Category: essays

Amazing

Here we are, the last Monday in September and it feels like fall came to New Orleans this past weekend; we’ll see how long it lasts. But this absence of humidity is so lovely it just makes me happy to be alive. When I barbecued last night, it was so lovely outside were the Saints not playing I would have taken The Dead Zone outside and stayed out there. The days are also starting to get shorter, too. Yesterday turned out to be a nice day. I got up in the morning and did some cleaning and organizing and chores while the LSU game played again on the television, and so managed to get some things done. I cleaned up a lot of computer files, for example, and organized the desktop. I also worked on some newsletters (my rage about Cornell driving some of them, of course; rage so often fuels my writing), and did a little work on my fiction, too. The weekend was overall lovely, and naturally, I didn’t want to get out from under the pile of blankets this morning. I feel well rested this morning, too, which is also kind of nice–even yesterday I was feeling a bit run down still. We’re busy today in the clinic, but we also have a mostly slow rest of the week. I also had some things delivered, but I have to run uptown after work tonight, and will make another stop to make some more groceries; odds and ends we’ve run out of over the weekend.

The Saints lost yesterday, but they could have won had they not fumbled away winning chances in the fourth quarter. I never think about the Super Bowl with the Saints anymore–actually, not since they actually did win it sixteen years ago (still can’t wrap my mind around the Saints winning the Super Bowl, but they actually did once, in a magical season that had the whole city walking on air). But cheering the Saints on when they lose is a time-honored New Orleans tradition, and one that most likely will never get old. I like our new quarterback and am willing to give him more than another chance. I also like that his last name is pronounced shuck, which pleases me to no end.

And we watched the two episodes of American Horror Story: 13, and it’s weird…but is it wrong that I kind of figured out the big twist at the end of episode three, hence the cliffhanger (and why we had three episodes drop at the same time, and why episode three was only twenty-two minutes long). After Ben, the hospice worker, survives the plane crash that opens the show, and shows up for his new job at a big, imposing old apartment building in New York (think: the Bramford in Rosemary’s Baby), and as soon as Jessica Lange introduced herself as the dead Constance from the original season (and several others since)…I thought he died on the plane and this is the portal to Hell (I was also getting hints of The Sentinel, a 70s horror film, with a sort of similar set-up), and when they descended down into the basement at the end of Episode 3 and the big reveal1….I didn’t gasp, I thought, of course.

I do hate-watch Murphy shows at this point, and am pleasantly surprised when one of his shows doesn’t go off the rails. I suspect this one is overly ambitious, and will go off the rails relatively soon and whatever sense it made at one point…it won’t after that. It’s kind of like rooting for the Saints; you’ll have some fun, but you’ll end up disappointed.

LSU won, but dropped out of the Top Ten to number 11 in the rankings; Florida jumped, so they had to be ahead of Mississippi, whom they beat, and LSU, whom Mississippi beat the week before. It’s all stuff and nonsense at this point in the season, anyway–rankings and so forth aren’t important this early in the season at any rate–but it’s also interesting how the SEC games this season are either close, or blow outs. I have to say, I’ve been impressed by Florida so far this season, and they looked really good on the last two Saturdays, and the Florida-Auburn game’s outcome two weeks ago makes a bit more sense now, and Auburn looks a lot better than they did after that game.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a marvelous Monday, Constant Reader, and I will be back again tomorrow morning, bright and early. See you then!

The ceiling of one of the temples at Luxor. Sigh, Egypt.
  1. It also galls me that Murphy also casts so many queer actors–because I want to support them so they get more work, like Joey Pollari, who is playing the lead this time. It really is a ouroboros, isn’t it? ↩︎

Don’t Tell Me

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment and I feel…slacker-ish this morning for some reason. Yesterday was a simply lovely day, from beginning to end, and I did manage to get some things done. Paul went to a show last night in the Quarter–a work thing–and so I was here all by my lonesome after about half-time or so of the LSU game (they won; GEAUX TIGERS!), and there were a lot of interesting games and outcomes yesterday, too. I did some reading, some writing, and some cleaning, and somehow wound up staying up later than I’d intended. I also got up later this morning than usual; but that’s also on me. The Saints play this afternoon, and I need to run to make groceries at some point this morning, too, but that’s not a big deal. I just need to get motivated.

Good luck with that, Gregalicious.

As I mentioned, LSU won, beating Texas A&M handily 35-6. It was only 14-3 at halftime, but again the Tigers had a big third quarter and put the game away. The defense looked impressive, and the offense misfired a few times, but overall, the Tigers looked dominant. We also don’t know how good or bad Texas A&M is this season (they lost to Kentucky in College Station last week)–but we also don’t know about Mississippi, either, after Florida embarrassed them in Gainesville yesterday 52-28 (!!!). Auburn beat Vanderbilt, and I caught the end of the Mississippi State-Missouri game, which MSU won with a strong defensive stand in the fourth quarter. I watched Texas-Tennessee, which came down to the last play, and Georgia embarrassed Oklahoma (shame) while Alabama buried South Carolina. I also caught the highlights of Iowa winning at Michigan and Wisconsin surprising Penn State. Overall, a very exciting day of college football. LSU takes a break from the SEC next weekend, playing McNeese State, while there are some other great games, too. I do love college football.

And yes, yesterday morning during the battle of the orange-and-white UT’s, I finished the first draft of my story, which pleased me to no end. It’s about forty-one hundred words, but they are mostly good words, and now I need to edit and revise. Again, it’s a very long shot, but I do enjoy writing, and it’s always nice to make very good progress on something. I may do some editing this morning after I post this and before I summon the energy and motivation to actually make the grocery list and head to the store. I also need to order some things to be delivered this morning, too.

While I mostly managed to avoid the news yesterday, I did occasionally check in on social media to see what was going on and that’s when I came across the horrific story of the Cornell 7….remind me about the masculinity crisis again? The real masculinity crisis lies in how they treat women, and so many of them fail. Cannot IMAGINE why so many women would choose the bear, can you? It’s hilarious, I’ve been trying to work my way into my newsletter essay about masculinity and my failures to be the traditional male in this patriarchical society and finally realize something about myself while reading up on the Cornell horror (and yes, there’s a rapist on the LSU football team–which is appalling–but I am not talking about that case because I’ve not had a chance to “do my own research,”–but I fail to see any research or reading that would make LSU look good, frankly)–the reason I didn’t feel particularly boy-oriented was because I never understood why we weren’t supposed to like girls at all, and that didn’t change after puberty, either, when girls were reduced to their breasts, ass, and fuckability, which is also part of the reason I wrote #shedeservedit, and now I have some more things to discuss there. (And no, I’m not saying my view of women wasn’t curdled by exposure to male-centering and women-dismissal; I’ve said and behaved in ways towards women that are toxic, but I learned and would like to believe I’ve unlearned a lot of my upbringing and social pressuring.)

I spent some more time yesterday with The Dead Zone, and John Smith is one of my favorite Stephen King characters. I am remembering, too, while I reread how much I’ve always loved this novel and how big of a fan I used to be (not getting into it now, or maybe ever), and that incredible run of great novels he had from Carrie through Misery. Maybe I should revisit another one, too? It’s been a while since I’ve revisited Firestarter….

I was reminded yesterday also about Richard Speck. He murdered nurses in Chicago when I was five years old, and I remember the horror vividly (I also remember when the news broke about Sharon Tate and the other victims on Cielo Drive in the Hollywood Hills). I’ve never read up on the Speck murders, but I read Helter Skelter as a teenager and it was terrifying–I’ve generally avoided reading anything else on the Manson family since. I remember, in both cases, how upset my mother was–a rural country girl living in Chicago with generalized anxiety disorder–and again wonder how much it must have terrified her when we weren’t home. Mothers worry, of course, but I wish I’d known when she was alive about the anxiety; I would have worked harder to ease her mind. (I also believe the anxiety shortened her life, but…she did make it to eighty-one.) Does anyone know of any good books or writing about Speck?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and GEAUX SAINTS!

Candy Perfume Girl

Here we are on a college football Saturday1 (GEAUX TIGERS!) and all is quiet in the Lost Apartment. I ran errands yesterday, got the mail, picked up my copy of the new Tananarive Due (yay! Hello, October Halloween Horror Month!), and after working at home, I did the laundry and cleaned up around here–somehow the kitchen had somehow gotten out of control again–while the Real Housewives screamed at each other on my television. I don’t know why I find that so entertaining, but I do and I am not apologizing for it. (And yes, I am going to write about it at some point.) We also watched The Traitors: New Blood and started the new American Horror Story: 13, which hurray for Jessica Lange, and hurray for Joey Pollari, who is playing the male lead–been a fan since catching the young openly gay actor in American Crime, an excellent anthology series from the 10s that didn’t draw near the audience it deserved for its writing and incredible cast, which included Regina King in every season. (I’ll watch Regina King in anything.)

I also went back through the book cases and massive TBR stacks to pick out an ambition list of reading for October, especially given how little I’ve been reading lately. My rereads are going to be The Dead Zone (long overdue for a reread, at least since 2016) by Stephen King and The Amityville Horror by Jay Anson. The new to me reads, if I manage, will be Christina Henry’s The House that Horror Built, A House with Good Bones by T. Kingfisher, and Shadowlands by Peter Straub, which I’ve never gotten around to in the forty years and more it’s been available (people always say their favorite Straub is Ghost Story; mine is Floating Dragon); I started it when it was first out in paperback, but never finished. I guess it didn’t grab me, but I grabbed another copy when I read a really interesting piece about it sometime earlier this century. (I also met Straub at Stokercon in Nassau, Long Island at least fifteen or sixteen years ago–the same conference I first met a pre-Gone Girl Gillian Flynn. Both were delightful and charming.)

I actually started my reread of The Dead Zone, and while I only got a few pages into the prologue, I was immediately reminded of why I love King, and that Johnny Smith is probably one of my favorite King characters, and while this book was always overshadowed in my mind by The Stand, which is my favorite King, as the books were released consecutively. I remember back when King was still a new writer and unappreciated by critics and reviewers while his books were literally flying off the shelves–one of my English professors in college, was very disdainful when he noticed I was carrying a copy of Firestarter with me, again shattering any thought I may have had about pursuing English as an undergraduate major because the professors were the worst kinds of snobs and my fellow English majors put no thought into their reading or analysis that wasn’t spoon-fed to them by the professors, whose egos definitely needed stroking (they all had mediocre minds).2 The irony is that while King has always done work of the highest quality, he was unappreciated while he was doing his actual best work. That run of novels, beginning with Carrie and ending with It, is probably unmatched by any other author in the canon of US authors; certainly in horror and crime….and those earlier works stand the test of time; I’ve reread all of those books numerous times.

Yes, a revisitation of a King classic is de rigeur.

Yesterday was a stunningly beautiful day. When I walked out to the car to run said errands, I was amazed at how gorgeous is was outside: warm but not excessively hot, and a coolness to the air that was very refreshing. Then I got in the car, started her up and looked at the temperature gauge and laughed. It was 86 degrees outside–but it wasn’t humid, which makes all the difference. (It’s currently 77 degrees outside; the kind of weather where you want to sit outside and read….or would, if I had a comfortable place to sit outside and read.) This is how the summer breaks us here. Anyway, as I drove around I was reminded again of how beautiful this city actually is, and again how lucky I am to live here so I can be continually inspired by this stunningly beautiful city.

I ordered myself a pair of Apple Beats Pro to finish off the gift card Dad sent me for my birthday. One of the most annoying thing to me about the new iPhone I got last year was that wired earbuds don’t work when plugged into them–and besides, I can’t use earbuds and my hearing aids at the same time. The other night when Paul came home I realized he uses over-the-ear headphones that wirelessly connect to his phone and a long overdue lightbulb turned on over my head. I can use over the ear headphones too, so I went ahead and ordered them. They came this week, but alas, I haven’t had time to set them up yet, so I intend to do that this morning. Just in time, too–since the weather has changed (hopefully for good) and I can go for walks now with them. My goal is to go back to the gym in January, and I need to start building up my stamina before that return.

At this point, kicking Ed Sheeran when he’s down is a bit mean and bullying, but I did laugh when his shows at Kraft’s stadium wound up canceled because of this huge nor’easter heading for New England, which has me worried about my friends up there. Take care everyone, don’t take unnecessary chances, and stay safe up there, okay?

And on that note, I am going to get cleaned up and head into the spice mines for the day. Hope you have a marvelous Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be here bright and early before the Saints game tomorrow. See you then!

Love this image of birds over a bayou near Lake Borgne.
  1. Very bad news for the Tennessee Vols, though–Trump is coming to their game with Texas today, and wherever he goes, the home team loses. I don’t like either team, but will watch and hope for a good game. ↩︎
  2. My college experience remains the biggest disappointment of my life. I expected so much more than a continuation of high school, you know? But…I also went to two really shitty colleges. ↩︎

Sky Fits Heaven

Thursday last day in the office for the week blog. Yesterday wasn’t unpleasant; I paid the bills, as one does once one has the funds, and it was very quiet around the office yesterday, which was odd. I didn’t feel terribly tired at any point during the day, which is always a pleasant surprise. October and Spooky Season are just around the corner, and I think I will go ahead and enjoy my annual October Halloween Horror Month. I generally reread The Haunting of Hill House and a classic Stephen King every October, but my reading focus just hasn’t been there for a while. I think it might be because I am out of practice with both writing and reading, and every time I start reading something I think oh I should be writing and that brings me to a crashing halt, every time. My copy of the new Tananarive Due should be arriving today or tomorrow; so I am definitely going to read that for Horror Month. I need to look through my horror TBR pile, and maybe I should give Peter Straub’s Shadowland another try. (I started it when it had just been released in mass market paperback, and for some reason it didn’t click with me; maybe I can listen to it in the car on my drive north next year, take the physical copy with to keep reading if I don’t finish it in the car…should see how long it is, shouldn’t I?)

I was a bit tired after getting home from running errands last evening–my headphones arrived; more on that later–and putting away the paltry and meager bags of groceries I’d made for sixty dollar, heavy sigh, and things were on sale–and so I made a Sparky bed out of my lap while I caught up on the news and watched some videos bashing Ed Sheeran (which will, at some point, I imagine, get old) before Paul got home late, and we hung out for a bit before I went up to bed. I slept well, too–woke up at four rather than three thirty this morning, but was able to get back to sleep without a problem. I feel alert and awake and ready to go, which is quite unusual for Thursday morning. I’ve even had breakfast already and feel pretty good. Today is the busiest day in the clinic for the week, and so I imagine I’ll be a bit worn down when I get home tonight. I am going to head uptown to get the mail, so I won’t, hopefully, have to get in the car this weekend. Huzzah for the convenience of deliveries!

I did work on my short story some yesterday–not as much as I would have preferred, but my mind was buggy and I was tired, so I really just started revising what I had already written, which was more than a little bit on the messy side. I am trying to write more fiction in the present tense, which seems to be more common/popular these days, and my sweet spot is past tense/first person…so trying things differently, I think, is kind of important to my continued development as a writer. Anyway, I noticed the prose sometimes slipped from present to past tense, and sometimes even from first person to third. Honestly, my first drafts are so fucking dreadful….which is why nobody ever sees my first drafts.

It’s in the seventies this morning, which will have to do for the transition to fall. They’re saying we’ll get colder weather and a lot of rain next week, which is fine.

And on that note, I should get going on my day. I’ll be here again tomorrow morning, from my workspace at home, and I hope to see you then, Constant Reader.

Frozen

Wednesday Pay the Bills Day has rolled around again somehow, and here we are. I woke up from a very deep sleep around three thirty this morning, and napped/dozed until the shattering shriek of the alarm pierced through the darkness, impacting my ear drums with such a brutal assault that I had no choice but to hit snooze…followed by turning the alarm off and getting up before that horrendous noise erupted again. I feel pretty good this morning. I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home after work and errands; I sat with His Majesty sleeping in my lap for a while as I caught up on the news (that UN Speech–so aspirational and inspirational. Cut to media: “He’s finally sounding presidential.1” Eye roll to infinity) before getting up to clean up the kitchen. I unloaded the dishwasher and ran another load overnight, and cleaned off the counters, took out the trash and recycling, too. If I can keep up with the dishes and stuff all week, I don’t have to do that on the weekend and thus can get more of this long overdue deep clean of the house done. There are some awesome games this weekend, too, capped off with Texas A&M coming to Death Valley for a night game.

The Saints play at home this Sunday in the afternoon, as well, so I can get things done in the morning and early afternoon and then settle into my chair for the game. And while I have some work to do on work-at-home Friday as well, it’s just paperwork.

I feel pretty good this morning, and like I have finally managed to adjust to getting up at six. I am so not a morning person, and for most of my life succeeded in not having a 9-to-5 job–I’d rather sleep and get up when I am done sleeping and work in the afternoons and evenings. Then again, whenever I had an early morning job in the past, it would eventually get to the point where I’d look ahead and just see this kind of nightmare existence stretching on and on forever. Maybe I don’t do that anymore because an end is in sight? Granted, that’s dependent on being able to retire…which, by how things are going in this country, may not be possible.

I realized yesterday, when I saw that the “Clavicular” creature (Braden Peters, because of course his name is Braden) was arrested for allegedly drugging and raping a minor, that my essay series (which I am way behind on) for the newsletter about my not being a “typical male” and my personal struggles with the straitjacket of heterosexual values was primarily because I can’t really write about masculinity and my outsider’s view of it without defining those qualities that defined it when I was growing up–but reading this arrest news reminded me that I am not the only man who’s wrestled with masculinity tropes. Headlines have been screaming at us for years now about the “crisis” for straight men who are bewildered at how to be a man in this modern age…and wind up turning to idiots in the “manosphere”, or people like this idiot (or the Tate brothers) selling them a bundle of lies and bullshit about what “women really want” and so on, making men the victim in a society that continues to center them. (If only we could all be as oppressed as the straight white man in the US, amirite?) And there it was–how interesting that the issues a gay guy had with masculine tropes is now a straight man’s problem.

Years ago, Paul and I watched a horrible gay dating reality show called Boy Meets Boy, and something I noticed in that show–which had a terrible surprise twist that makes me think I should somehow rewatch and write about it again. Anyway, something I noticed about James–which I was noticing on other matchmaking shows as well–was he always talked about who the perfect man for him would be. That’s fine–we all have that kind of image in our heads when we’re single, don’t we–but…the premise is “I’m perfect and this is who he needs to be”, when the entire time I’m listening to him and watching and thinking, what do YOU have to offer? (My dream was a husband who liked to laugh, read, and was smart. My dream came true.) I mean, being chosen by him was how you won the show, but at the same time it was an awful lot of I and not a lot of we, which made me think he’d never find someone.

But this reminds me very much of the male loneliness epidemic and all these “crises” people are monetizing by telling young men how to be men…rather than doing the actual work they need to do in order to be attractive to a woman as a life mate. Women don’t care about muscles all that much; the truth is, the bar is set so low for most men that it staggers the mind that they can’t meet it, you know? Flowers on special dates, the occasional candy, and just listening to them and treating them like an actual living, breathing human being actually goes a very long fucking way.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, and I will see you again tomorrow morning bright and early. See ya then!

  1. I am being facetious here, but how many times have we heard some stupid pundit say something like this in the past? ↩︎

The Power of Goodbye

Monday morning and a return with me to the spice mines. Sparky again let me sleep late yesterday, which was nice, and I didn’t feel bone tired when I got up, either; Saturday was a bit hit or miss for the day, frankly. But I did get up, worked on a newsletter as well as cleaning up computer files (and finishing some unfinished chores from Saturday) before turning on the Saints game at noon and sitting in my easy chair with my laptop and an early lunch snack of mozzarella salad, which I love. Paul came down to watch and nap with Sparky during the game, so we were all in the living room like the sweet little family we are, and when I am the most content. That literally is my happy place.

In one of those weird moments, the other night (Friday, to be exact) we were running around doing our errands and one of my favorite songs, Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain,” came up on the mix, and as I was humming along with the lyrics one in particular stood out to me. The thought process went something like this: “Running through the shadows, chain chain chain, we go together, running through the shadows…hmmm, running through the shadows is a great title, wait didn’t I have a story in an anthology called that yes I think I did and I think my story was called “The Rosary of Broken Promises” and the main character was the Oracle of Orange Street, my psychic I wanted to write a book about”–it was something like that. Anyway, imagine my delight and surprise to find an email about that anthology in my inbox Saturday morning. (I don’t, however, read emails on the weekend; I only delete them.) I’ll read it later on, when I am more functional and awake.

The Saints did win, which was a lovely way for the day to go, and then we watched the first two episodes of The Traitors: New Blood, which is quite fun, and retired to bed relatively early to get a jump on the morning today, which I did. I only hit snooze the once, and got up, feeling rested and relaxed this morning over my coffee and a slice of coffee cake. We finished Reacher off over the weekend, and tonight, it’s back to Lanterns. I also actually wrote for a while yesterday–working on a short story that is due soon, clocking in at about fourteen hundred words, which was nice and felt good. I also finished paying the bills this weekend, and we get paid again on Wednesday this week. I also sent out my latest newsletter, about The Stepford Wives. I’m not sure what the next one will be about, and the goal is to get it out on Wednesday or Thursday, but we’ll have to see how that goes, won’t we? I have a few that are close to completion; we’ll have to see how it all goes, won’t we, though? The kitchen is a bit of a mess this morning, alas, so after running an errand or two on the way home, I am going to have to pick up around here a bit before going to the easy chair for some Sparky time.

LSU is still ranked in the Top Ten this week, and I am very pleased with how zen I am about the loss on Saturday night. I’m even happy for the Mississippi fans1; they haven’t had much for a very long time, so more power to them and I wish them well on the season. We still don’t know how good either team is, but they are about equal, really. Texas A&M will be fired up after losing to Kentucky (!!!) this past weekend, but…it’s at LSU, so it will be loud and raucous in the stadium. I didn’t read any write-ups, local or national, on the game this past weekend because I don’t need to know anything more than the result. I like this new policy of “it’s just a game” and just enjoying it for what it is–something I enjoy watching–without all the emotional ups and downs and swings from watching. That actually isn’t fun, and neither are the “trash talk” bullshit, either. Whether LSU wins or not doesn’t change or affect anything in my life unless I allow it to–and while a lot of people seem to enjoy that aspect, I don’t and never have.

And unless you’re on the field and in uniform, there’s no “we” or “us” when you’re nothing more than a fan–even less so if you’re not an alum. As someone who is not an alum of LSU (I just live here), I try to be careful in never including myself as part of LSU as anything other than a local fan with opinions, usually based on what I’ve watched on the field. Yes, I want LSU to do well, but if they don’t–the sun will still rise in the morning and my alarm will continue to go off at six every day.

Ed Sheeran has only made things worse after performing Saturday night in Philadelphia? I’ve stopped paying attention because at this point he’s managed to make everything somehow about him and his poor choices; it has always been my experience that if you have to cry and tell everyone you’re not a bad person…well, you might be a bad person. Your mistake was caving into that Kraft creature. It doesn’t seem like you’re even aware of what you did wrong….and a little bit of advice? Maybe stop centering yourself in everything? No one was asking you to speak about Palestine, you know; they were mad because you caved to a billionaire’s demands instead of standing on principle. That was your mistake, and that’s the one you need to acknowledge–you are complicit in that. It’s not a good look, Gingerdoodle. That’s why everyone on both sides is mad at you–and you need to save your anger and reproaches for Pink–she started this whole mess.

Again, don’t get into parasocial relationships with celebrities. They will always disappoint you because you actually don’t know them at all.

Sigh.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I will see you again tomorrow morning.

  1. It also doesn’t hurt to remember that when Nick Saban came back to college football at Alabama, that we beat them his first year there. ↩︎

Nothing Really Matters

LSU lost last night to Mississippi, and wow–the world didn’t end. It was disappointing, to be sure, but I don’t go on the emotional roller coaster that I used to, and that’s a much better way to be a football fan, methinks. No need to foam at the mouth or jupup and down or scream at the television. There weren’t many surprise outcomes yesterday, other than Kentucky beating Texas A&M, right after the Aggie crowd cheered Pete Hegseth, and why was he even there in the first place? Remember, the UT fans booed and embarrassed Ted Cruz, and won. Everything they touch dies, seriously. Alabama needed a hot minute before pulling away from Florida State, the Georgia-Arkansas game was so bad I couldn’t watch, and it sounds like Florida-Auburn came down to the wire, maybe being even the best game of the weekend. (I also didn’t know before that Lane Kiffin had played at Fresno State, either.) The Saints game with Baltimore is on at eleven this morning, and I’ll probably turn it on while do other things; I did a lot of cleaning yesterday while Paul was out, which was nice and very overdue.

I really do like this being old meaning you have less fucks to give about shit. No one told me about this side-effect of getting older…maybe I’ve finally become wiser? Nah, not likely. Just don’t really have any extra energy lying around that I can waste on things that really doesn’t matter anymore, or things I can’t control. (I always tried not stressing out about things I can’t control, but before medication, that wasn’t the way my brain was wired.) Hence, not being angry or super-disappointed about LSU losing last night. I’m still going to watch games every weekend; part of the fun of being a football fan is seeing how the season plays out–which is the more graceful and adult way to approach the season.

I did manage to reread The Stepford Wives yesterday, while taking breaks from cleaning and game-watching during the earlier games of the day. I had just revisited the book and wrote about it last year on this blog; I may write about it on the newsletter today, I don’t know. But there are other points to be made about the book and films, and I can go in more depth in the newsletter than I could with this blog. Ira Levin was absolutely one of the greats, and what he was able to do in his novels with so few words was a gift from the gods. I hate that I am unable to focus enough to read something new; I am going to try again this morning with The Shards. I also want to reread The Miracle at St. Bruno’s as a way in to talk about the Tudors and all the reading about them I used to do, and of course, Mary Stewart’s The Ivy Tree is also sitting there in my Kindle.

I also watched this week’s Real Housewives of Orange County, which keeps limping along and somehow escaping cancellation. The new season of The Traitors has also already dropped its first episode, and hey announced the cast for the next season of celebrity Traitors for the US, and it includes Bianca del Rio! That news more than makes up for them casting MAGA skank and Charlie Kirk worshipper Kristen Chenowith, who is probably trying to rebuild her image after she revealed her true skank self last year. I’d want to be a traitor in that season just to make her the first murder.

And on that note, I am going to get more coffee and repair to the easy chair for a bit, so I can wake up a bit more and do some reading. I also hope to write today, too, so we’ll see how all that goes, won’t we? I will, however, see you again tomorrow morning bright and early before I head to the office. Till then, have a marvelous Sunday however you spend it.

This is what we call in Louisiana an allée–a straight unpaved pathway through. matching trees or shrubs. It’s a very fun word that I want to use more.

Substitute for Love

Friday morning work at home day, with a trip to Costco on the horizon for later. I feel good and rested this morning, despite the fact Sparky tried to get me up around four in the morning for some reason. I did wake up, gave him a look, and went back to sleep while he cuddled with me, which was lovely. I was physically tired when I got home from work last night, so didn’t do much of anything other than writing. I did managed to get a (very) rough draft of that pesky chapter–which still needs some work–which has kind of log-jammed me these past few weeks. My goal for tomorrow is to edit everything I have done so far, preparatory to moving on to the next chapter and reacquainting myself with the characters, the voice, and the story. Woo-hoo! There are also a lot of great football games tomorrow, capping off with the one-two punch night games of Florida-Auburn and LSU-Mississippi.

The amazing thing to me about this Ed Sheeran thing is that it keeps going, and every day and hour it continues to go on the worse he looks. That’s what happens eventually when you’re more interested in being inoffensive–you wind up offending everyone. The fact that so many people he’s friendly with (and works with) are in the Epstein files kind of shows how morally and ethically compromised he is. When I was watching the news last night, I saw someone–I don’t remember who–talking about how entertainers, like Sheeran, are the modern day version of “bread and circuses” from the old Roman Empire (first time I have thought about the Roman Empire in days, if not weeks, for those keeping track–entertaining the populace and keeping our minds off everything else going on in the world. They keep us distracted (look at social media sometimes; it’s why there’s so much celebrity worship) so we will spend money and not see what the Epstein Class has done (and continues doing) to the world and society. Ed Sheeran got very rich doing his part to entertain and not talk about anything substantial (although the white children of Ukraine got him to be political)–he even says it in his pitiful “it’s not my fault” Pilate handwashing statement (“I want to provide a space for love and peace and escape”)…that’s very telling–and it’s hard to look at any of this and think Sheeran has any values, has any compassion or empathy or is, at heart, a decent person. He fucked over a friend at the bidding of a billionaire, has tried to deflect his part in this from day one, taken no responsibility for anything, and shows that he stands for nothing but the Epstein class he continues to make money for.

Does that sound like someone we should support? Christ, Ireland hates him now.

This entire situation is a classic example of what is fucking wrong with this country: a billionaire who diddled kids got his widdle fee-fees hurt, and he stamped his foot in anger and demanded he get his way, and he got it. They are above the law, an unelected and unchosen ruling class no different from the old British aristocracy, entitled fools with too much money who didn’t give a fuck about anyone other than themselves, while people went hungry and sick and died while they gambled away small fortunes at night while too drunk to see.

And the fact that both Sheeran and Robert Kraft are too privileged to shut up and stop digging their own graves just adds fuel to the fire. Sheeran went along with the silencing and suppression of a voice because it upset a billionaire.

That tells me everything I need to know about the Gingerdoodle.

And that’s it on this subject1–I’ve given too much time and energy to this nonsense already, but this naked abuse of money and power is infuriating to me, and always will be.

Ah, the coffee is now kicking in. I want to get another newsletter finished this weekend, clean out my email inbox, and of course, work on the book some more after I get my work duties done today. Costco and the other errands will undoubtedly wear me out, so I won’t do much tonight when I get home from all of that, other than finishing the laundry which I am starting this morning. I know the new season of The Traitors dropped its first episode last night, and there’s something else starting up again that I like watching, but can’t think of it right now. I also want to read a bit this weekend–which reminds me! The other day I mentioned a copy of The Miracle at St. Bruno’s, and I said there would be more later…and forgot.

The Miracle at St. Bruno’s is a historical Gothic set during the turbulent reign of Henry VIII and the great divorce–and how what was going on at court politically affected those every day citizens who had no control over the ever-changing legality of, well, everything. The Tudors were my real entryway into world history (or rather, modern European history) because Henry VIII was such a fascinating monster. I read a lot of Tudor biographies, but the only historical fiction I had read up to that point was mostly fictionalized biographies–history as entertainment–of royal Tudors. I even read a biography of Lady Margaret Douglas, one of the lesser known but crucial pieces of the Tudor body politic and the very thin line of succession that Tudor sterility caused. Philippa Carr was the by-line on the book, but it was another psuedonym of Eleanor Hibbert, a British writer who also published under the names Victoria Holt and Jean Plaidy. It was vastly different from another other Gothic I’d read, taking place over the course of about thirty to forty years, with the turbulent reigns of successive Tudor vastly differentiating in their religion and policy. It was also the first in a series called Daughters of England, because she wrote about the main character in Miracle’s sequel–each new book a new Gothic romance featuring the daughter of the previous book’s main character–and history and politics are also driving forces in those books as well. I may start a reread this weekend; I need to get back to reading fiction again.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Have a lovely Friday, everyone, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

Live oak stumps always fascinate and sadden me. The size is impressive, and they are beautiful to look at…but the sadness is from the tree being cut down. Our live oaks are so beautiful here in New Orleans, and we’ve lost so many in the thirty years we’ve lived here.
  1. I do love watching people reap what they’ve sown, you know? ↩︎

Take a Bow

Thursday morning and I got up before my alarm, wide awake and feeling rested. Weird, right? On a THURSDAY last day in the office for the week morning? Madness. Sparky is also being super-affectionate this morning. He keeps wanting to sit on my shoulders, so he can head-butt me and purr up there while I walk around doing things. I don’t mind, I just don’t know why he is some mornings and some mornings he isn’t. Of course it doesn’t make sense because cat, but I can’t help but try to make sense of it, because I ain’t right in the head, you know?

Last night wasn’t bad. I headed uptown to pick up the mail (my copy of The Miracle at St. Bruno’s that I got from ebay, more on that later) and swung by the grocery store to make a few bags. I came home, Sparky needed a lap, and that was the end of that. I watched news and examined my new book–a paperback in pristine condition, like I picked it up off the rack at Zayre like I did my original copy–and watched the news—along with any number of videos ripping Ed Sheeran1 and Robert Kraft new assholes. Paul brought a pizza home for dinner, which was lovely, and we watched LSU-The Difference on ESPN, a documentary series they are filming for this season (think ESPN isn’t all in on LSU? I don’t they are doing one for every top team in the country, and there wasn’t a guarantee LSU would be any good this year, and really, still can’t be sure how good they are anyway at this point). I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home and put everything away, but…I slept very well for the first time this week, and it felt marvelous. I think we’re going to Costco tomorrow after work, too. Huzzah!

I’ve fallen down a wormhole of Internet research thanks to a Facebook friend who shared a post about a “ghost ship” that can be seen under the right conditions on the Tombigbee River in southwest Alabama, the Eliza Battle. The ship was a classic steamboat of the era (which I will always associate–steamboats, that is–with Mark Twain), transporting cotton bales and passengers when a fire broke out in the cotton and the entire ship went up in flames before sinking. I like the idea of a ghost steamboat (I am also partial to steamboats, maybe I should write about that sometime), which could make an interesting story. I love these old folk tales of Southern states, and feel like some of them could be used to write novels or short stories; I’ve been trying to write one about the legend of Freniere and the 1915 Hurricane, which wiped the town out, for years now. Learning Alabama and Louisiana history, legends, and lore is ever so much fun, too!

Has the entire world gone mad? After the Pink meltdown, the Ed Sheeran disaster, and Arch Manning proving he has no home training, I pretty much thought we were done with ignorant celebrity bullshit, but Sarah Paulson decided to say hold my beer and gave an incredibly tone-deaf white woman interview, in which she expressed disappointment that her Black male costars on The People v. O. J. Simpson got movie offers and she didn’t–she was trying to make the point that it’s more difficult for women to get parts in movies because those roles are few and far between for women, whereas male-centered movies are a dime a dozen. It was tone-deaf to make the comparison with two Black actors, who face an entirely but equally horrifying different kind of fight–yes, they are men, but they aren’t white men. And she left out the most obvious reasons producers don’t think about her when they’re casting–girl, you’re an out and proud lesbian. Hollywood is not only misogynist and racist, but it’s also incredibly homophobic. It’s getting better, but there are still an endless amount of problems in that “liberal” community.

Speaking of homophobia, I kind of love that congressional candidate Chris Gallant did, in his pre-politician life, posed in BDSM gear and there are also pictures of him on Fire Island in his underwear. YAWN. He’s running for a House seat on Long Island, is an openly gay former Marine and firefighter…and the only thing his MAGA opponent can come up with is him posing for some sexy pictures that exposed nothing prurient and was in the past…newsflash: most gay men, have sexy photos of themselves, in bathing suits at the very least, and more have nudes than a straight person might realize. I also love that he’s being defiant and refusing to be shamed out of the race. Pictures in BDSM gear doesn’t mean you’re into BDSM, and if you are, who the fuck cares? ANd seriously, the party of MAGA and the buffoon they worship has some fucking nerve trying to morality police anyone. Yo, you’re party leader is a pedophile rapist psychopath. Why don’t you start policing him? Anyway, I donated a little to his campaign.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely, lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning on work-at-home Friday!

  1. I’ve taken to calling him “Gingerdoodle.” ↩︎

Swim

Wednesday morning and we’re making our way through the week nicely, I think. Today is going to be very busy in the clinic, and so I am expecting to be very tired when I get home tonight. That’s fine, the weekend looms, as well as my work-at-home day on Friday. I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home, but then I had to make a bed for Sparky out of my lap while I caught up on the news. What a wild day yesterday was, in unimportant news in the overall scheme of things. The whole Ed Sheeran1 torching his career2 wasn’t on my bingo card for 2026, but then again, neither was Arch Manning being a misogynist asshole about Holly Rowe either (he did apologize, both publicly and privately, but…I guess I’ll just chalk that whole mess up to he was smart enough to apologize, even if it reeked of a PR team). Bottom line–grabbing your ankles and bending over for a morally corrupt billionaire doesn’t fly in these times. The country is angry, angry about everything and rightfully so; but…I also don’t have a lot of sympathy (any, really) for the people who gleefully voted for all of this but are so penitent now (not penitent enough to abandon the Republican Party, though) and upset that they aren’t being treated like the “innocent victims” they claim to be–and he “lied” isn’t a defense. I heard him very clearly, and I saw the signs and shirts at the rallies and heard the chants.

If I knew, there’s no reason why you didn’t–because you literally cannot concede, even now, that you based your vote on your own bigotry. Given into, and following, evil isn’t a mistake and you were a very willing participant. We all saw it. You just chose not to, because it felt good to strike a blow for white supremacy, economic disaster, and another forever war. Oh, excuse me, it felt good to strike back against social justice progress and stick it to those libs, right? You voted to hurt queer people and did so with a great big smile on your face…well, this liberal faggot feels nothing for you. Finally, at long last, people are sick to fucking death of your bullshit and you’re finally feeling those consequences you wanted for everyone that you don’t like…and I’m supposed to now feel sorry for you?3 I didn’t vote for you to lose your family’s generational farm and wealth, why should my tax dollars bail your stupid asses out? I’d rather student loan debt be retired than another bailout for MAGA farmers and ranchers.

Life’s hard, bitches. Pull yourselves up by the bootstraps. FREEDOM! Maybe cut back on some of your streaming services, or make coffee at home instead of going to Starbucks. And avocado toast, I hear, is really expensive so don’t waste money on fripperies. Economize. Where’s that American “can do” mentality? Work harder! Maybe do some ride-sharing work, or delivery for an app. There’s all kinds of ways you can make some money to supplement your farm/ranch, isn’t there? You don’t need any of that socialist bail out money, do you? No, you thought “he fucked us but bailed us out with welfare the last time, so he’ll take care of us always”–ha ha ha ha ha.

Fools.

As I mentioned, creating a lap for Sparky last night kept from doing much of anything except watching the news, as I can’t use my laptop with a cat in my lap–and oh, the dirty looks I get whenever I even slightly shift while he’s asleep! Plus, it’s so lovely to come home from work and get affection from a cat. On the way home tonight I have to run some errands, and it’s also supposed to rain today. So, who knows what kind of place I’ll be in tonight when I finally trudge up the stairs and enter the Lost Apartment, having survived another day in the mad jungle. Oh, and my latest newsletter went out this morning; click here to read my takes on Flipper.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Hope your Wednesday is charming, lovely, and happy, Constant Reader, and I will be back bright and early tomorrow morning.

I’ve always loved this image, taken out my bay windows during a thunderstorm around noon on a Sunday a few years ago. It has a real creepy Gothic feel to it.
  1. One can’t help but be amused that Sheeran’s statement, primarily focused on him being “responsible” to the other artists on his tour–resulted in them all quitting. That did make me laugh. When I read his statement, all I could think was, dude, this is going to blow up in your face, and I was right. Regardless where you come down in your opinions and thoughts about Gaza and Palestine, the principle here–suppressing of political speech for an artist–should concern you, and it’s partly why Sheeran is being dragged for filth so intensely. ↩︎
  2. By the way, the billionaire who caused all this is the one at whose wedding he performed at, and has called “super sweet” before…yes, those are words often used to describe billionaires. Yes, Ed, you sacrificed your public image for a “super sweet” billionaire suppressing free speech. I’d delete you off my Spotify, but guess what? I don’t listen to your hackneyed pablum music. Way to be a free speech warrior and stand up for your fellow artists….god knows, we certainly can’t expect the half-billionaire cosplaying as Irish (cultural appropriation, especially when he has no clue how the Irish feel about oppression) to stand on principle. ↩︎
  3. Also, did you mask during COVID? Did you get your vaccines? Because as a public health worker, there’s yet another reason for me to completely despise you, your ancestors, and your descendants. Consider it a generational curse. ↩︎