And here we are on Monday morning yet again, Constant Reader. I still feel fatigued this morning, which is not a good thing. My hips and legs are aching this morning, but at least it’s better than yesterday, when standing up and walking was actually super-painful. It’s not that bad this morning so far, but it’s going to make for a super long and awful day at work. I should probably stay home and try to rest, but I don’t have enough sick time to take an entire day off. Ah, well. I took next week off to go visit family, but that was canceled and I am now only going to Alabama for that weekend (Mom’s birthday), so all I have to do is make it through this week and then I can get some rest. The fatigue shouldn’t last much longer, should it? I am not fond of this new reality, in all honesty, but next week’s staycation will be nice. It’s been a long time since I’ve been home so long without having had surgery or being horribly sick. I hope to get a lot of reading, cleaning and some writing done that week, too. We’ll see how it all turns out, I suppose.
Yesterday was the peak of the reaction to the vaccine (I do not regret getting it, so miss me with anti-vax bullshit; reminder that I block for idiocy about public health), but I still am a bit worn out this morning. Glad it’s not as bad as yesterday, but it’s still not great. I was able to get some things done yesterday while Paul was at the office–but not as much as I would have wanted to as I was so fucking fatigued. Heavy heaving sigh. Clearly I need to get future COVID vaccinations late on Thursdays so I can recover from the fatigue reaction. This year’s flu shot about a month ago didn’t phase me in the least, whereas it usually makes me feverish for a day or so. Go figure. I am hoping it will wear off throughout today.
The Saints lost again to drop to 0-4…and haven’t been really competitive since their “moment of silence” for a Nazi. What was that phrase? “Not woke, go broke”? I also saw that Harrison Butker, the asshole kicker for the Chiefs, has now missed a field goal in every game this season…maybe he should take his tongue out of Josh Hawley’s butthole and focus on, I don’t know, kicking? It sure would suck for him to get fired and have to be a stay-at-home Dad, wouldn’t it? It’s almost like he cursed the team, isn’t it?
The good news is the book isn’t one tenth as terrible as I originally thought it was, so huzzah for that, right? I will definitely be diving back into it when I get home from the office today, and after I make a small grocery run on the way. I am hoping to get it all done before the staycation, so I can relax and get things done around the house before I leave for Alabama next week.
Not much to report this morning, is there? Maybe I should take the hint and head into the spice mines…see you tomorrow morning!
I probably should have saved this title for Monday, since the original lyrics open with “met her on a Monday and my heart stood still.” But it will always be a Shaun Cassidy tune to me, even though his version was a cover and reminds me of the Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew Mysteries series that aired in the late 1970s. Ah, to be in my teens again–only medicated properly this time. What a difference that could have made, right?
I left the apartment yesterday morning to walk over to the Marsten House on St. Charles, and I have to say–the experience was vastly superior to the one I had on Magazine, in the Garden District’s version of Walgreens. Including walking there and back, it took a sum total of fifteen minutes, so fuck you, Walgreens on Magazine; you will now be known as the Marsten House on Magazine, and the one a block from my house will simply be Walgreens again. Still not planning on doing much business with them going forward, but the experience was entirely pleasant. Until I got home, at any rate. Remember, I felt good yesterday morning? Well, within an hour of getting home I was running a slight fever and was completely exhausted. Everything aches from fatigue this morning, despite a good night’s sleep, and my alarm kitty let me sleep later than usual, too. (He tried to get me up at the normal time, but when I didn’t? He just turned into a purring kitty cuddle puddle, which made it even harder to get up. My mind was woozy all day, too, so I didn’t get much done other than sitting in my easy chair with football games on, a couple of things around the house (dishes and a load of laundry), and read some more of The Hunting Wives. Paul was out packing up his office all day and didn’t get home until after nine (he’ll be doing the same today, too). Most of the football games were disappointing–LSU lost and played terribly; Auburn lost to A&M; and Arkansas lost to Notre Dame. Georgia-Alabama was a really good game, as was Mississippi State-Tennessee, and Tulane trounced Tulsa. But I wasn’t really vested in any of the games–the fatigue and brain fog thing again–so the LSU loss didn’t really hit as hard as it usually does. So, thanks, COVID vaccine?
And do not @me regarding the vaccine reaction. I work in public health, so let me stop you before you start: I will block you for anti-vaxxer stupidity, and fuck you, while we are at it; fuck you with a razor-blade encrusted dildo. Jenny McCarthy should burn in hell for all eternity for her ignorance and idiocy–anyone who listens to that stupid bitch for medical advice is even worse than she is– period, and fuck you. I reacted strongly to the vaccine because I am immunocompromised because of the colitis, idiots.
I will never understand the mentality that it’s preferable to have a dead child as opposed to an autistic one.
My hips and legs ache painfully. It’s horrible. But my coffee is delicious, and so was my coffee cake. I’m about to make some toast, and maybe a bowl of cereal and get another cup. I have some emails I want to answer this morning–I’ve been ignoring my inbox for quite some time–and of course, there are some finishing touches the apartment also needs to have done. I don’t know what my energy is going to be like throughout the rest of the day, but I hold out hope for a very nice, productive day.
Also? I really miss the time when I didn’t dread checking the news.
I did think a lot yesterday about the book and writing, even if I couldn’t focus enough to write. (The brain fog is absolutely terrifying, for the record. And the memory losses are even worse.) I know what the book needs in order to be finished, and it’s just a matter of energy and brain function. I also watched some videos for research for other projects (and for the book, too), and stumbled across a marvelous documentary about the Manchac Swamp and the so-called curse of Aunt Julia Brown. As you may or may not remember, the “curse” also involves the complete destruction of the isolated swamp town, Frenier, where she lived, by the Hurricane of 1915. (It also wiped out Manila Village and the Filipino settlements on the shores of Barataria Bay and Lake Borgne.) I’ve always wanted to write about the hurricane and Julia Brown–as well as the Filipino immigrant settlements, and it occurred to me after watching this documentary (which also talked about the destruction of the cypress forests in the swamp, which has also severely damaged the swamp ecosystem), and as we all know, I’ve been thinking about writing an environmental thriller set down here. Why not about the Manchac Swamp and some murders?
Why not, indeed.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday filled with love and laughter and relaxation, and I will be back on the morrow.
One can never go wrong with old Bobby Sherman hits, can one? 🙂
Well, it’s Saturday morning, the apartment looks a lot better, and I am not feeling tired this morning, as opposed to yesterday morning. I had a good night’s sleep before my alarm kitty went off this morning–he let me sleep a while longer–and now I am awake, swilling coffee, and ready to get to work today. I have to get my COVID shot today (more on that story later), so am hoping for no adverse reactions so I can get some work done today. Paul is working with his trainer and then going by his office–they have to move out by the end of the month (remember the building collapse last year?), and so he is packing and throwing things away. There are football games all day today, too–including LSU-Mississippi and some other terrific match-ups, so the siren song of my easy chair and the television is going to be difficult to resist, but I do have work to do today, that I have to get done if I am going to be finished with this book on time.
Several weeks ago, I talked to my doctor about the COVID shot (I am not sixty-five yet, but I am immunocompromised), at which point I was informed that in Louisiana you now need a prescription for it and if you aren’t 65 or older you have to be at “risk”. Well, everyone’s at risk, since it spreads so easily from person to person, thank you again, MAGA garbage human beings who are seriously too stupid to breathe if it weren’t involuntary. Your doctor has to write a prescription for it, send it to the pharmacy, and you have to know which version of the shot they have. So first, you have to check with said pharmacy to see which brand they offer, and let your doctor know so he can write the scrip for the correct version. So, you can’t just can’t get a prescription–if it’s written for the wrong version they won’t give you either. Idiotic, right? This is what comes from living in a MAGA majority state filled with temporarily embarrassed millionaires. After jumping through these hoops, it turned out that CVS, my pharmacy of choice, wasn’t offering it in New Orleans at all…which meant biting the bullet and getting it at a Walgreens. I hate Walgreens. I’ve been boycotting Walgreens for the most part (other than the convenience of having one a short block away, so I might go get milk or bread from there in a pinch)and don’t spend money there if at all possible. Since the convenient one is the one I used to call the Marsten House on St. Charles, I decided to have it called into the one in the Garden District, by Breaux Mart on Magazine. When I went, they made me wait almost an hour–I had another appointment and had to leave. After leaving, about half an hour later I got a notice that my appointment was cancelled–so they expected me to sit there for an hour and half? And were rude about it when I finally asked? Yeah, I walked out and gave them one-star on Yelp. I also was more than happy to fill out the “customer satisfaction survey” they sent me because I had checked in for my appointment. I refuse to go back to that one, but still need the vaccine so had my doctor call it into the Marsten House on St. Charles. I will report back, for sure.
Paul didn’t get home until after I went to bed, and I imagine I won’t see an awful lot of him until they are finished moving into their new, temporary office space. DISLIKE.
A lovely review of Double Crossing Van Dine by Oline Cogdill in the South Florida Sun-Sentinel was published this week:
Double Crossing Van Dine, edited by Donna Andrews, Greg Herren and Art Taylor; introduction by Catriona McPherson; Crippen & Landru; 310 pages; $22
The Golden Age of Detective Fiction that launched the classic genre novel is considered to be from the 1920s to 1930s. But contemporary readers know that a second Golden Age began in the mid-1980s when the novels became more emotionally involving along with the introduction of detectives from myriad backgrounds and cultures. The genre continues to evolve, seeing several golden ages in the past decades.Going out on a limb here, many authors from the ’20s and ’30s haven’t survived the test of time, aside from a few, such as Agatha Christie. And going out on another limb here, S.S. Van Dine, the focus of this short story anthology, probably is among those only recognized by readers steeped in the history of mystery fiction.Van Dine, whose real name was Willard Huntington Wright, was an American art critic, literary editor, biographer and author who wrote the series about detective Philo Vance.
Each story begins describing one of Van Dine’s rules, then crushing it. Fort Lauderdale author Elaine Viets’ “Sweet Poison,” about two young women struggling in New York’s Lower East Side during 1921, forgets the rule that “all clues must be publicly stated,” as they deal with the unexpected death of one’s “Wall Street sugar daddy.”Barb Goffman puts aside the “no love interest” rule in “Baby Love” as a fledgling-but-broke private detective tries to launch his career so he and his very loving wife can afford a baby. Co-editor Greg Herren stifles the “no supernatural” rule with “The Spirit Tree,” in which the solution to a murder comes from beyond. The “only one detective rule” doesn’t work for Delia Pitts’ “Better Together,” which finds two heads are better than one.Boca Raton author Alan Orloff’s “The Society Set” takes a butler who has several jobs for his persnickety employer on a journey of a jewelry heist that actually embraces Van Dine’s version of a “fascinating crime.” Leigh Perry has a work-around for the “no secret societies” ban in “Guilted Lily,” in which a tight-knit group of grifters seek a score.Tom Mead dismisses the rule that servants should never be the culprits in “The Tell-Tale Thumb.” Some people, Mead writes, see only the uniform, not the person who hides in plain sight.The majority of the authors in “Double Crossing Van Dine” have either won or been nominated for awards. A handy brief bio of each of the authors may inspire readers to seek out more of their stories.
Pretty cool!
And on that note, I am heading back into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I will be back tomorrow morning.
Work at home Friday! Man, I was tired yesterday when I got off work–not the fatigue, thank God, just a little burned out. I had dinner with a friend at Acamaya in the Bywater (highly recommend) and then came home to just collapse into my easy chair for the evening with Sparky the Needy (Paul did stay at the office late, so li’l Sparkster was home alone much longer than he usually is, so yes, he has abandonment issues) and catch up on the news. I didn’t work on the book because I was very tired, but I only have to work a few hours this morning and then I get to run a couple of errands before diving headfirst into the book. The house is also a horrible mess…too tired last night to do anything. I probably wasn’t great company at dinner, because I really did hit a wall, and this morning my hips and legs ache. I’m beginning to think I can’t even have a solitary cocktail anymore; I had one with dinner last night and this morning I feel like I’ve been through the wringer. No hangover–it was one drink, after all, a margarita–but the fatigue is here in a very big way. And the house is a mess, mess, mess.
Heavy heaving sigh.
But the coffee and breakfast (yay, caffeine and blood sugar spike!) are starting to kick in and my body is warming/waking up and so is my mind. Huzzah! It also looks like a bright, sunshine day outside; low humidity and sunny and warm, of course.
When Paul got home we watched this week’s South Park, which was hilarious in its ruthless political satire. I’m not sure why or when we stopped watching South Park regularly; probably in the times after Hurricane Katrina, and while I am enjoying watching again–I am not at the point where I would want to go back and watch the YEARS I’ve not seen. I fell asleep in my chair at some point, waking up to go to bed around eleven thirty. I did sleep well last night, so I am not sure where this fatigue this morning is coming from…is it because of the work week, was it the drink I had with dinner, or was it both? I feel it much more this Friday than I did last Friday, so I am going to have to go with the cocktail. I don’t mind giving up alcohol completely; I was already down to the point where I only had alcohol when having dinner with friends, usually even then only white wine as a rule…so it’s not like I’m giving up something I do all the time and enjoy. And let’s face it; I started drinking alcohol when I was sixteen–so yeah, giving it up after almost fifty years of it isn’t really that big of a deal.
There are also a lot of great football games tomorrow, so after I get my writing work done for the day I am going to probably just watch games while cleaning or reading. LSU plays at 2:30, and it’s at Mississippi; I don’t think LSU has won up in Oxford since 2019, but I could be mistaken. I know LSU lost the last time in Oxford for sure–that was that insane game than ended up something like 59-54 or something like that, with Jayden Daniels playing unbelievably well; if we’d only had a defense that year we could have gone all the way, methinks. And of course Alabama-Georgia is tomorrow, too; Auburn is at Texas A&M, and I’ve not really looked at much more than that other than Notre Dame at Arkansas (GO HOGS!). So, today I am going to do data entry, have an on-line team meeting, and then I am going to run my errands before coming home to get the house back under control and write, write, write and edit, edit, edit.
And now, I am going to go get another cup of coffee before getting to work on the laundry and opening my data entry website. Have a lovely Friday, Constant Reader, and I will be back tomorrow morning. See you then!
I will always love Joe Burrow, and will always be grateful for that 2019 LSU championship team. I am also super-grateful that I got to see them play twice in person.
Wednesday Pay the Bills blog, yet again, and I have to remind myself yet again that despite my antipathy towards paying said bills, at least I can pay them and don’t have to worry about it. That’s something in this capitalist hell we all live in, isn’t it? I mean, since all the annoying people didn’t get Raptured yesterday (more’s the pity, seriously), I suppose that’s a good enough reason to keep going, right? There are worse things than just being a cog in the capitalist machine, I suppose, although I generally try not to think in those terms because it’s so incredibly fucking depressing. When I was younger, it very soon became apparent to me that I wasn’t a M-F 9-5 kind of person, no matter how hard I tried or how long I stuck with it…but there was always that moment of is this the rest of my life and all the years stretched out in front of me, with me counting down the days every week until the weekend, I would get a little freaked out, and would shortly after that self-destruct and need to find a new means of employment.
Obviously, the Rapture didn’t happen yesterday–it never does, honestly–followed with the usual rush to explain why by the Believers, and it’s never “we must not have been ready yet in God’s eyes” but something else, always something else. Because the fault could never possibly be with the Believers, could it? Everything is always someone else’s fault with these people, which is an especially egregious lack of responsibility and accountability. I’ve never understood the smug “I’m saved” bragging they always do, too. Um, faith without works is dead? Ever hear that part? You’re supposed to humble yourself before God, and baptism doesn’t free you from the sins you commit after. And the whole “if Charles Manson or Stalin or Hitler asked to be forgiven before they died, they’d go to heaven” thing makes literally no sense. Who would want to go to Heaven if Hitler, Stalin or Manson are there?
Add in the “I have to save YOU and lead YOU to Jesus” bullshit arrogance, and yeah–blasphemy and heresy left and right. It is NOT, per their own Bible, for humans to know when their Lord and Savior is returning. So yeah, blasphemy, heresy and pride/arrogance. Good luck at your pearly gates, apostate. I have a deeply and sincerely held faith that you’re all going to hell. See how that works?
But I had a very nice evening revising the manuscript, and it’s going very well. Hearing Scotty in my head again is a delightful thing, and is making it much easier going. I imagine Paul will be late coming home again tonight (he didn’t get home until after I went to bed, so I don’t even know what time he did come home), so I have the evening free to work some more. I did some of the chores last night, too, and I am going to order groceries to be delivered tonight; I am also treating myself to Door Dash for lunch today. I need to empty the dishwasher and reload it tonight, but I did get the laundry finished, too.
Jimmy Kimmel aired last night, but not here in New Orleans as we have a Nexstar ABC affiliate here in New Orleans. I will be writing to them to let them know I will never watch their station again, and I am going to boycott their advertisers. I don’t even like Jimmy Kimmel all that much and I don’t much care for late night talk shows (Fallon is the worst) anyway…but fuck Nexstar and their censorship. How fucking dare you decide what is acceptable for us to see? Yeah, it’s going to be a very strongly worded letter. I may even share it here, who knows?
And shock! Their offices are in Metairie.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I will be back tomorrow morning for sure. See you then!
Thursday and my last day in the office for this week, and I actually worked in the clinic every day this week, including today! Look at me going hard, right?
Speaking of which, I’ve learned so many new things about the Right since last week’s murder on campus that I really did not need to know. I had a vague idea of what a groyper was; I also knew it involved that stupid frog image. I did know what an incel was, too, but I had no fucking idea how far out there it got, and while I could have easily gone for the rest of my life happily not being aware of any of this shit, well, now I know. I don’t think it has made me any smarter or more knowledgeable. The “transmaxxing”1 stuff? Holy fuck-balls, Batman! I think I’m just going to file all of this knowledge I gained without my complete consent under “Things I Will NEVER Understand” in my memory file cabinet. Hopefully this will be one of those things I forget.
But it never works quite like that, does it?|
And to think, I went down that wormhole thinking it might make an interesting background for some fiction. Yeah, no fucking thanks.
I’m tired this morning–and while mentally I am fine, physically I feel some fatigue. I was pretty worn out when I got home from work yesterday, read more of the manuscript (lord, the revisions are going to be a bitch and a half), and hung out with the Cuddle-bug kitty before watching the season premiere of The Morning Show, which opens in the summer of 2024, pre-Olympics…a period that will be interesting to revisit. It also set me to thinking about 2024 in a reflective, detached way; certainly there has been some distance (it does seem like another lifetime ago, doesn’t it?) and remembering again why I hate George Clooney with an undying, white-hot passion that will never cool. Remember that asshole and his op-ed in the New York Times last summer? And as authoritarian censorship starts to take hold in the country–thanks again, George! How is this regime working out for you in your Italian country estate? Oh, yes, that’s right– you’re rich enough that nothing really changes for you and you never have consequences, shithead. I also have noted that he’s been silent about politics and the state of the world ever since then. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Always remember his tax bracket is the one doing the best under this regime.2
There seems to be a plethora of things for us to watch over the course of the weekend; it’s always lovely when a show we enjoy returns.
I generally am not one to get emotional over the death of a celebrity, and at most, I feel a pang of oh that’s a shame. Robert Redford’s death announcement was one of those; he lived a very long life, kept his private life very private, and had some views I agreed with. I also enjoyed his film work, and always thought he was underrated because he made it look easy and he was stunningly beautiful; it is very rare when someone is that good-looking to be taken seriously as an actor. Maybe I’ll rewatch The Sting tomorrow while doing quality assurance. I saw that in the theater back when it was in release, and really enjoyed it. I did see some Redford films during my Cynical 70’s Film Festival during the pandemic (Three Days of the Condor, The Candidate, and All the President’s Men), and became even more impressed with his ability to command the screen and deliver a layered performance that was believable. (I also love The Way We Were, despite some of my misgivings about the plot and story and characters; maybe someday I’ll do a longer essay about The Way We Were.)
There will never be another Robert Redford, for sure.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I will be back tomorrow morning!
Screenshot
Please–take my word for it and do not look this up, tempting as it may be. ↩︎
Same with Susan Sarandon, may she rot in hell for eternity. ↩︎
You’ve got to ro-oh-oll me, call me the tumbling dice…
Good morning out there to my daily (or periodic) Constant Readers! I really didn’t want to get up this morning, in all honesty; it was so comfortably cozy under my blanket pile and Sparky was cuddling (and only occasionally attacking my feet), which was very blissful. My legs feel a little fatigued this morning, which isn’t a good sign for my fatigue. But yesterday at work wasn’t at all bad, or a struggle to get through; it actually went by pretty quickly and I had energy when I got home. I got started on my chores (didn’t finish them) and sat in my chair to read with Sparky in my lap, and of course, the purring curled up kitty puddle started putting me to sleep. I woke up at just past nine and went up to bed before Paul even got home from the office.
I read deeper into the manuscript (before dozing off last night), and it’s not bad; it’s just kind of awkward and unpolished, which naturally is a bit of a relief about the revisions that need to be done in addition to the chapters that need to be finished before I can turn it in. I am taking it with me to work to read over lunch and breaks, and may get started on writing the rest of it tonight. LSU has one of those throwaway games this weekend–against Southeastern Louisiana, out of Hammond–so while I do want to watch (if it’s even on television) it’s not one of the big games of the season and I am not even sure who else is playing this weekend. I’ve not even bothered to look into who’s playing yet! I hope to have a successful writing/editing weekend; fingers crossed!
One can hope, at any rate.
My creativity is coming back, though; which usually happens when I am coming down to the wire on another project. Working on that short story to finish it Monday night kicked that door open–not like it was, back in the day, but I’ll take it–and started thinking about other short stories to write and what to work on with this book and how to get it all under control and working and something that my Constant Readers will like. I think I am going to finish Chlorine after this; probably work on it and Muscles at the same time, most likely. I also have some short stories I want to finish by the end of the year, and it has been a very hot minute since my last newsletter, hasn’t it? The Katrina one was, I think, the last one; and that was around two-three weeks ago, wasn’t it? I am really at sea; did Bouchercon and the return of the fatigue really set me that far back on everything?
Apparently so.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great Wednesday (mine already feels like a Thursday) and I shall return on the morrow. Cheerio!
The sack of Constantinople by the 4th Crusade, 1204
I love this song still to this very day. It came out during a time where nostalgia was big–especially the 1950s–and the Beach Boys had just made another comeback and their album Endless Summer was a huge hit. The song is very reminiscent of the Beach Boys–all that California sun and surf and cheerfulness and high school hops–but there was a melancholy under all that cheerful nostalgia, especially with the background refrain, oft-repeated through it, of do you remember? do you remember? (The song also come out around the same time as a book called What Really Happened to the Class of 65? and I always associated the song with the book.)
It is Tuesday morning and I am up early, as always, swilling coffee and eating coffee cake, care of Costco. I did finish editing that story, and got it turned in. I hope the editor likes it. I had the idea for it many years ago–not that long, but it seems like it now–and started writing it, getting a draft done before wondering where to try to sell it. I was going to submit it to the Minneapolis Bouchercon anthology I edited, putting it through the anonymous read process as I did for the New Orleans and St. Petersburg ones because it would look like “insider pool” if I was accepted. (I have not submitted to a Bouchercon anthology since being told this, by the way. If their board thinks I would just automatically put my own story in there instead of following the same procedure as everyone else? I don’t need to be in any of their anthologies in the future.) I’ve had the idea for a long time–going back to when I actually lived in Minneapolis, which is where I also came up with the title, which is one of my favorites of all my titles. I did try selling some other places, but the story was still…not quite right, and was rejected, as it should have been. I think I was able to fix it, but…we’ll have to see. But it felt good to work on it, and I also realized that just because it doesn’t “feel” the same to write and edit as it used to, doesn’t mean I’m not doing good work. I’ve changed, both physically and mentally, and that’s going to make things seem different to me than how they used to work, you know?
Yesterday wasn’t a bad day, you know. We weren’t as busy at work as I had expected, primarily from no-shows and last minute reschedules, so I wasn’t exhausted when I got home from work and worked on the story. I didn’t do any chores–the kitchen somehow exploded again, I don’t know how all this happens, honestly–so when I get home tonight I can’t write or read or even catch up on the news until those chores are completed. I hate when the downstairs is a mess, and the whole apartment, when it’s out of order, feels very cramped and small and claustrophobic. Because I am all about the claustrophobia? Apparently so. I slept well again last night and don’t feel terribly sleepy or tired this morning, which is a good thing. Sparky was a combination cuddle-bug/attack kitty this morning before I got up, and went into attack mode again while I was putting my shoes on. I think Paul will be working late at the office tonight, if I am not mistaken, and so it’ll be time for some bonding time after I write (or while I read and edit). I doubt I’ll be catching up on the news; the current story dominating the legacy “media” doesn’t interest me, nor am I interested in being shamed for not mourning someone who advocated me being stoned to death, either. (Miss me with the “he didn’t say that!” Okay, then, tell me one positive thing he ever said about queer rights and equality. I’ll wait.)
The story not getting this fawning, wall-to-wall coverage from the legacy media? How about the two men lynched on consecutive days in Mississippi? The Mississippi “police” already determined the Black college student’s death had “no evidence of foul play.” Really? The other victim was a white homeless man, and their names were, respectively, Trey Reed of Delta State University and Cory Zukatis. After all, it’s not like the Mississippi police have a history of covering up hate crimes or anything. (eye roll to infinity)
We are living in dark times, indeed.
And on that grim note, I am heading into the spice mines. Stay safe, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back in the morning.
I feel good this morning, like I slept well and recharged, which is always a nice feeling. My coffee tastes great, and so does the coffee cake we got at Costco yesterday. It was a pretty good day, despite some missteps (is every Walgreens in New Orleans a portal to hell?) and I had a strange experience getting gas, which I’ll have to sort out once the charge hits, but other than that and the horrible accident at Jackson and Prytania I saw the aftermath of (someone ran a red light and totaled their car hitting another one, thoughts and prayers) as the cops and tow trucks cleared the intersection. After finishing my work, we picked up my copy of the new Lou Berney and went to Costco. It wasn’t that expensive, comparatively speaking, compared to other shopping trips there. We came home, settled in after putting everything away, and watched this week’s Peacemaker before finishing Wednesday, which was a lot of fun before going to bed (I fell asleep in my chair catching up on news). Today I am going to order groceries, read (and edit), and work on the house during the football games today. Great games today, too–capping off with Florida at LSU (Geaux Tigers!) tonight!
Turns out Charlie Kirk’s murder was MAGA-on-MAGA crime, and not someone on the left at all. With their usual hypocrisy, MAGA was all in on “civil war” and “killing Democrats” before the truth was revealed and they immediately went in to “oh, no mental health that poor troubled young man” with no acknowledgement of their most recent blunder (they really are tiresome). And they wonder why we fucking hate them? I also didn’t have “Broadway icon whose entire career is due to gays being MAGA” on my 2025 Bingo card, either, the disgusting piece of shit. I never cared much for her–her voice, both speaking and singing, always sounded like a castrated chipmunk to me–but seriously, bitch? And you’re opening a new show on Broadway soon? I do wonder if the shrunken-headed leather-skinned flotilla of sewer shit will walk it back, but we really aren’t the ones…as she is about to fucking find out. Thoughts and prayers, trash. How’d that work out for Donna Summer? Do you think anyone is going to be booking Gloria Gaynor anywhere for the rest of her life? Gays have long memories, and we never forget being betrayed by someone who pretended to be an ally for money and fame.
I also loved the “free speech” advocates screaming about the communities he targeted not feeling bad enough about his murder. Remind me of the memorial day Jews have annually to mourn Hitler? If you weren’t targeted by this money-grubbing grifter and merchant of hate you don’t get to lecture or scold those who were. I blocked a lot of people over the last couple of days. Being reminded of how much trash is in the crime writing community is never a bad thing…another reminder of why I will never go to another crime writers’ conference ever again.
And for the record, that’s to protect these pieces of shit from me, because I am done being Mr. Nice Gay.
Sigh.
And on that note, I need to get my day going before the morning slips through my fingers. Have a great Saturday, Constant Reader, and GEAUX TIGERS!
The blues in this image are exceptional, making him look better, too.
Work at home Friday, but I won’t be able to attend my two virtual meetings today because I am getting my COVID vaccine and after that I am getting blood work done. I hope I don’t react too badly to the shot; the last one was rough and I felt sore and fatigued for like a day. I did sleep pretty well, and the Master of the Apartment let me sleep a little while later before smacking me repeatedly with a paw (claws out) to get me up to feed him, the little darling. I was tired last night after work, but nothing horrible; normal tired, as opposed to the all-encompassing and horrific fatigue. I’d happily go the rest of my life without feeling that fatigued again.
Ugh, so much to do, what else is new? LOL. We’re going to go to Costco later, and I have to get the mail and order some groceries for delivery and clean up around here after I finish doing my quality assurance stuff. Glad that I am feeling not so tired this morning, because all that running around (I also have to get gas at some point, too; getting really low), and of course there’s laundry to do and dishes to put away as always. Heavy heaving sigh. I do sometimes think it would be nice to have a staff, but I’d also hate someone else in my house doing shit. I don’t even like it when people are here doing repairs. I have always seen the Lost Apartment as a safe space away from the rest of the world, and having other people in my space isn’t something I’ve ever been terribly comfortable with. It’s my sanctuary!
The country continues to go down its tragic path and the empire continues falling. I say it often and I will say it again: I am so glad I am already old and don’t have my entire life in front of me, because the future looks pretty fucking grim and dark. Sorry, kids–but this is yet another reminder of how smart I was to never have any.
Crime Ink: Iconic continues to get marvelous reviews everywhere, which is absolutely delightful. I’m having creative flashes but haven’t been writing as much as I should, either. I have a short story due next week I need to work on this weekend and of course, I have to finish this damned Scotty book by the end of the month. The irony is I know what needs to be done with both but haven’t had much success sticking with it and making the words flow and the sentences form. I’m not in despair or anything like that about it, but it’s getting to that point, I think. I just need to get into the habit of writing something every day that isn’t this blog (or my newsletter).
Maybe today, maybe tomorrow. I know I am going to read and edit some more today.
Oh! I was interviewed recently (which you can read here,) and it went live the other day; I keep forgetting to post the link here because my stream of consciousness blogging inevitably is coming from a tired and foggy brain that doesn’t remember anything anymore.
And on that note, it’s Spice Mine City for me. Have a great Friday, COnstant Reader, and I shall be back in the morning, sure as the sun rises.
Queer and Loathing in America 