Category: editing

She’s Single Again

Tuesday morning and my slice of coffee cake is now crumbs. My coffee is hot and tasty as I sit here, bleary-eyed and not quite awake and alert yet. I do feel rested this morning and physically good, so that’s always a nice start to the day. I did get some chores done after I got home last night, and the kitchen looks kind of nice this morning. Overall, the apartment looks tidier, which is all one can hope for, isn’t it? Sparky curled around my shoulders last night while I was doing the dishes, and then convinced me I needed to provide a lap for him (claiming it was for a moment) and then going into a sound, deep puddle sleep, dead to the world, while I binged some more of The Traitors Canada. Such the life, don’t you think? I am debating whether or not to stop on the way home to make some groceries, but at the same time…well, it can’t hurt, can it? I am ordering lunch today as a treat for myself–I have to bring some extra stuff in this morning to the office, so don’t have a free hand to carry my lunch–and I want to do some chores tonight when I get home as well. If I can just get the dishes out of the way…

I also finished my newsletter on Phyllis A. Whitney’s Listen for the Whisperer, which I really enjoyed rereading. It did remind me of one of my biggest quibbles with her work, and that of her contemporary, Victoria Holt; the heroines don’t really solve the mystery or capture the murderer. They usually find out it’s someone they trusted and only when that person kind of loses it and either captures, or tries to kill her, or both, do they realize the answer to the mysteries swirling around the spectral and spooky manse where the heroine has come to stay and/or live. (Remember, Dark Shadows began with a beautiful young woman taking a train through the foggy Maine night to arrive at a spooky mansion full of secrets.) I think I may revisit my first Victoria Holt (The Secret Woman) or Mary Stewart (The Ivy Tree) next; it’s fun revisiting these classic, if dated, Gothic romantic suspense novels. That newsletter is scheduled to go out tomorrow morning!

In other surprising news, I got money from a class action suit involving Blue Cross/Blue Shield, which was completely unexpected. I get these notices every once in a while about these kinds of legal actions, and usually it results, if I register, in a check of less than two dollars. I usually don’t, because registering takes time and even if it’s just a minute or two, it hardly seems worth it for that small of an amount. So, seeing a payment to my Paypal account for almost two hundred dollars this morning makes me think that maybe, just maybe, I should register for more of these things. I mean, that’ll pay my Entergy bill this month. Not too shabby for found money, was it?

Last night, as I watched Season 3 of The Traitors Canada (season three is the best so far), I was fondly remembering how much I enjoyed dinner and the conversation last Friday night with my friend, and that maybe, just maybe, I should start thinking about extricating myself from this healing cocoon I’ve spun around myself since Mom died–it’s really been kind of non-stop since then–and then just kind of shook my head. Maybe not yet? I’m kind of enjoying focusing on myself and Paul, and just kicking back and enjoying the lack of drama in my life that isn’t coming from the television. Physically, I felt well yesterday, but a little still fried mentally. I started revising a short story yesterday–it didn’t go well–which was enormously frustrating, but it was a rather insincere try and I did kind of give up easily when the words weren’t flowing. It’s a muscle in my brain that I’ve allowed to get slack and flabby from lack of use (kind of like the ones in my body–MUST TAKE WALK THIS WEEKEND); and so it’s naturally not going to rebound immediately, just as the ones in my body don’t anymore. It doesn’t mean I am done with writing for good, it just means I need to get the muscle strong, flexible, and healthy again. The creativity is going very well; I am just having trouble stringing the words and sentences together on the page.

I am also having trouble focusing. Par for the course, really.

And not really very surprising, given that the world is burning to the ground as I type.

I feel pretty decent today–alert and awake–so we’ll see how this day turns out.

And on that note, yep, off to the spice mines with me. See you tomorrow!

Such a pretty young man–and a very nicely shaped ass, too, per the mirror behind him.

Wichita Lineman

I am a lineman for the county…

This song, today’s title, came up on social media (which is neither) recently–I’m not sure when–but it reminded me not only of the song, which I love, and Jimmy Webb wrote for Glen Campbell, but was covered by any number of other artists. Go figure, right? My parents took us to see Campbell in concert in Chicago when we were kids–Mom and Dad did a lot of fun stuff with us–and while I don’t remember much of it, I know we enjoyed it.

I’m on my second cup of coffee this morning and I still feel a bit tired this morning. It’s fine; I did manage to get some chores done yesterday around being in my easy chair and resting–I did the laundry including the bed linens–so yesterday wasn’t a total write-off. We started watching House of Ashur (Paul: “it’s soft core gay porn with violence and blood”) and Amadeus (not sure why it needed a retelling in a mini-series, but visually it’s stunning) and I also did a lot of The Traitors Canada, moving from Season One on to Season Two. I love that in Season 2 they clearly watched–and are completely unafraid to mention–the previous season as they make references to what happened. Karine Vanesse has long been a favorite of mine, too. Her looks are often bold choices that don’t always land, but if it was me hosting, I would go so over the top it would be insane. One day I would be a musketeer, another I would be Louis XIV, then a pirate and…you get the idea.

I woke up to the glorious news that all five constitutional amendments proposed by the governor and his lickspittle legislature tried to shove down our throats for whatever nefarious purposes; the only one that was remotely close was the one about teacher pay. Bill Cassidy was thoroughly rebuked by Louisiana Republicans, which makes it look as though Trump has a lot of power and pull still in Louisiana…although more Republicans voted for someone else other than Trump’s anointed. Julia Letlow did win the primary, but didn’t get a majority. So, we don’t really know if this result was because of the impeachment vote–or for being an actual doctor and voting to confirm RFK Jr, or some combination of both. MAGA can’t be counting on their votes coalescing behind Letlow, either, in the general. This is very good news, and cause for hope. The rejection of the amendments is a strong rebuke to an unpopular governor and an unpopular legislature, too–they made the huge mistake of coming for New Orleans on top of their sheer incompetence and corruption. So, the general election and the progress of the recall petitions are unknowns, which hasn’t been an issue here since–well, since a Black man became president and everyone got their Klan robes dry cleaned. I’m not in the least bit sorry to see the useless wind chime Cassidy gone.

This morning I’m feeling a little bit tired still from yesterday. When I finish this I am probably going to go read for a bit. My mind was tired yesterday, too, so I didn’t read or write at all yesterday, but you know, I did a lot on Friday and exerted myself a great deal. My newsletter, about Carol Goodman’s marvelous The Sonnet Lover, also went out as scheduled (you can read it here), which also pleased me to no end. I do have to get the next ones for the week ready. I really am enjoying these longer-form entries, but I sometimes worry that it’s overkill on top of the blog here, which I still try to do every day. It won’t stop me, of course–I always do as I please, which is kind of a nice way to live. I probably should have gotten medicated for anxiety much earlier–a few years of it has certainly turned my life and attitude towards it around. My garden of fucks grows more barren and fallow every day, and while the old “pick me pick me” desperation still comes out every once in a great while, I shrug it off with a “why do I care” thought. Because I don’t. I don’t care if people like me or not. I also don’t feel any disgrace for any behavior before that was anxiety-driven. My brain was wired wrong, and there’s no need to feel embarrassment or shame about it, either.

I’m still not used to being easy on myself, but I like it much better than the way things used to be.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Have a lovely one, Constant Reader, and I will check in on you again tomorrow morning. Till then!

Personal trainer and fitness influencer Dave Rich. Handsome face and flawless body, but the eyes make him stand out in a world of perfect bodies.

Half the Way

Saturday morning here in the Lost Apartment!

I am very worn down this morning, after our big day of appointments and picking up medications and Costco yesterday. I had an amazing dinner at Lilette with my friend Laura–I had sizzling shrimp and blackened onion and garlic soup; chef’s kiss, really, along with a very dry martini and a very delicious glass of white wine–and then came home, exhausted, and watched another episode of The Traitors Canada, which I’m really enjoying, before heading up to bed and sleep. It was a very good day, but I didn’t get any chores done and I never got irritated all day, despite all the driving an not taking my medications in the morning before leaving the house. Over all, it was a pretty good day, and I was most pleased with myself last night when I closed my eyes with my head on the pillow.

It’s also election day in Louisiana, and you can best bet I’ll be walking over to the International School on Camp Street and voting against everything our POS governor is trying to get passed; he and the rest of the racist trash in Baton Rouge need to be delivered a stinging rebuke from the voters–they need to know how sick we are of their fucking bullshit and their war on New Orleans. Maybe it’s time for New Orleans to withhold its tax revenues from Baton Rouge and give the criminal fucks nothing to steal for a year or two. I’d actually love for the IRS to audit every elected politician in the state, as well as being investigated by the FBI for fraud and bribery. I have faith in our newly elected mayor and city council to flip them the bird and refuse to knuckle under; history isn’t on their side. Baton Rouge has historically never been able to make New Orleans buckle under; I see no reason to infer our city leadership won’t defy the authoritarianistic racism coming from the capital. Fuckers, seriously.

I started reading Jordan Harper’s A Violent Masterpiece while waiting for Paul at his appointments, and whoa, it’s really excellent. It’s a continuation of some of the unresolved issues from Everybody Knows, which I thought was amazing. Good writing is always inspirational and aspirational for me; so I am probably going to spend some time reading it around all the chores and things I need to get done around here today. The place is a wreck, from top to bottom, and again I am very disappointed in myself for letting it get to this state over the course of the week. I need to empty the dishwasher and do the bed linens and a load of clothes today. I also need to have some groceries made and delivered. I also need to resist the temptation of Youtube wormholes today. I will watch some more of The Traitors Canada–Paul will be out of the house all afternoon, and we are thinking about starting Amadeus and House of Ashur this weekend. I also want to rewatch The Mummy Returns for a Mummy newsletter to add to my Egyptian series–and of course, I scheduled one to go out today at noon. I’ll probably spend some time working on newsletters today and a short story–that’s the plan, and to edit the first chapter of the new version/draft of Chlorine. Maybe a hair too ambitious, but I always think I can do more than I actually can. Some things never change, medication be damned.

Sigh.

Okay, I think it’s time for me to bring this to a close for this morning and get started on the cleaning and go vote and get cleaned up. I am not going to overdue it this morning, but I definitely want to get some things done. We’ll see how it goes. So have yourself a lovely little Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow, all rested and perky.

One would hope, right?

I’ve always blasphemously called this statue Drag Queen Jesus, because it looks like he’s dancing and the chorus of “It’s Raining Men” just started playing.

If I Die Young

It pleases me enormously that the “schedule post” function of the newsletter worked swimmingly and it went out yesterday at 12:30, just as I wanted it to. Sorry, you’ll have to forgive my cynicism about technology working the way it is supposed to, as I frequently find that to not be the case. But there it was, in my inbox, as planned, and yes, I felt very accomplished and smug and on top of things. It was something I started writing while in Alabama on the trip, after visiting cemeteries all day. You can read it by clicking here. (There are helpful subscribe buttons there, too, so you can make sure you never miss one.)

I was tired when I got home from work last night, running errands on the way home, and thus made a lap bed for Sparky for a few hours until Paul got home. I did watch another episode of The Traitors Canada, which I am enjoying watching so am doling them out one episode at a time. I am a bit tired this morning–great night’s sleep last night, just saying–but that’s to be expected after a busy day at the office yesterday and it is Thursday, after all; I’m always a bit tired as my days in the office for the week come to an end. I’m going to be driving all over the place tomorrow for doctors’ appointments, but am hoping to get some good rest this weekend and even maybe do some writing. Stop that crazy talk, right? But the apartment definitely needs to be cleaned and organized and made better for the aftermath of Paul’s knee replacement, which is coming up in two weeks. I have no idea what all that will entail–his recovery, that is–but I know he’ll be doing rehab for a while after. He’s going to have the other done later this summer, too. So, I will have quite a bit on my plate for a good while this summer, and having to be Paul’s nurse around everything else going on. Heavy heaving sigh.

The two Black women activists who launched the recall of Governor Janky have also launched a recall effort on our hideously evil Attorney General, Liz Murrill. GOOD, and as always, it’s the Black women who step up. Liz is currently threatening the Mayor and the city council with being “removed from office” because they are trying to appoint someone to the Clerk of Criminal Court position that the state removed after a wrongfully convicted Black man who served time for something he did NOT do and became a jailhouse attorney was elected. Well, the bigots in Baton Rouge weren’t about to have that voter-directed rebuke of the horrible system here in Louisiana or let it stand, so the fucks (all of whom hate New Orleans, a vital piece of the state economy) eliminated the position.

But yes, they are the true Patriots who looooove the Constitution. (Sarcasm implied.)

And the Christian hell isn’t horrible enough for these uneducated ass-wipes to spend eternity in. People here are pissed as fuck; I don’t think I’ve ever seen the electorate this enraged and activated here before. The recalls may not work–the racism runs deep with the mediocre here–but I am enjoying watching all of this unfold. I have signed both petitions, and you can bet your ass I am going to vote this Saturday, and I will cast each vote against whatever Janky Jeff wants–so you can kiss those constitutional amendments goodbye, shit-for-brains. He’s literally making Bobby Jindal look better–which I didn’t think was possible…actually, what I hoped was impossible. But we live in interesting times, don’t we?

Rex Reed died earlier this week, and is another one of those celebrities who frequently came to the Williams Festival. He never remembered who I was (we must have been introduced a dozen or more times), but he was always friendly and polite when we would inevitably be introduced again. He was a great panelist, and his stories about filming Myra Breckenridge were hilarious, once he got going. He loved nothing more than an audience, and always played it to the hilt. I read his collection of celebrity profiles Do You Sleep in the Nude? when I was a teenager, and everything else aside, he was a brilliant writer. His subjects often loathed the pieces he wrote on them, and him as well–but he had a reputation for showing them as humans, warts and all, not as gods from Olympus–and he could be quite bitchy. Despite not really understanding what it meant, I tagged him as a child as different–the same way I did Gore Vidal and Paul Lynde and Charles Nelson Reilly and Jim Nabors and Rock Hudson and Tony Randall and Joel Grey, which has always made me think like recognizes like as the real explanation of “gaydar” (and it doesn’t always work)–and I always enjoyed his bitchiness, even if sometimes it seemed like more of an effect than anything; this is what people expect from me so I have to give them what they want. He also had a great story about meeting Bette Davis in Baton Rouge as a teenager, too. He actually spent a lot of time in Louisiana growing up, and graduated from LSU. He aged really well, too. I felt a bit of a pang when I heard the news. I’d kind of like to read more of his work…I wonder if any of it is still in print or ebooks?

I am having dinner with a friend tonight, which I am also looking forward to very much…and that’s the note I shall close this entry on before heading into the spice mines. I will of course be back in the morning, so have a great day and I will talk at you then.

I used to buy candles here, a few blocks from my old office. I don’t know if it’s still there or not, but I loved this store. It always had such an interesting herbal smell.

Better Man

Tuesday and here I am again, up before dawn and swilling coffee while Sparky slurps down his breakfast. It rained yesterday, and when I went to work in the morning it was so muggy and hot I despair thinking about the summer. Termite season also opened last night but I didn’t see any, thank the Lord. Yesterday was a nice way of easing back into the day job, really; it was slightly busy but very laid back, which was cool. It rained most of the afternoon and was rather gloomy when I drove home from the office; Sparky was also very needy when I got home. I queued up season one of The Traitors Canada (all three seasons were loaded onto Peacock recently), and watched a couple of episodes before calling it a night. I also managed to finish writing a newsletter that I scheduled for Saturday, so that’s this week taken care of. Today’s goal is to answer all my emails that have been lurking in my inbox for a very lengthy time. Friday is a doctor appointments most of the day, and in Metairie at that, which means a Costco trip on the way home–it’s been quite a while since we went to Costco–and I am actually feeling less groggy this morning compared to yesterday. I also picked out my next read, which will go with me to the appointments on Friday, and I am really looking forward to starting it.

It was, as I mentioned, an easy transitional day yesterday, while today is more of a “back to normal” kind of day. The good news is I wasn’t tired when I got off work yesterday–but the combo of a needy cat and new seasons of The Traitors to watch was a one-two punch that guaranteed I simply could not resist the lure of my easy chair, which means I’ll have to do some chores tonight when I get home before either writing or relaxing for the evening. We’ll see how it goes, I suppose.

I slept really well last night, so feel pretty rested and good this morning. Since I got back from the trip I’ve really been sleeping incredibly well, which is great. Usually I am very fatigued and worn out after a trip, but this one wasn’t so bad–which might mean that my recovery from–well, everything is progressing nicely. I’m not used to being unwell or being severely injured or any of that nonsense. It’s not something I’m familiar with, and all the minor stuff over the years I kind of bounced back relatively quickly from, if I am recalling correctly, so being older when I had my first serious stuff happen was a double-shocker, and of course, the ulcerative colitis was working and weakening my immune system…which also delayed recovery time. It’s been a year since I was hospitalized, and that is the worst I have ever felt in my life. I never ever want to feel that sick again. Horrible, simply horrible.

Now that I’ve come up with a five-year-plan for my retirement (hurray!)–which is really my five year plan to prepare for it–I should probably get together a plan for what to write for the next five years and set some goals, too. Ideally, I would like to get everything finished that is already in progress, a daunting task to be certain, because there are so damned many. Right now, I want to finish what I am working on so I can write another Scotty to be out next year, and I also want to revise and rewrite Sorceress into something new–which I’ve already figured out. And the novellas…Christ on the cross. I’d also like to get some short stories out on submission as well; I have so many stories I’ve not finished that I could actually get worked on, finished and revised and sent out. I only have one story coming out in an anthology this year (more on that later), which was one of those unfinished stories; I want to have more next year.

Look at me, feeling ambitious again. Who am I, and what have I done with one Gregalicious?

And on that note, it’s off to the spice mines with me! Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I shall be back on the morning tide tomorrow. Till then, stay fabulous!

Can you say HOT DADDY? Age truly is merely a number, isn’t it? I sure hope so, at any rate.

Take Me Home, Country Roads

Sparky let me sleep a little later than usual–not for lack of trying, though–but it also rained overnight, which helped me sleep more deeply than I had during the trip. It’s still raining this morning, dark and a little bit gloomy. I’d planned to run some errands today, but maybe I won’t after all. It seems and feels like a stay-inside-and-be-cozy day; once I finish some things this morning I’ll probably head to the easy chair to do some reading. The key is to not turn on the television; that never ends well. Last night we watched an episode of both Hacks and Euphoria, but we are still behind on both–and some other shows we are watching as each episode drops, too. I want to get some reading and writing and cleaning done today around the house; I have to empty the dishwasher, etc. Paul’s planning on going to the gym when he wakes up and bringing lunch home from the Please U cafe on St. Charles–they have marvelous fried shrimp po’boys and onion rings–so it should be a relatively low-key day around the Lost Apartment.

I went into the office yesterday for a half-day, which was nice. I was behind on things from being gone, and was thus able to get caught up by going in. So long as I don’t have to be there before eight, you know? It was very low-key, too–no one expects to see me in the office on Fridays–and was able to take my time and leisurely get things done. I still have things to do there, but it’s now a very much shorter–and easier–day ahead of me on Monday.

We finished watching The Beast in Me the day I got home from the drive, and I highly recommend it. Both Claire Danes and Matthew Rhys are fantastic, as is Brittany Snow; it’s a definite twisty edge of your seat thriller, with fleshed out, rounded out characters who may not be the best people in the first place, and the dynamic of the nonfiction writer living next door to the wealthy real estate mogul from New York who may have murdered his first wife is kind of chilling–it was an interesting twist of the Bobby Durst/Susan Berman situation there (immortalized in the documentary series The Jinx)–which I spotted almost immediately. Berman wasn’t writing about Durst1 (that we know about, anyway), and operated as more of a friend/PR person for him after his first wife vanished2, but the foundation of this story is very similar to that dynamic.

I also watched the final, concluding episode of the reunion for The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, which, like the first two parts, was a snoozefest. I skipped out on most of the season–Garcelle was one of the only reasons I was still watching–and came back in for the last three episodes before the reunion, and couldn’t make myself care about any of them, frankly. The show has always been this weird mix of darkness and manufactured goofiness (the segments on Kyle’s family were always so hyper-produced, to the point I called these segments “Kyle and Her Wacky Family”–supposedly making them relatable, but actually making The Brady Bunch look realistic, groundbreaking, and Peabody worthy) that has always been a bit hard to take. I’ve never cared for Kyle–a recapper I used to love before she stopped doing them always called her Vyle, which is very appropriate–in the first place, and her alliance of bitches known as the Fox Force Five that she activated to get rid of Lisa Vanderpump was incredibly tedious. They’ve also made some horrendous mistakes in casting over the years, too. I don’t know, I think I may be tiring at long last of the Real Housewives franchises, with Salt Lake City the only one I actually look forward to watching.

Maybe it’s because I love The Traitors so much? Very possible.

I also got the marvelous news that the audiobook of A Streetcar Named Murder is on sale for a mere ten dollars, and you can get the deal by clicking right here! Snap it up, everyone! Please?

The Anthony Award nominations were released yesterday, and as always, I have a load of friends nominated in every category! Best of luck, and congratulations to everyone, seriously. I am glad I am not going so I don’t have to choose which friend to vote for, hallelujah. I am very pleased to announce that Crime Ink–Iconic is nominated for Best Anthology, and two of the stories were nominated for best short story! I wrote about my impressions about both stories on my newsletter (if you are interested in my thoughts, they can be found by clicking on this link here for Cheryl Head’s “Finding Jimmy Baldwin” or here for Christa Faust’s “Hollywood Prometheus“), and also have to add that Cheryl has another story nominated as well–well done, Cheryl! It’s also truly an honor to be in the same table of contents with both women, honestly.

And stupid, stupid me–I discovered something that will be enormously helpful going forward with my newsletter–scheduling them in advance. That means I can write, for example, Pride entries for June whenever I am inspired to write about being a queer American, and then set them to post and be sent out to my subscribers in June. Du-uh. Likewise, I can also save my horror entries for October. I am very oblivious, and very aware of the fact; it really sometimes feels like those old commercials, “Oh, I could have had a V8!” I start them all the time and publish them as soon as they are finished, so frequently I won’t finish one because I don’t want to publish it yet….which means there are tons started and unfinished (92 was this morning’s total of “unpublished” entries), which is daunting and overwhelming sometimes, particularly because there are so many and I have so many other ideas for entries, too. Sigh.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I am getting another cup of coffee, probably going to heat up a breakast sandwich, and head into the living room with the iPad to continue reading this marvelous Carol Goodman novel, and just see how the day goes. Hope you have a lovely Saturday, and I will see you bright and early tomorrow morning! Till then!

Live oak in Audubon Park with lots of Spanish moss
  1. Interesting twist: I am one degree or so of separation from the Durst case; my mentor was a friend of Berman’s and she was terrified of Durst. Can’t say that I blame her, but I knew the case long before it got into the popular imagination. ↩︎
  2. Interesting side note: Judge Box o’Wine Jeannine Perro was the district attorney who couldn’t even file charges on Durst. Given that she now can’t even get a grand jury to indict anyone, you have to wonder if there was serious collusion and corruption involved there, since we now know she’ll try to indict someone for assault with a Subway sandwich. It’s not like she’s either a good attorney or a good person, and she’s clearly corrupt. ↩︎

The Yellow Rose

Friday morning, and I have to get some bloodwork done before I head into the office this morning. Sigh. I slept really well again this morning, which was great, and thank the Lord I don’t have to fast for these labs so I can have coffee before heading over to Quest. I had a decent day yesterday, despite being a bit worn down from the trip. I did get chores done, read some, and ran errands; I also had things delivered. The cupboard was bare, quite literally. I also paid bills, tried to get caught up on the always depressing news–don’t even get me started on the Louisiana drive for voter suppression and a lack of guaranteed representation in this state; I cannot wait to sign the recall petition for our boot-licking piece of shit governor. Trust me–I am watching for a local announcement on where to go to sign it. There are times when I really hate this state, and this is yet another example of why New Orleans doesn’t claim Louisiana. I don’t understand the mentality here of voting against your best interests, time after time after time, and expecting better results. Louisiana has always had shitty and corrupt politicians on the state and local levels, and we’re so used to being betrayed by our politicians, who sell us out to corporate and elitist interests all the time, and always have been for the most part. But there is a lot of anger about this redistricting, and that anger might actually lead to a political revolution in the state; it just depends on how racist the electorate is. I don’t hold out much hope, to be honest. Maybe the economy might drive some people out of the folly of voting against their own interests, but I doubt it. I don’t hold out much hope for Southern racists to wake up from their post-Reconstruction stupor that has been in place for over 150 years.

I also need to figure out where I am with everything and what I need to get done. When I get home from the office today, I am going to have to consult my running to-do list, see if anything can be scratched off, what needs to be scratched off, and of course, add things that need doing. We have lots of shows to catch up on this weekend, some movies I’d like to see, and maybe start bingeing something new. It was gloomy and a bit rainy yesterday, which was kind of relaxing (we had serious rain overnight on Wednesday), and tomorrow I am going to have to run some books to the library sale and stop to get a few things at the Fresh Market, maybe even wash the car (madness!), and do some more reading or writing. I have a gazillion newsletter blog entries to write, some short stories to work on, and of course, the book needs to be gotten back to. I have to go back up to Alabama for a long weekend next month, but after that, don’t have to be anywhere until October, when I go up and then follow Dad back up to Kentucky. I need to buckle down and start slowly working my way back into getting into better physical condition, and I really need to get back to reading and writing more. I am greatly enjoying Carol Goodman’s The Sonnet Lover, which I want to finish this weekend. I also need to get back to work on reading Listen for the Whisperer and The Egyptian Cat Mystery, so I can move on to other books to read. I may reread a Mary Stewart classic as my next reread; we’ll see how I feel when I finish these.

Heavy heaving sigh, I also need to need to register for social security and Medicare, too, since I am turning 65 this year. I don’t want to start drawing SS until I am 67, when I am vested at 100% in it, and can still work full time with no limitations. That’s two more years; I think I can hang, since I was thinking about working until I’m seventy, if I actually last that long. I am keeping my health insurance from work, rather than starting Medicare, but I think I have to sign up before I turn 65? I need to look into this more. (Something else to add to my to-do list, I suppose.) I hate having to be responsible, you know? I’m not even sure how much my social security will be–besides that it won’t be enough to live on–but if I can draw it for three years while still working, I can work to pay off everything I owe, and the removal of that debt will ease that burden. I never thought I’d be here, to be honest, to have to understand how all of this works and what plans I need for the rest of my life. I’ve always been a grasshopper and never an ant, you know? But, it was a long shot to make it this far, yet here I am, defying all odds again.

I also can’t get this book idea I figured out while I was in the panhandle out of my head, either. I am very proud of myself for coming up with how to make the slasher novel I want to write in a more clever way of approaching it. I have been scribbling notes like it’s going out of style, too. Ah, well, it’s nice to have my creativity blooming instead of lying fallow as it seems to have for so long.

And on that note, it’s time for me to get more coffee and get ready for my day to start. I still feel a bit out of place in my own life, but that’s what this weekend is for; to get my equilibrium back. SO, have a lovely and charming and marvelous and productive day–whatever you want it to be, make it be so–and I will check in with you again tomorrow morning. Until then, see ya!

Long time fitness and physique model Eric Turner, who is aging like a fantastic wine.

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. ↩︎

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? ↩︎

He Stopped Loving Her Today

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

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

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

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

Shudder.

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

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

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

I also never excused it.

Sigh.

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

Statue of Ramses II at night with the crescent moon