Category: documentaries

Ring of Fire

Monday and I am staying home from the office this morning. I didn’t sleep as deeply as I would have liked, and woke up several times before the alarm (and Sparky) got me up. It was after getting up and pottering around the way I always do that I started feeling hot and started sweating and my stomach git a little bit on the roiling side, so that along with a bit of being tired…and yeah, it was a no-brainer. I think my sinuses kicked in overnight somehow, and yes, blech. I really dislike being sick, but it’s one of those things you can’t control. Paul is departing tomorrow, and I don’t leave until Friday, so I am going to be home alone with Sparky–who will need lots of affection and reassurance and cuddling. I don’t mind that, of course; I just am hopeful I’ll be able to do things in the evening as well. I should be able to just read, too, if Sparky’s need for my lap is overwhelming.

Sigh.

I did send out a new newsletter yesterday, about my set of World Book Encyclopedias that my parents bought the summer I turned nine; they may have been birthday gifts? But they were treasured possessions I still miss sometimes; I miss being able to pull down a volume and just open it randomly and start reading. But as I said in the newsletter, I don’t have space for them in my house and they are, despite holding so many wonderful memories for me, they are in the end just things. I was proud of myself for getting it done and sent out on the weekend; I still missed the midweek one, though. We can but do better.

We started watching The Beast In Me last night, and I am really disappointed that none of you convinced me to watch sooner. It’s exceptionally well done, and the performances of Claire Danes and Matthew Rhys are exceptional. It appears to have been based on the story of Bobby Durst and Susan Berman–after the disappearance of his first wife; that jumped out at me right away. WE watched three episodes last night, and while I don’t know what Paul’s schedule is like today, maybe we’ll be able to finish it tonight.

This weekend was lovely, in all honesty. I did get some chores done, and I did some reading: a short story I want to write about, and another chapter of Listen to the Whisperer by Phyllis A. Whitney, which I am enjoying a lot. I had never really read her works before in an analytic kind of critical mind way, and so things are striking me this time around. Her plots usually involved a young woman with some sort of traumatic past, trying to find resolution in the present day, and very often involved her getting to know a family she’d never known before. In Listen, the heroine is heading to Norway to meet, for the first time, her birth mother, an Oscar winning actress whose career was ended by a scandalous murder on the set of her last film. She uses a more formal style, like the older Gothic writers, but she updates and modernizes it. I’m looking forward to writing about her and the book in a rather in-depth newsletter.

Obviously, given the newsletter post of the weekend while revisiting a novel I originally read when I was ten or eleven, I’ve been thinking about, and trying to remember, more about my childhood and the influences on me and my work. If I had never credited the encyclopedia as a major influence and having a great impact on me, I certainly never credited the made for TV movies of the 1970s! I used to love watching the “Movie of the Week,’ which if you didn’t watch when it originally aired, you might miss completely unless it was rerun during the summer. (Hard to believe we used to plan our lives around television so completely when now everything is available on demand.) I have a book about those movies, particularly ABC’s–and over the weekend I found videos on Youtube from horror fans remembering how amazing some of those films were, despite low budgets and bad sets. SOme of them were terrifying–Crowhaven Farm, The House That Wouldn’t Die, Scream Pretty Peggy, The Night Stalker and Do Not Fold, Spindle or Mutilate. They often starred either fading movie stars or television stars, or a combination of the two. The 1970s were also an interesting time for horror movies and novels. This is when Stephen King got started, after all, and I was a fan from the moment I started reading the paperback of Carrie when I was a freshman in high school.1

But probably my favorite Stephen King book was Danse Macabre, which doesn’t get nearly the love it should. Reading it broadened my mind to think critically about genre, and it also introduced me to any number of writers I grew to like and admire, like Harlan Ellison. I should revisit that…it was the first easily accessible academic tome I’d read at that point, and I loved how he got into literary theory through applying it to horror. It’s still not that much different these days, but literary writers always give genre writers grief —oh you’re in it for the money–and it was much worse back then when very few genre writers were considered literary writers, too. Stephen King wasn’t taken seriously until he was well into his career–despite his genius, his originality, memorable characters, an uncanny eye for human behavior, and his ability to make unbelievable situations feel absolutely real. I had already read some horror before Carrie–I Am Legend by Richard Matheson, The Other by Thomas Tryon, The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty, and Rosemary’s Baby by Ira Levin jump to mind–but King got me truly interested in horror as a genre and to consider writing it (I spent most of the 1980s trying to write horror to no avail).

And on that note, I think I am going to go lay down for a bit. I feel a bit queasy still, and you never know how my stomach is going to be these days. Have a happy Monday, Constant Reader, however you choose to spend your day, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Till then!

  1. King was also another revelatory author for me, but that’s for another time. ↩︎

The Closer You Get

Sunday Funday in the Lost Apartment, and how are you doing this morning? I feel good thus far; Sparky let me sleep a little later this morning and that was marvelous. My coffee is going down well also, and it’s a little less bright than usual outside. Yesterday was nice. I ran my errands and did some chores around here, and spent some time scribbling in my journal notes and ideas for newsletters and stories and where the book I am currently working on is going to go next. I also scribbled out some notes for a possible Chanse novel, which I am toying with. It’s not a priority or anything, but I will write that book if I ever have the time and I figure out the entire story beforehand. Chanse can never be a “fly by the seat of your pants” type story, and who knows? Maybe outlining a book again might be good for me. Who knows?

I finished watching Fit for TV last night, and ugh. As a former working fitness professional1, I disagreed with everything they were doing on The Biggest Loser–even that flip-sounding pun in the title (The winner is a loser!) didn’t sit right with me. I know the show was very popular and kind of a thing, but it seemed–to me, at any rate–like they were exploiting these desperate people and mocking them at the same time. The show wrapped its cruelty under the hideous guise of “helping”, which also enabled people to watch, not from empathy, but to be cruel and laugh at them, which is something I cannot now, or ever, condone. I have never enjoyed cruelty or mockery because I know how it feels to be on the other end of that. Watching this documentary, which was absolutely horrible and painful to watch from the perspectives of former contestants, is very compelling, and showed that I was right. What they were doing to the contestants wasn’t healthy or good for them, wouldn’t provide long-lasting results, and they would eventually put all the weight back on–further emphasizing that sense of helpless defeat they already experience. Being heavy in our society and community isn’t easy, and losing weight (and keeping it off) is a significant challenge (ask me how I know). It’s very easy to feel defeated, beaten, and like a total loser–and being on a show called that isn’t psychologically healthy for anyone.

We caught up on our in-progress shows last night–Hacks, The Boys, The Comeback–and started watching another series about a cult, but it wasn’t very well done and we turned it off without finishing the first episode. I”m not sure what we will be watching this evening, but I want to get some things done this morning and this afternoon to get them over with. There are still chores that need completing, too. If I get everything done, or not, isn’t worrisome to me. It just simply is, you know? I don’t have any deadlines, but I need to get moving because I do have so much to do, and I need to stop feeling overwhelmed by the extraordinary amount of work I still have to do. Anxiety was always such a good motivator for me…but I was also thinking yesterday that as long as I continue to feel good physically and mentally, maybe I should go back to the gym this summer and try to once again get my body back under control–and my weight. It’ll be harder now that I’m older, of course; everything gets tougher the older one gets…but I also don’t think I’m ready to spend the rest of my life in my easy chair with a remote control affixed to my hand, either. I also picked my audiobooks for the trip next Friday: The Note by Alafair Burke and A Letter of Mary by Laurie R. King; I love the Mary Russell series and I love gradually working my way through it leisurely. I didn’t do any reading yesterday, alas; but I intend to do some this morning before showering, ordering stuff for delivery later, and of course, picking up around here.

The MAGA Civil war continues to rage, and I do have to confess I am really enjoying watching it all while munching popcorn. This stage was all too predictable; when you base a movement on hatred and bigotry, it is inevitable that once the decline begins they would all turn on each other. It’s also been interesting seeing people having the scales of American mythology removed from their eyes and finally being cognizant of their selfishness and recognizing at last the truth about this country and its history. For me, letting go of the myths and opening my eyes made me more than a little angry about being lied to and brainwashed for so much of my younger life, but it also made me a better person, I think. Likewise, recognizing that all oppression is the same only branded differently also opened my eyes to the struggle racialized Americans have endured for hundreds of years, making me a lot more of an activist for other causes besides queer ones. If one’s rights are abridged, then everyone’ are abridged and at risk–and the twenty-first century has plenty of examples to go around, you know?

And on that note, I am going to get another cup of coffee and head over to my easy chair to do some reading (after cleaning out my email inbox). Have a lovely morning, Constant Reader, and may your Sunday Funday be simply marvelous and a load of fun. I’ll be here again bright and early tomorrow morning. Ta ta for now!

The buck moth caterpillar–those spines sting and hurt like hell.
  1. I was still teaching aerobics and training clients when the show started airing. ↩︎

I Don’t Know Why You Don’t Want Me

Thunder woke me up from a lovely deep sleep around five this morning, and we had a marvelous thunderstorm (and downpour) that last for about three hours…and yes, it was snug and comfy in the bed, especially after Sparky joined me in the bed for a cuddle-nap of his own. It now looks as though the storm has passed–and yes, I know Jazz Fest is this weekend, and yes, it sucks for the attendees and acts when it rains, but I still selfishly want more storms. I have to make groceries and get gas today, and would rather not do it in the rain…but it would be lovely if it kept storming this morning. According to the weather, we may have more later today and the drizzle we’re experiencing right now will last another couple of hours. I can also scratch “wash car” off the to-do list. Thanks, rain!

I slept well and feel good this morning. Paul is leaving on Tuesday for a week, and I am heading north next Friday for Alabama and then a few days in the panhandle visiting my recently widowed aunt. Sparky will be boarded (and get those razor blades trimmed), and he of course will be glued to me like velcro the entire time Paul is actually gone. Yesterday was a good day; I ran a couple of errands after work and came home to try to do some cleaning and picking up around here–as well as thinking about the work in progress, whose name may change…it occurred to me yesterday that there was a better title than the one I’m using–but I do love one-word titles and rarely get to use them.

We ordered pizza for dinner last night and finished watching Unchosen, which was, indeed, a wild ride. I am not certain they stuck the landing, but whoever came up with the idea to use the trope “a stranger comes to town” only having the “town” be a religious cult was a genius. It was very well done, though, and it was a fun ride. I do recommend it–Fra Fee is gorgeous to look at, and the acting is incredible–and since “cult”…you really don’t know what’s going to happen, and the surprising twists are all earned; there’s nothing there that wasn’t set up if you were paying attention. And as I said to Paul as we watched, “cults are really about the subjugation of women as lesser” and yup, that even holds true for the national cult we’ve been dealing with since the 1980s–the marriage of evangelicalism to the Republican Party. I’m sure there’s been some political history written about that horrible shift if the 1980 presidential election, and in retrospect, I’d say not electing Carter to a second term was one of the biggest mistakes this country has made. I don’t know whether or not Carter was a good president or not–but he was also trying to clean up the economic mess he inherited from his Republican predecessors and took all the blame for it; and you know, the Camp David accords did end decades of war between Egypt and Israel–and has lasted; the longest lasting peace in the Middle East since 1948. I’m not deregulating the airlines was the right decision–sometimes, regulation is necessary and needed; and what has happened to the airline industry since deregulation is certainly an interesting political and economic example someone should do an in-depth heavily researched history of how it impacted the nation’s economy, whether good or bad. It would be an interesting read.

When I finish this, I am going to repair to my easy chair and do some more reading. I want to read another chapter of Listen for the Whisperer and a short story I started reading this week so I could write about it, and I want to do some writing today, too. As I said earlier, I need to run to the grocery store and get some things, and I should get gas while I am out and about. I think I am also going to watch a documentary so I can write about it–I’ve been meaning to for a very long time, and I think I may have even watched the documentary once already; or maybe I just intended to and never got around to it. My sense of time is very skewed now; it’s very hard to believe the summer of the shutdown was six years ago; at this time six years ago I was already working in the garage, getting to eat donated meals from places grateful we were doing COVID testing (the meals from Waffle House were definitely my favorites; the hash browns were to die for) but it does seem like a million years ago now, doesn’t it? Likewise, things that have happened in the interim since? I have no idea when it happened. Then again, it freaks me out to know that I had those impacted teeth pulled sixteen years ago. Crazy, right? My concept of time, always not the best, has definitely been impacted.

And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close and get another cup of coffee so I can get going on my day. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow. Till then, ta ta!

Step by Step

How on earth is it Pay-the-Bills Wednesday again already? As my grandmother used to day, “lord, have mercy” (it sounded like lawd-a-mersuh) But the week has gone rather well thus far, so no complaints on that score. I did feel a bit tired yesterday afternoon at work, but I just keep my head down and keep plugging away. I was very organized and efficient at work yesterday, too, and I have some catching up to do this morning but that shouldn’t be much of a problem. We’re aren’t terribly busy today, either, which is nice. We also started watching a new series on Netflix, Unchosen, which is about a British cult (fictional), but it’s incredibly well done and chilling–and like Trust Me: The False Prophet, focuses on a woman victim of the cult who is starting to think the cult may not be what it’s presented to be. (Watch Trust Me–you literally can trust me on this.) I’ve always had a mild interest in cults; I remember when they found the corpses at Jonestown when I was in high school. There was also a cult in the county seat where we lived in Kansas. They had purchased the campus of a defunct religious college and taken it over as a “religious college”–but only the religion was their cult. Those people were creepy as fuck, and it was even scarier the way they would corner people to proselytize; it happened a few times to me at places as varied as McDonalds, a gas station, and the grocery store. I looked the cult up a few years ago, when I remembered how weird that was–for a religious, deeply conservative Midwestern state, a lot of weird fucking shit goes on there–and they’re declining. The campus was sold to a local land-grant university, and I even found a book by someone who had left the cult. that I ordered but haven’t read yet.

There are still so many Kansas stories I want to tell.

I was also thinking about the hypocrisy of the entire “tradwife” thing. For one thing, traditional farm wives who baked their own bread and churned their own butter generally didn’t have running water in the house or electricity; so these grifters trying to sell this brand shouldn’t be using what the women they are emulating would have called witchcraft. Just a thought. And isn’t it interesting that conservative women are trying to sell women on the notion that it’s better to be so fucking busy in the kitchen and the daily chores to think about what they actually want from life. There’s a harrowing passage in Robert Caro’s first volume of the LBJ biographies he’s writing about what a day in the life of a rural farm wife was like, and I’ve never forgotten how awful and hopeless their lives were when they had to boil clothes and run them on a washboard to clean them–and having to cart the water from the well, which took multiple trips, not to mention trying to keep the house clean and the larder stocked and cook and take care of the children. (Loretta Lynn remembers those hard times with love and through rose-colored glasses in her song “Coal Miner’s Daughter.”)

It’s so patriarchical, isn’t it? “Keep your woman busy so she won’t have the energy to think about how much inequity exists in her life. She’ll be happier.1“

Remember when I was talking about how some show business people decided to turn Colton Underwood into THEE GAY of the moment, and gave us a reality show where Gus Kenworthy tried to show him how to be gay? I think it was called Coming Out Colton. I didn’t watch, and kind of thought it wasn’t very well thought out–“oh, look, an NFL player and former Bachelor has come out, and is a beautiful blonde blue-eyed young man, let’s give the gays a star”–but may watch it someday2. ANyway, the other example of not knowing what the queers want (her reality show revealed how horrible she was), Caitlyn Jenner, was interviewed by the unspeakably vile Tomi Lahren the other day and was whining about her passport being renewed with an M gender marking–entirely due to the policies she actually voted for.3 And of course, being a true piece of confused moronic trash, she “still loves Trump.” Yeah, he ain’t helping you with the passport thing. You’re no use to him anymore. I’d say maybe she’d wake up and pull her head out of her ass, but she’s been in that horrific Kardashian universe for so long it’s undoubtedly broken her brain.

I also did some chores last night; I thought I had turned the dishwasher on before I went up to bed last night, but apparently I didn’t; so I’ll have to empty and reload again when I get home tonight. I also think I’m going to do a load of laundry, too–or maybe that should wait until tomorrow night after work, so I can get another day’s worth of dirty clothes in there and only have the bedding to do on Friday.

I didn’t write anything fictional yesterday; I’m trying to figure out the best way to get the information I need my main character to get in this chapter. I’ll probably go over the nearly two thousand words I’ve already done to edit and revise and add some layers to, which should get me back into the story. It was a struggle yesterday, so I gave up and worked on some essays instead. (I started to say write anything, but caught myself and remembered–nonfiction counts. Rather proud of myself.)

The MAGA civil war continues to entertain. The Candace Owens/Laura Loomer war is hilarious; they are both monsters, but it’s lovely seeing them using their vitriol on each other instead of others. I love that The Onion bought Infowars and Alex Jones is financially ruined, which isn’t everything he deserves but is a good start. He and his followers are clearly heartless and soulless ghouls. I cannot imagine telling parents grieving their murdered children they are liars, or defiling the children’s tombstones. And I am not buying into any MAGA regrets or apology tours either, that take no responsibility or accountability, and then think we owe them forgiveness? I’m more likely to forgive and financially support Westboro Baptist than forgive them without atonement because they are still awful and are just trying to get ahead of the inevitable eventual collapse.

The ebook of Sinclair Lewis’ It Can’t Happen Here was on sale yesterday for $1.99, so I snapped it up because I was thinking about rereading it again. I originally read it during the second Bush term because I could see it coming then. The rise of Rush Limbaugh and Fox News in the early 1990s was the canary in a coal mine, and I saw the signs of this current situation already starting to fall into place. I don’t think our current situation is going to end up in the Turd Reich–we are perilously close right now–because it’s all blowing up, and I don’t think a Fascist takeover with all the reins in the small hands of an insane tyrant whose cognitive dissonance must inevitably cause a complete mental collapse, and I have a lot more confidence now that we can somehow come back from the brink. But there’s so much work to be done after, to even get back to where we were before, let alone make things better.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I will check back in with you again tomorrow.

The beautiful Antinous, lover of Roman Emperor Hadrian, depicted as the Egyptian God Osiris
  1. Paul asked me, as we watched the show last night, “why do these cults exist” and I replied, “as a means of controlling and subjugating women. All cults seem to have that in common.” ↩︎
  2. Since I love reality television, I’ve been thinking about doing an essay on gay reality shows, and another on queer people on mainstream reality shows. ↩︎
  3. I was also rather interested to hear her mention her driver’s license–didn’t she kill someone in a vehicular homicide? How does she still have one? ↩︎

Rhinestone Cowboy

Tuesday morning and all is well this morning in the Lost Apartment. I slept well and feel pretty good this morning–thus far, at any rate. Yesterday was Injection Day, and the distress I’d been experiencing for the last week gastronomically is now over, which is terrific; you always wonder if the medication will stop working at some point. I even wrote a little bit of fiction yesterday–not much, but every little bit gets me further from the starting place and closer to being finished. Every little bit definitely helps, you know?

We finished watching the FLDS documentary, Trust Me: The False Prophet, which was actually chilling. These documentaries inevitably focus on the crimes of the cult leader, but what I loved about this one was it actually focused more on the victims, and how the documentary filmmakers just really happened to be in the right place at the right time to earn his trust and his endorsement of filming everything. It was absolutely fascinating, and it was interesting to see that one of the victims realized what was going on was wrong (“the path to hell”) and became an informant for the FBI. How fucking brave was she, and then the other women, having to wake up from what was going on and wonder how they were so easily fooled–but the lesson here is how easy it is to convince true believers in false doctrine, which is a very singularly important lesson for these times, right?

Likewise, these social media posts from people choosing The Filth over their lifelong Catholicism just make me shake my head1. There are none so blind as those who will not see. The MAGA regrets we are seeing everywhere aren’t deep or meaningful–no, they just think The Filth lied to them and deceived them, not that the evil policies being enacted and enforced are wrong; they’ll vote red happily and proudly over and over again, even as it is clear to anyone not wearing blinders that the policies they voted for are what they hate–but it’s easier to blame someone else for our failings rather than take accountability, true repentance, and behavior change. No, they aren’t sorry about ICE’s abuses and the racism and the misogyny or any of their horrible positions; they’re mad because the price of gas is going up, and nothing else. “He lied to me” is much easier than “wow, what I believed and voted for are actually wrong and pretty fucking awful in practice” and it has the added bonus of absolving the person of any responsibility for their conduct.

Frankly, their vote is one thing. Being MAGA is entirely different. I also love that they are also trying to police how we receive their regrets…which makes me question their actual regrets as they try to again paint themselves as helpless victims who “didn’t know any better.” It would be one thing had they been polite about differing views from the get-go, but they were all pretty fucking awful. MAGA parents whose children have gone no-contact also love to paint themselves as victims, too–“but we’re family!” falls on deaf ears when you haven’t been acting like family. MAGA is usually the last straw, to be honest–and if it’s not, then you must have been pretty fucking awful to your kids about politics. Were you being racist, homophobic, misogynistic, or transphobic? IMAGINE how awful the things you said must have been…and then to come on-line to engage for sympathy? “How could my kids DO this?” Well, if that’s the question you’re asking, they are going to keep doing it for a very long time, and I hope not seeing your grandchildren was worth being MAGA.2

When someone goes no-contact with me, I figure I must have done something to trigger that response, or that person has simply decided I’m too “extra”–that’s happened a lot during my life; maybe not that word, but basically that’s what it was–and sure, it bothers me and makes me wonder a bit–but I also respect their wishes and don’t try to fix it.

I was actually thinking last night that I’m feeling much better than I have in a long time. The corrective shoes have eliminated leg fatigue and aching joints. I’m sleeping well and feeling rested. Getting up in the morning to the alarm, which I would still prefer not to do, hasn’t been an issue, and Sparky isn’t as pushy about me getting up in the mornings as he has been–now he’s more purring and cuddling and mewing softly rather than attacking my feet and smacking me in the face. I may relapse again back into aches and pains and fatigue–one never knows–but right now I feel pretty good, and we’re going to leave it at being happy and feeling good on a day-to-day basis. Baby steps, y’all!

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great Tuesday, everyone, and I’ll be back tomorrow on Pay-the-Bills Wednesday (again???).

How come I never come across a gorgeous man in his underwear hanging out nonchalantly around columns?
  1. It also tells me how deep and real their faith was. You’re giving up your religion because the Pope criticized your mad God-Emperor? I’ll leave that to God, no need for me to comment. ↩︎
  2. As for me, I side-eye these folks. If people want to let bygones be bygones, so be it–but not me. I will go to my grave resenting and hating these people. I’ll never trust them. ↩︎

The Sweetest Thing

Y’all, I wrote fiction yesterday. I know, right? Needless to say, I was thrilled and delighted, and I definitely am still feeling euphoric this morning about it.

It was only a thousand or so new words on the new first chapter of Chlorine, but y’all–I didn’t have to force it and it flowed out of me the way that it used to. His voice was loud and clear in my head and I was there, in that zone, and Mary Mother of God1, when I tell you I can’t even describe how good it felt to be doing this work, setting up the story, sharing who the main character is, seeing it all through his eyes…marvelous. What precisely was I so afraid of, again? Oh yes, that it wouldn’t come back, and who could blame it? We live in interesting times, I’ve gotten much older, and I am still not 100% completely healthy in mind and spirit…but my spirit is centered and where it needs to be, and motherfuckers, I wrote fiction yesterday. I still can do it. I still have whatever it is in my brain that channels this through my fingers and onto the page, and it’s glorious. It may come and go, as it is wont to do sometimes, but this is the first time I’ve written fiction in a long time–and it’s also the first time in a long time that it actually felt good to do it.

Apparently there are youngsters who don’t know who THE Madonna is? Shame on you all! Madonna is a fucking legend, bitches–put some goddamned respect on her name! ESPECIALLY YOU YOUNG QUEERS. Know your history, know your icons and why they are icons, and be better. MADONNA stood up for the queer community during HIV/AIDS before most celebrities and she has always been a huge ally for us. I suppose next they’re not going to know who Elizabeth Taylor was…I saw a theory on-line yesterday about how these things are now possible, while we knew the music and stars of previous generations because we all didn’t have personal phones, and there were only three channels on the television, and we were exposed to the art of previous generations that way (and listening to the communal car radio on drives) and now…everyone has their own phones and playlists and so forth, so such cross-generational sharing of art no longer happens. It was an interesting theory, and it’s been echoing in my brain since I first saw it. My father loved 1950’s music and country; Mom was more mellow and loved Lawrence Welk and the kind of music she played on the piano growing up. My childhood was filled with the music of Patsy Cline, Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, George Jones, and that entire generation of country legends, and even the lesser known ones. I’m also glad this kind of exposure broadened my own musical tastes and aesthetics, and damn it, every young queer should know who Madonna and Elizabeth Taylor are/were. It’s queer history. There are many others, too, that you should know. Always remember, queer history isn’t as well-documented as it should be, nor is it reported on properly, so passing the knowledge down by word of mouth has always been important. Maybe the young, with their phones and ear buds and all the information of the world at their fingertips, don’t think they need to know about those who came before? I do remember explaining who Sylvester was to some young co-workers, and even playing the video for “You Make Me Feel Mighty Real” for them.

Yes, kids, we’ve always had bops.

I had a good day yesterday, although I could tell my injection is due today. Nothing major, but heartburn and gas and a mild discomfort, and a little dehydration to go with it. Like I said, I actually wrote fiction, read a chapter of Listen for the Whisperer, and as mentioned earlier, I worked on my own fiction writing, which was terrific and as I mentioned already, am still a bit euphoric. The Bold Strokes Book-a-thon was a lot of fun and reminded me that yes, Greg, you are a writer even if you never write anything else ever again, and of course, I write this every day (even though I only count fiction). My supervisor is in London for two weeks for a very well-deserved vacation, so I have more duties and responsibilities while she’s gone (hurray), but I’m hoping it won’t be a stressful, tiring week, and of course at the end of next week I am off to Alabama/Florida for Decoration Day and to see my recently widowed aunt. This month has really been nuts, hasn’t it? And next month is all about the doctors appointments, and blood work. Onward and upward, as I always say.

We started watching a creepy documentary about FLDS, called Trust Me: The False Prophet, which is about the aftermath of the arrest and conviction of their former child molesting prophet, Warren Jeffs (we’ve watched several documentaries about that pedophile already) and someone who stepped in and claimed Jeffs had “claimed and named” him as the new prophet so he could accumulate wealth (he was kind of a loser) and wives–including underage ones. I had never really thought about it before, but of course those women are groomed and conditioned to accept whatever their Prophet tells them is the Lord’s will. It really is fascinating to see how easy people can be conditioned to follow a man (or men in general) who is stealing their lives, their skills and abilities, and who they actually should have grown up to be. I do hope Sarah Weinman takes this on at some point.

I’m feeling a little bit more connected to myself these days, too–maybe I should have started all this introspective naval-gazing sooner? No, probably not. There was a reason for me to not examine myself and my life more deeply and objectively, and I needed to get older (and medicated) in order to do this work on myself. I’m trying very hard to get rid of the last vestiges of trying to please that is still wired into my brain.

I also started working on my next newsletter, which may even go out on Wednesday like it’s supposed to. Consistency, that’s me. The on-line rape academy report recently published by CNN (which came under attack almost immediately, because we must not ever talk bad about the menfolk! Their fragile egos and incredibly weak senses of self must be protected at all costs!!!) was disgusting but also my way in to talk about another reason I felt isolated from other boys (later, men), namely, that I never held girls/women in contempt the same way my male peers did?

Here’s hoping I hit that Wednesday target.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. The temperature dropped yesterday when the rain finally concluded, but I am sure will be sweltering by the time I get off work. Until tomorrow, Constant Reader, and have a good one!

The temple at Edfu, Egypt
  1. Shout out to Pope Leo! ↩︎

Every Which Way But Loose

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

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

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

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

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

Sexy fitness model and BGEast wrestler Rio Garza

A New World

Thursday and it’s not my last day in the office for the week; I have to go in for a meeting tomorrow morning, but I get to leave right after so that will be nice; I’ll run some errands on the way home and get that out of the way for the weekend; anything else can be delivered. I didn’t really want to get up this morning, or out of bed; knowing I have to get up to an alarm tomorrow morning (Good Friday) doesn’t help much, either. But it rained overnight so I did sleep well, despite the rain kicking my sinuses back into fifth gear. I’ll be semi-sort of busy today at work; yesterday was busy but not terribly exhausting. I’m having dinner with a friend tomorrow night, so that’s something to look forward to. I do feel pretty okay this morning, but my legs are a bit fatigued. I’m also starving, so I need to eat something before I head to work this morning.

Yesterday was a rainy day alternating with sunshine and blue skies; there was a terrific downpour in the mid-afternoon which made me wish I was home with Sparky in my lap, reading. Ah, well, it wasn’t to be, and the damp in the air made the air conditioning at the office feel even colder. It was a good, if busy, day; I had a lot of clients and a lot of work to catch up on…I am almost current with everything, but hopefully coming in tomorrow morning for the meeting will help me get a lot of that done. It’s weird, it’s about a year from when I got so sick last year and wound up in the hospital, so I am really paying attention to my body and keeping an eye out for warning signs. I am medicated for that condition now (so many pills every morning and night, sigh), so it shouldn’t be an issue but…this year is probably the only year I will worry about it returning. But it does make for some not-as-bad-as-they-used-to-be stressed reactive thinking for a moment or so.

It was also very weird but I recently managed to feel bad for Lindsey Graham, and it’s not that often that I feel bad for a terrible person. I despise Graham, but there are a lot of things you can use to attack him rather than calling him gay or Miss Lindsey or Aunt Pittypat–all of which are not only homophobic but also transphobic in some cases. Yes, there are a lot of closeted gay men in the MAGA movement (self-loathing, party of one, your table is ready), and yes, they do a lot of damage not just to queers but to everyone who isn’t a white man…but mocking them for being gay and closeted isn’t it. With all due respect, Graham has undoubtedly been bullied and mocked for being gay his entire life–and as someone who also experienced that until I came out, I can empathize and have sympathy for that. Also, if he wants to go to, and enjoys, Disney World, and also likes bubble wands? On the one hand, I am not opposed to anything that makes someone happy, and the notion that straight adult men can’t love Disney is…well, gendered. I don’t know if Lindsey Graham is gay or bisexual or whatever it is that he likes to do; he may be asexual for all we know. But I don’t like speculation (or bullying) based on rumors. Lindsey Graham is a horrible, horrible human being; we don’t need to throw all queers under the bus in order to drag him for filth. It’s also very interesting how many “allies” will immediately go to queer slurs and insults if they decide someone “deserves” it. Graham deserves to be bullied and mocked and dragged, but not for going to Disney World (in itself nothing shameful; but shame him for going instead of doing his job, not because it’s a “gendered” thing to love Disney as an adult) or for possibly having an alternate sexuality. Don’t make me defend Lindsey Graham anymore, people. I don’t like it–but bullying someone for being gay, whether they are or not, is bullshit.

There are plenty of reasons to drag Graham–his masculinity isn’t one of them.

Likewise, I don’t care what Bryon Noem does in his private life, and what kind of marriage the Noems have had (staying married for their Christian bona fides would be my guess)…but yes, it’s the height of hypocrisy to be the morality police for everyone else when you have a marriage agreement of some sort, just like Erikkka Kirk can’t wrap herself in her wailing widowhood when she’s clearly been having the time of her life since her husband’s murder–and it’s not even been a full year yet. MAGA people are clearly mostly freaks privately and that’s fine. As long as no one is being harmed and consent is involved, knock your socks off. But don’t police everyone else’s morality when you have feet of clay, you know?

Let’s not forget the couch fucker also did drag when he was in college.

Sigh.

Paul didn’t get home last night before I went to bed, so it was just me and Sparky in my easy chair watching news clips and watching documentaries about inbred Hapsburgs, which I enjoy for some reason. The Hapsburgs have always fascinated me, with their inbreeding and religious fanaticism (which always makes me shake my head; there is literally nothing in the Bible that instructs anyone to mass murder people who believe differently. The Hapsburgs were the illustration of “there’s no hate quite like Christian love.” I wasn’t tired, but Sparky was very needy and wanted my lap to sleep in; he was dead to the world, dreaming and talking some in his sleep, and so I didn’t want to disturb him. It’s silly, I know–he’ll just go sleep somewhere else if I get up–but the dirty looks he gives me when I do disturb him are quite compelling. No one can side-eye quite like a sleepy cat, can they?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. It may rain again today, and it’s definitely going to be muggy today. Sigh. I need to pick up some more Claritin tomorrow. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

There’s nothing prettier than the Quarter on a foggy evening

My Destination

Wednesday!

I felt a bit more tired this morning than I did yesterday morning, and when I creaked out of bed my legs did feel a little bit tired. It also took a moment for the coffee to kick in and get my day going. I wasn’t tired at all yesterday, not even after stopping to make groceries on the way home. Paul was also home, which was super-great; it’s nice when we’re both home in the evenings, and I’ve missed that. We started watching this latest (and last) season of The Comeback, and Lisa Kudrow kills it as Valerie Cherish. Now that we’re back to normal, we can start getting caught up on all the shows we watch that have dropped new seasons, and there are new shows to get started watching, too–we shouldn’t have any issues with not having something to watch for a little while, at any rate.

I sent out a new newsletter yesterday (click here if you want to read it!) about twenty-plus years of Scotty. As I said recently, for decades I kept myself too busy to think much about the past and avoided it at all costs. But being so sick regularly (whether it was an injury/surgery or illness) these past few years forced me to sit with myself and thinking back. Maybe I should have done this all a long time ago? I don’t know, but I am sitting with things now, and letting go of some anger I’ve been holding onto for too long. I’ve never been big on self-reflection, and focusing on myself just always seemed selfish, if that makes any sense? Reminding yourself when you’re going through something that there are still people worse off than you are is also kind of self-defeating–if you don’t look out for yourself, who is going to? And I am enjoying the peace, frankly. Maybe I should have opened the door to selfishness sooner. Anyway, I feel mentally at peace (as much as anyone can with the world burning to the ground around us) and I intend to protect that at all costs. It’s also nice having down time, where I can just pet Sparky and watch whatever catches my fancy on my television. I need to get better still with time management, but last night when I got home I did a load of dishes and ran the dishwasher. I also need to pick up the kitchen and living room a little bit. Since today is April 1st (yay for April Fools Day) and this weekend is Easter (staying home on Sunday for sure)…it’ll be interesting. I have a dinner date for Friday evening with a friend in from out of town, so that should start my weekend off nicely. I do have to come into the office Friday morning for a department meeting, but will probably run some errands on my way home to get them out of the way once and for all.

But it has been interesting these past few years recognizing why I do certain things the way I do (it’s usually an anxiety coping measure I no longer need), and recognizing that some of my similarities to my mother were because we both suffered from generalized anxiety disorder.

Well, well, well, cosplay Kristi Noem just got so publicly embarrassed and humiliated that a smart woman would disappear forever from public life…but I don’t think that’s going to happen. In all honesty, I don’t care what her husband is into, and while yes, I can see how embarrassing and humiliating that would be for anyone, it’s really nobody’s business–and I might even be willing to not point and laugh if she wasn’t a completely garbage human being. You want privacy, bitch? Renee Good’s and Alex Vretti’s families would like to have them alive and well, and why aren’t they, you Nazi piece of shit? Fuck you now, fuck you tomorrow, and fuck you forever. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to explore these options, Crusty, if you weren’t fucking Corey Lewandowski. And how and why did these images leak now? If someone on the left had them, they would have come out before she was fired from her latest job. So…it stands to reason this leak came from her side of the aisle.

It also stands to reason that these lockstep MAGA politicians who love the taste of shoe leather and shoe polish probably have dark or embarrassing secrets themselves and are being held in line with blackmail.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check back with you again tomorrow.

Oscar winner Michael B. Jordan

I Think I Like It

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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