the final six! Today I am going to start season three of the UK version; it’s absolutely delightful to get sucked into the show and vested in the players. I also love the challenges, almost more than the game of Faithful v. Traitor, to be completely honest. I really cannot wait to write my essay about the show.

For the record, I am not as familiar with opera as I am with ballet–and even ballet I am not that familiar with, other than I know it’s an incredibly strict discipline that requires years of training and conditioning and rehearsal. What ballet dancers can do with their bodies is astonishing; it’s like figure skating in the way that it’s actually an incredibly difficult and grueling sport made to look like art. Opera is much the same, only it’s vocal and breathing training, and again–the ability to hit and hold those insane notes requires dedication and devotion and hours and hours of training. Dismissing these art forms as whatever it was the clown prince of the Kardashians called them this week, which was pretty ballsy for someone making a career in the arts and coming from a dance family. It was very tone-deaf for someone who likes to paint himself as some sort of renaissance man, but I also think he’s kind of been reading his own notices and his current mistress comes from the most narcissistic family that has ever lived–so we also can’t rule out the negative influence of the plastic she-thing he sleeps with. I’ve no desire to see his latest movie, and I sincerely doubt he gave a performance as excellent and layered as the dual role Michael B. Jordan played in Sinners.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Hope you have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow as I make my way into the spice mines!

  1. They dropped the “h,” though, calling it “Shambala.” ↩︎

Unconditional Love

Saturday morning and all is well here in the Lost Apartment. Yesterday turned out lovely, after the rain, there was this lovely chill dampness to the air that was quite nice. I got all of my work done without a problem, and worked on the house. The kitchen looks terrific now–I still need to do the floors and some touch up; same with living room–and it was nice to come downstairs to a very clean kitchen and work space. I also did all the dishes and all the laundry! I also spent some time icing my ankles, and will probably do that some more today. I never got around to writing yesterday, and I didn’t read anything I have in progress already (I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with my brain lately), but as I was moving things around I picked up a couple of books that I paged through a bit (The Last Picture Show and Michelangelo, but more on those later), so that’s something. I watched the reunions for The Traitors seasons 3 and 4, which were fun (more on those later). When Paul came down, I finished the day’s chores and settled in for the LSU-Dartmouth baseball game, before we switched over to the LSU Gymnastics meet against Alabama (yes, if you didn’t know already, we are a very LSU house), and then it was off to bed. I slept really well for the first time in a while, and feel rested. My Achilles tendons also need icing this morning before I head out for my errands later this morning.

Today, I am going to pick up the mail, and make some groceries on the way back home. I had planned on washing the car, but now I don’t think I am going to. I also need to get mailing envelopes because I’ve been terribly lazy about sending the copies of my book to the people I need to; but this whole month has been kind of weird in some ways, which I am still thinking about and processing. I am also a little freaked out that tomorrow is March 1 already, but that’s how time passes in New Orleans in the first two months of the year. It also looks gray outside this morning, but it’s supposed to be sunny and warm by the early afternoon.

As I had mentioned, as I was moving books around yesterday, I came across copies of Larry McMurtry’s The Last Picture Show and Michelangelo by William E. Wallace, both books I enjoyed, and The Last Picture Show was influential on me, I think, as a writer. The Last Picture Show was basically another, male-driven version of Peyton Place–the dark, dirty sex secrets of a small town, and it also made me a lifelong fan of McMurtry. (I also loved the film version.) I was going to reread it a few summers ago, but I gave up on the read when we got to the calf-fucking and taking Billy to the hooker who bloodied his nose. Billy was unable to give consent to anything, so from a modern reading this entire sequence is pretty disturbing, but I think I will give it another go because of how the book treats homosexuality; I’d like to see the book through that lens, and see precisely how the future Oscar winning screenwriter of Brokeback Mountain dealt with it in an early novel.

Left Coast Crime is criming right now, and of course I am enjoying everyone’s social media posts, but…I don’t have any FOMO? Considering FOMO has been a major driving factor throughout my life, and often to my own detriment, I think this is some serious personal growth. I never really liked the “pick me” side of my fractured personality, and I am not in the least bit sorry to banish that part of my brain into some remote, dusty and not easily accessed back wrinkle in the very back of my skull. I think this is a big step forward for me, you know?

Connor Storrie is hosting Saturday Night Live tonight, and I may stay up to watch some of it–I can also replay it on Peacock tomorrow morning, or find clips on Youtube if I can’t stay up that late. They are also bringing on one or two of the Hughes bros–trying to rehab them in front of the audience Connor will bring them (straight women and gay men–yeah, I am sure they’ll be embraced by the live audience and we should be prepared for NBC to mute any negative audience reactions to their stain of an appearance. Since NBC also hosts the Olympics, obviously they feel the need to rehabilitate the men who can’t say sorry, ladies, we totally fucked up in the moment and we are so sorry to spit in your faces about your accomplishments like that. You see how institutions always rally to the cause of infantile boys who never grow up? I do love the way the country has stepped up for the women, though. My favorite thing this past week has been reading the comments on the social media posts of the NHL or the teams’ accounts.

And I think a harsh critique and rebuke of that infantilizing “boys will be boys/locker room talk” enabling bullshit is in order, and could be the introduction to my essays series on masculinity. Hmmm.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I will be back tomorrow morning.

David Florentine is a great New Orleans photographer; check out his work! I especially love the spectral mist in this shot. You can check out his website here.

I Still Miss Someone

Everywhere else it’s just Tuesday! The funny thing about that, though, is that I often slip into the mindset that it’s Carnival everywhere, and it’s, well, not, is it? Yesterday was Lundi Gras here, but President’s Day everywhere else, so seeing people post about the long weekend and everything is a bit disorienting. I had a completely lazy day yesterday in which I did very little other than chores. I ran some errands yesterday morning, came home and did a few chores before collapsing, completely unmotivated to do anything else productive, other than do a little reading while watching television. Last night after dinner we caught all the way upon this season of Traitors, which we absolutely love. (This is an excellent cast, by the way, which also makes a difference.) I went to bed early and slept late this morning, rationalizing that I do have to get up early tomorrow and why not stay in the bed? Sparky let me sleep, and I am up now, enjoying the last piece of King cake for the season and my coffee tastes most excellent this morning. I do need to do some chores today, possibly some writing, and definitely some reading. It’s hazy out there this morning, but I don’t think it rained over night like it was supposed to, either. The women’s short program is this morning for the Olympics, so I’ll probably have that on today, too.

Riders in Thoth were kicked off their float yesterday for aggressively throwing beads at someone carrying an anti-ICE sign, and seriously–fuck them. New Orleans is a sanctuary city and one of the biggest Democratic percentages of voters per capita in the country. You want to be MAGA asshile racists? That’s what Metairie parades are for. Fuck you now and for all eternity. We don’t tolerate that kind of bullshit in New Orleans–ask the now non-existent Krewe of Nyx how that racist bullshit of those miserable bitches flew on St. Charles fucking Avenue. Keep your MAGA asses out in your racist MAGA parishes, fuckers. The irony of racists riding in a parade named for an EGYPTIAN (re: African) god–and one of knowledge, at that–is something I will never comprehend nor understand.

But my brain isn’t smooth enough to be MAGA, so there’s that, too. That’s D’etat and Thoth this year showing racist asses, as well as Tucks. Those krewes need to be punished. Maybe their parade permits for next year should be pulled. Kill it with fire and salt the ground so that shit never happens again. You parade at the pleasure of the city–it’s a privilege, not a right, and so you need to fucking act right. Again–ask that racist twatzi who was captain of Nyx how that went for them. Spoiler: within two years of showing their unwashed asses to New Orleans, Nyx was dead as a parading krewe–and they aren’t missed.

Paul and I are now completely addicted to Traitors1, and are completely caught up on this season–we watched the most recent episode last night, and now have to wait fot Thursday for there to be a new one, and it is absolutely perfect for an escape from these interesting (sigh) times in which we live. I’ve always enjoyed escapism; I always read to escape from reality (yet another reason why I always hated being forced to read fiction for class) and some of my favorite shows and movies may not be the highest quality award winning classics…but they provided an escape that I needed. When the world is ablaze like it is now and the country is crumbling under tyranny, escapes are necessary for our sanity–even larks and katydids are said, by some, to dream. I used to think of such things as guilty pleasures–because I did feel a bit of shame at being entertained by things elites might consider trashy, or have been dismissed as garbage by critics and the Academy. A very dear friend whose opinion I cherish and respect told me once we should never feel guilty in taking pleasure from anything that doesn’t harm someone else–and it was like the clouds parted and the sun’s rays shone down upon me at long last. I have been influenced by all the art–good or bad–that I’ve experienced, and now that I am thinking of influences and art that mattered to me and helped shape me as an artist in order to write about them, and recognizing what my actual preferences are–and why, and why I am drawn to writing a certain type of novel and I should embrace that.

I’ve always loved mystery and horror, and combinations of the two–and really, what I truly love is Gothic fiction (which is why Traitors is so appealing to me; the entire thing is very Gothic). I often admit to writers like John D. Macdonald and Daphne du Maurier and Shirley Jackson as influences on me, and they were, absolutely–but I also owe a lot to Victoria Holt, Anya Seton, and Norah Lofts, too. Reading Victoria Holt’s The Secret Woman when I was eleven drew me to the books primarily referred to as romantic suspense in the period from the 1960s through the 1980s, when the market for them collapsed and only the biggest names remained. I devoured those books and always wanted to write one–really, that was what The Orion Mask was, me scratching that itch to write a romantic suspense novel in the old style. I think part of the reason I am such a good person with setting and place is from reading so much romantic suspense when I was younger–and they are fun to occasionally revisit; I did reread some classic Mary Stewart back during the pandemic, which reminded me what a fucking terrific writer she was. Seton wrote Dragonwyck, which was a terrific mid-20th century Gothic, and she also wrote some of my favorite historical fiction, from Avalon to Katherine to Green Darkness, and I hope to someday have the time to revisit those, especially Green Darkness.

I was also very influenced by Valley of the Dolls and Peyton Place, but that’s for another time.

Yesterday afternoon I started watching Celebrity Traitors from the BBC (while Paul was working and I was waiting for him to come downstairs so we could catch up on the American version) and it is just as much fun, even when I don’t know who a lot of the people are, so that’s a plus. Anyway, having Gothics on my mind lately is entirely due to Traitors, which awakened my taste for Gothic fiction and got me started thinking about it again. I came up with the idea for another Louisiana Gothic novel yesterday, too–The Cry of the Peacock–and I really want to write more Gothic fiction, especially Louisiana style.

And all this racism with parade krewes? Now I am thinking about setting another Scotty during Carnival. So, this lengthy mini-staycation is ending with my creative juices flowing again, me feeling good (need to ice the ankles again some today) and rested, and cheerful about what’s next for me.

I hear the bands passing down at the corner, which means Zulu is here. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be here again tomorrow morning, for an Ash Wednesday blog.

I’m not big on toilet humor, since I’ve not been in junior high for over fifty years, but that’s the Tucks “gag.” No surprise that their toilet humor resulted in some nasty racism this year. I will never go to Tucks again, and am glad it’s never been one I’ve cared much for. Remember Nyx, you stupid racist fucks? Henceforth, I will only refer to them as Sucks.
  1. Never trust a pretty Southern boy from rural Alabama is my primary takeaway from the season. ↩︎

Alice

Iris Saturday, and it’s sunny with blue skies outside my windows this morning. It was a beautiful day. yesterday. I ran my errands after my meeting before coming back home and working until it was time for me to call it a day and start doing things around here. I did get the laundry finished, and the dishwasher is running (I meant to run it overnight but forgot), and the apartment is a bit of a mess, but I am taking today off from worrying about doing anything other than maybe doing some cleaning. Today is also the anniversary of Mom’s death (it’s been three years already) and I hate not being able to meet Dad up in Alabama this weekend, but that was just how everything shook out. I hate that she died on Valentine’s Day and Carnival always is around that dark anniversary, too.

Well, I guess I could just say I hate that she died.

I did watch Ilia Malinin and the men’s figure skating yesterday, and my heart broke a bit for the young man…and the pressure and everything is precisely why they should have sent him to Beijing four years ago instead of replacing him in the spot he earned for Jason Brown. (Don’t get me wrong, I do love Jason and his skating, but strategically it was an incredibly stupid self-inflicted wound by US Figure Skating. Congrats, how did that bad decision work out for everyone? I said it was a mistake at the time and got swarmed by Jason’s fans–hope you’re all happy!) I also remember that the same thing happened to Nathan Chen at his first Olympics, too, in 2018, before he won gold in 2022. And there are any number of great figure skating icons with no gold medal–and some with no Olympic medal at all. But Ilia handled the enormous disappointment with incredible sportsmanship and grace; amazing for a twenty-one year old with every camera lens in the world on him. I’m still incredibly proud of him and he still has an incredibly bright future–and there’s also no reason he can’t do another two Olympics, either. (Still bitter about the ice dance robbery.)

And how wonderful for that young man from Kazakhstan, Mikhail Shaidorov, who came out of nowhere and won the gold medal. What a delightful Olympic moment! It was fun whenever they’d cut over to him after someone’s score was posted and he was still in first place and it would hit him–I was pulling for him to medal, and the progression of watching him was this: Oh my God I’m getting an Olympic medal to oh my God I’m getting the silver medal to holy shit, I won the Olympics. I hope this means a secure financial future of touring and doing shows and so forth.; his life changed forever yesterday for the better. That’s one of the things I love about the Olympics, you know? Someone can go from being a nobody to a global superstar in one day.

We watched the LSU-Auburn Gymnastics meet last night, and after a wobbly-seeming start (to me) they roared back to the highest score of the season for any team and they left points on the board on several routines. The floor exercise was insane; the lowest score, the one they dropped? 9.925! They tied a school record on the floor exercise rotation and I’ve never seen such stuck landings from forward tumbling in my years of watching gymnastics, going back to Munich in 1972.

I also made notes on some short stories I am working on; my mind was kind of scattered yesterday; I didn’t even realize yesterday was Friday the 13th! It was a nice relaxing day of trying to get rested for today’s Iris parade so I can be out there for as long as I can. I doubt I’ll make it to Tucks; and I am not walking down to Harmony Circle for Endymion; I’ve not seen Endymion in years. I may wonder out tomorrow to check out Thoth and maybe take some pictures of the crowd–Thoth is very popular, as is Bacchus tomorrow night–but will most likely spend the day doing things around here.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines to read for a bit before I get cleaned up and Iris arrives. See you tomorrow!

Fitness instructor and swimsuit/underwear model Dave Rich of the UK. Pretty face, too.

I Will Run to You

Sunday morning, I am up early, and it’s 35 degrees here. No snow here that I am aware of, but some places along the Gulf Coast did get snow, like Gulf Shores, Alabama. This morning is the best I’ve felt in the morning this entire weekend, and I think after yesterday’s low-energy-didn’t-even-unload-the-dishwasher day, it’ll be nice to get things done this morning and have a nice day. I did run those errands yesterday, so I don’t have to leave the house today (tomorrow may be a different story); and it’s warm and cozy inside this morning, too, which is marvelous–can some time in my easy chair with a book and a blanket be in my future? Absolutely! I am also going to shave and get thoroughly cleaned up this morning, too. AMBITIOUS, right? Getting up early and feeling genuinely rested is a lovely feeling, I must say.

We finished Run Away last night, which was fun and interesting and went into an entirely different path than I expected from the beginning. We then moved on to the new Agatha Christie adaptation, Seven Dials, which is based on one of my favorite Agatha Christies, The Seven Dials Mystery. I’ve always been an odd Christie fan; I started reading her when I was about ten or eleven, and spent most of my teens reading the entire Christie canon. While I did enjoy her more famous and iconic novels, my favorites of hers have always been lesser-known, and are probably considered her weaker ones. My absolute favorite is Endless Night, followed by The Secret of Chimneys, Death Comes as the End, N or M?, and The Pale Horse, among others. I really liked the character of Bundle (Lady Eileen Brent), and she is quite fun in this adaptation as well. We watched the first two episodes last night, and there is one more to go today. I suppose we’ll watch Stranger Things next, as completists, but there’s a lot of good shows to watch at the current moment, a tough problem to have.

As I mentioned, yesterday wound up being a low energy day. I didn’t run all the errands I needed to, cutting some things out because I was tired and didn’t want to push my luck. I did make groceries at Rouses and the Fresh Market, but after bringing everything in I was pretty wiped for the rest of the day, and my brain couldn’t really focus enough to read, so it was back to documentaries for me in the afternoon while Sparky napped in my lap. I did clean up and organize some computer files–an endless task indeed–which I will probably do more of today. The apartment isn’t neat and orderly, but it’s getting there. Today may also be a “prune the books” kind of day, too. I definitely need to empty the dishwasher and take the recycling out, for sure, and get the rugs back in order. It’s weird to have tomorrow of as well, but…there are worse things. I took Wednesday off for a funeral, too, so this is going to be a very strange week for me. Normality will return next week, but then it’s Carnival.

Sigh.

I’m really getting used to–and spoiled–by all this time off from work.

Despite the temperature, it’s beautiful and sunny outside today, with a blue sky and no clouds to be seen anywhere. I just saw that it also snowed in Pensacola, which is wild…Pensacola being about two hours or so from New Orleans east on I-10. Snow below I-10 is kind of crazy; I always joke that I moved south of I-10 specifically to avoid cold weather. I definitely need to write a Scotty set during the blizzard last year…I’ve decided to jump ahead with the series rather than trying to keep the books in a continuous timeframe, realizing at the way things are going in a couple of years the books would be considered historical fiction if I kept on the way I was, so I am going to skip ahead and recap in the intro to the next one. I can also go back and write more that are out of order, if need be; other series have done that, too.

And on that note, I am going to get another cup of coffee and read for a bit. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

L. A. Freeway

And now we are on day two of 2026; so far so good, at any rate. I turned my brain off yesterday and spent the day doing chores and watching football games. The best game of the day was the final one, which saw Mississippi kick a last second field goal to beat Georgia and make it to the semi-finals. The day also saw a rather dull game with Texas Tech-Oregon, before Alabama got flat our embarrassed by Indiana. The Hoosiers are the number one team in the country–whatever that means, I don’t trust rankings that much anymore–but still. I don’t remember ever seeing Alabama beaten so thoroughly and decisively. They might lose, but they are always in it. This Alabama team looked like it couldn’t beat the Alabama team that opened the season getting beat by Florida State. I think that’s the biggest change to college football since the start of this decade–the “brands” don’t mean anything any more other than to pollsters, who are no better than any at-home viewer of the games. I mean, if someone would have told me as little as five years ago that Alabama would lose to Vanderbilt one season and then to Indiana in the next, I’d still be laughing. I would imagine Kalen DeBoer’s seat is kind of hot this morning in Tuscaloosa…four losses per year isn’t going to fly there.

That, I think, is the most interesting development in college football–showing everyone how useless and bogus the polls are. They’ve revamped and rebooted everything in the sport pretty much already; would ignoring and/or mocking the polls be too much of a stretch. The NFL doesn’t have polls, they have records–perhaps that is what college football should move towards. You don’t need polls to drum up interest in college football games.

Yesterday was very nice and lovely. I wound up deciding to shut off my brain and let it recharge for the day, and that’s exactly what happened all day. I didn’t think at all, which was terrific. I didn’t even brainstorm or do much of any type of thinking. I did start reading a nonfiction history of Alabama from the nineteenth century (Pickett’s History of Alabama and Adjoining States; my dad gave me a copy, which also reminded me of how much Alabama and Appalachian research I’ve done over the last few years, looking into legends and lore of the region for my own writing projects), but didn’t get very far into it. Today I get to work at home for a while–also have a meeting–and am having dinner with a dear friend this evening. That seems lovely, doesn’t it? I also have chores and reading to do today when I am finished working, but I am primarily going to try to get the house handled before dinner. There are no games tomorrow (Saints play Atlanta on Sunday), so I have all day tomorrow to do writing and reading around here. Huzzah! I’m enjoying all this extra time off, but readjusting to a normal work week is going to be a real drag. Yay for next week! But there’s also another holiday three day-weekend this month, too. And soon enough, it will be parade season.

Yikes, indeed.

But I am also thinking today is going to be a good, productive day, and so will this entire weekend. I won’t berate myself, though, if none of that happens. Taking it easier on myself is definitely one of the goals for the year; one of the best things about being healthy again is the forgetfulness is mostly gone; it still happens, of course, but not with the degree of frequency it used to have. I also am not tired all the time anymore, which has also been heavenly. Now that I am physically healthier, I’m having to get used to being anxiety-free all over again. It’s actually lovely, to be honest. I’ve never known life without anxiety, which was the root of so many issues for me, and my entire life was built around coping mechanisms to relieve anxiety and the concurrent mood shift. Now, I can choose whether to use that coping mechanism or not; and if my choice is a wrong one, I can just shrug it off and move on. I think part of the reason I am so optimistic about the new year is because I am facing it without a lot of the issues that have always made life so challenging for me.

I did have groceries delivered yesterday, so I am good on that. I might make groceries tomorrow, and get the mail, but other than that, I should be home for the weekend, and it’s not a bad way to see in this brand new year, is it?

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines and get some more coffee, maybe have some toast, too. I will be back tomorrow morning, so have a great day, Constant Reader!

Getting so close to Twelfth Night and the beginning of Carnival!

I Take a Lot of Pride in What I Am

So, this is another Monday in one of the last weeks of 2025. I slept well, and only hit snooze twice, which was unusual. I feel rested and good this morning, which is absolutely delightful. I didn’t get all my chores done over the weekend, so I’ll have to put away dishes and so forth when I get home from work this evening. I also have some dishes to wash and put through the dishwasher, too. Yesterday was a nice, lovely, relaxing day. I finished watching The American Revolution and New Orleans Soul of a City (the last one was about the Saints and the Superdome–so the series was food, music, Carnival, and the Saints; pretty much the soul of New Orleans). The college football play-off seedings were released, to the anger of several fan bases, and LSU is going to the Texas Bowl to play Houston in Houston. We also watched The Roses, which was interesting. I also spent a lot of time scanning journal pages into my computer so I can get all my notes over the years on Chlorine easily accessible and in one place. It’s chilly this morning, but the rest of the week (I think) will have highs in the 1970s.

ICE is here, sweeping the city with a goal of five thousand “criminals” to deport from the New Orleans area–and they are doing it so far with all the skill, efficiency, and Constitutional adherence they’ve shown everywhere else they’ve invaded with their Gestapo tactics. The reports so far seem to have netted only thirty-eight arrests, a third of whom had criminal records (odds they’ll be here through Carnival?), and they seem to have primarily focused on the immigrant community in Kenner, the suburb with the airport and the last one before you hit swamp heading west on I-10. A friendly reminder, that always needs to be mentioned, that immigrants rebuilt the city after Katrina. That’s why New Orleans was a sanctuary city: gratitude, which always seems to be in such short supply in the American psyche. I’ve been blocking the racist trash from the outer parishes and “metro area” who always claim to be from New Orleans but never are, who show up with their hateful bullshit on social media. I drove one bitch all the way off Threads recently, who pulled the I live in New Orleans which then became I’m from New Orleans to I was born in New Orleans but a quick search of her social media (wide open, I might add) showed she actually lives in ALABAMA, like the lying piece of racist trash she was, and that her husband worked for a government contractor. When I asked her how her husband’s employer would react to her being a racist lying piece of shit on-line, POOF. She was gone.

Keep New Orleans out of your disgusting, filthy, lying racist-ass mouths–and if you’re going to be such a troll on-line, don’t use your real name and leave all of your social media open. They’re rarely smart, you know?

And for the record, racist skanks in the burbs, New Orleans has always had crime; it’s a port fucking city. The history of this city is drenched in blood spilled by violence. Y’all fled the city after integration. Fuck ALL the way off.

Nothing makes my blood boil more than non-New Orleanians complaining about New Orleans. Begone! You have no power here!

But as always, going through the journals to scan my notes from Chlorine (I actually found the very first time I wrote the idea down, which was kind of cool) was revelatory; I really need to go through my journals more regularly to remind myself what is in there. There are some terrific ideas for short stories and essays in there, as well as notes on multiple projects that are still unfinished. As I was saying yesterday, my journals are far more informative about my writing process than anything in the files, so I think one of my projects for the rest of December is to ditch a lot of my files and get everything compressed into the filing cabinet. I also need to prune the books some more, and start clearing out the storage attic, and take everything off the tops of the kitchen cabinets (I literally have boxes of books everywhere).

And then there’s that moment when Carl Hiaasen shares your newsletter post reviewing hid book Fever Beach–yes, I still fanboy all the time. Eeee! (And it’s getting lots of likes and shares, which is really cool and was never the point of the review!)

And so, without anymore delays, I am heading into the spice mines this morning. Have yourself a merry little Monday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back on Tuesday morning!

The river parishes light bonfires on the levees to direct Papa Noel, an incredibly cool Louisiana tradition. They feature prominently in Ellen Byron’s mystery A Cajun Country Christmas.

He’ll Have to Go

A gray Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment, with a lot of things to do this morning. I have some errands to run, some food to prepare, and proofing to do today before I rest my sleepy little head in my bed this evening. Sparky wasn’t having my “let me sleep” mentality this morning, but he didn’t get aggressively insistent until about seven, so it was fine. I feel pretty well rested this morning, too, which is very nice. Yesterday was a nice day. I didn’t get nearly as much done as I should have, but I don’t care nor do I mind. I did have the games on for most of the day, but not really watching. Texas Tech throttled BYU, and then Georgia embarrassed Alabama, which I did watch. I didn’t watch either of the evening games, but was delighted for Indiana and Duke. I don’t think anyone see either of them winning ahead of those games, and what lovely chaos yesterday’s results unleashed on the college football playoffs, and there will be lots of anger and arguments once the teams who made it are announced this Tuesday. Since LSU is out of it, I’d love to see either Indiana or Vanderbilt win it all…but Vanderbilt probably isn’t getting in. I don’t know how much attention I am going to pay to the playoffs to begin with–I didn’t watch hardly any of it last year.

We also got caught up on Heated Rivalry–I hadn’t known it wasn’t all available yet until last night–and I am reserving my commentary until we’ve finished watching the entire thing. I’m enjoying the ride thus far, and that’s saying something–Paul is loving it. I’m not a hockey fan, so that aspect of the show isn’t resonating with me. (My first major crush in high school was a hockey player; I should write about that someday, although I have numerous times in fiction.) The show is stirring up shit on social media, though–some of the criticisms the show is getting is wild. My personal favorite is “hockey players don’t look that hot”–yes, their faces were be beaten up a bit more and they’d be missing some teeth, for sure–but seriously, why is it so hard for people to grasp the concept that it’s a romance? Romances, film or television or book or short story, aren’t accurate depictions of anyone’s reality. I don’t know why it is so hard for people to grasp that (although, in fairness, I am guilty of it myself from time to time) important, salient fact–and that ignorance is often masked in condescension; which is highly ironic. Condescending to (and about) a genre that you don’t understand is hardly a sign of your intellectual superiority. All genres deserve respect from writers outside of that genre, period. You’re not writing The Great Gatsby1 yourself, asshole.

I also finished going through my journals looking for notes on Chlorine during the Alabama-Georgia game, which was a lot of fun. It also made me realize there’s really no need for me to keep my papers and try to donate them to an archive (Tulane’s library was interested for one of their special collections almost two decades ago, but I never bothered getting around to it because I really didn’t care that much); all they really need or would want would be my back-up hard drive and my journals. It was kind of fun going through them, and I should more often because there’s a lot of good stuff in there about plotting and character and editing ideas and so forth. There’s also a lot of good ideas and fragments in there, too. I started keeping a journal in the mid-90s, and kind of got away from that at some point after moving to New Orleans. I started up again on New Year’s, I think in 2016. Paul and I had our annual lunch at Commander’s Palace with Jean and Gillian, and on the way back to the car afterward we stopped at Garden District Bookshop specifically for me to buy a journal so I could start keeping one again. I have been pretty consistent ever since then, and they are a fun record to revisit periodically. (I have my old ones around here somewhere, but I can never remember where they are.) It also gave me the answer to a question that has puzzled and confused other authors almost as long as I have been publishing: how do you write so fast? I don’t write fast, I type fast. Books and stories have existed in the corners of my mind for years in some cases before I actually write them, and have made notes and developed characters and titles and plots over many years before I organize them all and sit down to actually write the book. I don’t execute a novel from idea to characters to plot to write the whole thing in three months or so; I spend three months organizing it all while typing it all out–and in some cases, I’ve even started one before getting stuck and putting it to the side. In most cases, I am finishing a book in three months. (I have several novels on hand that are in some stage of completion, and I don’t even want to know how many novellas, short stories, and essays there are in the files.) They were started and thought out a long time before I actually write them.

Today’s goals are to get my bills caught up on paid for, running my errands, and proofing the typeset pages of the new book. I am making chicken white bean chili today (which should be delicious), and want to get some filing and organizing done. I am also going to gather all the Chlorine notes scanned in to the computer so I can start organizing them and working on the book. I also realized yesterday, as I selected and picked out the “noir” I’m going to try to read this month (through Twelfth Night, for the record) and realized that what I have considered to be noir all these years…well, I was incorrect; I was conflating hard-boiled with noir, and while they are very close to being the same and have things in common, there are more than enough differences to be entirely separate sub-genres. A book doesn’t even have to be a crime novel to be noir. Maybe it’s something I should write about for the newsletter, you know?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines on this gray, chilly day. It did rain for most of the day yesterday, which made for a very cozy day in my easy chair with Sparky in my lap and a blanket. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow.

As you can see, I have unlocked my Christmas hunk folder for the year.
  1. I used this book–which I loathe–as an example, because it’s often considered one of the great American novels. ↩︎

Pray to Jesus

Saturday in the Lost Apartment, although I suppose it’s Championship Saturday. I’ll have the games on for background noise but I don’t care about their outcomes. If they’re good games, I’ll watch; if not, I can just check in periodically while I do other things. I still need to put things away from yesterday’s Costco run, and some other touching up around here today, while organizing and pulling all my notes together for my new project, which I intend to commit to entirely tomorrow morning once I rise. Sparky let me sleep late this morning like the little darling he is, even cuddling with me the last few hours before I got up. I feel good and rested this morning. Paul is seeing his trainer today, and will inevitably (like always) spend a few more hours at the gym on the bike. I am looking to get back to the gym myself, probably after Mardi Gras. I feel terrific. My doctor agreed with me that I probably had been experiencing the colitis for several years before it finally got so bad this past spring, and was why I experienced so much fatigue. There’s also a possibility that I have “pernicious anemia” (I love the name. Pernicious–such a fun word!), an opportunistic autoimmune situation that sometimes tags along with colitis and causes Vitamin B-12 deficiency…which can affect memory and fatigue, and would require me to get a monthly shot. Yay.

I also have to get labs drawn again this coming Friday–the same day my next Skyrizi injection arrives in the mail.

We started watching Heated Rivalry last night, and I will have thoughts on it once we’ve finished. (And…it’s another one of those newsletter essays that will play into my series about masculinity.) I also caught up on the news last night after unloading the car and heating a pizza up for dinner. I am debating whether or not to watch The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, since I detest most of the cast and don’t enjoy watching it anymore. It’s not even a fun hate-watch anymore. I also started my reread of The Postman Always Rings Twice, which is so marvelous and nasty and, above all else, working class, that I see why it bothered people so much when it was originally published in the 1930s. It’s also hella racist, which I didn’t remember–which also explains the casting of Lana Turner in the film; no one would ever mistake her for Hispanic/Latino like Cora in the book. I am also very glad that I am rereading it, because it has that edge of nastiness that noir needs, and isn’t currently present in the first three chapters of Chlorine, and while roaming the aisles at Costco yesterday I was thinking about how to rewrite it. My main character is not a hero, and I have to remember that why I write him. That’s a significant mind shift for me when I write, really.

In football news, Tulane won their conference championship last night and are going to the play-offs for the first time in school history, but reports they were hiring LSU’s Brian Baker proved untrue as it was announced Baker would be staying on in Baton Rouge. LSU football is all over the news still down here, indicating a statewide level of excitement for the new coach that wasn’t there for Brian Kelly, ever, other than after that overtime win over Alabama his first year…but that excitement died down very quickly. Ironic that his best season was his first, rebuilding year, isn’t it? I think part of the excitement is joy at being rid of Kelly, frankly. I was willing to give him a chance, but he never really delivered.

At least he broke the streak of losing season openers that has plagued the Tigers this entire decade, and he did beat Alabama in a thriller in 2022. And he signed Jayden Daniels. Three good things out of almost four seasons.

And on that note, I am heading to my chair to read some more of Postman before getting cleaned up and getting to work on the apartment. I am also going to make chicken chili today, and some chicken salad for Paul. A very big day for me! It’s also gray and chilly and supposed to rain all day, too–an excellent day for reading under a blanket with the television on. I may watch an episode of The American Revolution, which I am really enjoying; it’s so nice to see our history without all the myths and legends that sprang up about it after the second world war.

So have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in on you again tomorrow morning, deal?

I’m Moving On

And I am back home.

I got here last night sometime between seven-thirty and eight; I don’t remember exactly what time I left Kentucky. I was also adventurous and broke tradition by coming home a different way than I have every time I’ve driven back since my parents moved up there. This actually is a big deal; I used to have a lot of anxiety when I drove–I don’t know why the thought of missing a turn or getting lost has always wound me tighter than a drum, but I guess it was the anxiety. But I was relaxed all the way up there, and I was relaxed all the way back, which was nice. I wasn’t even tired when I got there Tuesday night, either; I think the anxiety used to wear me out. I was tired when I got home last night, though; so I guess I did have a bit of it because I didn’t know where I was going. This time, I took the Cumberland Parkway across Kentucky to I-65 and came down through Nashville rather than Chattanooga. It was a very nice drive, and I don’t think I’ll have anxiety the next time I come that way.

It was also nice to unplug from the world. I only checked email to delete junk, and I think I answered one email–from my editor–on Tuesday while I was on the road. I have no idea what it going on in the country and the world, and I’m not really sure I want to get caught up, either. I do have some things I need to do today–our grocery situation is kind of dire–and some laundry and chores, and I don’t think I am going to attempt to do any kind of writing today–maybe in my journal. I listened to Laurie R. King’s superb O Jerusalem on the way up, and to Carl Hiaasen’s Fever Beach on the way back; which I have about an hour left to finish–it’s excellent and hilarious and thought-provoking, and there will definitely be more about both audiobooks in the newsletter, and relatively soon (I hope) at that. I didn’t listen to my Donna Andrews Christmas audiobook because I didn’t finish the Meg Langslow book I’d started last weekend. I will finish reading A Flock and a Hard Place this week, but am not sure when I’ll be able to get to the audiobook. I think I had decided to make December “Noirmas Season,” so I am going to try to get some noir read or revisited this next month, probably starting with The Postman Always Rings Twice, because it’s been a hot minute and what better way to kick off Noirmas Season than with the master? I also have some television to catch up on, too.

But the apartment is in pretty good shape, so I shouldn’t have too much trouble getting back on track this morning, huzzah! I have email inboxes to clean out (my email tab shows over 110 this morning; it’s not freaking me out the way it would have before, but still). I did watch the end of Alabama-Auburn last night when I got home, which was a much better game than I was expecting. I was driving and missed LSU-Oklahoma, which turned out to be a better game than I was expecting in the first place. Most of the teams I was rooting for over the “rivalry weekend” lost, which was disappointing, but they were mostly good games. I am really not interested in the post-season, but will watch LSU’s bowl game if they go to one, thus freeing up my Saturdays going forward. I am a bit better about not being glued to my easy chair every Saturday, too. The anxiety medication has apparently also removed my fear of missing out, which is really nice.

I’m really glad I went, to be honest. It was nice seeing all of my extended immediate family again–I have some really good-looking and smart grand-nieces and nephews (sigh)–and I enjoy spending time with Dad. I am learning a lot about the family history from him, and it’s nice hearing about what things were like for him and Mom when they first started dating and their early married life. And not being fatigued and worn out by driving twelve hours twice within a five day period the way I would have been before is also good to know. I’ve been feeling a lot better these last few weeks, in all honesty, and I think not being tired after work until Thursday night is a VAST improvement. I was getting kind of worried that the fatigue and lack of energy was my new normal, which was concerning but there was no point in even worrying about it because it was beyond my control. I do think I am going to start working on my physical condition a bit more going ahead, like going back to the gym and getting into better shape. What’s with the crazy talk, amirite?

And on that note, I am going to get cleaned up and head into the spice mines. Hope you had a marvelous holiday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back either later today (stranger things have happened, you know) with another entry or a newsletter or maybe…nothing at all until tomorrow morning.

The Roman Emperor Hadrian’s lover, Antinoüs, depicted as the Egyptian god Osiris