Category: history

Help Me Make It Thru The Night

Here it is Saturday, so this must be Alabama.

Yesterday was chill. It was raining pretty hard when I got up—it had rained through the night as well—and so I just kind of took my time getting ready and doing chores before it was time to take Sparky to the vet (I always worry he thinks he’s being abandoned again, which makes me terribly sad), ran some errands—which included picking up my copy of the new Jordan Harper, A Violent Masterpiece, which I am excited about reading—before heading out on the highway looking for adventure. It started raining again once I got on I-10 East, and this downpour continued with very low visibility, until I got past Hattiesburg on 59. It continued raining on me the entire way—sprinkling and light fog once I crossed the state line into Alabama, and the mapping app took me on a tour of rural Alabama shortly after crossing the state line. But it was snug and cozy in the car for me while the rain battered the car and I prudently put on my hazard lights to make me more visible to cars coming up behind me. It took about six hours, total, which is what it usually does, honestly, so I clearly didn’t lose any time to the rain. I felt pretty certain that it had slowed me down, but clearly it didn’t. Go figure.

I also was greatly enjoying listening to Alafair Burke’s superb The Note, which is simply brilliant in its premise and structured beautifully, as are all of Alafair’s forays into fiction. I’ve been reading her work for a very long time now—it really is startling how quickly time slipped through my fingers—and I am absolutely loving this one. I’ll finish it on the way south on Monday when we car pool down to the panhandle.

Well, now it’s evening and I’m feeling exhausted. Obviously, I didn’t finish this and post it; I got caught up in the swing of the day and there wasn‘t an opportunity until now, as I am preparing my weary body to head to bed for the night. I had an odd night’s sleep; I tossed and turned and never felt really asleep last night. I woke up at four, but went back to sleep, going into a very deep sleep for a few hours and sleeping later than I had intended. So, I got off on the wrong foot this morning, and kind of felt behind, or off-kilter, all day. We spent most of the day driving around from cemetery to cemetery, removing faded or weather worn plastic flowers from tombstones and side vases and replacing them with new ones (I kind of think of these little trips as Family Cemetery Tours, which is macabre but also a bit funny). I kind of like going to the cemeteries, to be honest. There’s so much history in a cemetery, and there’s a story behind every tombstone—oh, this man shot his wife and then himself, they had five teenaged sons; or why is the mother and son buried together, but no husband/father or wife; or—you get the idea. Some of these cemeteries are as old as the county, with Civil War veterans and a few Revolutionary War soldiers buried in them. Some headstones are so old they have been worn smooth by the weather and are unreadable. So many children, before vaccines and medications. Why did this woman never marry, in a time when that was unusual? Why are some graves—really old ones—covered with a slab of cement, or has a little triangular shaped metal tent on top of them? If this was to protect the corpses from scavenging animals, why aren’t all the graves from that time period done the same way? Naturally, standing in the cemetery on a beautiful sunny Saturday afternoon in rural Alabama, my creativity started going wild.

I do feel like I do my best work when I write about Alabama, but at the same time so much of it is so steeped in the county and in the family history I am hesitant to publish any of it; partly because it feels so personal to me, and secondly, because I didn’t grow up here. I think that sense of not being where I was supposed to be, where we should have been, also played a factor in my always feeling like an outsider. I am of Alabama, but I am also not of Alabama, so even when I write about Alabama I feel like a fraud. Every step of the way writing Bury Me in Shadows I considered pulling the plug and writing something else to turn into my publisher to fulfill the contract I’d signed. There are so many Alabama stories and novel ideas in my files; I did publish another one last year, “The Spirit Tree,” and one of my personal favorites of my own short stories, “Smalltown Boy” is also one of my Alabama stories. I would love to tell all the stories I was told growing up, about the history of the county and legends of lore of my family history. So what if some (most) of it wasn’t true and were simply tales my grandmother reinvented for me? But that can work, too—I’d be writing fiction anyway, right? I used her story about the Lost Boys for Bury Me in Shadows, after all, and that worked out okay, didn’t it?

I really do need to get back to writing, don’t I?

So now I am going to go to bed. I am not entirely sure when I will be here again, but I also didn’t think I would get any entries done while I am away, so who knew? Take care till I am back again!

El Castillo at Chichen Itza. I was there over thirty years ago and loved it.

The Happiest Girl in the Whole USA

First day of vacation, and Sparky let me sleep late. He even slept in the bed with me, which he never does. And wow, did I sleep well. The weather turned yesterday; it started raining in the morning and continued to do so, off and on, all day. It was still sprinkling when I got home from the office, and we had torrential rains and thunderstorms last night. I was a bit tired when I got home last night–I spent the day at the office making sure I didn’t leave any loose ends that might need my input dangling before my vacation. I watched the latest episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, reunion part two, and I really was…well, mostly bored. As I watched, I kept thinking I don’t like any of these women other than Rachel and Jennifer, and the rest can be gladly retired. I also don’t care about any of their conflicts, so why was I watching? I’d skipped most of the season, only checking in as the season was drawing to a close, and honestly, I don’t feel like I missed anything. I don’t really watch any of the Housewives regularly anymore (outside of Salt Lake City), and I used to watch all of them. I also have to admit that if not for SLC, I probably wouldn’t watch any of them anymore.

Today’s forecast is for rain all day, and I am a bit nervous to check the weather along my route; but I’ll be listening to my book and snug inside the car. I just have to watch out for other drivers…and of course, I’ll be driving through the countryside of Alabama in the dark yet again. It really is creepy. I have to pick up around here and pack, get cleaned up, load the car and take Sparky to the Cat Practice. I am also going to swing uptown and pick up a prescription and the mail on the way out of town. Jazz Fest was canceled yesterday; that’s how bad the weather was here. I got stuck in Jazz Fest traffic on the way home and was more than a bit annoyed; it took over a half an hour for me to get home from work, and yes, I was worn out by the time I got home. Sparky was also very loving and needy when I got home, so hence it was to my easy chair with me to get caught up on the news (bleargh). I did watch some more history and lore and legends of Alabama and Kansas, and started thinking about writing history once again. I’ve actually created this entire universe of my fictional county in Alabama (based primarily on the county we’re from) that goes back to the early statehood days–I love the idea of my cursed county, whose history was written in blood–and maybe someday I’ll start working on that some more. There are any number of short stories, novellas, and book ideas set there that I’ve either made notes on, or started writing; I’ve also never told the story of how Blackwood Hall (from Bury Me in Shadows) burned during the war. There are legends that were talked about in that book, but nobody really knew for sure what happened to the house and the family that remained there while the menfolk were off at war.

And of course, going to Alabama today probably has a lot to do with why I’ve been thinking about it so much lately. You think?

I have to admit I was highly amused by the Royal visit to Washington this week. At first, I was annoyed that Charles and Camilla were coming, and thus legitimizing this corrupt regime. I’ve never been a fan of either (I loved Diana, and will shred and block for Diana slander), and hated how they seemed to win out in the end. I also figured if any British royals had to do it, it might as well be them. But…I have to say I was highly amused. The gift of a bellend with his name on it was simply too delicious to be borne, and the fact he was excited like a toddler on Christmas morning to get it made it even more hilarious. Too stupid to know when you’re being mocked is certainly a look–and the fact that the Brits knew he’d be thrilled about being mocked to his face? Chef’s kiss.

How sad is it that a foreign royal had to give a pro-America pro-democracy speech to our Congress to remind them of their jobs, their sacred duty, and what their role is to standing ovations, which from the Reich Right was either proof they didn’t know what he was talking about, or it was just politeness from the “fuck your feelings” crowd; who knows? But they certainly have jumped on board with gerrymandering once our illegal and illegitimate Supreme Court okayed it. They are all such despicably corrupt monsters–Alito, Roberts, Barrett, Gorsuch, and the other two scumbags–but the Right has been pushing fascism since the Reagan years, if not longer, and you can miss me with your praise for that prick, too.

I’m still angry about the VRA, and white people continue to be the absolute worst. I saw a Iowa farmer (also a Trump voter would be my guess, because he never mentioned once who he voted for–because anyone who didn’t vote for this is very upfront about it because they are angry) whining about his farming subsidies being cut–guess he’s not too happy about the austerity and billionaire tax cuts he voted for. But isn’t time he stopped being a welfare queen suckling at the teats of the US taxpayers? Are you really so mediocre at your job you need to be subsidized? Why are my tax dollars going to support his lazy ass? Pull yourself up by the bootstraps! After all, you’re white and everything breaks your way and this country–yet you still need welfare. I sure hope you’re not wasting taxpayer money on luxuries like soda or candy, bitch–those are my tax dollars you’re draining from the Treasury, and I think you should only be allowed to eat what people on SNAP are allowed–and maybe a periodic drug-and-alcohol test. I mean, isn’t that what people like him think about handouts to other people?

The United States, where mediocre white people take handouts from the taxpayers while complaining about other people getting it being lazy freeloaders. Fuck you all the way to hell, rural Trump voters. How’s that price of gas looking for all that driving y’all have to do? Me, I live in one of those “horrible Democratic run blue cities”–and only need to buy a tank of gas per month because if I leave town I don’t even drive three hundred miles PER MONTH. Why aren’t you screaming LET’S GO TYRANT?

I watched this filth tear down Joe Biden for four years. Are y’all better off than you were two years ago? I thought this was all about economic anxiety, not racism? Remember those bald-faced lies? Christ on the cross. I am so fucking glad I’m old and don’t have children.

Sigh.

But this trip will be a nice break from reality. I won’t be seeing much news while I am gone, and won’t be posting here probably again until I get back on Wednesday. It’ll be nice spending time with Dad and my aunt, and there’s just something about the county–and being in Alabama–that feels comforting.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely weekend and first half of the week; I doubt I’ll be here again before I get home next week, so until then–hang in there, because always remember, this too will pass.

Sexy Richard DuBois poses for a physique magazine cover in the 1950s…but we know who the real target audience actually was.

Could I Have This Dance

Thursday last day in the office this week blog, and I am very pleased with myself for making it through the week without complete and utter exhaustion rolling around. I wasn’t tired yesterday after work, and I was able to do chores and some writing last night while Paul was at the gym. Check me out, will you? And I don’t feel either tired or groggy this morning. No aches or pains anywhere, either, which is ultimately delightful. We watched another episode of Unchosen last night–the hot guy is played by Fra Fee, who is simply gorgeous–and it is going in directions I didn’t see coming. It’s very cleverly written, well acted, and very well made.

I wrote about a thousand words or so last night after work, which was even nicer. Tuesday night I dribbled out about five or six hundred words, and struggled to get that. Last night I sat down, started writing, and after a slow start the words began to flow (“the words must flow!”) like they used to and the next thing I knew I was ending the first chapter and I was like, whoa, went into the zone for the first time in years and was enormously pleased, to say the least. I also put away the dishes, and did another load I’ll have to unload tonight. There’s also some laundry to finish, too. I’m enjoying writing again–which means I am feeling satisfied and really good for the first time in years. I was thinking about doing some errands on the way home tonight, but they can wait until after I finish my working at home duties tomorrow. Next Friday I am driving up to meet Dad in Alabama for Decoration Day (I’ve still not decided on a audiobook to listen to; I do like listening to horror for some reason while I’m driving; I’ve got some good ones downloaded, including some Shirley Jackson novels I’ve not read. I also have some more current ones by Riley Sager and Tananarive Due and Grady Hendrix; all of whose work I have enjoyed before.

This weekend I hope to get some writing and cleaning done around here. My writing streak will inevitably be broken when I go on the trip next week, so I need to get as much done as possible before then. I want to read some more of Listen for the Whisperer, get going on my next read, and I have a short story I want to read and write a newsletter about. I am also really enjoying thinking–and remembering–things from my past so I can either process the memory or be inspired to write about it. I’ve been lately trying to remember how I initially got interested in ancient Egypt–I think it may have been watching the Elizabeth Taylor Cleopatra on television as a child; I think she might have been my way into ancient history, along with with a juvenile mystery called The Mystery of the Pharaoh’s Treasure, which I have a copy of and should revisit. I also know one of my elementary school teachers traveled the world during her summer breaks, took tons of pictures, and showed us slide of historic sites she’d visited–and she’d been to Egypt several times, and the timing is right; it was fourth grade and I was eight or so, which was also around the time we got our set of encyclopedias, which opened up the entire world to me in that little apartment on the south side of Chicago. (My lifelong fascination with Egypt will be explored at some point in an essay series.)

And there are thunderstorms in the forecast for tomorrow, which sounds like a perfect day to stay home and get stuff done while the rain comes down and the thunder rolls. Huzzah!

It’s weird to feel so good on a Thursday morning. I am sure I’ll get tired this afternoon, probably after the caffeine wears off, but that’s also okay. I am going to come straight home from work, methinks, and run the errands over the weekend. I do need to take these boxes of books to the library sale Saturday morning and get them out of the living room; I do want to leave the house in good shape before I drive north next Friday.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines for the day. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll check back in with you tomorrow morning. See ya!

Oscar winner Michael B. Jordan for Rolling Stone

Step by Step

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Sweetest Thing

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

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

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

Yes, kids, we’ve always had bops.

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

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

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

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

Here’s hoping I hit that Wednesday target.

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

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

All the Gold in California

…is in a bank in the middle of Beverly Hills, in somebody else’s name….

I always loved that song, and when I was planning on submitting a story to the Sacramento Bouchercon anthology, I was using that as the title. I don’t think I got any further than the title, the main character, and that was a “friend of” the Real Housewives. Maybe someday I’ll get around to working on it again. This, by the way, is what I am like all of the time. Yesterday was rough on me; we were busy in the clinic and I had a lot of work to catch up on. Today will be more of the same, I’m afraid, but am hoping it won’t be too bad. I did make groceries on the way home (only two insane drivers I managed to evade successfully; I swear sometimes it’s like people don’t care if they’re in an accident or not), and the traffic wasn’t too terrible. It really hasn’t been bad in quite a while, actually, even going in on the highway. Or maybe my timing has just been good lately, I don’t know for sure. But I was tired when I got home. Paul and I almost finished Stick, which I am really enjoying a lot and highly recommend, and then I had to do the dishes before going to bed. I did sleep well, and I feel more awake than I did yesterday.

I was so tired last night, y’all, it wasn’t even funny.

I have some things I need to get done today and I think we’re busy in the clinic again too. It’s a busy scheduled week, methinks, which is okay and fine. My supervisor is about to go to London for two weeks, which will make the next weeks interesting around the office. Sigh. But it’s always something, isn’t it? I have to go to Alabama for Decoration Day, and then down to Panama City Beach to visit with my aunt and Dad, at the end of the month. It’s also Paul’s birthday later this month, and I should get him something nice.

The country’s madness continues to rage, and will until it entirely burns itself out. Humanity never learns anything, does it? I don’t know what will be left when that finally does occur, and what will rise from the ashes as a phoenix. I can’t speak for anyone else, but it really does seem sometimes like civilization will never advance or progress because there’s always some completely horrible people in power somewhere. (I do think some people are beginning to understand why Iran has hated the USA for decades, which is something, one supposes.) As I was watching some of those Iranian LEGO videos the other day–they’re actually kind of entertaining, and very well done–because someone claimed we were “losing the propaganda war.” (I’d heard about them but hadn’t paid a lot of attention), which made me think about my childhood again, and how I–all of us–were essentially brainwashed by pro-American propaganda, especially when it came to history, while at the same time we studied propaganda as an evil on society. They showed us both Soviet and Nazi German propaganda, taught us that all propaganda was bad…while teaching us an idealized iteration of this country and its history, centering colonizers as heroes. (Which, I think, is yet another reason I never much cared for Westerns growing up; I could tell it was “natives bad!” propaganda, and not reflective of the west as it truly was. (Robert Altman’s McCabe and Mrs. Miller1, which was derided by Western purists, pretty much showed the actual reality that the west was “won” by whores, grifters and drifters.)

Likewise, Columbus was a genocidal monster who didn’t really discover the Americas; it can only be said that he opened the era of American colonization and indigenous genocide.

Not a hero, really.2

I am starting to feel awake, and I don’t feel very achy or groggy this morning. Maybe I’m adapting to getting up at six again; I really shouldn’t let myself sleep in so late on weekends because adjusting back is such a fucking bitch. But this past weekend was messed up; I’ve not had a normal weekend in several weeks, and I would really like for that to go back to normal…which it will, in time for me to take another trip out of state. Woo-hoo. I don’t mind, though, it’s always nice to spend time with Dad and my newly widowed aunt. I really need to stop drifting through my life and starting to get it back under control again; I don’t necessarily have the anxiety of not knowing what I need to be doing or what is coming up and forgetting things anymore; but it still bothers me on some levels. I know I have doctors’ appointments and an injection and labs and things that need to be done, and I need to mark up my day-to-day calendar. I do feel better this morning than I did yesterday, when I just felt a bit overwhelmed about everything. I know I can get everything done that I need to get done; I just need to consult my on-going to-do list to center myself, and come out of that coasting through life feeling.

And on that cheery note, I am going to have a bit of breakfast before I head into the spice mines for the day. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow morning.

  1. Note to self: watch again. ↩︎
  2. He really was a horrible person. Most Americans never learn much about him other than the standard “discovered America, funded by Ferdinand and Isabella, his three ships were the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria. But he was absolutely a monster; if you don’t believe me, look it up. ↩︎

Wide Open Spaces

Sunday morning and I am still feeling disoriented. I kept thinking yesterday was Friday, and that today would be Saturday. I have an errand to run and some groceries to have delivered. I stayed up late finishing the laundry–it was launder the bed linens day, postponed from Friday, which also helped with the day mind-fuckery–but slept very well and slept in. The kitchen looks much better than it did yesterday morning, but it still needs some work. After Paul got up, we just had a lazy day hanging out and watching television. It was indeed a gorgeous day out there yesterday and it looks like today is going to be just as lovely. I may take a walk later just to revel in the day and get some exercise. Maybe I’ll stretch today too–can’t hurt, right? I’m starting to feel the itch to become more physically active, since I am not nearly as tired all the time the way I used to be. It’s so lovely not to be tired, Constant Reader, you have no idea!

I can also tell my injection is due next Monday.

I was thinking–I did do a lot of that yesterday–about my recent newsletter essay about gender roles and my not fitting in as a child as a boy who didn’t conform to my assigned gender role (which meant I was gender-nonconforming) and that really, it was the late 1970’s/early 1980s when those rigid roles began to loosen slightly. I’m enjoying all this introspection and self-discovery journey I’ve been on for the past few years (beginning with Mom’s death), which also makes me realize how long I avoided examining myself and my life. I thought I did a lot of navel-gazing before, but it was always pretty shallow and never went very deep, ever; often, I think, because there were things about myself I preferred not to know, or to confront. But I’m more interested now in accepting patterns of behavior that I now understand were driven by the anxiety, which is now under control.

I also spent some more time paging through Jackson Square Jazz and kind of enjoying it, because it also is reminding me of writing the book and the research that went into it, particularly the Cabildo Fire, which was a real event that I wrote into the book as a pivotal moment for the plot and I got to write about some New Orleans history that may or may not have ever been talked about in fiction. (I also remember being rather taken aback when someone told me the pre-Katrina Scotty books were also important historically because they documented what gay Quarter life was like before everything changed; Jean Redmann did the same for the lesbian side.) I am in the thinking stages of the eleventh (!!!) Scotty right now, too–I know the plot elements I want to hit–and I am also thinking about getting back into the in-progress manuscript I am trying to focus my energies on (rereading Christa’s story from Crime Ink: Iconic got me back into that mindset again, even as I realized I couldn’t tell my story as well as they told theirs); I need to immerse myself into that world again as I reconfigure my main character, who I was softening a bit. No, the main character, Greg, needs to be on the make, as they used to say back then, using his looks and his body to advance himself in Hollywood, while painting a dark picture of what being queer in Hollywood used to mean.

And so, on that note, I think I am going to bring this to a close and go have some breakfast before settling into my easy chair to read; I think I am going to reread Listen for the Whisperer by Phyllis A. Whitney and try to get further into my first-time reading book. I also need to do the floors and clean up the workspace a bit this morning. Have a great Sunday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow on work-at-home Monday. Till then!

The beauty of Yosemite

Fins

I have to go into the office to work today, as there is no one to do walk-in testing–which also means I have to be there all day. I was highly annoyed at first, as anyone would be, and then decided being annoyed wasn’t going to make anything better, so accepted it and moved on. I also bartered Monday as my work-at-home day, so that will be very nice. Isn’t that a better outcome than being bitter and brooding? I am feeling better mentally lately, and staying in a mostly positive mind space. Obviously, the world is (gesticulates arms around) whatever the fuck this is, and it is very easy to get angry, or defeated, or overwhelmed–but that doesn’t help and that doesn’t make anything better and it certainly doesn’t make enduring these interesting times in which we find ourselves living in these days.

Imagine threatening the Pope–the bloody POPE–with kidnapping? You know what another name for the Avignon Papacy was? The Babylonian Captivity. BIBLICAL, wouldn’t you say? Catholics consider the Avignon Papacy such an affront to God they called that period the same name that is used for the Babylonian enslavement of Israel.

Interesting times indeed. Good luck with going after the Vatican. It’s also been interesting seeing Catholics shocked to realize evangelicals don’t actually consider them to be Christians–and don’t think they don’t have Catholics on the list for cleansing, too. Catholics have long been stigmatized in this country–how many Catholic presidents have we had? Just the one?–but once the evil right wing theocratic fascists figured out that abortion was a winning issue for them and a way to drag the Catholics in to use them for political power, that has kind of died down some…but it’s never gone away. Bigotries and prejudices don’t go away suddenly and without conscious choice…and I doubt that anyone put in the work in evangelical circles to truly kill off anti-Catholic bigotry.

Which is why it’s so weird that the majority of Supreme Court justices are Catholic.

I’ve always felt that the Religious Right had a day of reckoning coming, because one thing the vast majority of Christians can agree on is that every other Christian who doesn’t believe the same things and worships even the slightest bit differently is going straight to hell. That coalition was always doomed to fragment, and it’s a bit satisfying for me–who recognized the threat they posed to politics and culture and society back in the 1970s when they started to rise.

Yesterday wasn’t a bad day at work, and I wasn’t super tired when I got home. Paul got home shortly after I fed Sparky, and we settled in for the evening (it’s been an eternity since we’ve both been home in the evening). We caught up on the news, including a bizarre press conference, and then started watching Detective Hole. I had not read the books1, but the show looked interesting. The show is very good, if a bit on the bleak side–but that’s the Scandinavian noir/dark style, isn’t it? Visually, it’s stunning, and the plot is interesting. We will continue watching, but the first episode was a bit intense, so we then switched over to the first episode of the final season of The Boys, which recently dropped–they are not hiding the allegories anymore, you’d have to be a complete idiot to not see what they are doing–yet as always, there are people who don’t get they are on the wrong side in real life and gat very upset when the truth of what they’re enjoying hits them and they realize they like a WOKE SHOW. Oh, the horrors.

I want to write this weekend, and I am going to try. The essays are taking a bit out of me, especially when I write a long one like this most recent one. But hope springs eternal, doesn’t it? I feel really rested this morning, too. It’s nice not having to go in at the time I usually do; I was able to sleep a little later than usual this morning, which felt great. I think I will have the energy to be around people today and not want to commit any homicides–but I also haven’t driven to work yet, either; the drive can sometimes be a bit much with idiots on I-10. There’s no rush to get there; I technically don’t have to be there until ten, but I also have a meeting at ten so I need to be there by then for sure.

Oh, I was also included in this lovely write-up for Crime Reads for current and upcoming new works; you can read it here if you like.

All right, I am going to get another cup of coffee and get ready to head into the spice mines. May your Friday be as lovely as you are, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow.

Rome, if you want to—Rome around the world…
  1. Not after I heard the main character’s name, because I still am a thirteen year old boy sometimes. ↩︎

Southern Cross

Pay the Bills Wednesday, and we are halfway through the week already. Insanity.1 But I had a decent day at work yesterday, came home and got some things done, and relaxed with Sparky a bit. I finished watching The Beauty (more on that later), had some things delivered, and cleaned up the kitchen a bit. I didn’t feel overly tired when I got home–there has been surprisingly little traffic this week; I forget that Easter Monday is a thing in New Orleans every year, but again yesterday? I hit almost all of the lights on my way home and it took me about ten minutes from the time I started my car at the office. (This is notable because it’s never that quick, easy, or simple.)

I also bit the bullet and hit publish on an overdue newsletter (you can read it here, if you like). I’ve been thinking about writing personal essays about masculinity, the way I saw it before and how I see it now, an my thoughts and opinions after sixty-four (almost sixty-five!) years of being a sexual suspect, (I was going to say outlaw in homage to John Rechy, but since my sexuality was against the law until 2003, decided not to) an outsider to the inner workings of the heterosexual male. I’ve only written from a straight male perspective a couple of times that I can recall, mostly ghost writing, but I am never entirely comfortable doing so because I can’t understand that “I’m the center of the universe” mentality so many of them seem to have–which isn’t limited to our culture and society, either. In our case here in the US, I think some of it has to do with the religious mania that has infused so much of our society, to its detriment; Christianity as it developed in western Europe is incredibly male-centered as well as designed to be an arm of the state, upholding the status quo and opposing any change or questioning of the state. I’ve always said that History is taught wrong, and this is part of that problem, too. Anyway, I am very pleased with this most recent newsletter, and hope you’ll check it out.

The Beauty was one of the stupidest things I’ve ever watched. As always with Ryan Murphy shows, it had a great premise but didn’t deliver on it, and egregiously this one didn’t have an ending. It just stopped, after the reveal of the deus ex machina, and so the last two episodes were also more filler than anything else, and then had to wrap up everything quickly in the last ten minutes or so. The concept of the show–a drug that makes people the most beautiful, hot and sexy versions of themselves (which was also a crock and didn’t always make sense). This could have been a deeply sharp satirical look at the American obsession with youth and beauty, but…it wasn’t. I know, I know, I have no one to blame but myself–but every once in a while, he does a good show…but I have been convinced for years now that when he does, it’s purely by accident.

Yesterday morning I must have hit the thermostat in the refrigerator, because everything in the freezer essentially thawed a bit. Paul noticed last night, I turned it back down and thought everything was probably okay–but this morning grabbing my breakfast sandwich I thought, no, better to throw everything away. The bag of frozen chicken breasts had frozen chicken juice in it this morning, so yeah–when I get home tonight I need to throw everything in there away. What a sad waste of money and food. AH, well, it’s payday and I needed to stop at the grocery store anyway, so I’ll be replacing some things on the way home tonight. Ah, well. I think I might need to do a short Costco run this weekend as a result. We’ll see. I just hate that I have to throw away that frozen shrimp. Ah, well. Naught to do but bite the bullet.

I was a bit tired this morning but the coffee is now kicking in and I am feeling better. We’re not terribly booked up today, so I can get caught up on Administrative duties. The freezer situation means I’ll have to DoorDash lunch again, but there are definitely worse things.

And on that grim note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, and I’ll check back in with you again later.

PS. I am purposely not mentioning what went on yesterday in the world because Jesus FUCKING Christ. This whole thing isn’t going to end well at all.

One of the many beautiful homes in my neighborhood–and that black vehicle is BLOCKING THE DRIVEWAY!
  1. The good news is President Stillson, like all bullies, backed down. However, the 25th needs to be invoked. ↩︎

A New World

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sigh.

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

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

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