Category: figure skating

Greta

Saturday morning in the Lost Apartment and all is well. I got up early this morning on my own–I think my body expects at least four mornings in a row of getting up early, and this would be the fourth–I guess we’ll see how early I get up tomorrow, shall we? I did manage to do some reading yesterday after I finished working, and had Season One of The Traitors on while I picked up and did other chores. I started a new project in the pantry this morning, and if I can manage to stay motivated this morning, I should be able to complete it before working on the living room and kitchen. I ran two loads of dishes in the dishwasher and the sink is filled with dishes yet again somehow. I also did all the bed linens yesterday, too. I need to run uptown this morning to get the mail and swing by the Fresh Market for a couple of things. I managed to go through my lengthy to-do list yesterday and mark off a lot of things, too. So that was pretty cool–I even had groceries delivered, which was amazing and awesome and all of that. I felt very good about the day when I finally slid under the covers last night, and I slept well, too.

I have to say, I love how the world has fallen in love with Alysa Liu and Amber Glenn after the women’s free skate the other day. There really is something about witnessing someone having the Olympic skate, the one you always hear about that epitomizes the Olympic spirit, right? She was just radiant out on the ice, just epic energy and joy and having the best time. Amber’s support and sportsmanship for the other skaters after her epic long program also won over hearts and minds. (Someone on social media said that she’d watched Alysa’s skate over and over again, because it sparked so much joy, and it ranked with Tom Holland’s Rihanna number! I heartily concur with this sentiment.)

I also remember the good feelings the Paris Summer Olympics back in 2024, and how they made us all forget temporarily the horror of the present times. Our athletes make me proud to be an American, and that’s a feeling I’ve not had in a very long time–and these Olympics have reminded me, also through Alysa and Amber, that joy is so very important, and we should grasp it whenever it’s within reach to us–we should probably look for it more, too. This actually is how the bastards win–by taking away our joy and our hope. This is why I am embracing how much fun I am having with The Traitors, because I enjoy it, it makes me forget the worries and cares and strife of the world and the burdens we all carry on the daily–and why on EARTH would I consider that a guilty pleasure? I need to rediscover my love of reading and writing. I am going to do some writing today if it kills me–and who knows? It just might.

It was in the low eighties and sunny all day yesterday (!!!!), and it looks to be that way today, too–although I thought it was going to be colder this weekend. I looked, and yes, it’s going to be in the seventies today, but thunderstorms later this afternoon! Huzzah! I do love me some rain, you know. That would be a fun time to watch some episodes of The Traitors’ second season (I told you I’m addicted) and maybe do some reading then. I think once I finish this I am going to try to get some cleaning and organizing done before I run my errands. I also need to organize the refrigerator better, too, and finish the pantry project I started yesterday, which is hella exciting. My taxes are also being figured right now, so that should be done soon and my refunds arriving by the end of March, too. Huzzah!

Okay, I think I’m going to take my coffee into the living room and read some for a bit. Have an absolutely delightful Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning for another Gregalicious update.

You can never go wrong with Joe Manganiello.

Juliet

This is an Alysa Liu fan page, for the record. How amazing was her free skate at the Olympics? She was just joy personified on the ice, and seriously, you can never go wrong skating to anything by Donna Summer (I would love to see ice dancers skate to “I Feel Love,” honestly). I was at work while the women skated, but had it playing on my phone while I worked, casting glances at it here and there throughout the hours it was on. I happened to look when Amber Glenn was skating, but at the point where she messed up the landing on that damned triple loop jump, and thought, oh no, poor Amber so I stopped watching for a bit…so was thrilled and surprised to see that Amber had climbed into first place. Isabeau Levito had a tough time out there, too. I watched Alysa skate and it made my heart full. I didn’t see the silver medalist skate–the young woman I thought would win it all–but came back in time for the final skater to see Alysa still in first. The young Japanese girl who got the bronze didn’t have a clean go of it, but she is also beautiful and a gorgeous skater who will be fun to watch in the years to come, and Alysa won the gold medal! I couldn’t wait to get home to watch again, so I could see her do it. (I actually came back to it when she had finished and said, into the camera, That’s what I’m fucking talking about! I also loved that she swore a few more times after coming off the ice. Amber climbed all the way up to fifth–just missing out on a medal by a few points; had she not missed the landing on that loop she may have climbed up into third. Alysa’s individual medal is the first for the US since Sasha Cohen got silver back in 2006, and the first gold since Sarah Hughes in 2002.1

Sigh, I love the Olympics, and I especially love the figure skating. I was also happy to see Ilia Malinin bouncing back from his difficult men’s final, hanging out with other athletes just watching in the stands, or with Martha Stewart and Snoop (I’ve yet to forgive him for his homophobia and his MAGA appearances), hanging with Simone Biles (one of the many superstars of sport who reached out to him), or my personal favorite–the pictures with Tara Lipinski’s daughter Georgie. I also loved seeing skaters supporting each other, cheering for each other and congratulating each other (or consoling, whatever the case may be), which is a very refreshing change over the last few years. The sports broadcasting narrative–the competitive rivalries were also personal ones–always made it seem like the skaters hated each other (true in some instances) but for the most part, they’ve known each other and competed and toured with each other since they were kids so2…

Work at home Friday and here we go! I had a nice day at work yesterday, with not a lot of clients so I was able to get caught up on almost everything. I have some quality assurance work to do and some data entry, around getting the house under control. I’m going to have some things delivered either today or tomorrow, and I’m going to run uptown tomorrow to get the mail and stop by the Fresh Market for fresh meat and berries. My Achilles tendons feel okay this morning, but I’m going to ice them anyway while I hopefully sit in my chair doing the quality control stuff.

I’m sorry the Olympics are coming to an end. So many feel-good moments, as always, and so many athletes I’d never heard of before having great Olympic moments, you know? I do think my favorites of these Olympics were Nazgûl the Olympic dog (google it if you’re unaware–he was a very good boy!), and the absolutely charming Japanese figure skating team–their joy in skating and each other was delightful to see. And in a selfish way, I’m kind of glad Ilia got a gold but not an individual medal, which means we’ll get at least four more years of his amazing skating and technical achievements. Is a quint next?

We also watched this week’s episode of The Traitors, and I was terribly disappointed to see Johnny and Tara come so close only to blow it in the end. We have another week to find out who the last murder victim will be (my money’s on Johnny or Mark; if I were Rob and Eric I’d murder JOhnny so Tara can be a wreck and a distraction for the other faithfuls. God how I love this show! We also started watching this week’s episode of The Beauty, which is so off-the-rails and insane–and every time I see him on my screen I loathe pedo-defender Ashton Kutcher more and more. He’s also terrible in this show; how did he ever have a career past his “oh isn’t he cute and dumb” phase. I never thought he was all that, to be honest, and very one-note. Kind of perfect for a show called The Beauty, now that I think about it. It really is a terribly written show, and most of the dialogue is very cringe, as the kids would say. The cast is talented (except for Kutcher) but it’s a shame watching them try to create something out of the beautiful nothing they were given to work with. It’s definitely a hate-watch, at this point, and this last episode–are we really supposed to believe a billionaire would go to that much trouble to shut down an FBI investigation when all he would have to do is donate money to whatever MAGA bullshit grift going on at the moment and the DOJ would shut that shit down faster than Usain Bolt could run at his peak.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines for the morning. I am going to try to get some things done before my workday starts with an online meeting. Have a great Friday, darling Constant Reader, and I will see you tomorrow morning.

Seriously, dude–why not just wear the black tights underneath? But definitely pretty. Professional wrestling is so homoerotic!
  1. Not that she would ever do such a thing–and especially because she lost gold to Americans in 1998 and 2002, so it doesn’t make sense–but I actually wondered if US Olympic skating was cursed after Michelle Kwan won silver and bronze despite being favored. ↩︎ ↩︎
  2. Tonya-Nancy being the most famous–and they had been friends before. ↩︎

I Still Miss Someone

Everywhere else it’s just Tuesday! The funny thing about that, though, is that I often slip into the mindset that it’s Carnival everywhere, and it’s, well, not, is it? Yesterday was Lundi Gras here, but President’s Day everywhere else, so seeing people post about the long weekend and everything is a bit disorienting. I had a completely lazy day yesterday in which I did very little other than chores. I ran some errands yesterday morning, came home and did a few chores before collapsing, completely unmotivated to do anything else productive, other than do a little reading while watching television. Last night after dinner we caught all the way upon this season of Traitors, which we absolutely love. (This is an excellent cast, by the way, which also makes a difference.) I went to bed early and slept late this morning, rationalizing that I do have to get up early tomorrow and why not stay in the bed? Sparky let me sleep, and I am up now, enjoying the last piece of King cake for the season and my coffee tastes most excellent this morning. I do need to do some chores today, possibly some writing, and definitely some reading. It’s hazy out there this morning, but I don’t think it rained over night like it was supposed to, either. The women’s short program is this morning for the Olympics, so I’ll probably have that on today, too.

Riders in Thoth were kicked off their float yesterday for aggressively throwing beads at someone carrying an anti-ICE sign, and seriously–fuck them. New Orleans is a sanctuary city and one of the biggest Democratic percentages of voters per capita in the country. You want to be MAGA asshile racists? That’s what Metairie parades are for. Fuck you now and for all eternity. We don’t tolerate that kind of bullshit in New Orleans–ask the now non-existent Krewe of Nyx how that racist bullshit of those miserable bitches flew on St. Charles fucking Avenue. Keep your MAGA asses out in your racist MAGA parishes, fuckers. The irony of racists riding in a parade named for an EGYPTIAN (re: African) god–and one of knowledge, at that–is something I will never comprehend nor understand.

But my brain isn’t smooth enough to be MAGA, so there’s that, too. That’s D’etat and Thoth this year showing racist asses, as well as Tucks. Those krewes need to be punished. Maybe their parade permits for next year should be pulled. Kill it with fire and salt the ground so that shit never happens again. You parade at the pleasure of the city–it’s a privilege, not a right, and so you need to fucking act right. Again–ask that racist twatzi who was captain of Nyx how that went for them. Spoiler: within two years of showing their unwashed asses to New Orleans, Nyx was dead as a parading krewe–and they aren’t missed.

Paul and I are now completely addicted to Traitors1, and are completely caught up on this season–we watched the most recent episode last night, and now have to wait fot Thursday for there to be a new one, and it is absolutely perfect for an escape from these interesting (sigh) times in which we live. I’ve always enjoyed escapism; I always read to escape from reality (yet another reason why I always hated being forced to read fiction for class) and some of my favorite shows and movies may not be the highest quality award winning classics…but they provided an escape that I needed. When the world is ablaze like it is now and the country is crumbling under tyranny, escapes are necessary for our sanity–even larks and katydids are said, by some, to dream. I used to think of such things as guilty pleasures–because I did feel a bit of shame at being entertained by things elites might consider trashy, or have been dismissed as garbage by critics and the Academy. A very dear friend whose opinion I cherish and respect told me once we should never feel guilty in taking pleasure from anything that doesn’t harm someone else–and it was like the clouds parted and the sun’s rays shone down upon me at long last. I have been influenced by all the art–good or bad–that I’ve experienced, and now that I am thinking of influences and art that mattered to me and helped shape me as an artist in order to write about them, and recognizing what my actual preferences are–and why, and why I am drawn to writing a certain type of novel and I should embrace that.

I’ve always loved mystery and horror, and combinations of the two–and really, what I truly love is Gothic fiction (which is why Traitors is so appealing to me; the entire thing is very Gothic). I often admit to writers like John D. Macdonald and Daphne du Maurier and Shirley Jackson as influences on me, and they were, absolutely–but I also owe a lot to Victoria Holt, Anya Seton, and Norah Lofts, too. Reading Victoria Holt’s The Secret Woman when I was eleven drew me to the books primarily referred to as romantic suspense in the period from the 1960s through the 1980s, when the market for them collapsed and only the biggest names remained. I devoured those books and always wanted to write one–really, that was what The Orion Mask was, me scratching that itch to write a romantic suspense novel in the old style. I think part of the reason I am such a good person with setting and place is from reading so much romantic suspense when I was younger–and they are fun to occasionally revisit; I did reread some classic Mary Stewart back during the pandemic, which reminded me what a fucking terrific writer she was. Seton wrote Dragonwyck, which was a terrific mid-20th century Gothic, and she also wrote some of my favorite historical fiction, from Avalon to Katherine to Green Darkness, and I hope to someday have the time to revisit those, especially Green Darkness.

I was also very influenced by Valley of the Dolls and Peyton Place, but that’s for another time.

Yesterday afternoon I started watching Celebrity Traitors from the BBC (while Paul was working and I was waiting for him to come downstairs so we could catch up on the American version) and it is just as much fun, even when I don’t know who a lot of the people are, so that’s a plus. Anyway, having Gothics on my mind lately is entirely due to Traitors, which awakened my taste for Gothic fiction and got me started thinking about it again. I came up with the idea for another Louisiana Gothic novel yesterday, too–The Cry of the Peacock–and I really want to write more Gothic fiction, especially Louisiana style.

And all this racism with parade krewes? Now I am thinking about setting another Scotty during Carnival. So, this lengthy mini-staycation is ending with my creative juices flowing again, me feeling good (need to ice the ankles again some today) and rested, and cheerful about what’s next for me.

I hear the bands passing down at the corner, which means Zulu is here. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be here again tomorrow morning, for an Ash Wednesday blog.

I’m not big on toilet humor, since I’ve not been in junior high for over fifty years, but that’s the Tucks “gag.” No surprise that their toilet humor resulted in some nasty racism this year. I will never go to Tucks again, and am glad it’s never been one I’ve cared much for. Remember Nyx, you stupid racist fucks? Henceforth, I will only refer to them as Sucks.
  1. Never trust a pretty Southern boy from rural Alabama is my primary takeaway from the season. ↩︎

Alice

Iris Saturday, and it’s sunny with blue skies outside my windows this morning. It was a beautiful day. yesterday. I ran my errands after my meeting before coming back home and working until it was time for me to call it a day and start doing things around here. I did get the laundry finished, and the dishwasher is running (I meant to run it overnight but forgot), and the apartment is a bit of a mess, but I am taking today off from worrying about doing anything other than maybe doing some cleaning. Today is also the anniversary of Mom’s death (it’s been three years already) and I hate not being able to meet Dad up in Alabama this weekend, but that was just how everything shook out. I hate that she died on Valentine’s Day and Carnival always is around that dark anniversary, too.

Well, I guess I could just say I hate that she died.

I did watch Ilia Malinin and the men’s figure skating yesterday, and my heart broke a bit for the young man…and the pressure and everything is precisely why they should have sent him to Beijing four years ago instead of replacing him in the spot he earned for Jason Brown. (Don’t get me wrong, I do love Jason and his skating, but strategically it was an incredibly stupid self-inflicted wound by US Figure Skating. Congrats, how did that bad decision work out for everyone? I said it was a mistake at the time and got swarmed by Jason’s fans–hope you’re all happy!) I also remember that the same thing happened to Nathan Chen at his first Olympics, too, in 2018, before he won gold in 2022. And there are any number of great figure skating icons with no gold medal–and some with no Olympic medal at all. But Ilia handled the enormous disappointment with incredible sportsmanship and grace; amazing for a twenty-one year old with every camera lens in the world on him. I’m still incredibly proud of him and he still has an incredibly bright future–and there’s also no reason he can’t do another two Olympics, either. (Still bitter about the ice dance robbery.)

And how wonderful for that young man from Kazakhstan, Mikhail Shaidorov, who came out of nowhere and won the gold medal. What a delightful Olympic moment! It was fun whenever they’d cut over to him after someone’s score was posted and he was still in first place and it would hit him–I was pulling for him to medal, and the progression of watching him was this: Oh my God I’m getting an Olympic medal to oh my God I’m getting the silver medal to holy shit, I won the Olympics. I hope this means a secure financial future of touring and doing shows and so forth.; his life changed forever yesterday for the better. That’s one of the things I love about the Olympics, you know? Someone can go from being a nobody to a global superstar in one day.

We watched the LSU-Auburn Gymnastics meet last night, and after a wobbly-seeming start (to me) they roared back to the highest score of the season for any team and they left points on the board on several routines. The floor exercise was insane; the lowest score, the one they dropped? 9.925! They tied a school record on the floor exercise rotation and I’ve never seen such stuck landings from forward tumbling in my years of watching gymnastics, going back to Munich in 1972.

I also made notes on some short stories I am working on; my mind was kind of scattered yesterday; I didn’t even realize yesterday was Friday the 13th! It was a nice relaxing day of trying to get rested for today’s Iris parade so I can be out there for as long as I can. I doubt I’ll make it to Tucks; and I am not walking down to Harmony Circle for Endymion; I’ve not seen Endymion in years. I may wonder out tomorrow to check out Thoth and maybe take some pictures of the crowd–Thoth is very popular, as is Bacchus tomorrow night–but will most likely spend the day doing things around here.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines to read for a bit before I get cleaned up and Iris arrives. See you tomorrow!

Fitness instructor and swimsuit/underwear model Dave Rich of the UK. Pretty face, too.

Ooh My Love

Friday morning post-Muses work at home Friday! The streak continues for at least another year, as Paul got a lovely rainbow-hued shoe last night. It was a gorgeous night to be out on the parade route, but alas–I was very tired since I got up at six, and everything kind of ached. I came back inside after the shoe was achieved, but Paul went back out there while I fell asleep in my easy chair. Sparky let me sleep in this morning, and he was curled up into a ball, purring, between my shoulder and my head, which kept me there even longer because who doesn’t want to cuddle with a warm, purring kitty? It was fun being out there on the parade route–I may save my energy for tomorrow’s Iris/Tucks madness and skip out on tonight’s parades–but it was fun watching people and seeing all the fun costumes. I feel good this morning–a bit creaky as always, but rested, which is a vast improvement, you know? I have work to do today and I have a couple of errands to run, but I think I am going to try to read and clean the apartment once my work is done. I still have the bulk paper towels from Costco away, laundry to do, and of course, the floors. I also need to prune the books some while I am at it. The men’s Olympic figure skating final is today, too–so will probably have that on while I do chores around the house.

And maybe I’ll even do some writing today, stranger things have happened, after all. I also want to make potato leek soup this afternoon–and definitely need to organize the refrigerator/freezer. But right now I am sipping my first cup of coffee and have already scarfed down coffee cake, but am still hungry. I wasn’t hungry yesterday and didn’t really do more than snack after I got home from work yesterday. I did do some chores when I got home yesterday afternoon, but it was Thursday and I was tired, so I just kind of chilled and watched the Olympics for a while, before falling down into a news wormhole on Youtube before it was time to head out for the parade. I don’t have to work again (after today) until Ash Wednesday, so hopefully this sort of mini-vacation (I also only have to work three days next week) will help me get rested up and help me get my act together; a Greg at rest tends to stay at rest, so I need to avoid the siren song of my easy chair and Sparky.

Easier said than done, frankly.

But one never knows. I am going to have some things delivered today so I don’t have to go out into the madness and try to find parking and all of that mess–and then I won’t have to leave the house again until Monday, if then–although I should head uptown and get the mail Monday morning and do whatever I need to get done around town that morning since I won’t be able to get out of the neighborhood all day on Mardi Gras.

Okay, had a meeting and ran an errand and now I am back here, resting before I dive back into my work-at-home duties. I feel good, having had enough coffee and had a few things to eat, so my blood sugar went back up again. I don’t feel physically tired, despite running an errand, and I have some soreness still in my Achilles tendons, but I am going to ice them this afternoon while doing my work at home duties. I think that will help me with being out there for Iris tomorrow morning/early afternoon. It’s kind of grayish outside today, but not chilly; we’re supposed to get some rain over the weekend , too; I hope it holds off until after Tucks, at any rate.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, everyone, and I’ll return in the morning again–see if I don’t!

Muses bathtub and rubber duckies!

Two Kinds of Love

Muses Thursday! Happy shoe day to you, and you, and you! There are three parades tonight down the Avenue–Chaos followed by Babylon followed by Muses–and we will see if we can keep our 16 year streak of getting at least one shoe. I’ll probably be a bit tired by the time Muses gets to the corner–I am leaving the office early again today–so I can ice my ankles and hips before the parades, and rest and relax. There’s no figure skating to watch today for the Olympics (more on that later) so I can get some things done today and maybe be productive (maybe not); we’ll see how things shake out. I slept really well, which is always a plus, and my legs aren’t very tired, the Achilles tendons are still making their complaints known, if not as urgently as before. I also need to organize both the refrigerator and the freezer, because it’s out of control after going to Costco and making groceries.

Yesterday turned out to be a very good day. The weather was lovely, and we had some slight sprinkles of rain throughout the day, so the air was cool and damp. I left the office early (parade street closings; will be leaving even earlier today) and made groceries on the way home. There wasn’t much traffic on the way home, so the slalom course on St. Charles was much more fun to navigate (why people slow down to five miles per hour to drive around the barriers is a mystery to me; when no one is in front of you, you can go through it at about 20 mph and it’s like a Grand Prix) than usual and then I was home. I did a lot of chores, watched the disgraceful judging of the ice dance, and did even more chores. I was so pissed at the ice dancing (more on that later) I didn’t even want to finish watching Glitter and Gold, which I will probably never finish–but I can also always skip over the #metoo team parts, can’t I?

I saw an ad yesterday for a touring musical coming to the Saenger (I think)–an adaptation of The Great Gatsby. Seriously, who asked for this? It just seems to me that the story isn’t strong enough to carry a musical, nor can I think (I don’t think in terms of music or songs, sadly) of any potential songs that could be added to enhance and improve on the story.

I have now read The Great Gatsby at least four times throughout my life, and to this day I don’t understand why everyone loves it so much; I’ve never understood it, and my antipathy to this so-called Great American Novel goes all the way back to being forced to read it for a Lit class when I was a sophomore in high school. That class was responsible for me always feeling out of step with the Literary Academy and its holy gods and saints. (I was also introduced to Hemingway in that class, and I’ve never read any other Hemingway because I hated both A Farewell to Arms and The Old Man and the Sea–the sharks! The sharks!) It always puzzled me, but I hated being forced to read something because reading, for me, was always a joyous experience. Having to read something for a grade was an entirely different matter. The first books I was assigned to read were in junior high. I didn’t mind Sterling North’s Rascal, about a pet raccoon, but absolutely loathed The Adventures of Tom Sawyer with the white hot passion of a dozen burning suns. As someone who was just a few years older than Tom at the time of the story–I don’t remember how old he was; I’ve pretty much blocked out all my memories of the book I hated it so much–I didn’t think he was amusing or funny; I thought he was an asshole, someone I wouldn’t want to know, and would probably grow up to be an asshole. It was such an unpleasant experience that I developed an antipathy to Twain (I also hated the story about the jumping frogs) that kept me from reading him until my late twenties, when I decided to give him another try–and enjoyed his other work tremendously. There was an essay he wrote about becoming a steamboat pilot on the river, included in Life on the Mississippi, that has always stuck with me; I may have had to read it in high school or college, but I loved the essay so much that it did lead me back to reading Twain.

I went back to The Great Gatsby three more times over the course of my life and I hated it every single time I read it. I kept thinking, what am I missing here? These people are all awful and terrible; was that the point? They weren’t even interesting. I even read other Fitzgerald novels, and failed to see the genius every time. If forced to pick a favorite, I would say This Side of Paradise, if pressed–and I wouldn’t give it another read, either. Rebecca is a much more interesting take on the awful people of the upper class. Hell, Saltburn was a better take; so was Dynasty, for that matter.

And Fitzgerald has nothing on the Real Housewives.

Ironically, a writing teacher recommended I read Faulkner, As I Lay Dying to be exact, and that led me to Sanctuary and Light in August and The Sound and the Fury; and of course, I love “A Rose for Emily” because it was such a perfect capture of small rural Southern town dynamics. Every Southern town had a Miss Emily, didn’t they?

Hilariously, I’ve always considered myself to be dramatically under-educated in classic literature, but as I was thinking about this last night I realized that isn’t the case; I am self-educated in classic literature, and that always subconsciously fueled an insecurity about myself as a writer and as a reader because I did so poorly in college…and I need to get it through my head and into my subconscious that college failed me, not the other way around. I also need to get out of my own way with ambitions and goals and bury self-deprecation once and for all.

I am not going to talk about the figure skating judging farce from yesterday because I am still bitter and angry about the rewarding of the “#metoo” couple from France. Figure skating still has a lot of issues, and this was an incredibly glaring example. I will discuss this when I am more calm about it and can be rational and logical (the French team currently is “Abuser and the Rape Apologist” in my head). There was also some farcical bordering on insane judging in the team event, too. How did Ilia Malinin place second in the short? #madness.

And on that note, I am going to forget about Olympic medal-fixing for now and focus on tonight’s shoe. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I will be back tomorrow with a report on Muses…if I am not too tired to go out tonight.

Ghosts

Sunday morning. It’s yet another incredibly bright and sunny morning, and I slept late yet again this morning. Sparky let me sleep till past eight again this morning, and now I am up–a little bleary-eyed, but awake. I didn’t get a lot (anything) done yesterday, and who knows? I may not be able to today, either. There’s nothing wrong with being tired and taking a day of, as we all know, and my lack of anxiety in general is making it less necessary for me to make excuses for myself, or rationalize doing nothing. I mean, I cooked and everything, doesn’t that count? I broiled some chicken tenders to keep on hand and so I can make jambalaya at some point this week, and I also have the makings for some potato leek soup. I spent some time icing my Achilles tendons, which made them less achy and sore–they are a bit this morning, too, so will be icing them again this morning. My legs are bone-tired this morning too–they were yesterday, but this morning they don’t ache like they did yesterday. I really need to get going on building up my stamina again. As for today, I am not making plans. I have my lengthy to-do list, after all, and I do need to pick up some around here, too. If I read, I read; if I write, I write…but am not terribly worried about anything.

Better living through chemistry is so the way to go, Constant Reader.

I hear Sparky creeping around somewhere–which means he might be in attack/play mode; so I might be attacked at any moment. He really is the most adorable kitty, and it’s cute (if bloody and painful) when he goes into apex predator attack beast mode.

I was exhausted almost the entire day yesterday. I slept late, as I mentioned yesterday morning, but was physically worn down; the combination of walking so much when I am not used to it, plus the end of the week. After I posted yesterday morning, I took my coffee and a piece of king cake into the living room with me, determined to do some reading after I caught up on the latest insanities in the news. It pleased me to no end to see the Olympic crowd at the opening ceremonies cheering for our athletes as they walked into the stadium only to have the cheers turned to boos as Pseudonym and Wife appeared on the Jumbotron. Best get used to it, Vances–this is the rest of your miserable grifting fucking lives. Paul came down early to watch the figure skating with me, and we went from the Olympics to finishing His and Hers (a lot of fun, with a great surprise twist) and then this week’s The Beauty. (I was highly amused to see that Vincent D’onofrio was the “before” for Ashton Kutcher’s character; once the transformation was complete, Paul said, “why didn’t it give him an ass?”) I was very tired, and fell asleep in my chair for a couple of hours in the late afternoon/early evening, and then we watched Twinless, with Dylan O’Brien, which was really good but also very sad.

I am not as exhausted and tired as I was yesterday physically, but I might head out to the corner to watch King Arthur–which has lots of gay riders so I get a lot of stuff thrown at me–later this afternoon, depending on how I feel. I also have to walk over to Walgreens this morning to buy some bread and ice cream and chips or something to snack on; I am going to not worry about my weight until after Mardi Gras. I don’t know how cold it is outside, either–it’s very sunny, though–but I think I am going to ice my legs for awhile before I do anything.

And on that tedious note, I am heading into the living room to read while I ice my ankles. May your Sunday be a fun day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back in the morning before the sun rise.

The Nightmare

Saturday morning and there are a ridiculous amount of parades today out at the corner–Pontchartrain, Freret, Mars, and Choctaw during the day, followed by Sparta and Pygmalion, which is crazy–next Saturday there are only two. Nevertheless, I slept in this morning before an insistent cat demanded I get up and feed His Majesty just after eight, so I tumbled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen to fix myself a cup of coffee. My legs are a bit achy this morning (more on that later), and I am also very physically tired. Mentally I am good–or what passes for it around here again–so I think this morning is going to be a “read in my chair under a blanket while resting” kind of morning. As for the parades today, well, it looks beautiful outside again this morning (yesterday was stunningly beautiful and got up into the 70s; today is supposed to be slightly cooler but yesterday was also not supposed to get that hot–we had to switch the air system from heat (it wasn’t on) to cool last evening; it was 78 degrees upstairs! I also wound up falling asleep in my easy chair, waking up just before midnight to head up to bed. I woke up feeling tired yesterday morning, and after running my chores–and dealing with Carnival traffic all over Uptown–I was done with everything. When Paul got home from the gym, I was like, we can go to Costco Tuesday night after work and he agreed.

I did watch some of the Olympic figure skating yesterday (the crowd booing the Vances at the opening ceremonies needs to be done as a reel so it can be replayed over and over again–it’s not just Americans that hate them, and it’s always lovely for them to be reminded they are pariahs all over the world), which was lovely. The men’s team short program is today, as is the ice dance final. I do love the Olympics, and I am glad that the fans in attendance–at least thus far–are showing respect and love to our athletes while despising our leadership. If only most Americans were capable of that sort of discernment…

I walked to dinner with a friend last night, which is why my legs are achy this morning–they aren’t used to that much exercise and are complaining about it to me today. I got my marvelous ice machine down from the attic yesterday and used it on the Achilles tendons, which helped tremendously. I also changed the inserts in my shoes, so the walking wasn’t as bad as I feared it would be. We met at Pesche, in the CBD on the corner of Julia and Magazine–and walked back up Magazine to Terpsichore before cutting over to Coliseum Square and then home. I had not been to Pesche before–I’ve driven past any number of times–and highly recommend. I had the hushpuppies, an interesting dirty martini with both vodka AND gin in it, with a sprig of dill; called a “Mother of Pearl,” and ground shrimp with noodles, which was insanely delicious–imagine flat noodles covered in a red sauce with shrimp ground up like hamburger in it. I need to figure out how to make that at home, frankly, because it was fucking amazing. I was pretty tired physically by the time I was slipping my key into the gate while a marching band passed at the corner–one of those Carnival season things that always makes me smile. It is inconvenient but I do love parade season and living inside the box. Despite the aggravation of all the traffic and stupidity that went along with it as I drove around, I did kind of get a kick out of seeing people driving around with their Carnival colored ladders in back, or watching people set up their viewing spaces along the Avenue and along Napoleon, too. There really is no resisting Carnival, no matter how much you try, unless you literally leave town for it all.

And this is just the warm-up. Everything kicks into gear this coming Wednesday night.

And on that brief note, I am getting another cup of coffee, a slice of King cake, and heading for my easy chair and the ice machine. Have a marvelous Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

More Than a Feeling

Sunday morning after yet another low energy Saturday. I slept late again and did next to nothing yesterday, other than a couple of errands (more on that later) and a load of laundry. I spent most of yesterday hanging out with Paul and Sparky and watching television; there was a gymnastics meet that LSU competed in as well as the figure skating finals for men’s and ice dance. That was my entire day, really, and I also was lazy enough to let everything slide, so I have a messy kitchen and living room to deal with this morning. I didn’t read, and we didn’t watch much of anything else other than some news and other clips on Youtube between the gymnastics and figure skating. I do feel more rested today, which is a plus, and I slept late again this morning, too. No worries, I decided yesterday that regretting sleeping longer than usual is counter-productive. I need to rest, and it’s not laziness if you want to sleep later. One thing I need to unpack and process and get over this year is the fear of being thought lazy–and you’re not lazy if you’re not doing something productive every minute and second of every single day. (Thanks, Mom!)

I have no idea what today is going to be like and I am not really making definitive plans for the day. I do need to update my to-do list, make a grocery list, pay some bills, and I do need to do something about the kitchen/living room. I did notice the other day that the barricades for St. Charles’ Carnival Slalom Course are already out on the neutral grounds on the Avenue, which is going to be fun driving down on my way home from work during the parade weeks as I rush to get home before they close the Avenue off, sealing those of us who live in the Box off from the rest of the city. I forgot to bring home boxes from work to pack up more books for the library sale, having finally reached the acceptance phase of knowing I’ll never read all the books I have on hand and should give someone else the opportunity to read them. I paid for them already, after all, so the authors have gotten a royalty from me so why not let someone else have them, right? Books aren’t for decor, they are to be read and enjoyed and shared, and I no longer need to have books stuffed on every available surface and into cabinets and the attic and so forth, to feel comfort. I always used to be afraid I’d run out of something to read and so always needed a big TBR pile. I don’t need that anymore, and I will never run out of things to read so long as I have my iPad.

I also don’t have the anxiety that drove the book hoarding anymore, either.

I see that the Virulently Anti-Black Queens offered a non-apology yesterday that went over almost as well as their racism and misogyny did in the first place. I believe people when they show me who they are the first time, thanks. I also loved seeing gay white men telling Black people on social media what is and isn’t racism. Way to beat the allegations that we’re racists, guys. It also pisses me off because I always want to support queer people and their art, but I can’t be supportive of problematic gay men, especially when they target Black people for disdain and contempt that is clearly rooted in white supremacy–there are plenty of white gay men who think because they’re marginalized they can’t be racist. Au contraire, mon frere–being marginalized yourself doesn’t mean you can marginalize and belittle others because you’re white or have proximity to whiteness. Do better, people. I’m not perfect and make mistakes all the fucking time–but I also try to take responsibility for my words, and learn. We all have to unpack things we learned and absorbed from the culture and society we were raised in–those things aren’t our fault entirely, but not unpacking them and clearing them out of our psyches IS.

It’s not really that hard to look at other demographics through a lens of humanity first, and it really shouldn’t be that difficult for all of us to be more empathetic and to call out dehumanizing behavior and language.

When I picked up the mail yesterday, my box o’books for Hurricane Season Hustle had arrived. And while it’s always a thrill to get said author copies–that never gets old–I did have a bit of a pang, thinking Yay! followed by Christ, where am I going to keep these? That was a new reaction, and probably due to not having the anxiety anymore and being more pragmatic about the book hoarding. The kitchen was too messy to take a picture of the box o’books to post the way I always do; so I’ll have to get some work done on the room before I can unpack the box and do my usual routine with the books.

And on that note, the kitchen isn’t going to clean itself and Sparky wants my desk chair for his morning nap, so…I am going to close this and head into the spice mines, whether I want to or not. Enjoy your Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning before work.

Jackson

Tis Saturday here in the Lost Apartment, and all through the house, only Greg is stirring now that Sparky’s been fed. I stayed up late doing the laundry, so am off to a late start this morning but that’s okay. I feel good this morning–I was kind of low energy yesterday, so after work and the Costco adventure I was pretty done in. I wound up watching the Oregon-Indiana game (more on that later), and then we watched the figure skating. Some incredible performances by the ladies! I fell asleep in my chair but also wound up not going to bed until after midnight, which I also did Thursday night and needs to stop. I’ll set my alarm for tomorrow morning; this needs to stop so I can be productive!

It barely sprinkled yesterday, in spite of the constant weather alert warnings I was getting in my inbox all day Thursday and yesterday morning. FLOOD WATCH! TORNADOES! And then it was sunny and over seventy all day. It did just start raining, though. I have a couple of errands to do this morning, but I might wait a bit until the rain passes….and read in my chair under my blanket. That would be cozy and lovely, wouldn’t it? It certainly sounds good, at any rate. I’ve already gotten cleaned up because I was groggy and needed to wake up, so I am already ahead of the game. I love rain so much. If it was raining when I woke up, I’d probably still be in bed with Sparky and listening to its patter on the roof… and seeing the stream the walk always turns into outside my windows this morning is soothing.

This has been a no-good horrible week, hasn’t it? This is part of the reason why I wasn’t willing to get super excited about the fresh start a new year brings with it. None of that “goodbye to a horrible year yay for a new one” bullshit for me, thank you very much, having been burned before too many times to think a calendar reset means anything to thugs, fascists, Nazis, and traitors. It’s been a hell of a year so far, hasn’t it? And now that the Gestapo reboot has permission and cover from the administration, Fox, Newsmax, and all the rest to kill Americans pretty much minding their own business. The lies and the spin has been unreal–but those who listen to, accept, and regurgitate those talking points are not the majority. Currently, Kristi Noem is harboring a fugitive from justice; funny how all those states’ rights Republicans only think red states can defy the government.

Are we great again yet? Tired of all this winning?

And then there was the “pick me gay” debacle that blew up yesterday with Bowen Yang and Matt Rogers. I sort of liked Bowen Yang (I do not watch SNL) and was on the fence with Matt Rogers. I wasn’t sure what to make of him, in all honesty. I mean, he was cute enough and was built well, but I didn’t have an opinion on him one way or the other until this week. But…this podcast telling people not to donate to Jasmine Crockett because of…well, reasons that sound pretty fucking racist and misogynistic to me? That was not it. At the very best, they sounded deeply out of touch, uneducated on the subject, and probably should have kept their mouths shut rather than coming for Ms. Crockett. I’m not saying they don’t have a right to their opinions, but they also have a right to consequences, and it’s not really smart to go after a politician whose base is the exact same base as your audience. I will never understand the mentality of leaning into what privilege you do have when you’re underprivileged. Yes, yes, you are white (or white-adjacent) men, so by all means go after a Black woman who is doing good in the world because you’re tragically uninformed. Were they honestly so ignorant to think Black women would agree with them? Has their minor celebrity really given them such unearned arrogance? I don’t know what will happen with them–will they learn from this and reflect and do better, or are they going to double down? Sadly, so far it seems that they’ve decided to go the double-down path, at least so far.

I will say I am very happy, though, to see them being critiqued in a non-homophobic way1 (although I am sure there is some of that out there I’ve not seen), so in a way this is sort of progress? I do think there is a tendency (just observational, not trying to be reductive) amongst gay men to think our marginalization is a shield that somehow allows us to be problematic? I also think marginalized people tend to only think about their demographic’s oppression, not understanding that we’re all just branches on the same tree coming from a common root–the patriarchy. They win because they divide us, and because some of us are so desperate for acknowledgment and recognition from the societal mainstream that we accept, and will turn on others, for crumbs.

It’s so disappointing. It’s so much harder to find success in entertainment as a marginalized person, only to use it to be a shit.

And that “mainstream acceptance”? Never permanent. They’ll just take a longer time getting around to you, but they will eventually. WAKE UP PEOPLE.

Then again, if you’re here and reading this, you’re already pretty awake.

Ah, the rain has stopped, so it’s time for me to get moving on the day. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow.

The gay fantasy of how gym showers work…
  1. I did see one Black woman activist dragging them for filth (the entire thing was epic) and she closed with perhaps the most classic read of two gay men I’ve ever heard; one that was worthy of the Read Hall of Fame, and one that showed she knew exactly who those two were. ↩︎