Category: Carnival

The Devil Went Down to Georgia

God, how I hate that fucking song. Maybe it was okay the first two or three hundred times I heard it, but now? It sets my teeth on edge and I kind of root for the devil now.

Sparky got me up early this morning, which is fine. I feel a little tired and sore from standing out on the parade route for a couple of hours yesterday (three or so, to be exact) for the Iris parade. Iris is my favorite of all the parades, and always has been. I fell in love with the ladies of Iris that first time I came here for Carnival back in 1995, and that has never changed. It was a beautiful day for parades, too. It was sunny, not a cloud in the sky, and the temperature hovering the mid 70s. I also forget how much fun the parades are from year to year. It is fun out there. Everyone is in a good, festive mood; everyone is friendly; and you meet lots of people out there on the route. The parades always create this incredible feeling of community that’s kind of hard to describe. No one is completely wasted, everyone is just buzzed and vibing and having fun. We got buried in beads like we always do at Iris, and then we came inside and skipped Tucks. My legs feel fatigued this morning, so I don’t know if I’ll be going out today (there are four: Okeanos, Mid-city, Thoth, and Bacchus. Bacchus and Thoth are extremely popular, so it will be madness down at the corner too. I may wander out there, I may not, it depends on how I feel. I took tomorrow off so as not to have to deal with traffic and parking (I’d have to leave the office at two anyway, at the very least), and we’ll be going out for Orpheus tomorrow night. Today I really need to be more active–I need to clean and I need to write and I need to get my act together.

A running theme on this blog, methinks. Some things never change.

I did get a chance to speak to my sister yesterday as well, and found out that I was correct–we had both had the measles when we were kids (“freedom freckles,” as someone said on Threads yesterday), which confers immunity so I don’t need to get a booster. I thought we had, but wasn’t sure. (She currently has shingles, despite the vaccine, but it’s a much milder case than had she not.) We had the mumps and the measles at the same time (and I just realized how terrified our parents must have been back then, since measles could kill or do even worse damage; I can’t even fathom 1/10th of how much worry they had when we were small kids), and chicken pox by itself at a later date (hence immunity from all poxes). I also remember getting the polio vaccine and rubella; I remember lining up in second grade to get them. So, fuck you, anti-vaxxers, your kids aren’t going to give me anything that could potentially kill me. Can’t say the same for your kids, though. The recent rubella outbreak in Texas? Hey anti-vaxxer trash: why don’t you go ahead and google what happens when a pregnant woman gets rubella, you fucking self-absorbed bitches? Isn’t it bad enough that you’re entire thesis is “I’d rather have a dead child than an autistic one”? All those tombstones for children in those old Alabama cemeteries…interesting how few recent graves there are for children. So, just go ahead and miss me with your Dr. Google research on vaccines, trash. If you want your kids to die, have at it. But why should other people’s children have to die to satisfy your egocentric narcissism?

And miss me with your “pro-life” stance and your Christianity. Suffer the little children wasn’t a directive.

Honestly.

We got caught up on our shows last night, and started watching this new Robert De Niro show on Netflix called Zero Day. It was entertaining enough and has an incredible cast–Joan Allen, Angela Bassett, Connie Britton, De Niro himself–and the writing seems pretty top notch. It’s a political thriller about the aftermath of a massive cyber attack on the United States, and De Niro is a retired president (Bassett is the current), asked to head up a new agency to find out who did it and how to stop them from doing it again. It’s not an action show–De Niro isn’t getting into fistfights and gun battles with bad guys–but more cerebral with twists and turns. (Seriously, the fistfights and gun battles all start to seem the same after awhile, and some of the shows–The Recruit, The Night Agent, Prime Target–also start running together, too. Reacher remains fantastic, though.) Political thrillers are kind of hard to watch now for me–the insanity running the country currently kind of makes them quaint in a way–but here we are, you know? I also saw that Fletcher Knebel’s old thriller about an insane president–Night of Camp David–is making the rounds again (I read it the first time around with this bullshit), but not even Knebel, who wrote a lot of political thrillers, could have imagined a United States where a political party would rally around a sociopathic narcissist, with the media working hand in glove with them to present this as normal and sane. Not even John LeCarré or Robert Ludlum could have come up with this kind of story. (Stephen King foresaw it also with The Dead Zone–a book that I don’t think gets enough appreciation for its brilliance– but even he couldn’t see it winning in the end.)

We’ve taken our country for granted for so long that none of us could ever believe it could come to an end…kind of like the Trojans and the Carthaginians and Rome itself. Everything ends. I had hoped it would last until I no longer had to worry about it, but I guess I lived longer than I should have.

And on that grim note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I will talk to you later.

I Want Your Love

Iris Saturday! And it looks like a beautiful day out there outside my windows. I also don’t feel sick this morning, which is also wonderful. After working yesterday I felt very sick and very tired, so I just decided to shut my brain off and just mindlessly drift through news clips on Youtube, as well as whatever my brain decided for me to look for (the temple destruction scene at the end of Samson and Delilah, for one example) as I finished laundering the sheets and went to bed. I slept great last night, too, and feel pretty good this morning. That’s awesome because it is, after all, IRIS SATURDAY! I probably won’t stay out for Tucks after Iris, but I am not missing my ladies! I also feel like I can get some things done around here today, too. I’ve been slacking on the house (and on, well, everything) for a while now–being sick didn’t help matters much–and so I should be getting it all under control today. I want to get some reading done, catch some beads, do some cleaning and some writing, while I’m at it.

I also watched a couple of 1970s movies last night while Paul worked (I got tired of the news; I can only watch American elected officials embarrass the country in front of the world so many times. What a fucking disgrace) and watched a Gene Hackman hard-boiled private eye movie (Night Moves) and a classic I’ve never seen (that no one ever talks about anymore either–The China Syndrome) and I enjoyed both. There’s really something different about the movies of the late 1960s and 1970s, a kind of gritty realism that showed the world as it was–dirty, graffitied, muted colors–that went away with movies in the 1980s, where everything was prettied up for the movies and departed from realism. It put me in mind of my Cynical 70s Film Festival that I did during the shutdown, and how so many movies were about paranoia and not trusting the government; which, after Vietnam, civil rights, and Watergate was very much a leftist thing. (Weird how that’s shifted–it’s the right that doesn’t trust the government anymore; that would be an interesting study, wouldn’t it? How that changed and shifted over the years? Another thing I hate about the right is that they’ve made the left defend the government rather than critiquing it.) Night Moves was okay–the mystery itself wasn’t terribly interesting but the thing that was interesting was Gene Hackman’s performance. The film was an excellent character study, even though we never really learned much about him. My primary takeaway from the film was that Gene Hackman would have made a great Travis McGee. Talk about missed opportunities. (Although it would also be a great role for Alan Ritchson…)

The China Syndrome was born out of the 1970’s paranoia about using nuclear reactors to create energy. After all the lies before, during and after Vietnam–not to mention Watergate–people weren’t really into trusting government reassurances, and weird things were happening with the nuclear power plants anyway (Karen Silkwood’s story would also be filmed, Silkwood, which was another one of those “paranoia/can’t trust the government or corporations” movies); they were building one fairly close to where we lived in Kansas–Wolf Creek, I think was the name–and there were protests about it (Kansas folks just saw as it as a place to work and no more thought into it than that) and I also remember in the classifieds in the Emporia Gazette some group always ran a little ad that said “NEVER FORGET KAREN SILKWOOD” so I already knew that story before the movie was made. Michael Douglas produced the movie, and of course Jane Fonda was in it–they were both very anti-nuclear energy; so of course it was seen as a “Hollywood liberals trying to scare people” film. But shortly after it was released, Three Mile Island (our almost Chernobyl) happened–and the movie became a huge hit. The movie ended positively–the news about the accidents at the plant in question gets out finally at the end1–which goes to show how hopeful these kinds of movies sometimes ended; when we all know the reporter and her cameraman, as well as the nuclear engineer played by Jack Lemmon, would have all either disappeared or been found dead under mysterious circumstances.

I really should watch an old movie when I’m too tired to write or read, rather than doomscrolling news clips on Youtube.

I’ve also been terribly remiss on my newsletter; I’ve started several that are in progress that I really should finish and share with the world–and should send out one before it’s time to do my review of The Bell in the Fog (Lev AC Rosen). I am trying not to overdo it–I mean, I pretty much write this every day so I don’t need to be sending out newsletters more than once a week; there’s only so much Greg people can take, after all. And I also expect you all to read my books and short stories, too. What can I say? I really enjoy writing.

And on that note, I am going to get cleaned up and get to work around here. Have a lovely Iris Saturday, Constant Reader, and who knows? I may be back later.

  1. Sorry-not sorry for not putting up a spoiler warning for a forty-six year old movie. ↩︎

Sultans of Swing

No jury duty today! And I think I am finished with it all this time around. Trials, according to what the judge told us on Monday, rarely start this close to the weekend of the last push of Carnival, so if I don’t have to report today I shouldn’t have to report anymore. I was only there for an hour or so yesterday before we were released, which was great. I came to work–my testing in the clinic shifts were covered–and got some odds and ends and other things taken care of. I wasn’t feeling too hot by the end of the day–and getting home from work was a nightmare–but by the time I went to bed I was feeling terrible. I woke up to a fever this morning, a sore throat and some major coughing. I decided that it was wiser to use sick time rather than risk getting everyone at the office sick–which would thus spread exponentially, call me Typhoid Greg–and so called out. I can’t remember the last time I missed work because I was sick; probably when I had COVID? I should probably take a test today myself, shouldn’t I? Heavy heaving sigh. I’ll do that before I go lie down with my book.

As far as jury duty goes, this wasn’t too terrible, really. And I don’t mind doing it, either. I always serve whenever I am called; the only time I’ve tried getting out of it was when I was supposed to serve the week after the shoulder/arm surgery, which wasn’t possible. I find it interesting and a solemn responsibility; it’s part of our civic duty as citizens after all, and weighing the evidence and deciding someone’s fate is kind of a big deal. Plus I like seeing how the courts actually work in real life, as opposed to books and movies. (The judge also said on Monday that court isn’t like Law and Order, there’s a lot more they don’t show. It’s really funny the cultural impact those shows have had on the country; someone should do a study on that. I have some thoughts myself about it and other “copaganda” shows, as well as the books about cops/lawyers.)

The not feeling well definitely sucks, though. All of my joints ache, and my legs feel exhausted. I did have to park fairly far from the house, on Race between Camp and Magazine. I’ll try to get the car moved today, so it’s closer to the house. I am hoping this doesn’t last another day–I don’t want to take another sick day and if I do, I still need to go by the office and get my computer so I can work at home on Friday–and the COVID test is negative. If the COVID test isn’t negative, it won’t matter because I won’t be allowed back into the building until next week anyway. I don’t want to use all my sick time, but if I have COVID, there’s no choice.

Good news! The COVID test was negative. I am feeling a bit better, but still running a fever. I also have a tickle in my throat and it’s sore. It also looks like a beautiful day outside, and the weather should be lovely for the parades this weekend, if I am feeling up to it. I definitely want to do Iris and Muses, if I can, and maybe some Thoth on Sunday. Bacchus is too much of a madhouse, but I love Orpheus on Monday because the crowd starts clearing out early because people need to go home and get ready for Fat Tuesday. I just hope I’m feeling better by tomorrow so I can go in to work. I do not like being sick.

The good news is that I signed a short story contract yesterday. It’s been a hot minute, so I am very well pleased. (This is for a submission to an anthology call; the other one I signed was one I was asked to write, so it’s a bit different.) I’m not sure if I can talk about this anthology or talk about my story–which I am dying to tell you about–but I’ll have to be annoying and not say anything for now. One I can talk about is called “The Rhinestone,” since the contract is already signed and the book has been announced. I have to revise and edit the story with notes, but it’s kind of a done deal. “The Rhinestone” is a book excerpt, and what’s really funny about this particular book excerpt (besides the fact that the book itself isn’t finished; this is from Never Kiss a Stranger) is that it was the actual kernel the entire book idea grew from, too. Funny how that works sometimes, isn’t it? I’ve often had ideas that I thought were interesting, but didn’t know if it was a short story or a novel until I tried writing it one way or the other. I used to always be expanding short stories into novels (because I overwrite and always have more to say); it was around 2012 that I began thinking in terms of maybe your novel ideas can actually be written as short stories instead), but shortly after we moved here, Paul and I had lunch at a place called the Quarter Scene, which was either queer-owned or just extremely queer friendly. It was our first time eating there, and I don’t remember why we did in the first place or why we were in the Quarter. Regardless, the table we were seated at–in the big picture window–had a little plaque on the wall reading TENNESSEE’S TABLE with the note that whenever he was in town, Tennessee Williams always sat at that table for lunch. We both thought that was kind of cool, and I thought “Tennessee’s Table” was a great title for a short story. The original story in and of itself wasn’t anything–just two gay friends meeting for lunch and sharing stories. It was a melancholy little story, really, not much to it. But when I started working on Never Kiss a Stranger–I originally wrote it as a long novella, about 30k words–I decided to reuse that setting and write a scene between two of the main characters. When I was asked to write for this anthology–the theme was the story had to be inspired by a queer icon–Tennessee Williams, who has had an enormous impact on both Paul’s and my life, was a no brainer. And then I thought, hey, that scene is set at Tennessee’s Table, why not adapt that back into a short story? So I pulled the chapter and reworked it a bit. I also have notes to make it stronger as a short story, so looking forward to revising that.

As for the country and the world, well, it kind of speaks for itself with no need for comment from me, does it?

And on THAT sad note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow.

Chuck E’s In Love

Tuesday of Jury Duty and parades; Sunday’s parades are rolling tonight, which should make getting home tonight a lot of fun. Jury duty was painless, other than I sat there without being called up to the pool until all juries were seated and they let us go in the early afternoon. I then had to go to work because the slip they gave me was for only five hours, and I wasn’t up for using my paid time off to get to eight for the day, so…there I went. I mostly scrolled through my phone while reading Lev AC Rosen’s marvelous The Bell in the Fog, which I am really enjoying. I do have to report again today, and I hope that’s it for the week. They did say that the city was shutting down at 5 tonight until Ash Wednesday (yes, we do pretty much close the city down for the last week of parades, don’t you wish you lived here, too?), so I don’t think I’ll have to go back after today. But that’s fine. I’ll either go up for voir dire or be let go after the morning, so hopefully I’ll be able to spend time reading my book while waiting to be called or released and that will be the end of it. Sunday’s rained out parades are tonight, so I am going to want to be home well before four. (I did slalom by driving on St. Charles Avenue; they have barricades so no car can get up enough speed to really do a repeat of the New Year’s terrorist attack on Bourbon Street…and it’s kind of fun. Traffic will continue to be a nightmare until after it’s all over. I just need to make it through this week until Friday…

I managed to work on my story last night. I deleted the extra, unusable 900 words, which dropped it down to about a thousand, and am now at a little less than three. Good progress, and I should be able to get it finished tonight. I doubt I’ll go out to the parades tonight–getting up at six every morning certainly puts a damper on that–but I do want to get home before the true madness starts. I’ve been very lucky with parking so far–praise be to the Carnival gods–and I know that’s not going to last through the entire season before the car is permanently parked for about five days Friday morning. I am debating whether to take all of Lundi Gras off, or going in for a few hours and leaving early. The latter makes the most sense, after all; save that time jealously! I don’t want to run out again, and I am actually at the point where I’ve got a nice amount of both (sick and vacation) in my bank now. Woo-hoo! At least I don’t have to worry about the time off I need to use for parade season. That’s a lovely release.

The country continues to swirl around the toilet bowl more with each passing day. Yesterday we betrayed NATO and Ukraine at the United Nations, joining with the true axis of evil on this planet–Russia, North Korea, Iran, etc.–and continue to lose whatever moral leadership and authority we ever had (not that we ever had much of anything on that score to begin with); we are becoming isolated, the way we were before and between the world wars…which turned out so well for the world in the end, didn’t it? What happened in Coeur de Lion, Idaho the other day was appalling and recorded for the entire world to see (another black eye for the country); the violent abuse of a woman simply because she was calling out the bullshit she was hearing, while white people (men and women) cheered and applauded and the moderator of the event taunted her from the stage on his microphone, making jokes? That is some seriously small-dick energy, really. It also resulted in the usual social media nonsense, with people on-line responding (especially white women) with the usual lack of self-awareness: “I would never allow that to happen in front of me without saying or doing something!” Newsflash: white people–both men and women– always turn their heads and look away, “not my problem” or “I am not putting myself at risk to intervene” and so on…until it actually affects them. Where was all this energy on November 5th? Where was it for George Floyd or Breonna Taylor? Where is it for trans people, being stripped of their rights every day? Where it it for queer people, ever? Where, after all, were all the Southern white people who were opposed to racism, Jim Crow, and lynchings that I always hear about now, but actually did nothing while it was actually happening?

Not my problem is always the response, but everyone marginalized (you know, the people so many straight white women like to lord it over) is supposed to immediately DO SOMETHING when it’s a straight white woman–and if you point out their blatant hypocrisy…you’re a misogynist. Straight white women LOVE to pull out their “oppression” card whenever a discussion isn’t going their way and they have no defense for the appalling things they say other than “you have male privilege.” Really? My sex life was a crime until 2003. Was yours for the first forty-two years of your life, ma’am? I couldn’t marry my partner until 2014. Did you have to wait until you were fifty-three before you could legally marry the love of your life? I watched all my friends die (twice over!) in the 1980s while most straight white women smiled dismissively and said “not my problem.” Some of the biggest public homophobes of my adult life were straight white women. I know as a cisgender male I do have privilege; I certainly have more than lesbians and trans people, for example. But I have always lived under the threat of violence as a gay man; and before I owned my identity I did not pass as straight.

And yes, gay men also get sexually assaulted–and usually with objects. Gay men also get beaten and attacked, even killed, by straight white men. Sometimes with straight white women cheering them on. You just don’t hear about it up there in your precious lily-white privilege tower because you don’t care. Often assaults on gay white men–just like assaults of straight white women–don’t get reported because the cops don’t care and blame the victims. You don’t care unless it’s a white woman…when white women made sure the ERA didn’t pass; white women got Black and brown men killed all the time; and the Daughters of the Confederacy weren’t exactly gay white men, were they? A Republican controlled US government laughed about AIDS killing gay men.

But do go on with your homophobia, dear.

We all need to do better. It’s very easy to see something appalling in an online video and be very upset at the failures of witnesses to act, and to say “I would never.” But ask yourself this, white people: have you ever seen a white someone being racist to a Black person and said nothing? Have you watched as homophobes come for queer people, in real life or on-line, and did nothing? Do you challenge racism, homophobia, misogyny, and transphobia when you see it, or do you leave it alone? I know what the answer to that question is, by the way, and keyboard warriors who do nothing but talk big on-line sicken me to my core.

And for the record, I will always go on the offensive when some ignorant bitch of a white woman tells me I’m a misogynist when I am agreeing with her–especially when she tells me she’s done more for queer rights than me, using the condescending straight people “honey.” Literally, go fuck yourself with barbed wire, you homophobic bitch. Misogynist enough for you? (She also trotted out the “gay friends” defense–and when I pointed that out she then claimed “I never said they were friends”–oh, so you don’t have any friends but you’ve been to Pride a few times and even marched in a parade once! My God, let’s put up a statue of you in front of Stonewall! WHERE WOULD QUEER PEOPLE BE WITHOUT THE SACRIFICES OF STRAIGHT WHITE WOMEN? I guess I should be glad you didn’t go with the old pedophile/groomer shit, Miss Zero Followers. I screen capped the entire thing before blocking her flat bony unwashed ass.)

Coeur de Lion is now in the “find out” phase, and if we actually had a real government this would be investigated as a civil rights violation by the Department of Justice…but we don’t have a real government anymore. I always wondered what it felt like to be an abolitionist in the 1950s, when the government was geared to protect slavery in the land of the “free.” The company that employed the thugs that assaulted the woman has lost its business license, and it also looks like the grinning douchebag sheriff has been defrauding the LAPD pension fund–working another LE job while drawing a disability pension from another one–so I hope California throws the book at him.

This is what we are. This is what we have allowed our country to become. Even those of us who voted against this didn’t do enough to stop this—and it should have been stopped when it was the Tea Party. Remember those racists? The ones who didn’t want healthcare and the media dutifully reported on everything they said and pushed it breathlessly without ever calling out ONCE the clear and obvious racism? FOTUS climbed aboard the Tea Party train, remember? He started the birther bullshit and promoted it on every network who would let him because he was a “celebrity.”

But no, white people who patted themselves on the back for voting for Obama were very quick to stay home in the 2010 midterms because cleaning up the Bush mess was taking longer than everyone thought it should.

And God forbid everyone get health insurance. The HORROR!

We all own this, you know. Every last one of us white people. And we’re the ones who need to clean it all up–even though we know the fucking assholes we’re saving will knife us in the back again at the very first opportunity. They might regret their votes now–but they would do it again in a heartbeat. They prefer this to having a biracial woman in charge.

This is exactly what they wanted. And we should never let them forget. Letting them getting away with it was a mistake in 1865.

And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great day, and remember to do your part–even if it’s something you think small or inconsequential. Water wears away stone and the effects may not be immediate.

But it can end in something beautiful.

Ain’t No Stoppin Us Now

Monday morning and have to head to the parish courthouse for jury duty at criminal court. I am one of the few people who don’t mind doing jury duty, and don’t try to get out of it when I am called. I was originally called to serve a week after my surgery in 2023, but got excused as I couldn’t drive, let alone serve on a jury. I slept well last night, too.

It rained all day yesterday and the parades were all cancelled, postponed until tomorrow night. I am sitting here getting ready to go report for jury duty, and trying not to worry about dealing with a week I can’t plan in the least. Before the anxiety medications I would have been a bundle of knots and nerves and on edge the entire day; probably wouldn’t have eaten anything or gotten much of anything done. I didn’t get as much done as I would have liked, perhaps, but I was a bit out of sorts yesterday. I’ve not been feeling super-great over the weekend–kind of nasally and sore throat-ish, which was annoying, and enough of a distraction to keep me from getting a lot done and being able to focus. I did get some things done–the boring kind of things I generally hate to do and put off. I did struggle a bit trying to work on both the book and a short story I need to finish, but it wasn’t flowing or coming and it just wasn’t working so I gave up and gave rein to my creativity in other ways.

I did realize, thank goodness, that I hadn’t revised as much as I had thought, and so have a lot “more room” to work with than I had thought, which was a relief. What I mean here by “more room” is the word count; I have about 900 words in the word count that are going to be excised or slashed down dramatically, so I have approximately a thousand more words of room before I hit the outside word count. I always write short stories this way, which I know makes no sense to anyone other than me. I have to have a title that works for me and puts me into the right mindset/mood to produce the story I want in the voice and tone that I want–being in a very cheery mood when you’re writing about someone who’s planning to kill his mother and sell her farm to a corporation doesn’t really lend the right tone, if you know what I mean (which is why my story “The Sound of Snow Falling” remains unpublished in my files; I need to make it darker in tone than the cheery voice it’s currently in)–and then I start writing it, knowing how many words I have to tell the story. Sometimes I know the entire story, sometimes I know the beginning, sometimes I know the end, sometimes I have a title and an opening sentence. It’s wild and chaotic and freestyle, really; the only thing for sure is I have to know how much room I have. I also figured out the story last night as I brainstormed and cleaned and did other things, so now I have to write it in the room that I have. I also need to go ahead and read those 900 words to see if any of it is even worth trying to save or just delete it all…since I know now what the story is, and I like it.

And now you know why it’s so hard for me to write short stories.

But I think I will get this one done soon, and then I’m going to be free again to dive back into the book. Yay!

I also spent some time with Lev AC Rosen’s The Bell in the Fog, which I am really loving. Reading it reminds of Chlorine–which will be very different even though set in the same time period. Los Angeles and Hollywood are a different mood–sunshine noir as opposed to foggy noir. (I always see Lev’s story in my head in the style of The Maltese Falcon film, whereas Chlorine I see as more of an American Gigolo style but in the 1950s–Palm Springs, Hollywood, Malibu.) I am still excited to be writing again, can you tell? Everywhere I turn, everywhere I look, whatever I think, my mind steers itself back into thinking about something I am working on. That’s a good sign, I think. I like when my thoughts are mostly filled with creative thoughts and inspirations and breakthroughs. It always puts me into a much better mood–certainly better than watching the news and rolling my eyes and wondering what the fuck is going to happen next and knowing this is not going to end well under even the best, most hopeful outcome will include death and violence.

And yeah, I’d rather focus on my own writing and creating and art, you know? Create my own joy and try to brighten the darkness a little bit?

And on that cheery note, I am going to get ready to head to the courthouse. Have a lovely Monday, wherever you are, and I’ll be back, most likely tomorrow morning.

I Love the Nightlife

I also love to boogie–especially in the disco round, oh yeah, baby.

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment after kind of a nice, slow and easy day around here. Paul stayed up late working so pretty much slept the entire day away again, and I myself got up late yesterday, too. I didn’t mind, even though I was a little perturbed that I got up so late. But I had a nice morning. I did some things I needed to do and cleaned and organized some more, and I got up pretty early this morning, too. I don’t know how motivated I feel today, but I am hopefully going to get some good writing work done this morning so I can spend the afternoon reading. Sounds like a winner to me. We did finish catching up with Reacher, Abbott Elementary, and Prime Target last night, too. Tomorrow I get to report to Criminal Court for jury duty in Mid-city, so I will be finding out what’s going on with that. I’m hoping to be dismissed before parade days start; I’d rather go to the office and leave early than try to get home at five from Criminal Court in Midcity, which would probably require taking I-10/90, getting off at Tchoupitoulas, and doubling back from there with no place to park. Ah, well, this too shall pass, and as a crime writer, it’s always interesting to see how criminal court–or courts in general–operate up close and personal.

It’s gray outside, and rain is expected, which should put a damper on any and all parades today. There are no night parades, so technically I could make a grocery run after King Arthur ends, but I doubt I’ll want to be out and about at that time anyway. I do have all kinds of things to do today–I want to spend the morning writing and the afternoon reading, if at all possible. It’s always so nice to curl up in my chair with a blanket and read while it’s raining, you know? I like feeling snug and cozy; which is why I am so particular about sleep arrangements. Want to know something weird about me? I sleep with four blankets, because that’s enough weight to make me feel snug and comfortable. I have a soft wool one on the bottom and one really velvety soft one on the top. I need two pillows, always, and also need the ceiling fan on and a little personal fan on my nightstand going. Weird? Just a little bit. But I think we all have things that we do, little rituals, that bring us comfort and joy. Just me? Probably. I always default to me not being normal, I suppose; the product of my youth. Thanks, bully trash!

I did work on an essay yesterday a bit, one called “Try That in a Small Town.” I started writing it when the Jason Aldean nonsense happened last summer, because that “real America” bullshit has always, always pissed me off; and essentially has always been used to demonize cities–you know, the economic engines that fucking drive the country–and reassure provincial types who stay in rural areas that they are more important than the city dwellers. This of course goes back to the lies that were always told to encourage immigration when white people felt the need to “fill the continent” with white people while exterminating the natives. You can be free, you can own land and property, you can prosper because the government will leave you alone to do as you please and not restrict your freedoms. No, the rich people needed more consumers, and they also needed population in the “empty” territories to produce and buy. The United States has always been expansionist; even the Founding Fathers assumed more states would be formed out of native land, after they were pushed out. Anyway, I actually lived in a very small town in a very rural county in an underpopulated state for five horrible years–and I will dispute to my dying breath this notion that small towns are the “real America” (fuck you again and again with razor wire, Sarah Palin)…because everyone acts like they’re like Mayberry when they are really Peyton Place–horribly judgmental with lots of cruel gossip and backstabbing, and the sexual perversions of these “good meat-and-potatoes Americans” not even Grace Metalious could have dreamed up–and Peyton Place was nothing more than a novelization of things she witnessed and experienced in a small town. It always infuriates me, you know, to hear this “real America” shit. Try to make it without Chicago, New York, LA, Boston, and San Francisco. The fucking economy would crater in about two seconds. But…cities are usually Democratic strongholds, so they must be demonized, always.

And there’s the rain! I knew it was coming. It’s just a drizzle but it’s enough for the gutter to drip water on the cat enclosure just outside my laundry room–and it’s only raining on that side of the house. This happens here a lot–it can be raining on one block but not the next; one part of the city can be getting a flooding rain while it’s sunny and bright in another–but I don’t remember the last time it only rained on the other side of the house. New Orleans, always so bizarre.

It also seems that the American people are getting fed up with what’s going on in Washington, and they are starting to push back. I’ve progressed beyond FAFO, to be honest1; the danger to the country’s future is that strong that the mocking and pointing fingers and laughing and atonement can come after the threat has been overcome. I think this is the kind of lesson we needed to learn; we’ve always taken our system for granted and always assumed the government was stable and would hold–forever smug about governments toppling and falling in other countries while we remained stable. The problem is that stability was only achieved through horrific compromises…and human rights should never, ever, under any circumstance, be left to public or government whim. The seeds of self-destruction were planted in the Constitution with the compromise on enslavement. Senators used to be appointed by state legislatures, not the people. BUT it was also designed to be a living document, changed and amended over time to clear up inconsistencies and always, always, intended to protect the people from government overreach. I also agree with something I saw on social media yesterday–every elected official should be required to have regular town halls to meet with their constituents, and they also need to remember they were voted in to work for their district, not the president. Separate but equal branches of government means nothing when elected officials in Congress abdicate their roles for whatever reason.

And really, what is MAGA but the modern Confederacy? Yes, they are also Nazis…but remember–the Germans learned about how to deal with undesirable sub-populations by studying enslavement and Jim Crow. There’s your heritage, rednecks. You were Hitler’s blueprint. And weren’t plantations simply concentration/work camps with a nicer name?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning (or night).

  1. I’ve not, and never will, forgive MAGA voters, to be sure–just like I’ll never stop mentally dancing and pissing on Ronald and Nancy Reagan’s graves. But I can put that aside for now to overcome this threat. But there needs to be a reckoning–unlike after the Civil War and 1/6/20. ↩︎

(Our Love) Don’t Throw It All Away

A cold Saturday morning in the Lost Apartment. My doctor’s appointment went well–all my vitals were at appropriate levels, my lungs are clear, and all medications appear to be working properly, which is lovely. I came home from that appointment to do chores and make the house orderly before we headed out to Metairie for Paul’s appointment, after which we went to Costco. You know, for the first Friday of parade season, it wasn’t that terrible. It was crowded, yes, and there were times I had to wait for inconsiderate assholes who were blocking aisles thoughtlessly (a regular occurrence at the grocery store, a rarity for Costco) and the check out lines ferociously long, but it didn’t take us long to spend a shit load of money (Paul also ordered a new pair of glasses and our membership was also due for renewal). I was a bit concerned about parking when we got back, as it was closer to parade rolling time that I was comfortable with. I had noticed there were a lot of cars parking in the neighborhood–unusual–when I left for my appointment, and there was also a lot more traffic on the roads I usually traverse. Understandably, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to park within a mile of the house, but once we departed for Metairie/Costco I realized why everything was the way it was–they’ve turned the side of St. Charles people can drive down1 while parades are rolling into an obstacle course2. This is, I imagine, for crowd safety precautions after New Year’s, but damn…it’s going to make negotiating St. Charles and the neighborhood about ten times harder than it is usually is.

Thanks, asshole terrorist. I hope you’re roasting in hell like you deserve.

I also spent some time with Lev AC Rosen’s marvelous The Bell in the Fog, the second book in his Andy Mills detective series set in early 1950’s San Francisco. It’s an interesting period to read about: after the war but before Stonewall, when sodomy was still an enforceable crime and the hatred of queer people was so intense they were targeted mercilessly and no one fucking cared.3 Lev is a terrific writer–I loved Lavender House–and this one starts out really well. It’s very reminiscent of the old masters of crime/noir/hardboiled–Hammett, Chandler, Cain–which is why he gets nominated for awards so regularly.

I also have apparently sold another short story. I had sent something to an anthology at some point last year and completely forgot about it, to be honest; yesterday I got an apologetic email from (I guess? It has been a while) the editor saying they want it if it’s still available. That was a lovely bit of news, to go along with the terrific feedback from the other anthology that asked me for one. I am going to finish writing another one this weekend (if it kills me) so I can focus on finishing my book. I’d forgotten–as it has been a hot minute–how nice it is to get positive feedback from peers. And rather than questioning or explaining it away in my head (just being nice, etc etc), I decided to accept it and feel good about it, which is a lovely new approach to my career. In the moments when I allow myself to go down the natural path of current events (my publisher will get shut down, my books removed from the bookseller websites–it galls me that they’re on Target’s website, although they probably make very little me off me–and my career shut down completely in the de-queering of the country), I find it ironic that my stress, anxiety and depression didn’t allow me to ever enjoy my career very often, and that now I am finally beginning to enjoy myself and the nicer side of publishing/writing, it could all be stripped away from me. (For the record, straight people, losing our writing careers because of our sexual identity is something we have to think about all the time. Do you? So, fuck off with your I’m-an-ally-as-long-as-it’s-just-words-online bullshit. DO SOMETHING.)

But yes, I am feeling like I definitely need to get back to producing work, and that feels good for a change, you know?

Sparky also let me sleep late this morning, the little darling, and even curled up in the bed with me rather than trying to get me up. I think he waits for my alarm like Pavlov’s dog; I’ve trained him to react to the sound as well as his stomach. We watched LSU Gymnastics win at Kentucky last night, but they didn’t have a great meet–a bit of a letdown after defeating Oklahoma last week in Baton Rouge and a packed house–but it was fine; they hadn’t won in Lexington since 2016, and this year they did despite a bad meet. We then watched the premiere episode of Season Three of Reacher, which is based on one of my favorite Reacher novels, and am loving it. (I also like that his portrayer, Alan Ritchson–whom I’ve liked since I first noticed him on Smallville–is a devout Christian and not a cosplay one; he calls out the evangelicals and their false prophet regularly. He recently gave an interview to GQ in which he talked about Matt Gaetz, whom he went to high school with, and just ripped him to fucking shreds. You see? I don’t object to Christianity when people actually are real Christians.) We also watched some Arrested Development, too, before going to bed much later than we should have.

Overall, Friday was a pretty good day. I am going to get some reading and writing and cleaning done today–I need to unload the dishwasher and refill it at some point; and there’s always organizing and cleaning to get done. I also need to answer emails–I no longer have to stick to my old rule of “no emails on the weekend”–and I need to get some more newsletters written and finished to send. I’m trying hard to not deluge people with my newsletter; I am very prolific, as has been pointed out in the past repeatedly, and who wants to read my thoughts, views, and opinions on a daily basis? Even though I didn’t publish anything–not even a short story last year–I still produce a prodigious amount of writing all the time.

And on that note, I think I am going to head into the spice mines–more accurately, I am going to repair to my easy chair with my book for a while before I actually start getting things done around here–and I may be back later. I am trying not to do more than one post here per day…but anyway, have a lovely Saturday, and I’ll be right back here tomorrow.

Screenshot
  1. I’ve always marveled that one side of the neutral ground is for the parades and the other side is open to traffic heading uptown. St. Charles is a major artery of the city, and they usually have to keep that side open because everything inside the parade is blocked off–and people do need to get uptown. Not really sure how this obstacle course drivers need to negotiate will work, or if they are going to take them down every night and put them back up again before the parades start–which means shutting St. Charles down for however long it takes to set up. Sigh. ↩︎
  2. I’ll try to get a picture of it at some point. ↩︎
  3. Straight people have always been awful, and the white ones the worst of all. ↩︎

Boogie Wonderland

Friday morning and I have the day off! I have some doctor’s appointments and an errand to run on top of that–it’s parade season and I won’t be able to leave the neighborhood from tonight around five till Sunday around six–and we are going to Costco today, too. There’s another errand, too, and I am not certain how much parade participation there will be. It’s supposed to be cold and a bit rainy all weekend, and beads hurt when it’s cold. I can do cold, I can do rain, but both together? That makes standing on the corner getting pelted with flying objects not a lot of fun. (One of my favorite parade experiences was one warm night when it was sprinkling as we went out to greet Orpheus. The crowds always start departing about halfway through Orpheus so they can get up early for Fat Tuesday, but even more than usual left that night because it started raining harder with the parade not even half over yet. Shortly, Paul and I were the only ones out there, getting drenched and getting buried with beads from the drunk riders trying to get rid of everything they could to the few of us who remained to see them pass. Staying to the end of Orpheus was why our Fat Tuesday started so much later than everyone else’s.) It’s very sunny and the sun is quite bright out there this morning, despite how cold it is. (I’m not going to bother to check–it can wait till later.) There are two parades tonight–Alla and Cleopatra.

I felt really good yesterday and rested and managed to get some things done. I did the dishes when I got home, worked on the laundry for a bit, and wrote a little bit, too. I stayed up later than usual–Paul got home late and we chatted for a while before I went to bed. Sparky tried getting me up at the usual time, but was very sweet and patient and let me sleep for a while longer before he got too hungry and insistent it was time for breakfast. I also had my first piece of cream cheese-filled king cake this morning (I bought one the other night on the way home from work, but hadn’t had any. You can imagine my shock to open the box this morning to find that there was no knife in the box (cardinal sin) but there was only about a quarter of it left. (Paul does love him some cream-cheese king cake.) I have to start getting ready to go to my doctor’s appointment, too. I made my Costco shopping list (seriously, newcomers to Costco–lists are crucial when going to Costco. I also advise going to their website before you go into you local store for the first time; the website can be set to your local store and so you can look up things to see if they’re in stock), and we’ll be heading there after I get back from the appointment. Parades also start tonight and this weekend, so once we get back…we’re pretty much trapped in the neighborhood until after King Arthur passes.

And next week I get to navigate jury duty during parades. Can’t fucking wait.

I was also a bit satisfied to see that Canada beat our national hockey team last night. I certainly never thought I’d see the day when I’d feel that way about a US national team loss, but here we are. I am ashamed and embarrassed by all these MAGA assholes talking about annexing Canada–which would wind up worse than our experiences in Iraq and Afghanistan, since it would mean that their Resistance would be majority white, so our systemic racism wouldn’t know what to do, which means atrocities on the level of Abu Gharib, if not worse.

And if you think Guantanamo Bay hasn’t had a concentration camp there for decades, you’re an even bigger fool than I thought. You can never go wrong assuming the worst about our government... and you’ll still be shocked and appalled by how awful our leadership has always been. The variances in foreign policy generally aren’t great between presidents. Obama campaigned against the forever wars when he ran in 2008, but once he was in office he didn’t really end those wars, did he? The only significant changes in our foreign policy during my lifetime came during Jimmy Carter’s presidency (governing as a Christian, he couldn’t continue supporting the regime of the Shah of Iran, which was horrifically oppressive…) or Trump. The difference is our allies supported Carter. The rest of the world is realigning to escape alliances with the United States because we are now a rogue nation. A fucking rogue, outlaw nation, led by conmen and grifters where everything is up to be looted by the billionaire class and everything else sold off for spare parts.

Now they are talking about “checking” the gold in Fort Knox. Brace yourself for a torrent of lies. Not even Goldfinger got away with going after the gold in Fort Knox, and both the book and movie picked Fort Knox because it was so impregnable. No one ever talks about the gold in Fort Knox anymore; when I was a kid everyone did. I mentioned Fort Knox the other day at work and many of my younger co-workers didn’t even know what Fort Knox was…it’s not part of the national conversation anymore, the way it was when I was a kid. “Safe as the gold in Fort Knox” used to be a saying back then. Maybe it was the influence of Goldfinger on the zeitgeist, but it was definitely there.

It’s a mad, mad, mad, mad, mad world.

And on that note, tis off to the mines of spice with me. Have a lovely Friday, Constant Reader

Every 1’s a Winner

Thursday and my last day in the office for the week. Tomorrow is my usual remote day, but I have a couple of doctors appointments so I am taking the day off. I was right about being tired; by the end of the day I was so tired I thought I might fall asleep driving home! But I didn’t, and I got the mail and came home and got inside safely, locking the door and the cold outside. It’s very cold this morning, too (currently a toasty 31 degrees!). We watched some Arrested Development last night, and I did some work on my writing. I got some welcome feedback on a short story I wrote for an anthology, which was also very nice. I slept very well last night, too–the cold, I think, played a part in that as well as my physical exhaustion when I got home last night. I even did some chores last night, which was very pleasing. I have an errand to run on the way home from work tonight, and once I get home from the appointments tomorrow, I’ll be in for the rest of this very cold weekend in New Orleans, and buckling down and writing. The parades also start this weekend, so I need to be very judicious in my parade attendance so I can get some writing done. I am feeling more into my writing than I have in a very long time, so that is very cool and kind of exciting to me. I was terribly concerned over the last two years that I’d never write anything again. I think that the combination of everything else going on, in my life and in the world, along with severe burnout, was why I was struggling to write, and when the depression is mixed in, well, it’s no wonder I was uninterested in writing anything and couldn’t get anything done.

Definitely wearing layers today, too. The apartment is warm, but here at my desk? Not so much, really. But I am so grateful for last night’s sleep! I actually am awake and alert and not foggy in the least. It feels good to feel like I’m totally present, which I didn’t feel like the first part of this week. God, sleep is the best, isn’t it? I feel like today is a day when I can get things done and function and get my entire act together for a change. Hopefully, this feeling will last me for a while. I guess the trip last weekend required some readjusting back into my life–it’s weird how something like that can be so disruptive once you’ve settled into a routine (rut, whatever) with your life, isn’t it? But I am also in a very good mood this morning, and I’ve kind of been too tired lately for that to be a thing, you know? And definitely plan on riding this wave as long as it lasts–it’ll probably crest this afternoon. I do have some chores I need to do once I am back home, and of course, back to the store today on the way home (thank God for CBD Rouse’s, so I don’t have to go the long way uptown).

IN my tired state last night (and after being scolded/lectured by two trolls on social media, whom I made very sorry that they emerged from under their bridge) I was thinking about things–going to Alabama always makes me think about things from the past, plus all that 70’s research I’ve been doing lately–and I was remembering, with Sparky curled up in my lap, how different life is now from when I was a child. (Shocking, right? Who knew that I’d go through the same things every other older person has throughout history!) I was talking to Dad about Mom and her mother and what things were like for Mom growing up (Dad always talks about how great Mom was and how she never complained, despite how poor they were when they were first married; I replied, “Yeah, that apartment in Chicago might have been tiny but she had running water and a telephone, so that probably seemed like a step up. She didn’t know any better.”), and of course that led into how Mom and her mother never, ever reminisced or thought about the past…and I said “Well, it’s also kind of weird to think when my grandmother was born the Archduke hadn’t been assassinated yet and Europe was dominated by monarchies and empires”…which tripped him out a little. And she had older relatives who’d seen the Civil War. I was born during JFK’s presidency, before Vietnam and in the midst of the civil rights movement. Women couldn’t have credit in their own names and were erased as people, assuming their husband’s name legally as “Mrs. John Smith” rather than as “Lisa Smith.” There was no such thing as no-fault divorce, and the grim reality was most women made their hellish marriages work, dooming them to a life of misery.

Our country really hasn’t been around that long, and neither has our progress toward the ideals of the founding–we’ve never achieved that original ideal, and now we are sliding back into the abyss as a tyrant is in charge (Reagan could only dream of the power the FOTUS has assumed and been gifted by his craven political party) and our constitutional republic is on the ropes. I also have realized over the last week that the only people who can save the country from this threat is the opposition–the courts aren’t going to do it, Congress sure as hell isn’t, the media is laughably unconvincing propaganda-pushers with no desire to do their jobs properly, and neither are the “all-in” party that supports this. I no longer subscribe to the notion that MAGA voters and politicians have been “fooled” somehow, conned…at this point, we just need to accept the fact that they are willing participants–all of them. They can’t say they didn’t know because he told them, for years, what he wanted to do and they cheered, so yeah–I have no empathy for any of them. I don’t believe there’s such a thing as “MAGA regret” because I will personally guarantee that if the election were done over and held again tomorrow, every last one of them would vote for him again despite what they now know.

There can be no forgiveness without atonement and true repentance–that should be the lesson of the Civil War.

Well, this turned into a rather lengthier tome than anything else I’ve done on here this week, hasn’t it? That’s a good sign I am going to take with me into the spice mines for today. Have a great Thursday, everyone, and stay warm!

Rock ‘n’ Roll Fantasy

Wednesday and we made it to midweek. I am tired this morning–I tossed and turned all night yet again last night, and I’ve also been having heartburn1 lately, too, despite the medications I take for each–but this morning I don’t seem to have the heartburn problem, at least for now, and I’ll take it. I have things to do today, too, that definitely need to be done. I got one of them done already. I am tired physically this morning and my brain is a little spacy this morning, but that should clear with some more coffee and writing this.

It started sprinkling last night, and after the rain clears up today we’re having lower temperatures and high winds. It’s going to get close to freezing again down here, so it’s going to be another pipe issue weekend. Not for us, but definitely around southeastern Louisiana for sure. I don’t mind, as I don’t think I really need to leave the house all that much this weekend–it’s nice to be warm and toasty inside while it’s horrifically cold outside–but I definitely need to work this weekend. I did work on my short story yesterday and got about 1500 or so words down, so hopefully I can get that done this week as well as get back into writing the book again.

Parades supposedly start this weekend, but it’s supposed to be cold and rainy all weekend, so I am not sure if I’ll be going down to the corner at all this weekend, other than for King Arthur on Sunday, which is the unofficial queer parade. I always get lots of stuff at King Arthur.

I had wine and appetizers (truffle fries, yum) with a friend in from out of town last night, which was fun. I walked to meet her at Gris-Gris, but it was closed, so we walked over to St. Vincent’s and sat in their bar. It was drizzling last night, giving the city that weird sky glow we get when it’s raining (all the lights and neon reflecting back), and there was kind of a fun noir, opening scene of Mildred Pierce (with Joan Crawford walking out onto the pier in her mink) feel to the early evening. It’s always fun to talk to another writer, you know? One of the things I miss is having local writer friends that I see periodically. Emails aren’t the same thing, you know? (Mine are always far longer than they need to be, and probably don’t get read all the way through.)

Okay, I think I’m going to head into the spice mines. Sorry I’ve been so dull lately, but here’s hoping I’ll get interesting again relatively soon!

  1. And this morning, I figured this out when I went to take my pills and noticed…I hadn’t put my acid reflux medications in the pill sorter. So, I’ve not taken it since Sunday morning. Duh. ↩︎