Category: history

Run Between the Raindrops

Monday morning in the Lost Apartment and it’s back to work for me today. Yesterday was kind of lovely. I slept later than I’d intended, but I must have needed ten hours of sleep and yes, as a result I felt quite marvelous all day yesterday. I relaxed and took it easy in the morning, doing some organizing on my computer over my coffee, which also tasted marvelous, and had some things for breakfast. My back up hard drive and all of my storage is in such bad shape, you have no idea. Fortunately I can do searches, but that’s if the file has been named and I can remember what I named it. I have so many picture files that are unnamed…I may never sort them all. I also need to stop collecting images of hot guys because I already have so fucking many of them. Sigh. I hoard computer files, too, what a surprise.

Of course, all I need to do is disconnect the damned hard drive and plug it into my laptop, so when my mind wanders while I’m in my easy chair I can sort the files and make some progress. Du-uh. I really have quite the grasp of the obvious, don’t I? We also had the most marvelous thunderstorm yesterday afternoon while I was working on writing–a plethora of different things; from newsletters to short stories to the book itself. I am very pleased with how the book is progressing–it’s slow going, but I am also very out of practice, and am still adjusting to all of this free time I have now that I’ve stopped volunteering. I honestly had no idea how much time I was spending on it. No wonder I was so tired all the time, and that being tired had something to do with the onset of the illness, whenever it was; my system was worn down and vulnerable. I don’t regret the time spent, of course–like I ALWAYS say, I don’t live a life of regret–but it is astonishing to have time that I can actually waste guilt-free. But now that I am healthy and getting back into the groove of my life again, my sense of joy and my sense of humor are coming back stronger than they were before, too. My illness and hospitalization was actually the best thing to happen to me in quite a while. And while I certainly don’t recommend it and don’t ever want that to happen to me again (not just sick but six nights in a hospital bed), it was the kind of wake-up call I needed.

I also had to laugh at myself a bit yesterday, too, speaking of my sense of humor. I had worked on a short story Saturday afternoon; I’ve had this idea for at least five years and for some reason it started kicking around in my head again on Friday, which is why I started writing it Saturday…only to discover I’d actually started it when I originally had the idea, after all…but now I know what the story is, what the right tone for it is, and that was absolutely some good work I managed Saturday. I had also worked on the book some on Saturday, too, and that also felt good, especially since I didn’t really feel like doing any writing at the time, but managed almost a thousand words without really any drive to write or any idea of what I actually was going to type out. I suppose I could do Jami Attenberg’s A Thousand Words of Summer, couldn’t I? Note to self: order her book.

And the Giants continue to lose, speaking of joy, and what makes it even better for me is to see those bigots are now pariahs in the city where they play. I don’t follow baseball outside of LSU, but I grin every time I hear that the Giant Bigots lose yet another time. I hope those fucks are booed and hated for the rest of their shitty, unwashed crusty ass lives. Newsflash: you’re okay with every sin but homosexuality, which didn’t make your God’s top ten. Have fun in hell–God don’t like ugly, and God don’t like men who think they speak for him, either. My values and beliefs don’t allow me to suppose hateful bigots. See how that works, you punk bitches?

And I wouldn’t be throwing a lot of stones about anyone if I looked like that in a baseball uniform, bitches. You’re supposed to be professional athletes, not the “before” in a gym advertisement. Can’t you look like one? Baseball has pretty much made it clear this summer that they embrace racism and homophobia; all that’s left is for them to demean women like the misogynist pricks on the US Men’s Hockey Team to complete their trifecta of enshittification. Well done, baseball. Way to turn America’s Pastime into a bigot-fest.

Oddly, if MLB has been a horrific disappointment for a fan of sports in general, the World Cup has been incredibly refreshing and fun to watch and experience. Erling Haaland has captivated me, the big goofy Norwegian Viking golden retriever that he is, and I also fell hard for the Cabo Verde team; what an inspiring tournament story they gave the world. And of course, loved the Scots and all the fans from everywhere. The world cup has, of all things, been so heartwarming and enjoyable (I do love seeing people enjoying themselves) and it’s also been lovely seeing the fans enjoying each other as well as themselves. That has been absolutely lovely and healing to see, as well as the hope for the future such things engender. I do generally prefer to be optimistic; at heart, I like to think I am usually cheerful and hope for the best…and I don’t enjoy when people make me not feel that way…which is yet another reason to hate those trashy asswipes who like to bring other people down.

I also love the anti-Trump chants they brought with them, my favorite? Aussie boys here on a bender, Donald Trump is a sex offender! Thank you, World Cup fans, for not letting him make this about his fat shitty ass, the way he will if he makes it to the Olympics in Los Angeles next year. I can only imagine the horrors his goons will unleash on LA before the games open. Heavy heaving sigh.

We had a marvelous thunderstorm yesterday afternoon, the lights even blinked a few times. It’s been a while since we had such a great storm, so I cuddled up with my blanket in my easy chair during the downpours while I worked on my laptop. It was marvelously cozy, I have to say. I’d intended to cook out yesterday, but the rain forced me into a dinner alternative and made something I’ve not made in years–and as I was eating it thought this is good for thrown together but I can make this a lot better which is how I always end up redoing recipes all the time. Some gravy would have been nice…bell peppers. Anyway, the rain was relaxing and calming as it always is.

I am pleased with the work I got done on the book, and the character’s voice is starting to come to me a lot easier and a lot faster than it has for a very long time. We’ll take that as a good sign, won’t we?

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

Sexy Angus O’Brien, one of the breakout stars from last summer’s Boots

Fight It Out

Friday morning and the office is closed for the holiday today, so no work-at-home chores for me today. Sparky let me sleep a little later this morning and I definitely didn’t want to get up this morning, either. I feel a bit worn down today, and a bit foggy, but I’ll be fine once I shower. I was able to leave work early yesterday and run a few errands on the way home (my medication arrived in the mail; had to get another prescription; and pick up my dry cleaning) but I did feel a bit wrung out when I got home. I did some chores (laundry, dishes) and we started watching Margo’s Got Money Problems but didn’t really care much for it, and thus gave up on it. I want to read a bit this morning and do some cleaning around here, and hopefully get some writing done as well. I want to work on newsletters today, too–I have my entry about A Violent Masterpiece to share, and I also want to write about the weirdness of this holiday weekend. They haven’t issued a heat advisory for us yet, but it’s still possible. It currently “feels like” 104 and it’s not even nine yet. There’s a possibility of thunderstorms this afternoon, too. I may have some things delivered today, to get it out of the way so I don’t have to go outside other than to take out trash. That sounds like a lovely plan to me.

It’s hard for me to believe and wrap my mind around the idea that the Bicentennial was fifty years ago; the summer I turned fifteen and was about to start my junior year of high school, starting over again in Kansas, where I stuck out like a sore thumb the moment I crossed the threshold. This is the summer I turn sixty-five, and the country is in a very different mood this time around. Apparently, Ba’al is planning to give an epically long speech tomorrow at the Great American State Embarrassment, and is threatening to go as long as he possibly can to prove that he did. No incumbent president has ever died on July 4th, but at the very least his make-up is going to run–and no telling what will happen to his rat’s nest. However, President Zachary Taylor went to a lengthy celebration of the 4th on a very hot humid day, ate some cold milk and cucumbers to cool down, and got sick and died a few days later.

Dare I dream?

Essence is also this weekend here in New Orleans, and I hope that it’s back to its best form; there were a lot of complaints and some scandals in recent years. Louisiana racists hate Essence Festival (just as they hate Bayou Classic weekend, another Black event), and were pretty gleeful about its possible demise the last couple of years (there are also Quarter businesses that close both weekends, but they’re not racist, wink wink),so here’s hoping its back to form this year and rebuilds back bigger and better than ever before.

The battle between New Orleans and Louisiana rages on, with a grand jury here indicting our criminalistic conservative skank Attorney General for, among other things, abuse of power. Our lovely governor has promised to “pardon her instantly” for any convictions she may get in New Orleans…(that MAGA love and respect for the law and the Constitution on full display here, may they both burn in their own hells for all eternity)…yet conservatives called Huey Long a dictator…when Huey never pulled any of this kind of shit on his own, and he and his candidates always won in landslides. At least the day to day people loved Huey because he fought the 1% to benefit the people–which our modern day demagoguery can’t be bothered with.

I’ve been listening to some old favorites lately in the car as I drive to and from work and around town–albums by Fleetwood Mac, Stevie Nicks, and Pat Benatar from my youth and most of them still hold up today and could be hits. Some of Stevie’s 1980s albums are very much of their time, vastly over-produced like the most excessive Bonnie Tyler hits of the period, unfortunately; I’d love to hear them remade with a more timeless production style.

And on that note, I am going to get cleaned up and head into the spice mines for the day. I need to do some chores, and I need to get the kitchen and my workspace back under control. I hope you have a lovely Holiday Eve, Constant Reader, and I hope to see you again here tomorrow morning on the nation’s birthday. Until then, Constant Reader!

Just Like Me

And here we are on Sunday morning. It rained yesterday and was damp and humid all day. It looks like it rained overnight, too. I slept well and got up early this morning, as I had hoped I would. Sparky somehow knows when I want to get up early–he let me sleep late the last two mornings, even if I was already awake when he decided to get me up this morning. Yesterday was actually kind of nice, to be honest. I did do some writing and organizing yesterday, which was awesome, and I hope to do more today and, since I am up so early, perhaps do some reading as well. I only have to work three days this week because I am leaving for Alabama on Thursday (be back on Saturday), and of course next week will be yet another holiday weekend. I am getting rather spoiled, methinks.

We were really lucky as far as Arthur and the other storms he spawned in his wake are concerned; I just saw how so much of the Gulf Coast and the southern parts of Mississippi got slammed with flooding, and I do have to drive through that part of the state on Thursday on my way north. I haven’t yet decided what I am going to listen to in the car, either. Since it’s still Pride, I am thinking maybe something on the queer side, rather than my usual car stalwarts (Carol Goodman, Donna Andrews, Laurie King, Lisa Unger), this time around. Something to ponder, for sure. I’ve also not been as motivated this year, for some reason, to write Pride essays for my newsletter–and I think I actually just figured it out; using Pride Month to talk about queer issues, books, culture and experience is limiting, because–just like African-American History Month in February, I worry I will only do that during Pride, and that’s wrong. Just as I read marginalized writers all year long, I should write about queer issues all year and shouldn’t just make it about Pride Month. Du-uh.

Sometimes it takes me a minute. I am kind of oblivious that way, most of the time. (I also started writing this and then got sucked into clips of World Cup tourists having a lovely time here for much longer than necessary…but I also had the whole morning, and I’ve also been fighting Sparky for my desk chair all morning, too (even now as I type this he is lying underneath my desk, waiting for me to get up again). I’ve had some toast and a piece of coffee cake, and might need to have something else before I take my pills and get cleaned up and move into the living room. And I have to go back to the office tomorrow, heavy sigh. Not a terrible thing, actually, especially since I feel good and rested and recharged this morning. I am resisting the urge to do literally nothing for the rest of the day, which wouldn’t be a good thing. But dear Lord, is it ever tempting to think about! I have moved to the easy chair from my desk; I got up for more coffee and the look Sparky gave me from my desk chair, once he’d moved into it literally the moment I got up? Yeah, you can have the chair, Mr. Man.

We finished America’s Sweethearts, and yeah, not nearly as engaging as the earlier seasons. From there, we moved on to the latest Harlan Coben show on Netflix, I Will Find You, which was thoroughly engaging, had intense and insane twists and turns, and was also very well-acted. You really can never go wrong with a Harlan Coben show, seriously, or book. Harlan’s the best, and absolutely deserves every cent of his insane success.

Maybe I should have been nicer. Nah, that would have been exhausting because that’s just not who I am.

Yes, I did write yesterday, in case you were wondering, It felt good and so I just went with it. I also gathered up all my journal notes for the book–long overdue–and I also found all the scans of book notes from all the older journals (I’d forgotten I’d already done this before–the joys of the impaired memory I’ve had most of this decade), which will make the book easier to write. It really does help to get organized. I’m still not finished organizing, either, but I know I can make some excellent progress today. I also need to do a bit of chores today, too, but I want to get some writing done again today. I also worked on a couple of short stories yesterday, which was also kind of awesome. It feels amazing to be writing again, and all this free time is also amazing, which is partly why I am feeling so lazy. I always had so much else to do all the time that writing always felt like my lowest priority, and now that all I have to do, besides my chores and every day things and my job, is write and relax, it’s wonderful. I don’t have to be so organized and busy all the time, and I don’t need to feel guilty for doing things other than writing anymore, which is lovely.

And so on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, and I will be back tomorrow morning!

Precious Time

Happy Juneteenth! And to all the whining racists out there, shut the fuck up and have all the seats. Are you working today or getting paid to stay home? If the latter, you really need to fuck all the way off into the sun.

Sparky let me sleep in this morning, which was very nice. I did some chores last night (we also watched a few episodes of America’s Sweethearts, but not really feeling the show this time around), so the kitchen doesn’t need as much work as it usually does over the weekend, which is nice. I also have some more chores to do this morning–I need to finish laundering clothes and do the bed linens, an unload/reload the dishwasher, and the floors. I also need to tackle my workspace, too–it’s been out of control for far too long at this point, seriously.

Yesterday was a rather dreary and damp day. Arthur’s conditions (he passed north of New Orleans) dumped a shit ton of rain on us all day yesterday, which I usually like, but I wasn’t at home under my blankets so it wasn’t as enjoyable as it usually is for me. We also had three (!!) tornados touch down in the metro area–none near me, thank the heavens–but one started in Avondale, another started in Harahan and tore its way through the cemeteries on its way to the lake front, and one on the west bank that started near Houma and spun its way up the bayou. As far as I know, there were no fatalities but a lot of damage. It’s sunny this morning–we were supposed to have more rain today–and I think I’ll have some things delivered so I don’t have to leave the house today. It’s weird not having to do work-at-home duties on a Friday, but it’s also kind of nice.

Can you believe he agreed to this shitty deal with Iran and signed it at Versailles? What other treaties have been signed there? Well played, France, as well as the gift of a bike to him. Chef’s kiss no notes on the trolling that he is too stupid to understand. Yup, that’s their golden calf–the one they sold their souls, intelligence, patriotism, and consciences to…and they went incredibly cheap. We can’t have universal health care, we can’t have free education, we can’t give kids free lunch at school, we can’t have so many things….but we can afford $300 billion more to give to Iran as “sorry we blew up your country, please let the oil flow.” Sounds like the desert country with the precious spice actually did hold all the cards. Are people still worshiping at this shrine? The right has been itching to go to war with Iran since the hostage crisis; they finally get a guy who’ll give it to him and he fucks it all up. But hey, you got rid of Roe v. Wade at least…it’s almost like God is punishing the United States for doing that. (Hey if they can blame hurricanes on queer people, I can blame whatever the fuck I want on them and will.)

Anyway, I know I am tired of all this winning, aren’t you?

Sigh.

I’m going to play today by ear, but the primary goal is cleaning up, resting, and reading for the holiday. I may do some writing, but maybe not. I feel pretty good and rested this morning, too, which is nice. There’s also a new Harlan Coben show on Netflix to watch; we always enjoy his shows, and plus, it’s not every day you get to watch a television series produced and written by someone you know. Come to think of it, I know any number of people who’ve had movies and television shows made out of their books, which is pretty fucking cool. My life is far more fabulous than it has any right being, you know?

And on THAT cheery note, I am heading into the spice mines. I’m getting some more coffee to watch the news with, maybe read for a bit, and then get cleaned up before I order groceries for delivery. I hope you have a marvelous holiday doing whatever you like, as I will, and I will of course return tomorrow morning.

Those thighs! Dat ass! Either a soccer or rugby player, for sure. Based on the arms, I’m going with rugby.

Prisoner of Love

Thursday and my last day in the office for the week, which is pretty cool. Yesterday was a pretty good day, really. I woke up several times during the night, sadly, but feel pretty rested and awake for this late in the week. I guess I am finally getting used to getting up early, after all these years. Then again, the fatigue issues were always related to the ulcerative colitis, so I definitely had the wrong impression about being in my sixties. AN enormous relief there, you know. After work I came straight home and turned myself into a cat bed for Sparky (who is not the lithe kitten he once was but still thinks he is) and we watched this week’s episode of Widow’s Bay and started season two of Running Point, whose first season we enjoyed before going to bed. I didn’t do any writing or reading yesterday, but hope to get back in that proverbial saddle again today. I also have to run some errands tonight on the way home–mail, pick up a prescription–and then, I am hoping I won’t have to leave the house very much over the weekend. Next weekend is a four day one, and then I am driving up to Alabama later this month to meet Dad for their anniversary. And then it’s July, and the dog days of summer have truly begun here.

And before you know it, it’s football season again.

I do need to set some goals for this summer, and all of them have to do with writing. I need to clean out the storage attic sooner rather than later, which is a good project for the summer. I also want to get some short stories out on sub, and I want to get this draft of the book finished, so I can get going on the next Scotty–Twelfth Night Knavery–by the end of this year and maybe get that done as well. I also want to get some essays for the newsletter finished this weekend; I am behind schedule but since I have set said schedule and the only person disappointed by my failure is me–and it really doesn’t bother me all that much. But I also don’t need to sit around all weekend wasting time, either.

I recently came across yet another catastrophic hurricane to hit New Orleans; the 1893 Cheniere Caminada hurricane of 1893, which destroyed the town it’s named after in Jefferson Parish when it came ashore. So many destructive hurricanes have come through here since the French built the first hut on the banks of the river way back in the eighteenth century–there has to be a book about the hurricane history of New Orleans, doesn’t there? As much as I would love to read one, I don’t want to write one! If I knew how to do research properly, once I was retired I could write some marvelous nonfiction because there are so many archives here in the city; New Orleans has always done its best to document itself, even if the original sources may be unreliable. (I think of the time wasted reading the old books about New Orleans history, which weren’t trustworthy; men like Robert Tallant and Harnett Kane and others, wrote horribly racist histories which were all mostly lore and legend rather than actual fact. They were entertaining, sure, but oh my GOD the racism is abhorrent.)

I’m thinking about writing a new series, honestly; set in a small town down in the bayou with supernatural creatures and murders. I know, it sounds like a ripoff of Charlaine–which is why this idea, which I’ve had since the 1990s (and more of a Dark Shadows riff rather than Charlaine’s books), and last night I did figure out how to bring the main character to this spooky parish down the bayou.

I also need to get the print-on-demand for Bourbon Street Blues done at some point, and then get the ebook of Jackson Square Jazz (and the pod) up, and I also want to get a short story collection up, too.

SO much to do, occasionally feel like I want to do it all, and of course I wind up taking more down time than I should and….yeah, whatever.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, and I thank you as always for stopping by. See you tomorrow!

Maybe dreams can come true and I will see Egypt before I die! An aerial view of the Luxor temple.

I’m Gonna Follow You

Monday morning and back to the office with me in a little bit. Haven’t had enough coffee yet, frankly.

I think it was a good weekend for me. I feel rested and good, which is always the point of weekends, isn’t it? Thank you, labor unions. It was a very good weekend for me, creatively, as well. I noticed on Saturday that I was almost finished with my journal (I actually finished it yesterday morning) and I smacked myself metaphorically upside my head for not writing the date I started writing in it on the flyleaf…but then yesterday I realized the notes on the very first page were written down either while I was in Florida last month, or after I got home. (The note was about a sign I saw on the way down to Panama City Beach at a corner where we turned: Betty’s Fireworks–Best Bang in Town! It made me laugh, I took a picture of it, and thought it would make a great story title.) But this note enabled me to write MAY 2026 on the flyleaf and I realized damn, I filled that journal in about a month or less which also means I’ve been writing a lot more than I had realized; I am just now doing it in long hand cursive rather than on a computer (although I did do some of that this weekend, too). I just now need to get back into the habit of writing on a keyboard again. The journal has been scratching my creative itch lately, is all.

Kind of a relief there, you know. The medication helps with the anxiety, but it’s not removed ALL the roadblocks in my head yet. That’s going to require a much longer unpacking than I’ve managed so far. But I am getting there.

I finished my reread of George Baxt’s A Queer Kind of Death, and also decided that I wasn’t going to write an essay about it–mainly because today the book is kind of problematic, despite being groundbreaking when originally published and it deserves (along with its two follow-ups) to be remembered for their importance, no matter how they hold up presently. It was a very big deal for a book where every male character is gay to be published in 1966 by Simon & Schuster, so it wasn’t only important for queer crime but for queer publishing in general. At the time. most queer fiction was published by pulp presses and not carried in most bookstores outside of the chains. The cop in this is not only a gay man but Black, too–which was incredibly subversive in a period where race riots were in the news weekly. But again, as entertaining as the book is, I think a white man writing a Black character wouldn’t fly today, and there’s also some problems with the gay characters. It also paints a picture of what life was like if you were openly gay in 1966, and that also makes the book important. But I couldn’t go in depth about it without critiquing the aspects now problematic, and I don’t want to do that, especially during Pride Month.

Same with my current read; it’s disappointing to me and I am not enjoying it, so I am putting it aside for now and moving on to another–probably the new Lev Rosen, as he is one of my favorites.

Now, I need to pick out my next queer reread. Hmmm. Maybe something not crime? Oooooh, Faggots by Larry Kramer! I’ve been meaning to get back to it again now for years1. There’s also Serenade by James M. Cain, which I’ve been wanting to reread. Oops, sorry, spoiler–but yes, Serenade is Cain’s queer novel.

I have been doing a lot of writing this weekend. I even wrote a synopsis/rough draft of the second chapter of the novel, which is taking shape nicely in my head. I did more short story work, too. I love that I am writing again and I love that I am being creative again. It’s so nice to finally break through that scar tissue in my brain (or whatever that was) to get back to finding joy and pleasure in writing again. It makes me feel alive in a way that nothing else really does, and I am so lucky that I love doing this work, and that I’m able to do it again. I think maybe that’s part of why I am feeling so much better–I’m writing again and enjoying it, which is always a joy.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have yourself a merry little Monday, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning. See you then!

Today’s crop of pro wrestlers have much better bodies than they did when I was growing up. I’d do this dude in a heartbeat.
  1. I used to love talking to Larry on the phone when I worked at Lambda. He was usually angry about something but would always preface with “Greg, it’s not you but I’m mad.” ↩︎

Never Wanna Leave You

Thursday morning coming in strong, how are you doing? Yesterday was kind of drab and overcast and rainy, which was terrific–you know I love me some rain–and a huge relief after how thick and awful the humidity was when I left for the office yesterday morning. That also explains the sinus attack I had when I got up–I had to take a Claritin-D, it was so bad–but I could tell by the time I got to the office it was going to rain. I didn’t get any “flood watch” texts or emails, so it wasn’t too bad. We’re supposed to get a lot more rain today and tomorrow, with it clearing up a bit on the weekend. It’s rained a lot here this late spring, and I can’t remember the last time we had such a wet May and June. I love it, of course–I really do want it to rain all day Friday so after I finish my work-at-home chores I can read under a blanket while it storms outside. I did some chores last night when I got home from work, and felt pretty good. Paul and I watched some television–we started Sweetpea, which is delightfully wicked and twisted in a deliciously macabre kind of way–and then it was time for bed.

I feel good this morning, and I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home yesterday, which was most definitely a good thing. I think not only am I getting close to being back to what would be considered normal, health-wise, again for the first time in years but maybe I’m finally getting used to getting up at six in the morning every day, which would be lovely. It’s lovely not to feel tired when I am working with a client, it’s lovely to think oh, I have the energy to get some things done tonight on the way home from work, but i also have to get used to the idea that just because Paul is on the couch watching television doesn’t mean I have to join him, but it’s lovely to have time together just watching our shows or finding new ones. I hate when I am a Festival widow, because there’s nothing I enjoy more than just hanging out with Paul and Sparky while relaxing. (If it’s raining outside? Chef’s kiss! We are getting a lot of rain lately; I’m starting to see social media posts about locals being tired of the rain, so…)

I did write a newsletter that is scheduled to go out today for Pride Month; about the missing queer bookstores and how much I used to love them, and how good they were to me as an author. This was actually inspired by seeing a post on Tampa Bay LGBT History’s Facebook page about Tomes and Treasures, mentioning the guy who owned it, whom I actually met at the store (it was the first gay bookstore I ever entered) and how that store opened up my life to the vastness that was gay fiction and non-fiction, as well as all the other colors of the rainbow). As I am someone who has always learned best by reading (which is why I always sucked at math), books helped me get a better understanding of our history, how much of that is hidden in plain sight (I mean, I knew when reading history books that while they didn’t come right out and say is “oh, this king preferred men”–I knew what the truth of Edward II, Henri III, Frederick the Great, Philippe d’Orleans, and others really was), it was pretty safe to assume any king or emperor or great lord who had male favorites (Henri III’s were called “the mignons”) was actually a queen.

After Tuesday’s elections, I saw one of those “leftist influencers,” (whom I’ve never trusted; for one, he’s a nepo-baby and comes from money) who always gave me a homophobic vibe, dropped the mask entirely, claiming California voters gave into the “homo-fascist agenda” and several other unspeakably vile things–demeaning and degrading an already vilified minority group really isn’t the way to go for a straight white cisgender nepo-baby. It doesn’t take long for their masks to drop, does it? How is this any different from gay men like Keith Edwards who are racists and carrying water for white supremacy and misogyny? (You’re GAY, Keith, they will turn on you once you’ve sold everyone else out.) Well, you can miss me with all of your stans’ excuses and homophobia, Mr. Nepo-Baby. Fuck you. I’m waiting for the girls you date-raped while in your fraternity to come forward–and you know they are there because he’s clearly a pig with a massive ego.

Oh, and Mr. Nepo Baby? You’re not that hot, babe. Bet you’ve got some super-sexy back hair, too.

This is also why I get so angry when I see anyone on the left ready and willing to throw trans people under the bus; because it wasn’t that long ago that the left was willing to throw us ALL under the bus–gay, lesbian, bi, trans etc.

The fact that no one calls it out, ever, is even more sickening and disgusting.

And Nepo-Baby bottom-feeder said this shit during PRIDE MONTH.

Miss me with your excuses and explanations. There is no way that saying “homo-fascist” under ANY circumstance isn’t homophobic.

And I believe people when they show me who they are. Hence my lack of empathy, pity or sympathy for anyone MAGA, or voted MAGA while claiming not to be. You pissed all over my rights to own the libs. Fuck you now, and fuck you forever.

Homophobia will always be unforgivable. I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire in front of me; I’d look for things to stoke the fire.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. May your Thursday be awesome and your month homophobia free. I’ll be back tomorrow, see you then!

I would love to go to Carnival in Venice and wear one of these amazing costumes.

We Live for Love

Tuesday and it’s back to the office with me today. It was a marvelously relaxing holiday weekend, and I was pleased to read some more, and have ideas and work on writing, even if it was mostly scribbling in my journal. I don’t have a problem with any of it, and yes, I know I should be a little bit more concerned that I didn’t apply fingers to keyboard more than I did this weekend, but fuck it. I get to have free time and get to have down time, don’t I? And if i don’t, that’s not a life I want to live, thank you very much. It rained all day again yesterday, along with a lovely early afternoon thunderstorm. I put on season three of The Traitors for background noise and started reading and thinking and writing again, like I had done on Sunday afternoon. At some point I’ll need to funnel that energy and thought into writing on the keyboard. I also spent some time in the morning diving into the morass that is the news, which was cheery on the Ukraine front but not so much anywhere else. Ah, well.

And so it goes, I guess. The reality is the country has been on the decline for decades, but MAGA certainly accelerated the rush to the inevitable collapse. Who knows what will rise from the ashes? Will it be better or worse? I probably won’t be here to see it, and yes, I am very concerned about the midterms. I won’t alarm anyone with my usual pessimistic forecasts, because sadly I am proven right more often than not. It’s also no fun being Cassandra and not being listened to, either. I always thought she was the most tragic character in the entire story of the Trojan War, and have always wanted to write from her perspective. It would be an interesting exercise—a woman who can see the future but isn’t believed which drives her deeper and deeper into madness which makes each prophecy harder to believe? That is a particular kind of hell, isn’t it?

I wish Madeline Miller would make that her next novel.

It also dawned on me over the course of the weekend that May is almost finished, which means it will be JUNE soon…which is PRIDE MONTH. Should I be that old queen and be gauche, cliché and stereotypical and turn my newsletter into queer stuff all month? Of course, you already know the answer to that, don’t you? And yes, the answer is always yes. I think it’s important, and if queer content bothers the subscribers they wouldn’t be there in the first place. No one is making anyone read it, either. So, bearing Pride rolling up so quickly, I took that into consideration for my next reads, tabling what I had already had on deck, and switching it up a bit. My new-to-me read will be All of Us Murderers, which ticks off several boxes for me in addition to its being a queer read: it’s also a historical Gothic romance; it’s written by a cisgender-identified woman; and it’s also a crime novel. These are all things I want to talk about more in my newsletter, so I can touch on them during the newsletter about this book. I’ve also set aside The Ivy Tree as my next reread for A Queer Kind of Death by George Baxt, which I read decades ago and have an eye to see how it holds up. It’s also historic and was originally published in the 1960s, with a Black gay main character written by a gay white man…which should also prove interesting to revisit and talk about.

I feel good this morning, rested and relaxed and in a decent mood. I did do some writing–by hand–yesterday–in my journal, in which I reworked and rewrote the opening to an in-progress short story. Of course it isn’t one that fits any submissions call I have found recently, which is par for the course, but now that I am in such a period of low productivity I’ve pretty much decided that whatever pops into my head is what I should work on, rather than trying to force something that doesn’t want to be forced, which makes the most sense to me at the moment. My Achilles tendons don’t feel tight anymore, either, which is the biggest win to me of the weekend.

And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great day, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Till then!

The famous bust of Queen Nefertiti, whose name meant “the beautiful one has come.” And yes, it’s in a Berlin museum, and yes, the Germans need to return it because it’s loot.

Wichita Lineman

I am a lineman for the county…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.