Category: books i’ve read

He Stopped Loving Her Today

And here we are on a Saturday morning and I am up early again. I went to bed early last night, too, which was nice–I was a bit tired after this week’s Hacks and The Boys. I feel very good this morning, too. I have some ZOOM things to do for the Bold Strokes Book-a-thon; a reading at three and moderating a panel tonight at seven, and another panel tomorrow at six pm my time. The national gymnastics finals are today at three, so I’ll be watching on my iPad during the reading–with no offense intended at all for the other readers; I’ve been waiting to watch this since last year, and I’ll be listening to the readers, not the meet.

Yesterday was lovely. I got my work-at-home chores done, cleaned some, did laundry all day, and had a nice relaxing day at home, which was super-nice. I spent the early evening ater Paul got home catching up on the news, and ordered a pizza from Reginelli’s–which is another example of how small a town New Orleans can be. When I served on jury duty for that civil case all those years ago, the plaintiff was a Reginelli, and that case inspired Murder in the Irish Channel, a Chanse novel I am particularly proud of, and what our friend Susan would order for our Game of Thrones nights at her home. I also managed to get a late newsletter out, discussing Cheryl A. Head’s marvelous short story “Finding Jimmy Baldwin,” which you can read right here. I am going to try to get another one out tomorrow, to be back on the twice weekly schedule, but we shall see how that goes. I have some errands to run today, too, before settling in for the reading and the panel and the gymnastics. I should also probably pick up and do some more cleaning, too. I am going to try to get some reading done this morning, too…Listen for the Whisperer‘s second chapter, and back to the novel I’ve been trying to get into for several weeks now, with no disrespect intended for the author or the book itself; it’s me, not the book. I think reading the short stories might have helped kick the reading gene back into gear; although I suppose we shall see this morning, won’t we?

And of course, later this month I am going to both Alabama and Florida, which means an audiobook to listen to and write about, so huzzah for that. The audiobooks actually make me look forward to going on long drives again, and of course, I am now anxiety-free so I don’t get tense and tired while driving , which always resulted in me being exhausted; I wasn’t tired at all the last time I drove to Kentucky, which is my benchmark for long drives. Obviously, given a choice I wouldn’t take all these drives, but I make the best of them, and listening to books definitely has made them much more bearable. I’m not sure exactly what I am going to listen to on this drive; I do have some interesting books downloaded already on my phone.

Nothing about that rape academy website (or whatever it was; I was far too disgusted by what it was for and about so didn’t dig into the news reports deeply) surprised me, other than I thought the number of visits (or hits, or whatever the term is for that) was shockingly low at sixty-two million, frankly; I would have assumed it was one out of every two or three men–but then again, not everyone had heard of that website, so it would have been significantly higher otherwise. As everyone says, maybe not all men but always a man, which is accurate. The men are clearly not okay, and haven’t been in a while, but as long as they continue subscribing to the notion that women are merely sperm depositories whose sole function is running the house and squirting out fetuses, they will continue to be. I’ve always been grateful not to be a straight man, because that privilege comes at too great a cost for me. The whole manosphere thing has always been hilarious to me; who thinks Joe Rogan is a fucking role model? How sad and pathetic is that? That man-child Braden Peters (talk about generic white-boy names!) is clearly mentally unwell and his parents clearly failed him. (You can’t start injecting testosterone at fourteen without parental consent, can you? There were places in his life where his parents should have parented better, but he also bears some responsibility for how broken he is; overdosing on crystal meth is a warning sign he clearly isn’t capable of reading.) How can anyone look at Theo Von, Joe Rogan, Andrew Schulz, and other grifters of their ilk, and think, that’s what I want to be like.

Shudder.

So many podcasts and their podcasters are the dregs of humanity. But when you’re selling something people want to buy–your inability to get laid isn’t your fault–you’ll always make money.

And their mentality that gay men are somehow lesser than them because we’re not into the bullshit they are is laughable. None of them would get laid if they were gay men; no gay men would ever find them attractive–especially when you know they don’t clean their ass properly because “that’s some gay hit, man.” No fucking thanks. That any woman would ever want to fuck any of their unhygienic selves–I mean, I can smell Theo Von through the screen, you know? He also used to work out at my old gym once in a while; it was weird seeing him when he was nothing more than that douche from Road Rules trying to start a comedy career. And no, even when he was younger and in much better shape–he was still completely unfuckable, to me at any rate. Trust me, bros, you ain’t got nothing to fear from us queers, okay?

So, no, the straight men aren’t okay. Thank God my straight male friends aren’t anything like them–but they wouldn’t be my friends if they were. I don’t assume all straight men are homophobic sexist pricks until proven otherwise…but they often prove themselves lacking in that area without any prompting or assistance from me. I’ve been wanting to tackle the topic of “boys will be boys” and “locker room talk” as one of my masculinity essays, but haven’t really found my way into it–the US Men’s Olympic Hockey team made me think of it, along with the Access Hollywood tape we all listened to back in 2016–and trying to find my way into the subject. The rape academy shit may be the key to the opening paragraph, plus the fact that I’ve spent a lot of time in locker rooms throughout my lie, or in male-only spaces, and have heard it myself.

I also never excused it.

Sigh.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines and getting some breakfast. Have a great Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

Statue of Ramses II at night with the crescent moon

Smoky Mountain Rain

Yes, this is yet another song that inspired me to write a short story–“No Security Provided,” thus far an unfinished first draft, about a woman driving north on I-75 hurriedly but has to make a rest stop and finds herself in a bad situation–which I really should finish someday. It has the potential to be a very good story, you know? Or it could be a worthless piece of crap no one will want. Your mileage might vary. I’m sure it often does.

For the first time in three weeks I have a work-at-home Friday, and it feels nice to be getting back into my normal routine. Yesterday was fine; I made it through the day unscathed, not tired, and pretty cheerful for the most part. I got home in time to see the final rotation of the Gymnastics national semifinals, in which LSU clinched a spot in the finals with three incredible floor routines back to back to wrap up their night. That made me even cheerier, and watching the news didn’t upset me too terribly. (I think I’ve just snapped about the country, to be honest; I’m numb to it all, with one notable exception–more on that later) I have some quality assurance to get done this morning, and some chores I’d like to take care of. I’ll need to also figure out what to get from the grocery store and what to have delivered, and when. I do need to run uptown to the post office, and maybe can drop off a load of books to the library sale. I can do that tomorrow, and swing by–oh, you don’t need to know the rundown of my plans for the weekend. I’m not sure I do, to be honest, other than as a reminder. I’ve been watching Jeopardy! clips on Youtube, trying to sharpen my mind, as well as playing a computer game that requires focus and concentration. I don’t know if that will work or not, but it seems to be? Anyway, I am feeling content this morning. The good night’s sleep undoubtedly helped with me feeling good and rested this morning, and that is so awesome, you know? I didn’t even sleep in that late, either. Sparky was a cuddlebug again this morning, but not as patient as he was last weekend waiting for me to get up and feed him, so I was up shortly after seven without issue. I am on my second cup of coffee this morning, and I already had my morning coffee cake, but my stomach still feels a bit on the empty side, so I’ll be making some toast or something in a moment.

It occurred to me yesterday, as the news of the CNN story on the so-called on-line “rape academy,” that I will never run out of material for my newsletter series on masculinity, will I? Certainly not as long as mediocre straight men can’t get laid due to their looks or lack of personality….scratch a straight man, and the odds are in your favor when it comes to finding one who’s a rapist, or one who has thought about it. Intrusive thoughts are still your thoughts. And the way men will always circle the wagons without question or thought when a man is credibly accused of sexual assault has always been rather telling, I’ve always believed. Not all men, of course, one can never truly generalize any demographic group as there are always plenty of exceptions to the generalization, but…it’s always a man.

I remember as a kid, when reading about history or mythology, I’d encounter the word rape and not know what it meant; I assumed it meant abducting them and nothing more than that–the rape of the Sabine women comes to mind–and it wasn’t until much later that I realized what the gods and soldiers were actually doing, and how casually the concept was introduced to me, and by extension, to all kids in that time period as not a big deal that it’s no wonder than men are socialized to think their cavemannish belief they are entitled to a woman’s body whenever and wherever they want. (This is why I love Sarah Weinman’s work so much–Without Consent is probably one of the most important non-fiction works on women’s bodily autonomy in years–or at least since her last book. I really need to read it again so I can write about it. It’s just too important of a book for me to dash off some thoughts without being thoughtful, you know?)

It also looks to be another stunning April day outside, so maybe sitting outside with a book this afternoon might be a good call. Or a little walk down to the park and back, or over to Walgreens; I do need to get some Claritin. So, I think I’m going to bring this to a close and head over into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, y’all, and I’ll be back yet again in the morning.

He Thinks He’ll Keep Her

How is it Thursday already? This is what happens when your schedule disrupts. Yesterday I kept thinking it was Tuesday, and Tuesday was the same. Argle-bargle, but at least this weekend I will reset. Yesterday wasn’t a bad day at all; I never really was tired while at work and I got a lot done; likewise after I got home. I did some laundry and the dishes, read a short story, and picked up some around here–it really doesn’t take much to maintain order during the week, and if I don’t have to do all of that over the weekend, I can do other cleaning that needs doing; like the stairs haven’t been swept in I don’t know how long. In fact, after work-at-home Friday I should be all current with everything from work. Tonight is the national semi-finals for college gymnastics; LSU is in the second bracket which fortunately airs after I get home from work. GEAUX TIGERS!

We finished watching Stick last night, which is an absolutely charming little comedy about relationships and grief and healing, just like Ted Lasso–and if you loved Lasso, you will love Stick, which also has a most excellent cast. It’s a delightful comfort show, much as Tad Lasso and Schitt’s Creek, and it just makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Owen Wilson is an absolute delight in the lead, and there is excellent chemistry between the cast, too. I’m sorry it’s over, but at least with the gymnastics tonight we don’t have to figure out what to watch next, which is really nice.

I also realized last night that I missed my newsletter schedule for the week again. Heavy sigh. As I said, I did read a short story last night; Cheryl Head’s marvelous “Finding Jimmy Baldwin” from Crime Ink: Iconic, which was recently chosen for the Best Mystery and Suspense anthology by editors Megan Abbott and Steph Cha–I’m telling you, this anthology is fire–and it delivered, as I knew it would. More on that later, of course. Maybe that will be my next newsletter? Cheryl is an absolute gem, both as a person and as an author, and so fiercely intelligent and competent and kind! I am grateful she came to Saints and Sinners all those years ago with her first Charlie Mack mystery, and I’ve been a fan/reader ever since. (S&S is why I know a lot of really amazing people.) I’m also glad I decided to go back and read short stories since I can’t seem to concentrate enough to read an entire novel (I do think there’s something to the not being able to read a novel and the I need to read for research combination.)

I have been feeling a bit at sea lately, and I am sure it has everything to do with not having a normal weekend around here for a few weeks. I just can’t seem to focus or concentrate as much as I need to, but for now, at any rate, I am just letting my mind wander freely and keep up its ADHD creativity of thoughts and ideas and so forth…because it’s been a long time since my mind and body and spirit were rested and in sync and really been creative. Hurricane Season Hustle was a lot harder to write than most books I’ve written because my brain wasn’t free enough to create on its own and I had to force it. I think that’s part of why I look at the book slightly askance; it’s not just that I got so damned sick while working on it but because I had to put effort into thinking and writing it, which usually isn’t as hard as it was…but in fairness, this has been a very rough decade, and not just for me, either; others have had it much worse than I have, but it’s not a competition, and I don’t have to feel bad about recognizing how rough it’s been without having the tones of toxic masculinity whispering in my inner ear–“tough it out” or “get over yourself wimp” and other hateful things of that type.

This is why toxic masculinity is so damned damaging; it take root deep in your brain and goes off at inopportune moments like a blue light special. I wish I’d started unpacking all of this a lot sooner, frankly. Ah, well.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. May your Thursday be bright and lovely and filled with love and success, Constant Reader, and no worries. I’ll be back on the morrow.

Flooding in Venice.

Eighteen Wheels and a Dozen Roses

Here we are on my first ever (and hopefully last ever) work-at-home Monday. I did used to do work-at-home Mondays, but I didn’t like them very much. I didn’t get up as early as I would have liked to, but …the bed was comfy, the blankets were heavy and warm, and Sparky was being a cuddle-bug. Since I didn’t have to get up early to shower before work, I allowed myself more time in the bed this morning. What can I say? I don’t know why Sparky has become a morning cuddlebug, either–he rarely sleeps in the bed with us; Skittle and Scooter loved the bed and slept there without us all the time, but not Sparky. I do have a lot of work-at-home stuff to get done today, which means fighting with Sparky over my chair (something I also had to do with both of his predecessors)…but there are very worse things.

A lot of worse things, actually. I shudder to check the news this morning. Hmm, I see someone sent out an AI image of himself as Jesus. Remember those ten commandments that the Right wants to post in every classroom and outside of public buildings? I believe the very first one is Thou shalt have no other God before Me. Maybe they want to put them up because they need a constant reminder?

I think I may be on to something here. Sheesh. And yes, I screen shot the blasphemy to keep to share whenever some fucking smug Christian pulls that faith bullshit with me on line.

Yesterday was kind of nice. I slept late, felt relaxed and good, and did get some things done around the apartment. I was also creative for a lot of the day, thinking and taking notes and trying to wrap my mind around a few things. My mind is flooding with creativity again, and was kind of all over the map the last few days so much that I didn’t even remotely try to contain it and just let it roam wherever it wanted to go without restraint. I also realized part of my motivational issue with writing right now is because I have so much to work on I feel overwhelmed and paralyzed at the daunting chore ahead of me. But…that isn’t helpful and only increases the feeling of being overwhelmed, so I need to start putting one foot in front of the other and getting things done. So…list and prioritize, get organized and stop just floating from day to day with no plan. I was going to get the mail and maybe some groceries today after my work at home duties, but I can also do that on my way home from the office tomorrow. It was a gorgeous day yesterday, and it looks like another one today–this truly is the best part of the year in New Orleans, when everything is blooming and the air smells lush and sweet and redolent with sweet olive, jasmine, magnolia and honeysuckle. I’ve yet to see a stinging caterpillar, and the return of the termites is just around the corner.

I’ve also kind of reached that same point about the world and the country as I have with the writing; all I do now is just laugh at the insanity and think about how apropos that we’re dancing so close to the abyss because everything is fucking stupid. Yes, I think I may have snapped. I mean, we have the First Lady throwing her husband under the Epstein bus and bringing it back to the forefront again, the disaster of the war and the explosion of inflation because of it–I don’t even want to think about gas prices; another reason I don’t want to leave the house today–but at least there was a bright spot in Hungary as the people there voted out right-wing extremism in a landslide; another slap in the face to MAGA as the world recognizes the scourge of fascism and rejects it yet again. Hey Americans–you have an opportunity to do the same and purge these anti-American traitors this fall. Maybe we can even get the world to start forgiving us for our arrogance and stupidity.

I started a reread of Listen for the Whisperer by Phyllis A. Whitney yesterday on my iPad, and the Gothic-tropes were just radiating off the pages as I made it through the first chapter. I originally read this shortly after Victoria Holt’s The Secret Woman and Mary Stewart’s The Ivy Tree, which put me all in on romantic suspense for the next two decades. Gothics/domestic suspense were about women’s fears; and what could be more hardboiled than thinking the man you love might be trying to kill you? This was my first Whitney novel for adults after reading many of her juvenile mysteries; it had everything I could possibly want: a fading movie star, a decades-old unsolved murder mystery, and some histrionic family melodrama. Leigh Hollins is a professional young woman with emotional issues, so she wasn’t an heiress; her father was a best selling novelist so she had some privilege; she’s in her early twenties. And then it’s off to Norway; more on this later obviously once the reread is complete.

The next Scotty is going to be a sort of Mardi Gras mystery, even though I’ve already done one, and am still working out how to include and interweave all the things I want to include and its going to include some callbacks to the series history, methinks, which will make it more fun for me to write.

I also completed my rewatch of The Traitors fourth American season, and am digesting my thoughts to write about my latest obsession.

And on that note, tis another cup of coffee for me and into the spice mines for the day. Have a great Monday, everyone, and I will be back tomorrow morning bright and early.

Beautiful physique model Dick DuBois from the 1950s and the “fitness” magazines—which would also be an interesting setting for a queer noir.

Wide Open Spaces

Sunday morning and I am still feeling disoriented. I kept thinking yesterday was Friday, and that today would be Saturday. I have an errand to run and some groceries to have delivered. I stayed up late finishing the laundry–it was launder the bed linens day, postponed from Friday, which also helped with the day mind-fuckery–but slept very well and slept in. The kitchen looks much better than it did yesterday morning, but it still needs some work. After Paul got up, we just had a lazy day hanging out and watching television. It was indeed a gorgeous day out there yesterday and it looks like today is going to be just as lovely. I may take a walk later just to revel in the day and get some exercise. Maybe I’ll stretch today too–can’t hurt, right? I’m starting to feel the itch to become more physically active, since I am not nearly as tired all the time the way I used to be. It’s so lovely not to be tired, Constant Reader, you have no idea!

I can also tell my injection is due next Monday.

I was thinking–I did do a lot of that yesterday–about my recent newsletter essay about gender roles and my not fitting in as a child as a boy who didn’t conform to my assigned gender role (which meant I was gender-nonconforming) and that really, it was the late 1970’s/early 1980s when those rigid roles began to loosen slightly. I’m enjoying all this introspection and self-discovery journey I’ve been on for the past few years (beginning with Mom’s death), which also makes me realize how long I avoided examining myself and my life. I thought I did a lot of navel-gazing before, but it was always pretty shallow and never went very deep, ever; often, I think, because there were things about myself I preferred not to know, or to confront. But I’m more interested now in accepting patterns of behavior that I now understand were driven by the anxiety, which is now under control.

I also spent some more time paging through Jackson Square Jazz and kind of enjoying it, because it also is reminding me of writing the book and the research that went into it, particularly the Cabildo Fire, which was a real event that I wrote into the book as a pivotal moment for the plot and I got to write about some New Orleans history that may or may not have ever been talked about in fiction. (I also remember being rather taken aback when someone told me the pre-Katrina Scotty books were also important historically because they documented what gay Quarter life was like before everything changed; Jean Redmann did the same for the lesbian side.) I am in the thinking stages of the eleventh (!!!) Scotty right now, too–I know the plot elements I want to hit–and I am also thinking about getting back into the in-progress manuscript I am trying to focus my energies on (rereading Christa’s story from Crime Ink: Iconic got me back into that mindset again, even as I realized I couldn’t tell my story as well as they told theirs); I need to immerse myself into that world again as I reconfigure my main character, who I was softening a bit. No, the main character, Greg, needs to be on the make, as they used to say back then, using his looks and his body to advance himself in Hollywood, while painting a dark picture of what being queer in Hollywood used to mean.

And so, on that note, I think I am going to bring this to a close and go have some breakfast before settling into my easy chair to read; I think I am going to reread Listen for the Whisperer by Phyllis A. Whitney and try to get further into my first-time reading book. I also need to do the floors and clean up the workspace a bit this morning. Have a great Sunday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow on work-at-home Monday. Till then!

The beauty of Yosemite

Cheeseburger in Paradise

Saturday morning in the Lost Apartment, and I slept late. I fell asleep in my easy chair around ten thirty last night, woke up and went up to bed and didn’t get up this morning until nine thirty. Sparky was a sweetheart this morning, getting into the bed and snuggling until his hunger got the best of him and it was time for me to get up. How does he know which day is which? He doesn’t bother me at six in the mornings on the days when I don’t have to go to work, which is wild, or he’s a genius….which is hard for me to believe because he is such a complete dork sometimes. Always adorable, of course. I picked up his water fountain this week and so today, around everything I need to do and all the errands I need to run, I am going to assemble it to see if he’ll drink out of it. I have errands up the ass and the apartment is a wreck; laundry to do and dishes to wash, things to pick up and throw away and floors to vacuum. I was groggy when I first got up, but I am waking up and feeling better with every moment. I also swapped Friday-at-home for Monday-at-home and yes, I’ve not had a normal weekend in weeks. No wonder I feel so off-balance all the time…

I also wrote another newsletter yesterday–two this week!–about Christa Faust’s Derringer Award nominated short story, “Hollywood Prometheus” from Crime Ink: Iconic, which is fantastic. (You can read it here.) I had meant to write about every story in the book–I always want to do this with anthologies I am lucky enough to be in, and somehow never got around to it. Maybe since I am having so much trouble reading novels, I should switch to reading short stories again? A renewal of the Short Story Project and maybe even the Reread Project could do the trick; it’s always fun to revisit Mary Stewart or Phyllis A. Whitney, and since I do want to talk about the Gothic influence on me and my work in a newsletter at some point, why not go back and reread one for a “these books made me who I am .” I’d really like to tackle Green Darkness by Anya Seton again, but it’s soooo long. I used to love thick books–the longer the better (hence my deep dive into James Michener and Herman Wouk in high school)–but now I just think I ain’t got time for that. Who does? Seriously.

Last night we watched another episode of The Boys, which is very dystopian and a very harsh critique on our government, country, and politics, and I fucking love how pointed it is. We also watched the season premiere of Hacks–Jean Smart is so sharp and brilliant, and it’s just an excellent show–before I started getting sleepy. I also caught up on the news after I got home from the office yesterday, and Christ, there’s so much insanity and craziness in Washington and the country right now. All I do know for sure is that there’s no 3-D chess being played, anywhere–except maybe Tehran.

It’s also a stunningly beautiful morning outside; I think the high is the eighties. The sky is blue, no clouds anywhere, and I can see by the moving of the crepe myrtles there’s probably a really nice breeze. Maybe I can take the iPad outside and sit reading for a bit, which might be lovely. I’d also like to wash and clean out the car this weekend. It really needs to be waxed after using rubbing compound on it. Maybe I can do that when I visit Kentucky next. I was thinking about going up there in late June, after the wedding anniversary visit to Mom’s grave, and that would be the right kind of weather for sure.

I also made the right decision yesterday about my attitude about having to go into work. Now that I am medicated, I can make those kinds of decisions about my mental health rather than spiraling into bitter anger about the disruption to my routine. It was actually nice; I hadn’t done walk-in testing for the general population in years, and in all honesty, was worried about it some–part of my irritation. But I pulled off the scab, remembered how to be present, friendly and kind to the clients, and connected with all of them, which made me feel like I was helping these strangers, and that’s a good feeling. Maybe I should help out with that more often?

And on that pleasing note, I am heading into the spice mines for today. Have a lovely Saturday (that feels like Friday to me) and I will certainly be back again in the morning. Huzzah! Onward and upward!

After the Gold Rush

Today’s title is an old Neil Young song that I first heard as a cover by Prelude in 1974, and then again by Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris, and Linda Ronstadt on their Trio II album, which is the best version in my opinion. Their harmonies are angelic, you know? The song’s lyrics are apocalyptic and strange, but also very beautiful. It actually inspired a novel I’ve never gotten to; one of those a bunch of college kids visit a ghost town in the California mountains and end up being picked off one by one type novels, but maybe someday I’ll get back to it. One never knows. I also figured out what to do with Sorceress and its unfinished sequel this weekend, too, which is very exciting. It was a pretty good weekend after all, wasn’t it?

I did feel a bit groggy yesterday morning, and it was overcast, which didn’t help get me motivated to wake up and get moving, and I was still a bit groggy and unmotivated when I got to the office. It wasn’t a slow day, but it wasn’t a busy day, either. I did hit a wall around noon, but after eating lunch I kind of had my strength and energy back so I made it through the day. I stopped and made a small bit of groceries on my home, and had every intention of doing chores when I got home–but my easy chair and Sparky made short work of that. Paul worked at home yesterday, so he came down and we finished watching The Night Agent, which we both enjoyed before going to bed last night. I feel pretty good this morning–didn’t want to get up, like always–but I am not achy and sore.

While I was watching television last night, I started paging through Jackson Square Jazz and thinking, hmm, this sentence is awkward and wouldn’t write it that way now here and there, so maybe I should go through and do a revision before getting it formatted and so forth. I was always hesitant about revising my old work–what’s done is done has always been my theory–but now I’m wondering if I should? There’s also a lot going on in that book, almost like I threw everything into it but the kitchen sink. It was more layered and deeper than Bourbon Street Blues, which was just a caper adventure. It was also nice seeing how much Scotty’s voice has changed over the years as he’s grown and matured; he was kind of a Peter Pan type, just enjoying his life and not thinking about the future–or worrying about it, too.

We’re going to be busy in the clinic today, so I will probably be tired when I get home tonight. I had to jump through a couple of hoops first, but I was able to get a new appointment to see my GI specialist–the expensive medication needs a renewal, or maybe I’ll be changed to something else, who knows? It’s hard to believe at this time last year was when I got so terribly and horribly sick. It seems like longer than a year ago to me, but time has that weird ability to seem either short or long, doesn’t it?

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check back in with you again tomorrow morning on Pay-the-Bills Wednesday.

Volcano

Monday and back to the office with me this morning. We’re also going to be busy in the clinic today, so I am not going to have time to do much around my clients. Which is fine; last week was slower than usual so it’s no big deal that we’re booked heavily this week. The weekend was lovely and relaxing, which was precisely what I needed. I got to see friends on Friday that I don’t get to see as often as I would like, which was lovely, and while I may have been more tired than usual on the weekend, I did have a nice relaxing weekend and got a lot of things done. It rained overnight Saturday into Sunday afternoon, which was lovely despite the lack of thunder (I always prefer thunderstorms to just rain). The temperature dropped after the rain, too–and I think it may have rained some overnight. I definitely woke up to a sinus revolt this morning. Thank God for Claritin-D, which has made my life ever so much better. It’s going to be in the sixties today before heading back into the seventies as the week progresses.

I got up late yesterday morning–it was the rain, seriously, because there’s nothing better than being in bed snug and warm while it rains–and didn’t get as much done as I would have liked, as always. I did do some of my chores before Paul got up, and got groceries ordered and delivered in the mid-afternoon. We then went back to The Night Agent and binged that for the rest of the day. I still have chores to do, of course, and I need to make some groceries on the way home from the office today. I also have to get some of these chores done/finished tonight, but it will depend on how I feel when I get home from the office today, and how needy Sparky is when I get home.

But it was nice having a lazy Sunday, you know?

I did some writing planning yesterday while watching television, and worked on some newsletter ideas. I think I have finally found my way into the essay series about masculinity, and I have a great idea for another. Yes, one should have been completed and sent this weekend, but I am going to try to shoot for Wednesday this week and then another this weekend. I’d like to keep the Wednesday/weekend duality going forward (unless I’m not here), and missing one delivery date here and there isn’t going to disappoint anyone other than myself…which is how it should be, actually. As Cher says, “I only answer to myself and God.” (And since I don’t really believe in God…)

I also watched Clown in a Cornfield yesterday. One of my streaming services (Apple) suggested it to me; I’d forgotten it had been filmed and released last year (I think I knew? I’m not sure), so when I was reminded of it yesterday I thought hell yeah, let‘s watch! The movie was fun–nothing anyone needs to break their leg rushing to go see–but it was an absolutely competent slasher movie. They left out a lot of the societal and political stuff that was slyly slipped into the book and made it so delightfully wicked. I suppose it was unnecessary to the overall point of the movie–slasher fun–but that also lessened the delivery of the big twist to the story. The young cast was good, the dialogue sharp and witty, and it’s a pleasant addition to the canon. There are two sequels to the novel now; I read the first one but haven’t gotten to the third part of the trilogy. I’m also looking forward to streaming Scream 7 when it’s available.

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

I will never tire of taking pictures of New Orleans’ marvelous live oaks

Every Which Way But Loose

Happy Easter to all who celebrate, and a happy Sunday to those who do not. We do not celebrate Easter, but we do recognize the Easter Bunny and candy because who doesn’t? My favorite parts of “Christian holidays” are inevitably always the parts appropriated from pagan holidays. Funny how that works, isn’t it? It’s also raining, and I slept in later than I’d hoped to. Sparky eventually got impatient waiting for me to get up and scratched my face near my left eye, and while I easily and happily could have slept longer, I am glad I got up. I feel rested, which is very nice, and relaxed. I didn’t really do a whole lot yesterday; I ran my errands and got home in the early afternoon and basically chilled for the rest of the day while Paul was at his office and the gym. He got home in time to watch LSU Gymnastics to win the regional final. They didn’t have a great meet, but still almost broke 198.00–which is incredible. After that we started watching Something Very Bad Is Going to Happen, but the first episode was just weird and odd and un-involving, so we moved on to season three of The Night Agent, which is a very fun action packed high energy international intrigue thriller. Gabriel Basso, who plays the lead, is very sexy, too.

While Paul was out, I watched a couple more episodes of season 4 of The Traitors. I am really going to enjoy writing about the show, but I definitely have to outline the essay so I don’t forget to talk about something I find interesting. Yesterday’s watch reminded me of how The Traitors somehow pulls off something I wouldn’t have thought possible–redeeming people I have disliked in other media. I was resistant to watching this particular season (which was still airing when we started watching) because I hated both Lisa Rinna and Candiace Dillard from their time on Real Housewives; but I really enjoyed them of The Traitors. Same with Colton Underwood; I didn’t love how he came out after his time on The Bachelor and it seemed like the powers-that-be thought they could make him–a very pretty blue-eyed blond white man–into THE Gay Celebrity, especially given his problematic past. I actually wound up liking him on this show, and maybe I should go back to his reality series about coming out and “learning to be gay”; I’ve been wanting to watch through some gay-base reality shows I’ve watched and how terrible they inevitably are (Drag Race being the sole exception). I’m also, while rewatching, remembering how Alabama Rob charmed us all–and seeing the seeds of Rob and Maura’s bond (it literally goes back to episode one) being planted makes her loyalty to him at the end make more sense; she really wasn’t his “dicktim.” (That’s another interesting thing about rewatching; you pick up on things you didn’t notice the first time through.)

After getting the mail, I swung by the Fresh Market on my way home, which I usually don’t mind as far as grocery stores are concerned. It’s slightly more expensive, but it’s never crowded and the customers aren’t nearly as annoying as the ones at Whole Foods (I get highly annoyed every time I shop there, which I why I don’t). But it seemed like all the entitled rich old white people somehow got an alert that they needed to go to the Fresh Market and show their whole asses. I was quite relieved when I put my bags in the car and skedaddled away from that portal to hell. I never do a big shop when I go there–the slightly more expensive thing–but I love their meat counter (lots of fresh meat options there) and they also sell Jelly Belly jelly beans there by weight. I love me some Jelly Belly jelly beans, but I stopped eating them when I got sick last year and haven’t bought any since. I snacked a bit on them last night and yes, I still love them. I just cannot overdo it with them because the goal here is to lose weight.

I also mailed some books yesterday. I still have two more copies to send out, and one to drop off Uptown, but I also did very little around the house yesterday because I was being a bit on the lazy side and relaxing. I’m going to try to do some cleaning today–at least get everything picked up and put away–and I am also going to try to do some reading this morning. I also want to try to get a newsletter out today, and I know which one I am going to try to get taken care of; I want to talk about Christa Faust’s Derringer Award nominated short story “Hollywood Prometheus” from Crime Ink: Icons. (I did find a way into my essays series about masculinity yesterday, too, but I want to think about that introductory prologue essay and let it marinate in my brain for a few days.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines and clean up this mess of a kitchen and work space. I also have to balance my checkbook–always a joy–and do some other thankless tasks so I am not behind on anything anymore. Heavy heaving sigh. It’s also supposed to get cold later today, too. Woo-hoo!

Sexy fitness model and BGEast wrestler Rio Garza

I Think I Like It

Tuesday morning and I woke up before the alarm went off, and only hit snooze once. I actually feel pretty good at the moment–we’ll see how long it lasts, won’t we–and so am hoping for a pretty good day. Taking yesterday off was pretty wise, as I felt like I was a dragging a bit yesterday. I did manage to get some things done yesterday, too, so I feel like this shortened week is already off to a pretty good start. My Achilles tendons are still a bit stiff and complaining this morning, but that’s okay; I shall ice them again when I get home tonight. I do have some errands to run after work–I need to swing by the grocery store on the way home, because I don’t have anything to have for lunch this week. (Today’s is leftover pizza from last night.)

We had some marvelous thunderstorms yesterday afternoon–not much rain, but insane thunder–which also made being inside feel ever-so-cozy. I spent the morning doing some things–organizing, starting work on the laundry, cleaning the kitchen–and then Paul came home from the hotel (hence the remaining loads of laundry) and after he finished unpacking and resting for a while, we watched the world figure skating championship for men and ice dance. I ordered a pizza for dinner, which was marvelous, and after that was over, watched some of the news to get a better grasp on where we are at in this burning down of the world that is now national policy.

It’s always so lovely on the weekends to not pay attention to any of that, and just let my mind relax and be a bit free.

I also watched some documentaries about little known victims of royal inbreeding–and surprisingly enough, they weren’t all Hapsburgs. All European royals are inbred, of course, and they still have a habit of marrying cousins. The Hapsburgs are simply the most notorious for it, because they didn’t have any issues with uncle-niece marriages, which is just, frankly super-gross. I mean, imagine your children’s father is also their great-uncle. Yuck, and it’s not surprising the Spanish line died out from the inbreeding. The seventeenth century, which saw some of these uncle-niece marriages, saw the Bourbons, Hapsburgs and Stuarts also marrying double-first cousins amongst themselves, so even going out of the same breeding pool brought in “fresh” blood that was also inbred. It’s a wonder all the dynasties didn’t die out because of such a contaminated gene pool.

I also spent some time yesterday thinking about the next Scotty book and getting back into writing again. Will I actually do any writing this week? Stranger things have happened, and it’s really not surprising that after S&S I am deep in thought about his next adventure; I also realized the first Scotty came out just before the first S&S, so they are connected in my subconscious. I am almost hesitant to even talk about writing again, as I do and then the mood passes or I can’t make myself actually do it. This is why I haven’t named the book I am going to read next–because I still haven’t started reading it yet and I don’t want anything to think it’s the book’s fault rather than my own limited attention span. The infuriating part is I know that if I was reading more, my brain would probably function better? I should also start watching Jeopardy again. Anything to sharpen my mind…which could use all the help it can get, frankly.

But it’s back to reality again, with me heading into the office and adjusting back to my every day reality, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I feel rested and awake and able to face the day, which is a good feeling, and I should succeed at being productive today.

And on that note, it’s back to the mines of spice for me. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back here tomorrow for another exciting update!

There’s always a tacky-looking strip club just around the corner in the Quarter–and what a great story prompt that sign is!