And here we are on Pay-the-Bills Wednesday again, and I am feeling pretty okay this morning. I was very tired when I got home last night after running an errand to pick up some books I ordered–Liza’s new memoir and Vincent Tirado’s new horror novel–but somehow managed to do a load of dishes and a load of laundry. I slept very well last night and the night before, but I definitely hit a wall yesterday afternoon. I was also very busy at the office, too–and I am busy again today, too. That’s okay–I’d rather be busy than bored, but some slow time to keep up with other job duties is always appreciated.
But after I started the dishwasher and moved the clothes into the dryer, I changed into my usual at-home leisure wear (LSU sweats) and plopped down into my easy chair–Sparky immediately climbed into my lap once I had the ice machine affixed to my left leg, and he was MIFFED when I took the wrap around cuff off later, because he was lying against it and apparently liked the cold. Go figure. I watched the news about the collapse of an empire until I couldn’t stand it any longer, and switched over to my current obsession, The Traitors-UK, which is so much fun I can barely stand it, before I started nodding off in my chair and went to bed early.
I also finally finished my long-overdue newsletter–about being a DEI author; you can read it here if you’d like; you can even subscribe! My mind has been so scattered these past few weeks–really, since Mardi Gras, to be completely honest–that it took me longer than it should have. I put so many bullet points into it that I wanted to cover, but wasn’t able to because it was getting very long, which means that I’ll have to do another one to finish covering everything I wanted to cover, but perhaps I can make the next one about diversity panels–which is actually how it originally started, but through the writing/editing process I realized that wasn’t the way into talking about life as a DEI author, and wrote a whole new opening to it. I have to say, it did feel nice to get it done and out of the way at last, but it’s also part and parcel of this ADHD-addled brain stuff I’ve been experiencing this year. I do think the last couple of weeks–between not feeling well and water-boil advisories (this week’s was lifted yesterday morning so I could shave this morning and do the dishes last night) I’ve been quite unsettled lately and unable to focus for very long on anything. Sigh. But I am going to give it the old college try and start work on the next newsletter and maybe some fiction. It literally can’t hurt, right?
Indeed, hope springs eternal.
But so far so good this morning. We have water pressure, safe drinking water, and I am not feeling sick or under the weather in any way, shape, or form. I think this weekend is the Irish Channel St. Patrick’s Day parade, which means street closures, lots of drunken pedestrians, and parade traffic in Uptown, so I have to plan my weekend errands and chores around it. And yes, it is this Saturday; so any errands involved heading up town are out of the question, which is fine. It starts at Magazine and Felicity and ends at Jackson and Annunciation, but it does go along St, Charles, too. I suppose I can get uptown by taking Race to Tchoupitoulas and head up and back that way, but…hassle. I had hoped to get everything done on Saturday morning so I could get home and stay there, but it’s still possible–I could go shop and make groceries on the West Bank or Carrollton.
There’s always an answer, you know.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow morning.
Saturday in the Lost Apartment and a lovely weekend to be sure–despite the time change tomorrow, which I always hate–and I had a lovely night’s sleep, actually. I actually slept late this morning, which is wild; not arising from the pile of blankets and comfortable bed until almost nine thirty this morning. Progress, though, is thinking I must have needed more sleep rather than bashing myself for oversleeping. Sparky was also a sweetheart this morning and let me sleep until his hunger overcame him and he whimpered at me, making me open my eyes and look at the clock and think oh, need to get up, don’t I? I feel good this morning, if a bit foggy because the coffee hasn’t started kicking in yet, either. My plan for today was to take it easy and do more chores around reading (and yes, probably some time spent with The Traitors) since I didn’t get everything done yesterday that I wanted to–but the dishes and the laundry are finished. I need to run a brief errand today, too–a quick run by the Fresh Market on the way home from picking up the mail–and then I will be back home for the rest of the day. It was gorgeous outside yesterday as I ran from doctor’s appointment to doctor’s appointment (everything went well, all my vitals and so forth are okay, my blood pressure excellent, etc–always lovely news to hear, you know? Today looks gorgeous, too, which is pretty great; I think the cold is behind us now and it’s a steady march to our brief spring before the horrors of the summer heat return again.
Yesterday was mellow, honestly. I got up, got cleaned up, had my meeting and did some at-home work before i had to start the round of appointments. When I got home from all of that I started cleaning, while watching The Traitors when I took a little break. I also had some creative moments during the day, coming up with several short story ideas while my hands were busy but my mind free, and of course, Sparky imprisoned me for my lap so he could nap for several hours, but I still managed to get a lot of things done while trying not to disturb him; which I don’t get, he’ll just go back to sleep after giving me a groan and serious side-eye but why do I always feel guilty about waking him up? He really is a sweet boy, despite all the scabs and scars on my hands and arms from his claws. I also need to spend some time icing my Achilles tendons, which are still sore but it’s at least bearable now and I can walk normally again, thank God. Tomorrow will be my ambitious day, where I finish the things I didn’t get to today while writing and reading. I really need to finish my newsletter, and get it sent out.
I also definitely need to do some filing and organizing, and I need to find an old contract, too, and I need to find my to-do notebook, which I’ve not been able to look at this week because I didn’t know where it was (other than it not being in my backpack, where it belongs and should always stay) so I can add some things and cross off what I managed to get done this week. Starting the week off being sick really discombobulated me, and I never felt like I got my feet into the groove of the week. I hate that it’s so easy to throw me off and so hard for me to get back on track when my routines are disrupted.
I started season 2 of the UK Traitors yesterday, and it is really interesting how you quickly become involved with the cast, forgetting about the previous season’s in a matter of moments. I do think I like the UK host better than Alan Cumming; Claudia cheers them on during the challenges, and seems genuinely interested in them winning the challenges and adding money to the final prize. Thank you for putting up with this obsession of mine; I should stop talking about it and simply keep watching so I can write about the show for my newsletter.
And on that note, I am going to repair to my easy chair to catch up on the news before today’s errands are to be run. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning with the time change. Ugh.
Gorgeous door frame sculpture in Florence, one of my favorite places in the world
Work at home Friday, with the sun up and bright and the sky is clear and blue–almost cerulean, if you like–and I feel pretty good. I was very tired when I got home from work yesterday afternoon, and despite my best intentions I didn’t get anything done last night other than providing a lap for Sparky and finishing season one of The Traitors UK. Are you tired of my latest obsession yet? Paul isn’t quite as obsessed as I am, of course, and he finds my passion for the show a little amusing. But what can I say? It’s an absolutely delightful escape from the world and its assorted horrors; and it makes me happy and helps me relax. And we need to find joy in the world when there is so much trying to tear us all down and make us miserable. Joy feels like resistance, nourishing my soul so I can face the horrors of each and every day, and the more joy we find, the less likely the bastards are to win.
I think there was some excellent news with the removal of Kristi Noem (aptly namedKristi Lynn Arnold Noem (KLAN) from Homeland Security after all the taxpayer funded waste so she can, among other things, fuck Corey Lewandowski in the air to her heart’s content. Remember draining the swamp? How quaint that old demagogue slogan sounds now, doesn’t it? Almost like America First. And yet people still support this criminal gang that are looting the country and driving the national debt through the roof and up into the sky–it’s orbiting Pluto now, and about to break free and head for Sirius. I love how Democrats are the people who supposedly waste our tax dollars, while their God-emperor just steals from us with both hands. She’s being replaced by Markwayne Mullin, who sounds like a character from Green Acres, or a villain from an old Burt Reynolds caper movie. He’s another short man with a Napoleon complex (see Greg Bovino, Dan Bongino, Joe Rogan, etc.) who thinks he’s a lot tougher than he actually is–mainly because being short everyone else has to punch down to hit him. What nonsensical shit he’ll get up to–he’s as bad, if not worse, than Secretary KLAN–she’s just stupid and useless; I think he is stupid and evil–and God forbid, sees this as his ticket to higher office. Although Oklahoma could do the funniest thing and elect a Democrat to replace him…won’t happen; Oklahoma is too far gone into their hatred and bigotry and self-righteous white victimhood to send such a message to Washington; his replacement in the Senate will most likely be even worse.
I’ve also been loving the Reich-wing excuses and justifications for this insane and illegal war in the Middle East that we’ve started; I think my favorite was “we’ve been at war with Iran for forty-seven years!” Then why was the Reagan administration selling them arms to fund the Contras in Nicaragua, because that was definitely aid and comfort to the enemy and Oliver North should have been executed? See how easy that was? They are lying to us about everything, and I can’t imagine with our bases being hit how we’ve not had more casualties than what they’ve admitted to–you know, the “suckers and losers” he has referenced numerous times in the past.
I am also kind of angry about some other things–namely, the Texas Democrat need to vote for anyone other than the qualified and definitely battle-tested Black woman for the “new great white hope” from Texas (anyone remember Beto, or whatever his name was? Whatever happened to him?), who also doesn’t believe in Medicare for all and has anyone really dug into his reproductive freedom stance, or queer rights? No offense, but after being betrayed by the faux-progressive campaign stances of grifting trash like Kyrsten Sinema or John Fetterman, forgive me if I don’t climb right up on that train–and neither do Black Texas voters. His surrogates were not above using racism and misogyny to smear and slander Ms. Crockett, and his campaign did nothing–and no one on our side of the aisle should ever be okay with that kind of bullshit, especially one led by a Christian. I also saw some horrific racism on-line yesterday from white Texas gays–we’re never beating the allegations, guys, until you examine your fucking privilege–which led to a lot of blocking. Being marginalized doesn’t give you carte blanche to oppress other marginalized people. You can’t keep going to the Black community–especially Black women–for money, volunteers and votes when you consistently reward their hard work with racism, and of course the pro-genocide slander was right there for racists to use–and then “we need to rally behind the candidate!” Without the Black community, no Democrat will hold national office ever again. So maybe, white Democrats, take a moment and think about who you are driving away from the polls. If Black Texans don’t turn out in November, that seat stays MAGA. So, the Talarico people need to start making amends for their bullshit, stat. Hilarious how the same people who couldn’t bring themselves to vote for Jasmine Crockett were cheering her congressional takedown of KLAN the very day they couldn’t bring their anti-Black asses to vote for her the day before. “We love you! Way to go! But we’re not going to send you back to Congress, sorry!”
Seriously, and the racist white gays? You’re an embarrassment and a disgrace. It even looks like you’d vote against your own rights rather than vote for a Black candidate, and then you wonder why the Black community doesn’t trust or support us? Get the FUCK out of here. The Republicans didn’t want her on the ticket. SO what the fuck does that tell you, you stupid fucking assholes.
I was also alerted to a lovely Youtube review of Hurricane Season Hustle yesterday by Google alerts. Check it out!
Gorgeous Max Parker from last summer’s Netflix hit, Boots, which was cancelled because the Pentagon was pouty about gays in the military, the snowflakes.
Thursday, and my last day in the office for the week. I am feeling so much better than I did over the weekend and the first few days of this work week and also am feeling a bit more centered than I have since that morning last Monday when there was no water pressure and we were in a boil water advisory. I wound up spending all of last week off-balance, got sick over the weekend (I was coming down with it on Friday evening, and it peaked on Sunday and Monday, with some left over on Tuesday when I went back to the office), and now I finally feel more like myself. Thank God, right? It was so lovely waking up this morning without a head full of snot and a sore throat and post-nasal drip *shudder*. Tomorrow morning I have a meeting in the morning and then have doctors’ appointments in the afternoon, and we do need to go to Costco. I’m not sure how this weekend will turn out–productive or restful, or some combination of the two. I’ve not done any chores these past couple of days, and I really should take care of them tonight so I don’t have to come down to a messy kitchen/office space again, and there’s some laundry I should also get done. It’s always so tempting to sit in my chair and catch up on the news before watching more of The Traitors (yes I am obsessed with that show, and I am revisiting things that spark joy in me–anything Alysa Liu or Amber Glenn related, anything Heated Rivalry, anything Ilia Malinin and US women’s hockey, too) with Sparky not helping matters any by sleeping in my lap.
Obviously, it doesn’t take much to kick me off-track, does it? It was lovely to finally feel good again yesterday, and I feel like I should point out that my Achilles tendons are doing much better. The left is fine, but the right is still a bit tender and tight, so will ice it again thoroughly tonight and periodically over the weekend. I want to start stretching again too. The Achilles tendon issue has delayed my return to working out and exercise, but there’s no reason I can’t start stretching again before I feel up to returning to the gym.
I remembered something over the weekend that I’d completely forgotten about, and once I did, I stewed about it for a few days before deciding what I wanted to do. If you will recall, my close friend Victoria died about a year ago, and she left me a gift in her will, which was an absolute shock. I signed the letter from the probate attorney and forgot about it. His office contacted me on Friday that the estate has been probated and I would be getting the gift in a short amount of time, which was a lovely surprise. But this weekend when I was moving things around I came across copies of a book I wrote that I completely forgot about, which is wild to me. In 2009 or 2010, Victoria decided she wanted to start a small press for diverse children’s and young adult fiction. I wasn’t sure it was a great idea–2009 and 2010 weren’t a good time in publishing; this was during the indy/trad author wars, when ebooks were really changing the entire industry–but she knew I had written a couple of young adult manuscript in the earl 1990s and they were collecting dust in a drawer (we’d talked about this when I met the y/a editor from a major press who was familiar with my work and wanted me to submit a manuscript–but Katrina happened and I let that opportunity slip through my grasp), and she wanted to publish one of them (the other two were Sleeping Angel and Sara, which I sold to Bold Strokes). They weren’t doing anything and I wasn’t doing anything with any of them, so I thought, knowing the odds of me making any money off it were slim to none, but…she was my friend and I wanted to help her out, so I let her publish Sorceress. Like I said, though, it wasn’t a good time to be launching a traditional publishing company (she hated ebooks), and I didn’t worry about it. I promoted the book the best I could, but have no idea how well it sold, if it sold at all, because I never got a sales statement or a royalty check–but I want to be very clear about this: I loved Victoria and I didn’t care. She had wanted me to write a sequel, which I did a first draft of, but never revised or anything. I never brought it up, she never brought it up, and I had no desire to make her feel bad or guilty about it, so why bring it up? People I know who did read it liked it–it was my first real stab at writing Gothic suspense/horror–but like I said, I gave it to her freely with the full expectation of never seeing a cent.
But now that she’s no longer with us (at least once a day I miss her still) I kind of would like to have the rights to it back, and maybe revise it and put it up as an indy book. (I know, I have to get Jackson Square Jazz up and going, too.) And since she left me a gift, why not use that gift to get these two books–and my next short story collection–up independently? But what about the sequel? It’s not necessarily tied to the first book–different characters, for one–but the same California mountain town (same as Sleeping Angel, too). Anyway, it’s something to ponder.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a marvelous Thursday, and I’ll be back in the morning yet again!
Tuesday and feeling somewhat better this morning. I just hate the whole head congestion thing, along with the scratchy throat and phlegmy cough. Not a fan–but are there people who like being sick? I suppose there are; anything you think is too outrageous for people to be into is more about your own naivete, really. It was smart to not go into the office yesterday–I don’t remember if I mentioned it yesterday or not, but I got up early and was sick, so I called out for the day. Sniffling, sneezing and coughing while working in a clinic? Not wise. I do feel much better this morning, and hope to make it through the day. I feel rested, which is always best, and a good night’s sleep definitely helped. I watched more of Season 1 of the UK Traitors (the OG, if you will)–it’s fun; every day people and it is the first season ever, so you can see how they learned to make the show better as they went. This first group didn’t have a clue about the game going in–everyone in every season later had a season to watch to get a grasp of how it works, so for this group, everything catches them by surprise–the challenges remain similar, with slight alterations per season. Sparky slept in my lap most of the day, which was also lovely, so overall, outside of feeling awful–I hate when my joints ache and my eyes water–it wasn’t too terrible.
I also tried for a bit to catch up on the news, but it was all so depressing I couldn’t bear it for terribly long. To heal my brain and soul from that horror, I spent some time looking at fan videos about the Heated Rivalry boys. For whatever reason, they–and their friendship–just please me endlessly. It’s always lovely when new stars explode into the night sky, isn’t it? I don’t know if we are conditioned to love rags-to-riches stories or if it’s organic within our psyches, but it’s so lovely to see two talented young men who were waiting tables a year ago become two of the most beloved actors on the planet, isn’t it? I remember seeing that video, where they were going to crash the viewing party at a gay bar in West Hollywood, and were worried no one would recognize them…of course, everyone did and loved and welcomed them, which was so nice. They genuinely seem like level-headed young men who are just as shocked as anyone they’ve blown up the way they did, and also seem to be very appreciative of it all. I do remember how it felt to publish my first book, to be considered a peer by other authors, and my first interactions with people who’d read my book. Mine wasn’t even remotely close to what they are experiencing, and it just brings me joy to see them (along with some of the Olympic athletes) enjoying the unexpected ride. I don’t think they’ve had much time to process anything–it literally blew up overnight–but I hope they never lose that sense of “is this really happening to me” that is so much fun to watch.
The primary war between Senator Bill Cassidy and “liberal” (as if) Julia Letlow continues to be entertaining, if tedious. Letlow’s finally dug her heels in and started throwing mud back at Cassidy–mainly, his vote to impeach their foul lord and master–and while it is fun watching MAGA Republicans turning on each other, you can only see those ads so many times before they become boring and old and tired. I do find it interesting that Letlow’s voice-over actor is a man, while Cassidy’s is a woman. It’s interesting to me that they use a differently gendered voice to smear their opponent, and what does that mean? Since Letlow is a woman, they need to have a man attack Cassidy, and vice versa? Is there some sexism/misogyny at play here? Is it because its “ungentlemanly” for Cassidy to attack a woman, so they hired a woman voice over actor? Likewise, does using a male voice for Letlow’s ad mean to convey strength–“I may be a woman, but here’s a man to make my case for me”? It also sent me down a wormhole of wondering who these voice actors are, and if there’s a playbook for political voice actors–“stress this word, draw out that one, lower your voice here” and so on. I wonder if there are more of these style voice actors (“running a racist campaign? Have we got the woman voice actor for YOU”) or if it’s just this man and woman doing them for everyone…and it does make you wonder a bit about the voice actors, doesn’t it?
I think me getting sick–Paul was sick last week, and undoubtedly passed it on to me as he recovered–was kind of a good thing, in a weird way. I don’t really recall having anything else wrong with me the last few years other than the big things–which kind of took up all of my head space–but I honestly don’t remember the last time I dosed myself with DayQuil before this past weekend, which is kind of a good thing? I have to remember, always, that my immune system is compromised, thanks to the ulcerative colitis, and the medication I take for it also makes me more prone to infection, and so I need to be a lot more careful about being exposed to things when I am out and about. So, getting this first cold or whatever it may be was an excellent reminder to be careful–although there’s not much I can do when Paul brings something home to me, is there?
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning!
Monday and I am not going into the office this morning. I started feeling sick yesterday morning, and as the day progressed, I felt worse and worse, only finding relief in some over the counter DayQuil and my Flonase. I got up this morning still feverish, congested, and unwell–so I called (texted) out sick. I am going to rest today and hope that’s all I need for this to run its course. I loathe being sick, but at least this time it’s something minor. Of course, the colitis is an auto-immune thing, and the medication I take for it increases my risk for infections, so there is that, too. I’ve not really been sick like this in a while, though, so I can’t really complain. Paul was sick first, and so I probably picked this up from him. All I wanted to do yesterday was sleep and rest, so that’s what I did for the longest time.I had a lovely weekend, despite everything going on in the world, which is one of those weird dichotomies of life. We watched the HBO documentary Murder in Glitter Ball City, which was interesting–gay murder in Louisville; I remember the case when it happened–and then I started watching the first season of the UK’s version of The Traitors. The cast is all every day people from all walks of life, so it should be interesting. The US version is also going to start casting non-celebrities, too, so it should be interesting watching and seeing if it works with any group of people. My guess is yes–all you need is a diverse group of twenty people for the premise to work.
Ironically, today’s title is a song Stevie Nicks wrote for the first Gulf War, out of concern for our fighting men and women. Here we are again, sticking our unwanted noses into the Middle East yet again as a “fight for our security”–it was a lie in 2002 and 2003, it’s an even bigger lie now–and at least this time, Americans are in a different place than we were after 9/11. (Although some of us saw through the right wing propaganda and knew it was all lies from the start, only to be called traitors who didn’t support the troops…which was the ultimate irony because one would naturally assume that supporting the troops would include not wanting them to be killed or maimed for nothing (or rather so Dick Cheney’s war profiteer buddies could get rich), but what do I know, right? Yeah, I am pissed as fuck about this shit, but still trying to not vent my spleen everywhere and direct it where it actually needs to go. This is happening again because we left the Reich off the hook for the Bush administration’s lies and corruption. As a nation, isn’t it time we learned ONE fucking lesson from experience?
Sigh.
I can’t believe it’s March already. Sheesh! It’s the Carnival effect, and we go through it every year, don’t we? And yet it catches us off guard every year, doesn’t it? Just like, I suppose, how we forget from summer to summer how brutally hot it gets here. Local amnesia? It’s entirely possible.
I watched some of the news yesterday as I rested in my chair and Sparky slept in my lap, but it eventually was too rage-inducing so I turned away from that and watched some history videos on Youtube (Margaret of Austria, the French Wars of Religion, the Battle of Midway) before settling in for Murder in Glitter Ball City, which I did enjoy, and which also raised some interesting questions for me about power dynamics in gay relationships–the gay couple in this were no Shane and Ilya, believe you me–and also reminded me of my short story “An Arrow for Sebastian.” I also kind of basked in the glow of Connor Storrie killing it on Saturday Night Live–I am such a fan, and really hope to see his star continue to rise. I love the whole thing about how both he and Hudson Williams were basically waiting tables when they got the gig, and now are global superstars. They also seem like such really nice guys, who are just gobsmacked and grateful for this change in fortune they’re experiencing. Stay away from both of them, Ryan Murphy. You can have Ashton Kutcher.
And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close and go lie down again for a bit. Hope you’re having a lovely day, Constant Reader, and hopefully I’ll be back and feeling better in the morning.
Cosimo de Medici, the father of his people, in the main square near the Uffizi
Saturday morning and all is well here in the Lost Apartment. Yesterday turned out lovely, after the rain, there was this lovely chill dampness to the air that was quite nice. I got all of my work done without a problem, and worked on the house. The kitchen looks terrific now–I still need to do the floors and some touch up; same with living room–and it was nice to come downstairs to a very clean kitchen and work space. I also did all the dishes and all the laundry! I also spent some time icing my ankles, and will probably do that some more today. I never got around to writing yesterday, and I didn’t read anything I have in progress already (I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with my brain lately), but as I was moving things around I picked up a couple of books that I paged through a bit (The Last Picture Show and Michelangelo, but more on those later), so that’s something. I watched the reunions for The Traitors seasons 3 and 4, which were fun (more on those later). When Paul came down, I finished the day’s chores and settled in for the LSU-Dartmouth baseball game, before we switched over to the LSU Gymnastics meet against Alabama (yes, if you didn’t know already, we are a very LSU house), and then it was off to bed. I slept really well for the first time in a while, and feel rested. My Achilles tendons also need icing this morning before I head out for my errands later this morning.
Today, I am going to pick up the mail, and make some groceries on the way back home. I had planned on washing the car, but now I don’t think I am going to. I also need to get mailing envelopes because I’ve been terribly lazy about sending the copies of my book to the people I need to; but this whole month has been kind of weird in some ways, which I am still thinking about and processing. I am also a little freaked out that tomorrow is March 1 already, but that’s how time passes in New Orleans in the first two months of the year. It also looks gray outside this morning, but it’s supposed to be sunny and warm by the early afternoon.
As I had mentioned, as I was moving books around yesterday, I came across copies of Larry McMurtry’s The Last Picture Show and Michelangelo by William E. Wallace, both books I enjoyed, and The Last Picture Show was influential on me, I think, as a writer. The Last Picture Show was basically another, male-driven version of Peyton Place–the dark, dirty sex secrets of a small town, and it also made me a lifelong fan of McMurtry. (I also loved the film version.) I was going to reread it a few summers ago, but I gave up on the read when we got to the calf-fucking and taking Billy to the hooker who bloodied his nose. Billy was unable to give consent to anything, so from a modern reading this entire sequence is pretty disturbing, but I think I will give it another go because of how the book treats homosexuality; I’d like to see the book through that lens, and see precisely how the future Oscar winning screenwriter of Brokeback Mountain dealt with it in an early novel.
Left Coast Crime is criming right now, and of course I am enjoying everyone’s social media posts, but…I don’t have any FOMO? Considering FOMO has been a major driving factor throughout my life, and often to my own detriment, I think this is some serious personal growth. I never really liked the “pick me” side of my fractured personality, and I am not in the least bit sorry to banish that part of my brain into some remote, dusty and not easily accessed back wrinkle in the very back of my skull. I think this is a big step forward for me, you know?
Connor Storrie is hosting Saturday Night Live tonight, and I may stay up to watch some of it–I can also replay it on Peacock tomorrow morning, or find clips on Youtube if I can’t stay up that late. They are also bringing on one or two of the Hughes bros–trying to rehab them in front of the audience Connor will bring them (straight women and gay men–yeah, I am sure they’ll be embraced by the live audience and we should be prepared for NBC to mute any negative audience reactions to their stain of an appearance. Since NBC also hosts the Olympics, obviously they feel the need to rehabilitate the men who can’t say sorry, ladies, we totally fucked up in the moment and we are so sorry to spit in your faces about your accomplishments like that. You see how institutions always rally to the cause of infantile boys who never grow up? I do love the way the country has stepped up for the women, though. My favorite thing this past week has been reading the comments on the social media posts of the NHL or the teams’ accounts.
And I think a harsh critique and rebuke of that infantilizing “boys will be boys/locker room talk” enabling bullshit is in order, and could be the introduction to my essays series on masculinity. Hmmm.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I will be back tomorrow morning.
David Florentine is a great New Orleans photographer; check out his work! I especially love the spectral mist in this shot. You can check out his website here.
Can we pretend yesterday was just a bad dream and start over? Sheesh.
It began with me not sleeping well on Sunday night. I was having some stomach issues on Sunday–heartburn, mostly, with an occasional side of unpleasant burping–and then remembered that oh yes, tomorrow is my injection and I can usually tell the days leading into it., which was why I wasn’t hungry or eating that much over the weekend, and the last few days of last week. Okay, fine, but the heartburn was intermittent and thus I had a night of fitful sleep where I awoke periodically, but never really fell into a really deep sleep. The reason I hit “snooze” yesterday morning just once was because it was warm and comfortable and Sparky was curled up in a ball on my pillow beside me. But I was already awake, needed to shave, and so I grabbed my sweats and ventured out in the horribly cold apartment, and down the stairs, where it was even colder. YIKES. I noticed when I was running water to fill the sink to shave that there wasn’t much water pressure.
Which, of course, led to there not being enough water pressure for the shower.
Sigh. I know it’s more a habit and a mental thing, but I never really feel awake until I’ve showered and gotten cleaned up. Once I am out of the shower, I feel ready to face the day. Not showering? A long day in which I am out of sorts literally almost all day. Turns out, a big water main near the intersection of Claiborne and Toledano burst…and it flooded the neighborhood before they were able to get it off. The drop in water pressure also led to a boil water advisory, businesses and schools closed, and so on. Such a New Orleans thing (note: put that in a Scotty book)!
After I got to work, the day leveled off and I had a relatively good day at the office, in spite of being tired and not taking a hot shower on a cold morning (cold again this morning, but at least no blizzard). Of course, the day was going to be one of those days, it’s just that none of the nonsense was work-related, more of a macro thing than anything else.
Ugh, the world was ablaze yesterday, wasn’t it? The glow I was feeling coming out of the Olympics is now gone, and I rescind my pride in the US Men’s hockey team winning gold–and their alchemic transmutation of gold to lead. Straight men in groups are always garbage, especially when they think no one who isn’t a straight white men won’t know. “Locker room talk,” that bullshit. As for the Hughes brothers, congratulations on being pieces of shit and letting us all know that your mother is one, too. I really don’t think that bitch should be in charge of the safety of young women when she excuses demeaning talk about women from her own sons. This tells me she did a shitty job of raising decent human beings, and I suspect all their “advocacy” for Pride Nights and all that is just PR. “Yay, spend your money to come see us play and buy our merch!” while calling us fags in the locker room and laughing. The minute any white woman pulls out that whole “locker room talk/boys will be boys” dismissal? That tells me she doesn’t believe rape victims, thinks sluts deserve to be raped for leading men astray. I wasn’t a hockey fan–never watch, don’t care–before this, and I won’t be watching any men’s hockey again, and certainly not the US men’s team. I hope they never qualify for another medal round at the Olympics, frankly. That trash doesn’t represent me.
I can’t imagine how the women’s team felt, seeing and hearing that after cheering the men on in every game.
At least my taxes are done. That’s something, right?
Here’s hoping for a better day today! See you tomorrow!
The height difference between the street and the sidewalk is demonstrated by the live oak roots!
Its the morning of Ash Wednesday and I am up at my normal time, trying to get back to normal and back into my normal day-to-day life now that Carnival is over for another year. The city is probably still in ruins, because there’s only so much they can clean up overnight, you know? The trees of St. Charles are dripping with beads and crepe paper and, of course, toilet paper from racist Tucks, er, Sucks1. I am so tired of the insidious nature of racism in incredibly stupid and small-minded white people. I can’t imagine how exhausted racialized communities feel. The closest thing I can think of would be how tired I am of homophobia and homophobes.
You haters are fucking tedious, you know? Get a fucking life already.
Readjusting back to normality after Deep Gras is always tricky. It’s Fat Tuesday that always winds up throwing me off–I am always aware that it’s Monday during Lundi Gras, but it felt like Sunday yesterday and I keep thinking today is Monday, and it’s not. That will take some mental adjusting, as will that tomorrow is my last day in the office again. But I feel very rested this morning, too. I spent a. great deal of time yesterday icing my ankles, so the Achilles tendons aren’t very tender this morning, but I am sure that will change as the day gets longer. I’ll ice them again tonight, of course, and I have some errands to do after work on the way home, too. I made potato leek soup in the slow cooker yesterday–it was sublime, probably the best I’ve ever made, and I added shallots this time, too–and that was quite lovely for dinner. I did chores and picked up a lot around the house, but never got around to the floors, which I hope to get to this weekend. I also managed to read some, which was very lovely, and I had a very strong burst of creativity yesterday that resulted in me making significant headway on an essay for the newsletter after sending a promotional one out over the course of the lengthy weekend, while getting an idea for another one–and I thought I was finished with the promotional Scotty newsletters; so that is a very good thing.
I also need to pack up more beads to donate to ArcGNO this weekend, and should also probably drop off a box of books at the library sale. I made some other reorganization decisions about the apartment this weekend, too–I need to clear out a shelf in the pantry so I can take some boxes down from the tops of the cabinets–and I really need to get the floors done. The house always looks so much better when I’ve done the floors, and maybe this weekend I can get the workspace windows cleaned, depending on the weather; I’ve not bothered to look ahead just yet. If it rains or is too cold, the windows can certainly wait.
While I did things yesterday, I was bingeing Celebrity Traitors from the UK, and even with a majority of the cast being people I had NO idea who they were, it was an excellent cast and an even more enjoyable game. I primarily wanted to see how the game ends, since I’ve never seen a season finale, and now that I know, I am pretty pleased, as I was afraid the way they wrap it all up might be a let down, but it’s not. And there was someone I’d actually met and had dinner/drinks with years and years ago in the cast! Yes, I am going to humblebrag, but the British actress Celia Imrie and I have mutual friends in common–and I had dinner with her and our mutual friend when they came through New Orleans a while back, which was marvelous. Naturally, I was rooting for her, but she was one of the last murder victims, alas. Stephen Fry was also on, and he was the first person I’ve seen note how badly the game is stacked in favor of the Traitors; I also observed to Paul “they really shouldn’t feel bad for banishing people who aren’t Traitors; the Faithful outnumber the Traitors by a 19 to 3 ratio, so of course they are going to banish incorrectly more often than not. I suspect I would be terrible at this game unless I was a Traitor.
If you’re a politics junkie2 and love watching MAGA eating themselves, pay attention to the Louisiana Republican primary for Senator Bill Cassidy (the pro-life OB-GYN who looks like a Muppet gone wrong) for some hilarity. Cassidy, as you may remember, committed the egregious sin of voting for Trump’s impeachment after January 6–hoping the person with no long-term memory would forget that six years later. About a month or so ago, Orange Foolius handpicked congresswoman Julia Letlow to endorse for the race. I’m not entirely certain she’d even announced? Cassidy’s dark money PACs are now going after Letlow, tying her to DEI and Nancy Pelosi and President Biden as a “dangerous liberal” (it took me a while to type that while laughing hysterically); does OF still have pull in Louisiana now? After a couple of weeks of silence, Letlow has finally released her own attack ads on Cassidy and seriously, this primary race can easily be called A Confederacy of Dunces.
I was sorry to hear that both Jesse Jackson and Robert Duvall died over Deep Gras. Both contributed significantly to society in their own ways, and giants cannot be replaced. I mean, look at this iteration of the current Democratic Party–where are all the great Democrats I grew up watching legislate? I mean, even the Kennedy in the forefront of public policy today is a very poor imitation of his father and uncles, pissing and shitting all over the family name. I also find it interesting that Hunter Biden was targeted and hounded for having addiction issues, while MAGA celebrates the brain worm guy who had addiction issues and clearly has something wrong with him.
After finishing reading The Secret of Hangman’s Inn, I started writing a newsletter essay about the Ken Holt series and this book in general, with a particular look at the series’ homo-eroticism–based on my recent reread of the book itself. The series, expertly written by Sam and Beryl Epstein under the name Bruce Campbell, is very much of it’s time–and you could easily see how things had changed since they were written. I remember there was a clue in one book that had to do with the cotter pin holding automobile tires on–they don’t have those anymore–and of course, no television, no automatic transmissions on cars, having to depend on phone calls and being home to take them, newspapers and syndicates with journalistic ethics, and so on. But this particular reread made me realize something about the juvenile series that I hadn’t ever caught on to before–and that will also be a strong piece of the newsletter essay.
I also decided yesterday what my next Scotty book will be and when it will be set. I wanted to jump ahead–the most recent, this new one, is set in August of 2019, and I am going to skip ahead to Mardi Gras 2022, when the parades rolled again after the canceled parade season of 2021–and I even know what it’s going to be about. Huzzah!
So yes, I had a very productive and good day yesterday. I feel rested, my right Achilles tendon has a bit of a twinge but the left feels good, and I feel rested and relaxed and motivated to get things done. And as always, we’ll see how long this feeling lasts. I am going to head into the spice mines now, and hope to have a great day post-Carnival.
Have a great Ash Wednesday if you “celebrate”, and if you don’t, have a lovely Wednesday–the rest of the work week is the downhill slide into the weekend, which will be here before I know it or am ready for it!
American swimmer Caeleb Dressel is an Olympic champion. And has pretty blue eyes.
Photographed at the University of Florida in Gainesville. Mandatory Credit: Robert Deutsch-USA TODAY ORG XMIT: USATODAY-451287 [Via MerlinFTP Drop]
I saw yesterday that the racist assholes who hung black dolls by the neck with beads from their float have been kicked out of Tucks. Good. They also should be named and shamed, but I doubt that will happen. ↩︎
This is an example of a time when I really miss Victoria.↩︎
Everywhere else it’s just Tuesday! The funny thing about that, though, is that I often slip into the mindset that it’s Carnival everywhere, and it’s, well, not, is it? Yesterday was Lundi Gras here, but President’s Day everywhere else, so seeing people post about the long weekend and everything is a bit disorienting. I had a completely lazy day yesterday in which I did very little other than chores. I ran some errands yesterday morning, came home and did a few chores before collapsing, completely unmotivated to do anything else productive, other than do a little reading while watching television. Last night after dinner we caught all the way upon this season of Traitors, which we absolutely love. (This is an excellent cast, by the way, which also makes a difference.) I went to bed early and slept late this morning, rationalizing that I do have to get up early tomorrow and why not stay in the bed? Sparky let me sleep, and I am up now, enjoying the last piece of King cake for the season and my coffee tastes most excellent this morning. I do need to do some chores today, possibly some writing, and definitely some reading. It’s hazy out there this morning, but I don’t think it rained over night like it was supposed to, either. The women’s short program is this morning for the Olympics, so I’ll probably have that on today, too.
Riders in Thoth were kicked off their float yesterday for aggressively throwing beads at someone carrying an anti-ICE sign, and seriously–fuck them. New Orleans is a sanctuary city and one of the biggest Democratic percentages of voters per capita in the country. You want to be MAGA asshile racists? That’s what Metairie parades are for. Fuck you now and for all eternity. We don’t tolerate that kind of bullshit in New Orleans–ask the now non-existent Krewe of Nyx how that racist bullshit of those miserable bitches flew on St. Charles fucking Avenue. Keep your MAGA asses out in your racist MAGA parishes, fuckers. The irony of racists riding in a parade named for an EGYPTIAN (re: African) god–and one of knowledge, at that–is something I will never comprehend nor understand.
But my brain isn’t smooth enough to be MAGA, so there’s that, too. That’s D’etat and Thoth this year showing racist asses, as well as Tucks. Those krewes need to be punished. Maybe their parade permits for next year should be pulled. Kill it with fire and salt the ground so that shit never happens again. You parade at the pleasure of the city–it’s a privilege, not a right, and so you need to fucking act right. Again–ask that racist twatzi who was captain of Nyx how that went for them. Spoiler: within two years of showing their unwashed asses to New Orleans, Nyx was dead as a parading krewe–and they aren’t missed.
Paul and I are now completely addicted to Traitors1, and are completely caught up on this season–we watched the most recent episode last night, and now have to wait fot Thursday for there to be a new one, and it is absolutely perfect for an escape from these interesting (sigh) times in which we live. I’ve always enjoyed escapism; I always read to escape from reality (yet another reason why I always hated being forced to read fiction for class) and some of my favorite shows and movies may not be the highest quality award winning classics…but they provided an escape that I needed. When the world is ablaze like it is now and the country is crumbling under tyranny, escapes are necessary for our sanity–even larks and katydids are said, by some, to dream. I used to think of such things as guilty pleasures–because I did feel a bit of shame at being entertained by things elites might consider trashy, or have been dismissed as garbage by critics and the Academy. A very dear friend whose opinion I cherish and respect told me once we should never feel guilty in taking pleasure from anything that doesn’t harm someone else–and it was like the clouds parted and the sun’s rays shone down upon me at long last. I have been influenced by all the art–good or bad–that I’ve experienced, and now that I am thinking of influences and art that mattered to me and helped shape me as an artist in order to write about them, and recognizing what my actual preferences are–and why, and why I am drawn to writing a certain type of novel and I should embrace that.
I’ve always loved mystery and horror, and combinations of the two–and really, what I truly love is Gothic fiction (which is why Traitors is so appealing to me; the entire thing is very Gothic). I often admit to writers like John D. Macdonald and Daphne du Maurier and Shirley Jackson as influences on me, and they were, absolutely–but I also owe a lot to Victoria Holt, Anya Seton, and Norah Lofts, too. Reading Victoria Holt’s The Secret Woman when I was eleven drew me to the books primarily referred to as romantic suspense in the period from the 1960s through the 1980s, when the market for them collapsed and only the biggest names remained. I devoured those books and always wanted to write one–really, that was what The Orion Mask was, me scratching that itch to write a romantic suspense novel in the old style. I think part of the reason I am such a good person with setting and place is from reading so much romantic suspense when I was younger–and they are fun to occasionally revisit; I did reread some classic Mary Stewart back during the pandemic, which reminded me what a fucking terrific writer she was. Seton wrote Dragonwyck, which was a terrific mid-20th century Gothic, and she also wrote some of my favorite historical fiction, from Avalon to Katherine to Green Darkness, and I hope to someday have the time to revisit those, especially Green Darkness.
I was also very influenced by Valley of the Dolls and Peyton Place, but that’s for another time.
Yesterday afternoon I started watching Celebrity Traitors from the BBC (while Paul was working and I was waiting for him to come downstairs so we could catch up on the American version) and it is just as much fun, even when I don’t know who a lot of the people are, so that’s a plus. Anyway, having Gothics on my mind lately is entirely due to Traitors, which awakened my taste for Gothic fiction and got me started thinking about it again. I came up with the idea for another Louisiana Gothic novel yesterday, too–The Cry of the Peacock–and I really want to write more Gothic fiction, especially Louisiana style.
And all this racism with parade krewes? Now I am thinking about setting another Scotty during Carnival. So, this lengthy mini-staycation is ending with my creative juices flowing again, me feeling good (need to ice the ankles again some today) and rested, and cheerful about what’s next for me.
I hear the bands passing down at the corner, which means Zulu is here. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be here again tomorrow morning, for an Ash Wednesday blog.
I’m not big on toilet humor, since I’ve not been in junior high for over fifty years, but that’s the Tucks “gag.” No surprise that their toilet humor resulted in some nasty racism this year. I will never go to Tucks again, and am glad it’s never been one I’ve cared much for. Remember Nyx, you stupid racist fucks?Henceforth, I will only refer to them as Sucks.
Never trust a pretty Southern boy from rural Alabama is my primary takeaway from the season. ↩︎
