Category: homophobia

The Life of a Showgirl

Work at home Friday and all is well and quiet in the Lost Apartment this morning. Sparky has been fed, so he won’t attack me for a while, and I have a team meeting on-line later this morning. I also have all kinds of on-line trainings that are due, as well as quality assurance and data entry that needs doing, which I will try to knock out this morning/early afternoon. I don’t have to work a long day today, and will have to run errands later. It’s probably foggy out there this morning–it certainly was yesterday morning when I drove to the office–and it is that time of year: fog season. I love the fog, to be honest–I don’t like to drive in it, but I think its beautiful and spooky and all those fun things that make Spooky Season spooky. There’s a New Orleans ghost story novel I want to write–and the fog will help set the mood for it, so it clearly needs to be set in November or late October.

I was very tired when I got home from work last night (still am a bit on the fatigued side this morning), and didn’t get anything done. After I did that ZOOM panel, I was wiped out entirely and repaired to my easy chair and searching for horror movies I want to watch before the end of the month. The panel–the fine line between horror and crime–was very interesting. I did think about it a lot yesterday during the day, and so I hope I didn’t seem as at sea as I felt. I don’t feel qualified to talk about horror other as a fan of the genre–I’m not as well read in the field as perhaps I should be, and I don’t write it very often–so I always have a bit of imposter syndrome when it comes to talking about horror. But I had a lovely time, and got just what I needed from it–more books to read. Heavy sigh.

I’m a little fatigued this morning, too. I have work duties to accomplish today, and errands to run later on. I also intend to start reading Elizabeth Hand’s Holokua Road this weekend, and I have some newsletter essays to get finished this weekend. I want to finish the ones I started about The Haunting of Hill House and Frendo Lives, and maybe work on some more. I also want to do some short story work over the course of the weekend.

My shoulder is also aching this morning, which isn’t a good thing at all. It never has ached like this since the surgery two years ago (has it really only been two years?), but it’s probably from being tired and then sleeping on it wrong, but I do think I need to get some serious rest this weekend. Driving back from Alabama on Sunday before having to work four days in the clinic (as opposed to the usual three) was kind of rough, but I think I handled it pretty well, even if I am a bit more tired this morning than I usually am on a Friday morning. But there’s naught to do but to get to it, is there? I also have to clean up this apartment, which is a disgusting mess…since I wasn’t here last week to do it. I can work on the house when I need a break from the day job duties.

Was anyone really surprised by the leaking of the Young Republican chats, and what these mind-numbingly ignorant bigots actually say and admit to when they think they won’t be held accountable? And again, we have the right ‘defending’ all of this as (wait for it) locker room talk by kids. The youngest was 24 and the oldest 41–that’s definitely old enough to know better, and tells me everything I need to know about the defenders. These are the people who wanted anyone who they deemed to be insufficiently mourning the bigoted weasel Charlie Kirk, but now want to excuse racism, homophobia, and being pro-Nazi? I’ve said for years this is what white people really think, and why they hate/oppose DEI and “political correctness”–but here’s the thing: if you know you’ll get “canceled” for being openly horrible, then you already are aware you’re horrible. You just don’t want to be punished for being horrible, and thus you need to believe everyone else is just as awful as you are, but won’t admit to it…and since everyone thinks that way, you shouldn’t be punished for your “honesty.”

Whatever helps you sleep at night, trash.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning for sure. Until there, auf weidersehen.

Gorgeous Max Parker of Boots.

You Belong with Me

Thursday morning and my last day in the office for the week–and until a week from Monday, at that! Huzzah! The dark is pressing up against my windows this morning, which means the time change is coming. I still get to come home from work in the daylight, though. I slept pretty decently last night, and my legs are tired this morning but they don’t ache, which is much, much better than earlier this week. The bed also felt warm and comfortable this morning. Sparky was a cuddle puddle, too, which wasn’t exactly motivating me to get up, you know? Ah, well.

I was very tired when I got home from work last night, but did my chores so the house isn’t a disaster area this morning. I worked on the book first, caught up on the news (which is truly grim every day), and then cleaned out the sink and ran the dishwasher. I also finished two loads of laundry and folded everything before I started dozing off in my chair. I started my reread of The Haunting of Hill House, and it always, on every reread, just blows me away. Shirley Jackson was such a master.

What a bizarre week this has been, and it’s only Thursday. It hasn’t been bizarre for me, per se, but more along the lines of “I’m not enjoying this final season of United States.” We have Senator Rafael Cruz insisting that we need to “stop attacking pedophiles” (for which I have rechristened him Tedophile), to the government shutting down, to the cowardice of the House Speaker in not swearing in a duly elected congressperson to protect the Epstein files from coming out, to whatever the fuck that was with the top military brass the other day. (Someone posted on social media that the generals were calling them “Fat Man and Little Boy” because they bombed so hard, which made me howl with laughter.)

I do love how President Canks1 seems to think destroying the major cities in this country–which also are the primary economic engines of the country–won’t bankrupt the nation, not to mention a president threatening US cities with military reprisals because they don’t like him is a kind of a terrifying new wrinkle (gee, if only someone could have said something about this before the election…), but not a surprise. MAGA has been running this country as a fascist state since at least 1/20/25, and anyone who doesn’t see that is too stupid to engage with other than a simple “hello” in passing. Is it any wonder everything is fraying and decaying, including everyone’s emotional and mental states? Prices certainly are out of control and getting worse every time I go to the grocery store or order groceries for delivery; how’s that cost of eggs no one on the Right seems to care about anymore? Fortunately I only use eggs for cooking (rarely), and while Paul loves them, he doesn’t eat them very often–thank the Lord. And who would have ever thought the so-called “answer” to illegal immigration was to make the country such a hellhole that no one would want to come here for opportunity anymore? I always thought illegal immigration was the ultimate compliment to our country–that whole “land of opportunity” thing I was brainwashed into believing when I was a kid. My generation was completely gaslighted into the dual mythology of American exceptionalism and white supremacy; talk about a miseducation! I’ve spent most of my adulthood unlearning those lessons.

But I do feel good this morning–I know I’ll be tired tonight, but the only chore left is folding that last load of laundry, so I can probably do a spot of writing before collapsing into my easy chair for the evening. I do hope Paul gets home early enough before I fall asleep/go to bed, so we can watch some shows and get caught up with each other. I think they’re finished moving the office to their new, temporary space.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and don’t let the news get to you too much; I need to follow my own advice, don’t I? See you tomorrow morning!

Take It Easy

Ah, here we are on a Tuesday morning, and I feel okay. I’m not feeling as achy as I have since Saturday, but there’s some tired still in my legs and the hips feel tired rather than painful, which is definitely a plus this morning. I wound up having to work in the clinic yesterday instead of having an Admin day, which is going to throw this week off to begin with and make me super-tired by the time the weekend rolls around again. Huzzah?

Last night I managed to work on the book despite feeling like I’d been run through the wringer after making some groceries on the way home. I collapsed into my chair once I was finished and caught up on the news before staggering up the stairs to go to bed. I did sleep really well last night, which is always a plus, and feel good, as I’ve already noted. My coffee is going down quite well, and I’m just a little bit hungry, so will be heating up my breakfast sandwich relatively soon. I don’t feel any mental fatigue today, which is always a plus. I think I am working alone in the clinic this morning, but could be wrong; I have been before, after all. I might even be able to sneak out early today, as we have no one booked for this afternoon. We’ll see how the day goes, won’t we? (That staycation just can’t come soon enough for me, you know.)

But overall I cannot complain about anything. The work on the book is going extremely well, and I am really looking forward to getting this done finally and out of my hair. I think I am going to spend October–since I’ll have edits and copy edits to deal with–writing short stories and essays. I am terribly behind on my newsletter, and maybe I can get one sent out this weekend since LSU has a bye-week so there’s not much urgency to watch games Saturday; I don’t even know who is playing. I’ll have the games on during the day (Alabama-Vanderbilt might be the winner of the afternoon time slot) but I want to read and write for the weekend and so will probably not pay much attention–unless it’s a really good game. Looks like Texas is playing Florida this weekend, too, and Florida State-Miami is the big night game of the day. I also kind of feel like I’m coming out from under all the gloom that’s been hanging over my head almost this entire decade, you know? When my mind isn’t foggy or tired, it’s sharp the way it used to be, even if the memory banks don’t work as quickly as they used to (if they work at all); I get the spinning wheel in my brain a lot when I try to remember things.

Yesterday was the two year anniversary of Sparky’s “gotcha” day!

In other exciting news, Governor Landry admitted to a national audience that he is a failure at governance and asked for the National Guard to be deployed in New Orleans and Baton Rouge. Hope they’re good at filling potholes, because you know damned well they won’t be going anywhere near the parts of the city that are riddled with crime. They’ll be stationed on Bourbon Street, and maybe Rampart and Canal as well. (I don’t think the Governor, who is all about his ambition and sucking up to the MAGA trash, is aware that he’s confessed to utter failure as a governor, while also admitting that a red state needs federal help because it can’t function properly is a hell of an admission to make; why would any other red state reelect their failed politicians after this? Because racism, that’s why.) Apparently, LSU is also going to be having a “Charlie Kirk Lecture Series.’

Which makes me not mind the loss to Mississippi this past weekend as much as I did.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and be grateful you’re not a higher-up in the military, letting you off the hook for the idiotic meeting in DC today.

Southern Cross

Monday morning and I am up, drinking coffee and trying to get a move on for this exciting new week! I feel rested and well this morning, which is very pleasant, and looking forward to another new week. Yesterday was pleasant, and I spent most of the day reading or writing or thinking about work, which was nice. It’s always lovely to have a productive day, isn’t it? I find it to be frequently so, and also? Yesterday Scotty’s voice popped back into my head, which was lovely and also made me realize that was why I disliked the manuscript so much; it’s not written in his voice and we’re not really in his head at all and he is simply observing what’s happening without much of a reaction to it–and that sense of growing dread and unease I need the readers to experience isn’t really there. So, I basically unlocked the book at last, and am rather excited about it. Naturally, all I want to do now is work on it, but have to wait for free time to do it. Heavy sigh.

I didn’t watch the Saints game yesterday because I am still pissed about the moment of silence from the last game, and they got dog-walked by the Seahawks, didn’t they? Thoughts and prayers, Mrs. Benson, thoughts and prayers. I’m not sure if or when I will forgive the Saints for this slap in the face to the city of New Orleans (83% for Harris, Mrs. Benson, 83 fucking % for Harris), but this misunderstanding of the Saints fan base make-up (and those of the season ticket holders) is pretty fucking bad and makes me wonder if maybe she might be the gold-digging skank his blood relatives always thought she was. I for one am tired of being a fan of a team that regularly makes it clear they don’t give a shit about their non-white non-straight fans. I’m not at “throwing away all my Saints merch” stage yet, but pretty damned close.

I got deeper into reading The Hunting Wives as well over the weekend, and I am really enjoying it. As I’ve remarked numerous times already, it is very different from the TV show and so I am enjoying the book and how it is all coming together. I need to finish reading this before October–along with the other two current reads–so I can move on to the Halloween Horror Month reading. And yes, my enjoyment of the book means I am probably going to end up reading more of May Cobb’s canon. It’s always lovely to find a new writer you enjoy, but I have so many already I can’t keep up!

It was an interesting weekend for evil and corruption, wasn’t it? There was yesterday’s Nazi rally in Arizona, featuring all the right American fascists, but was a little taken aback by the shock some people have expressed about it; what the hell did you think it was going to be? Charlie Kirk is far more powerful to them as a symbol than he was when he was alive, and they’ve already started whitewashing things he said and did during his public, grifting life. I also loved that the ‘border Nazi” was exposed as corrupt and open to accepting bribes, and the fact that the regime told the FBI to drop the investigation? There really is no low they won’t stoop to, and as long as they remain racist and misogynist and homophobic their voters don’t care. Free speech is under attack, and don’t think any and all efforts to censor or ban “adult” material won’t be used as a pretext to ban queer work. I’m glad to see people are finally waking up to how rigged the Right and their soulless minions have made everything. Better late than never, I suppose, but this kind of insight was sorely needed in 2016 and 2024, thank you very much.

I don’t think the lady with the laugh y’all hated would have pressured a network into firing a talk show host who was critical of her, you know. But that laugh, amirite?

And on that note I am heading into the spice mines for the day, so have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader! I will see you tomorrow morning like clockwork!

Egyptian god Horus

Beach Baby

I love this song still to this very day. It came out during a time where nostalgia was big–especially the 1950s–and the Beach Boys had just made another comeback and their album Endless Summer was a huge hit. The song is very reminiscent of the Beach Boys–all that California sun and surf and cheerfulness and high school hops–but there was a melancholy under all that cheerful nostalgia, especially with the background refrain, oft-repeated through it, of do you remember? do you remember? (The song also come out around the same time as a book called What Really Happened to the Class of 65? and I always associated the song with the book.)

It is Tuesday morning and I am up early, as always, swilling coffee and eating coffee cake, care of Costco. I did finish editing that story, and got it turned in. I hope the editor likes it. I had the idea for it many years ago–not that long, but it seems like it now–and started writing it, getting a draft done before wondering where to try to sell it. I was going to submit it to the Minneapolis Bouchercon anthology I edited, putting it through the anonymous read process as I did for the New Orleans and St. Petersburg ones because it would look like “insider pool” if I was accepted. (I have not submitted to a Bouchercon anthology since being told this, by the way. If their board thinks I would just automatically put my own story in there instead of following the same procedure as everyone else? I don’t need to be in any of their anthologies in the future.) I’ve had the idea for a long time–going back to when I actually lived in Minneapolis, which is where I also came up with the title, which is one of my favorites of all my titles. I did try selling some other places, but the story was still…not quite right, and was rejected, as it should have been. I think I was able to fix it, but…we’ll have to see. But it felt good to work on it, and I also realized that just because it doesn’t “feel” the same to write and edit as it used to, doesn’t mean I’m not doing good work. I’ve changed, both physically and mentally, and that’s going to make things seem different to me than how they used to work, you know?

Yesterday wasn’t a bad day, you know. We weren’t as busy at work as I had expected, primarily from no-shows and last minute reschedules, so I wasn’t exhausted when I got home from work and worked on the story. I didn’t do any chores–the kitchen somehow exploded again, I don’t know how all this happens, honestly–so when I get home tonight I can’t write or read or even catch up on the news until those chores are completed. I hate when the downstairs is a mess, and the whole apartment, when it’s out of order, feels very cramped and small and claustrophobic. Because I am all about the claustrophobia? Apparently so. I slept well again last night and don’t feel terribly sleepy or tired this morning, which is a good thing. Sparky was a combination cuddle-bug/attack kitty this morning before I got up, and went into attack mode again while I was putting my shoes on. I think Paul will be working late at the office tonight, if I am not mistaken, and so it’ll be time for some bonding time after I write (or while I read and edit). I doubt I’ll be catching up on the news; the current story dominating the legacy “media” doesn’t interest me, nor am I interested in being shamed for not mourning someone who advocated me being stoned to death, either. (Miss me with the “he didn’t say that!” Okay, then, tell me one positive thing he ever said about queer rights and equality. I’ll wait.)

The story not getting this fawning, wall-to-wall coverage from the legacy media? How about the two men lynched on consecutive days in Mississippi? The Mississippi “police” already determined the Black college student’s death had “no evidence of foul play.” Really? The other victim was a white homeless man, and their names were, respectively, Trey Reed of Delta State University and Cory Zukatis. After all, it’s not like the Mississippi police have a history of covering up hate crimes or anything. (eye roll to infinity)

We are living in dark times, indeed.

And on that grim note, I am heading into the spice mines. Stay safe, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back in the morning.

Third Rate Romance

Monday and back to the office with me this morning. The Saints lost yesterday, but at least it was an exciting game. I slept well and feel good this morning, which is a good thing. I have to cover the clinic today instead of having an Admin day, and we’re book pretty solid, just as we were last Thursday and almost everyone showed up. It’s fine, I do love my job after all, but sometimes that’s a little draining. Ah, well, I can go home after work and chill out with my Sparky, who was cuddling with me this morning after the first tap of the snooze button. Bless his little heart, that’s not exactly helping me get up in the morning.

Yesterday, despite the Saints loss, was pretty good. I felt good when I got up in the morning–there was some fatigue still in my hips, but nothing horrifying–and while I didn’t do all the chores I wanted to get done, I did do some, and ran the dishwasher. I still have all those boxes from Costco to take out to the trash, but maybe I can get that done tonight after work. But while the Saints game was on, I actually wrote and read some more of The Hunting Wives, which is so different from the show but in a very interesting way. And the writing work I got done was good work; I could tell as I was working that this was good stuff, which is awesome. The short story is due today, and I just need to sand down some of the rougher edges on it before I turn it in, and then full focus on getting Scotty finished. I was actually thinking a lot about the Scotty yesterday, too, which is kind of cool. I feel like I’m getting back into the writing groove again, and once the Scotty is finished, I’d like to get a rough draft of Chlorine finished by the end of the year and perhaps start another novel before January 1. We’ll see, I guess.

We also didn’t watch the Emmys, primarily because we don’t care that much, choosing to watch The Thursday Murder Club, with its incredible cast, instead. I’ve not read the book it was based on, but have heard great things about it, and the movie was absolutely charming and very well done. I do hope there will be more of these…and then we watched this week’s Platonic before starting the new season of Only Murders in the Building. (I saw someone on social media this weekend say that they were convinced the best way to watch the show was to assume Steve Martin and Martin Short are playing a gay couple–which I can actually see, but alas not canon.)

As many of us saw many so-called allies to marginalized communities slip into their Klan robes over the course of the last week and weekend, outing themselves as, if not racists and homophobes, then are certainly okay with homophobia and racism and oppression…this morning I noticed on social media that there’s yet another furor in the m/m community; this time about those conservative women who idolized the late unlamented provocateur and everything he stood for…I generally no longer comment on this subgenre of literature as a general rule because I have nothing to gain by saying anything. I noticed back in the late aughts that there was an awful lot of homophobia and bigotry and fetishization in that community, and merely asking “why do you want to write about gay men when you hate and marginalize them?” unleashed a torrent of hatred on me…you know, typical straight white women who cannot stand being questioned about anything. One of the “authors” publicly claimed that I was “clearly jealous of their careers”–um, you’re neither Harlan Coben nor Stephen King nor Nora Roberts; why would I be jealous of you? The vitriol and hate and dogpiling by these horrible women ON ACTUAL GAY MEN with questions about them and their motivations…no, can’t possibly be homophobic, could they? They also would threaten us with voting against queer equality unless we knuckled under to their appropriation and creation of a fake public homosexuality. The stark refusal of any m/m authors to denounce homophobes within their own community back then was kind of a tell to me that I and other gay men are not only not safe in those communities, but that they would always close ranks if there was anything critical from an “outsider.”

I’ve never cared who writes what, to be honest. If you want to write about gay men falling in love and finding their happily ever after, go for it and I wish you well with your writing and I hope you do well with it, as I do every other author out there (until you prove yourself to be filth). But if you’re going to, and you don’t support queer equality (or vote against it because reasons), you really need to look inward and reexamine yourself and your motivations: why are you writing (or reading) about people you don’t support or care about? How is that any less of a betrayal than those of performers who make money off queer audiences but actually hate them and are transactional (cough Kristin Chenowith among others cough)? If you write about queer people we are always going to assume you’re safe.

Talk about a bait and switch. You’re contemptible– a deplorable, if you will.

And yes, we get angry when we are stabbed in the back. It’s also why I never completely trust “allies.”

But it is nice, in 2025, to see m/m authors calling the homophobia out. Thank you, m/m writing community, for standing with us in this moment.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, and I’ll be back in the morning.

Love the One You’re With

GEAUX TIGERS!

I feel good this morning, like I slept well and recharged, which is always a nice feeling. My coffee tastes great, and so does the coffee cake we got at Costco yesterday. It was a pretty good day, despite some missteps (is every Walgreens in New Orleans a portal to hell?) and I had a strange experience getting gas, which I’ll have to sort out once the charge hits, but other than that and the horrible accident at Jackson and Prytania I saw the aftermath of (someone ran a red light and totaled their car hitting another one, thoughts and prayers) as the cops and tow trucks cleared the intersection. After finishing my work, we picked up my copy of the new Lou Berney and went to Costco. It wasn’t that expensive, comparatively speaking, compared to other shopping trips there. We came home, settled in after putting everything away, and watched this week’s Peacemaker before finishing Wednesday, which was a lot of fun before going to bed (I fell asleep in my chair catching up on news). Today I am going to order groceries, read (and edit), and work on the house during the football games today. Great games today, too–capping off with Florida at LSU (Geaux Tigers!) tonight!

Turns out Charlie Kirk’s murder was MAGA-on-MAGA crime, and not someone on the left at all. With their usual hypocrisy, MAGA was all in on “civil war” and “killing Democrats” before the truth was revealed and they immediately went in to “oh, no mental health that poor troubled young man” with no acknowledgement of their most recent blunder (they really are tiresome). And they wonder why we fucking hate them? I also didn’t have “Broadway icon whose entire career is due to gays being MAGA” on my 2025 Bingo card, either, the disgusting piece of shit. I never cared much for her–her voice, both speaking and singing, always sounded like a castrated chipmunk to me–but seriously, bitch? And you’re opening a new show on Broadway soon? I do wonder if the shrunken-headed leather-skinned flotilla of sewer shit will walk it back, but we really aren’t the ones…as she is about to fucking find out. Thoughts and prayers, trash. How’d that work out for Donna Summer? Do you think anyone is going to be booking Gloria Gaynor anywhere for the rest of her life? Gays have long memories, and we never forget being betrayed by someone who pretended to be an ally for money and fame.

I also loved the “free speech” advocates screaming about the communities he targeted not feeling bad enough about his murder. Remind me of the memorial day Jews have annually to mourn Hitler? If you weren’t targeted by this money-grubbing grifter and merchant of hate you don’t get to lecture or scold those who were. I blocked a lot of people over the last couple of days. Being reminded of how much trash is in the crime writing community is never a bad thing…another reminder of why I will never go to another crime writers’ conference ever again.

And for the record, that’s to protect these pieces of shit from me, because I am done being Mr. Nice Gay.

Sigh.

And on that note, I need to get my day going before the morning slips through my fingers. Have a great Saturday, Constant Reader, and GEAUX TIGERS!

The blues in this image are exceptional, making him look better, too.

Whenever I Call You “Friend”

Good morning, Sunday! I slept late again this morning despite Sparky’s best efforts, and after all those years of insomnia, I do enjoy getting up later. Yesterday was a pretty decent day, overall. I did some things, ran some errands, did chores and kind of overdid it…I was tired by the mid-afternoon, so just hung out in my chair with Sparky in my lap, and we watched some television while Paul dozed on and off for the rest of the day. Some of what we watched was research, so it’s not like I blew off the entire day or anything. The weather has also cooled; it was in the mid-eighties yesterday with a very low degree of humidity so it was actually pleasant outside (and yes, calling the mid-eighties pleasant and almost fall-like is an indication of how hellishly hot here these last few months)–supposed to be similar today, and since I have to walk to Walgreens later on, I’m hoping it is just like yesterday. I think we’re supposed to have cooler weather the rest of the week? The Katrina anniversary is also this Friday–so glad it’s my work-at-home day.

We finished watching Smoke last night and we really enjoyed it. Taron Egerton is a terrific actor, and I love Jurnee Smollett in everything I see her in. There were lots of twists and turns, and the show changes its centering in almost every episode, with some very clever writing sleight-of-hand along the way that always keeps you guessing. It was very well done, and I do recommend it.

I also watched the HBO documentary The Serial Killer’s Apprentice (I also have the book in my TBR stack). I’ve been interested in the Dean Corll/Candyman murders since I first heard about them when I lived in Houston back in 1989-1991, and one of my future projects is rooted in that horrific true crime story. We certainly do know a lot more about psychology, abuse, and grooming nowadays, and so Dr. Katherine Ramsland, who wrote the book based on her interviews with Corll’s teenaged ‘helper’, Elmer Wayne Henley Jr. The documentary doesn’t get into what Corll and his helpers did to those poor boys, but it was horrific. One torture detail that has stuck in my mind all these years since I first heard about the case and read a book about it–I don’t remember the title, but it was fairly old and was written shortly after the trials, and wasn’t terribly long. (When I talk about The Summer of Lost Boys, that’s my Candyman book.) Watching this documentary gave me some other ideas about how to write and structure said book.

I also had the television on for background noise while I was cleaning and doing things yesterday, and tuned in for the Kansas State-Iowa State game from Dublin (KSU lost). I cannot believe it’s football season already, with LSU playing this coming Saturday at Clemson.

The Cracker Barrel uproar from the MAGA morons has been incredibly amusing, but they do have a point. The redesign of the interiors is soulless and horrible, but as for removing the old man and the barrel and the words “old country store” off their logo? It is just rebranding to try to get a new customer base since theirs is dying off. Why is change so hard and terrifying for people to accept? I’ll never understand the perpetual victimhood of right-wingers, myself–yet they call us snowflakes. God, there are few things I despise more than hypocrisy. The only constant in life is change, so fighting change is a fool’s errand, and I sure don’t have time for that, although it sure seems a lot of other people do. It must be nice having a life that allows you the energy and time to waste bitching about a corporate decision that ultimately doesn’t affect or impact anyone in any way, shape or form.

But they have opinions, and of course, it’s the libs’ fault, even though most of couldn’t possibly give less of a shit about Cracker Barrel’s logo. But that redesign of the restaurant space is a mistake, a very big mistake. I maybe eat at a Cracker Barrel once a year with Dad when I’m in Kentucky, but that’s about it. Cracker Barrel hasn’t gotten this kind of attention since they were racist homophobes back in the day.

Had I but known how triggering this would be for the right-wing snowflakes, I would have pushed for a logo redesign for Cracker Barrel decades ago.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. There’s a lot of mess I need to clean up this morning, and I want to read a bit before Paul goes to his trainer. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back either later or tomorrow, okay?

Ah, those Chippendales calendars in the 80s!

You Can’t Hold On Too Long

Saturday and I don’t have to go into the office! Man, I was tired last night when I got home from the office. I came straight home, too. The day at the office wasn’t bad, and I fell asleep pretty early in my easy chair after watching the season premier of Peacemaker. I also did some laundry (I wound up washing the bedding once I got home), and I still have some things to do today. I have to run errands (not many, and not too terrible), I have some cleaning and so forth to do around here today, and want to do some reading and some writing as well. I guess it all depends on how much energy I wind up having today. This past week was ever so much better than Last Infusion Week, but I was still tired by the time I got home from the office. Recovery is taking forever, isn’t it?

And it’s not like I’m the most patient person alive.

I did sleep late in spite of Sparky’s biting and clawing attempts to get me up earlier. It felt good, although I do still feel a bit tired. The coffee tastes delicious this morning, and I feel a little low blood sugar this morning, which means I should eat. I’ve not been eating as much in the mornings as I had been these past two weeks. My weight is still climbing–slowly, around a pound per week–but I’m not going to worry about my weight until after Labor Day and my first self-injection. The next few weeks are going to be busy ones–LSU’s first game of the season is next weekend, and then it’s Labor Day and right after that, Bouchercon. I don’t have a lot of plans made for the week of Bouchercon, and I might just leave the weekend as it is already and not make any more plans…I can use that time to write and clean and read and get my act together going into football season. Sigh. I’m trying to not get overwhelmed with so much to do, but…nothing to do but apply nose to grindstone and focus on one task at a time. I’ve got to be better about my to-do list.

I think this morning I’ll go ahead and read for an hour before getting cleaned up and running my errands. I’m not progressing as quickly as I would like with my three current reads, and so need to desperately pick up the pace on my reading. I will never get through the TBR pile at the rate I’m going, and the way I keep adding books to the stack…my TBR pile is like the Hydra. I read and donate a book and add two more. This is not a winning strategy, methinks. But I think my focus is coming back–it’s rusty and needs to be nurtured and encouraged–and that will help with everything.

I’m also still reveling in the death of James Dobson the hateful homophobic misogynist racist advocate of child abuse in the “name of God.” Lord, how I hated that piece of shit and his so-called “ministry”–how much damage did that prick do in the name of money and power? I was thinking about writing a newsletter about Dobson and his hate–I’ll never forget that time I heard him calling me a pervert and pedophile during the Virginia thing on his radio show…but I’ve been toying with doing a lengthy, multi-part one about Christianity and my tangled, complicated relationship with the faith I was groomed into. I’ve also been reading old entries back from the original days of my blog (2005!!!) to get a sense of Katrina to write about again (I’ve started writing it, and hope to have it finished for posting on the anniversary next Friday) and it really is amazing to see how much not only my writing voice has changed but me personally; that’s what I want the Katrina entry to be about, how both the city and I have changed since Katrina because of Katrina. (Which is also my way back into writing Hurricane Season Hustle).

Last night I got my birthday meal of shrimp lo mein at last, and it was quite marvelous as it always is–you can never go wrong with shrimp, noodles, and a sauce, I find. I’m not sure about what meals to make this weekend, but probably will barbecue burgers either today or tomorrow (most likely tomorrow, since I won’t be leaving the house; today I feel is going to be an easy day for food).

And on that note, I am going to take my coffee and go read for a bit before showering. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later; one can never be certain how I am going to do things on an easy unplanned day. If not, tomorrow morning for sure.

When I’m Sixty-four

For the first time in decades, I am not taking my birthday off.

That’s why I am up at this ungodly hour, swilling down coffee and consuming coffee cake like it’s going out of style. I need to conserve my PTO, because I am going to the panhandle (barring unforeseen circumstances) for a week with my dad in October after a weekend in Alabama for Dad’s and Mom’s birthdays. I also have to take some time off during Bouchercon–there’s no way I can work all day and then host Noir at the Bar that Thursday, and probably not going to be able to do much work that Friday, either. I think I’ve managed to get it all planned out so that I will have just enough vacation time left to do the family thing in October, and then let things start building back up again for the new year. It’s going to be weird going to work on my birthday–I generally take the day off because I don’t need or want the attention that comes with it–but I will survive, I am sure.

Sixty. Four.

Christ on the cross.

I never planned for my future because I never thought I would have one. When I was a kid, I was certain I wasn’t going to have much of an adult life; I always had nightmares about not only dying but how I would die; either in a car accident, or a fall from a high place. This is why I am always, to this day, a little bit tense when I’m in a car and a LOT tense when I am the passenger. In my early twenties, I thought I was going to seroconvert and die from AIDS–why would I ever think that I would survive that pandemic? The next thing I knew I had somehow made it to fifty, then sixty–and now I am sixty-four, with another milestone birthday just a year in my future, should I make it till then. I am woefully unprepared for retirement, so most likely will continue to work for another few years to at least try to get my debt down to a manageable place. Ha ha ha ha, I’m so adorable, aren’t I?

I guess the ship has sailed on me dying young, hasn’t it?

But it’s been a pretty good life thus far, I have to say. I’ve written and published a shit ton of work, which can never be taken away from me, and neither can the awards I’ve either won or made the shortlist for…how many authors never make a shortlist of any kind? But the childhood conditioning that celebrating myself and things I’ve accomplished is a hubristic tempting of fate; how many stories and myths and fables are there about hubristic humans who anger a god? Like I often say, I live in the city I love with the man I love doing work that I love. All of my dreams came true, no matter what happens in the future.

My sixties haven’t been easy on me, and I don’t have the energy I used to have so recovery from physical, emotional, and professional blows doesn’t happen as fast as it used to; but I’m still pretty pleased and happy with my life. I try not to worry about future outcomes that I can’t control, and can only prepare for the things I can. If my thirties were about getting myself mentally healthy so I could have the life I wanted, and the forties were about getting started in my career and the fifties were about getting further along and getting better as a writer, my sixties have been a time of revisiting and rethinking my past, finally getting to understand myself and where a lot of my neuroses stem from. The anxiety medication has helped me enormously in that regard, too. Realizing how emotionally crippling my anxiety was when I was a minor also has enabled me to remember, and those memories aren’t painful anymore because so much of my misery was directly attributable to said anxiety.

So now I am sixty-four. I am older than my grandparents were throughout my childhood, which is also a staggering realization. It’s also weird to think that I was born sixteen years after the end of World War II, the country was sinking into the depths of the Cold War, and President Kennedy hadn’t even been in office for a full year yet. I never imagined what it would be like to be this age, mainly because I, as stated earlier, never thought I would live this long. I’m trying not to be that old person–you know, “When I was your age” or “We used to call it” and that sort of thing, because no one really wants to hear it. I’ve seen a lot in my life, witnessed all kinds of events (the Challenger explosion, 9/11, Watergate hearings, on and on), and lived through all kinds of things. I’ve lived in Alabama, Chicago, Kansas, California, Houston, Tampa, Minneapolis, and New Orleans. I went to two high schools in different states, and two colleges in different states. I went to Italy for a week over ten years ago. I’ve had so many jobs, but being a writer/sexual health counselor were the only things that took with me.

Life’s been good to me so far.

After work, I am going to head home and just hang out with Sparky. If I had to hazard a guess, Paul will probably get us Hoshun for dinner tonight. But I got my vacuum cleaner last week, and that’s all I really cared about.

Happy birthday to me! And may my next year be a lovely one!

The only picture of my face as a baby, my first day home from the hospital.