Category: homophobia

(Our Love) Don’t Throw It All Away

A cold Saturday morning in the Lost Apartment. My doctor’s appointment went well–all my vitals were at appropriate levels, my lungs are clear, and all medications appear to be working properly, which is lovely. I came home from that appointment to do chores and make the house orderly before we headed out to Metairie for Paul’s appointment, after which we went to Costco. You know, for the first Friday of parade season, it wasn’t that terrible. It was crowded, yes, and there were times I had to wait for inconsiderate assholes who were blocking aisles thoughtlessly (a regular occurrence at the grocery store, a rarity for Costco) and the check out lines ferociously long, but it didn’t take us long to spend a shit load of money (Paul also ordered a new pair of glasses and our membership was also due for renewal). I was a bit concerned about parking when we got back, as it was closer to parade rolling time that I was comfortable with. I had noticed there were a lot of cars parking in the neighborhood–unusual–when I left for my appointment, and there was also a lot more traffic on the roads I usually traverse. Understandably, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to park within a mile of the house, but once we departed for Metairie/Costco I realized why everything was the way it was–they’ve turned the side of St. Charles people can drive down1 while parades are rolling into an obstacle course2. This is, I imagine, for crowd safety precautions after New Year’s, but damn…it’s going to make negotiating St. Charles and the neighborhood about ten times harder than it is usually is.

Thanks, asshole terrorist. I hope you’re roasting in hell like you deserve.

I also spent some time with Lev AC Rosen’s marvelous The Bell in the Fog, the second book in his Andy Mills detective series set in early 1950’s San Francisco. It’s an interesting period to read about: after the war but before Stonewall, when sodomy was still an enforceable crime and the hatred of queer people was so intense they were targeted mercilessly and no one fucking cared.3 Lev is a terrific writer–I loved Lavender House–and this one starts out really well. It’s very reminiscent of the old masters of crime/noir/hardboiled–Hammett, Chandler, Cain–which is why he gets nominated for awards so regularly.

I also have apparently sold another short story. I had sent something to an anthology at some point last year and completely forgot about it, to be honest; yesterday I got an apologetic email from (I guess? It has been a while) the editor saying they want it if it’s still available. That was a lovely bit of news, to go along with the terrific feedback from the other anthology that asked me for one. I am going to finish writing another one this weekend (if it kills me) so I can focus on finishing my book. I’d forgotten–as it has been a hot minute–how nice it is to get positive feedback from peers. And rather than questioning or explaining it away in my head (just being nice, etc etc), I decided to accept it and feel good about it, which is a lovely new approach to my career. In the moments when I allow myself to go down the natural path of current events (my publisher will get shut down, my books removed from the bookseller websites–it galls me that they’re on Target’s website, although they probably make very little me off me–and my career shut down completely in the de-queering of the country), I find it ironic that my stress, anxiety and depression didn’t allow me to ever enjoy my career very often, and that now I am finally beginning to enjoy myself and the nicer side of publishing/writing, it could all be stripped away from me. (For the record, straight people, losing our writing careers because of our sexual identity is something we have to think about all the time. Do you? So, fuck off with your I’m-an-ally-as-long-as-it’s-just-words-online bullshit. DO SOMETHING.)

But yes, I am feeling like I definitely need to get back to producing work, and that feels good for a change, you know?

Sparky also let me sleep late this morning, the little darling, and even curled up in the bed with me rather than trying to get me up. I think he waits for my alarm like Pavlov’s dog; I’ve trained him to react to the sound as well as his stomach. We watched LSU Gymnastics win at Kentucky last night, but they didn’t have a great meet–a bit of a letdown after defeating Oklahoma last week in Baton Rouge and a packed house–but it was fine; they hadn’t won in Lexington since 2016, and this year they did despite a bad meet. We then watched the premiere episode of Season Three of Reacher, which is based on one of my favorite Reacher novels, and am loving it. (I also like that his portrayer, Alan Ritchson–whom I’ve liked since I first noticed him on Smallville–is a devout Christian and not a cosplay one; he calls out the evangelicals and their false prophet regularly. He recently gave an interview to GQ in which he talked about Matt Gaetz, whom he went to high school with, and just ripped him to fucking shreds. You see? I don’t object to Christianity when people actually are real Christians.) We also watched some Arrested Development, too, before going to bed much later than we should have.

Overall, Friday was a pretty good day. I am going to get some reading and writing and cleaning done today–I need to unload the dishwasher and refill it at some point; and there’s always organizing and cleaning to get done. I also need to answer emails–I no longer have to stick to my old rule of “no emails on the weekend”–and I need to get some more newsletters written and finished to send. I’m trying hard to not deluge people with my newsletter; I am very prolific, as has been pointed out in the past repeatedly, and who wants to read my thoughts, views, and opinions on a daily basis? Even though I didn’t publish anything–not even a short story last year–I still produce a prodigious amount of writing all the time.

And on that note, I think I am going to head into the spice mines–more accurately, I am going to repair to my easy chair with my book for a while before I actually start getting things done around here–and I may be back later. I am trying not to do more than one post here per day…but anyway, have a lovely Saturday, and I’ll be right back here tomorrow.

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  1. I’ve always marveled that one side of the neutral ground is for the parades and the other side is open to traffic heading uptown. St. Charles is a major artery of the city, and they usually have to keep that side open because everything inside the parade is blocked off–and people do need to get uptown. Not really sure how this obstacle course drivers need to negotiate will work, or if they are going to take them down every night and put them back up again before the parades start–which means shutting St. Charles down for however long it takes to set up. Sigh. ↩︎
  2. I’ll try to get a picture of it at some point. ↩︎
  3. Straight people have always been awful, and the white ones the worst of all. ↩︎

I Just Wanna Stop

Tuesday and Payday Eve. I woke up this morning around four thirty–that sense that something was off, somehow; I glanced at my clock and it was dark. Paul was listening to music on his phone and working on his laptop–and had a candle lit. Yes, the power was out, so when I did get up there was no coffee for me, I had to pack my lunch in the dark as well as get dressed in the dark, and the lack of coffee doesn’t bode well for the rest of the day, either. I was correct about being tired when I got off work and ran my errands; I was incorrect about traffic on the way to run my errands. 10 was backed up the worst I’d ever seen it, but this was due to an accident and not just heavy traffic. Once I got past the accident–it was in the center lane, just past the Orleans Avenue on-and-off ramps–it was clear sailing all the way onto the ramp to Claiborne Avenue, and it was smooth and easy after that. I worked on a short story for a bit, cuddled with Sparky, and Paul and I watched a few episodes of Arrested Development before I went to bed without cleaning the kitchen; I’ll have to do that when I get home tonight. I also should do a load of laundry. Sigh, it never ends.

I was also deeply amused by all the white people (read: racist pieces of shit and who they voted for) bitching everywhere about the Super Bowl half-time show. I didn’t watch the game–I even got the final score wrong when I posted it yesterday morning (but that WAS the score when I checked with almost two minutes left in the game)–but discourse was everywhere yesterday morning. I read some of the explanations and deep-dives into the performance, and so I wanted to watch it for myself, so I did last night before I went to bed. Wow, white people, way to miss the point completely. I’m sorry the show was too smart for you, and it probably made you squirm a little bit. Guess what? That’s what art does. I watched twice–once for the visuals, and the second time with the captioning on so I could catch what he was saying–and yes, it was absolutely amazing, and if you hated it because you couldn’t understand it, and the imagery and symbolism was too much for you, that’s a you thing. I’ve never understood people who think they’ve learned all they need to know once they’ve finished school, you know? My views and opinions are always shifting and changing because of new information. But…I am also an artist, and I cannot imagine calcifying my brain if I want to keep on making new art? But it was an act of defiance, as well; a big middle-finger to the Felon-in-Chief, and it was also, for me, the first moment of pride I’ve felt in this country since the election. It was a motherfucking breath of fresh air in the midst of all the foul toxicity rammed down our throats since November, and gave me a bit of hope that somehow we’ll get through this mess–but there will be a reckoning. Just like Bush II’s second term, they’ve way overplayed their hand.

And incidentally, I wonder if the halftime show was “family friendly” enough for the Louisiana legislature? No crotches were grabbed, no twerking, and no thongs or bouncing breasts or anything. (I am sure they didn’t approve of it anyway.)

And sorry, Chiefs and Travis Kelce–everything he touches dies. Was it an honor to play in front of a man who constantly attacks your girlfriend publicly all the time? And afterwards? Did you still think it was an honor when he tweeted about her being booed during the game? You’ll never go wrong expecting a straight white man, even one of the so-called “good ones”, to disappoint you when they have a chance to be a stand-up guy, because they’ll cower and scrape and bow every time. How is Kelce any better than Ted Cruz? It really lowered him in my eyes, and when Taylor finally does leave him I won’t be surprised, or terribly disappointed. This is similar to Drew Brees working with the Family Research Council–you know, the homophobic racists? I never saw him the same way after that, either.

Travis is supposed to be one of the good ones. Amazing how low that bar for straight men is, isn’t it?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Pay-the-Bills-Day Eve, and I will probably not be back until tomorrow morning, when I’ll have coffee.

I Just Fall in Love Again

Thursday morning and my last day in the office this week, praise the Lord and pass the ammunition. I was tired yesterday, but I did get some writing done last night. I finished the revision of the chapter, and now have two more to get done before I can right the next third. It’s going to need to be gone over again, but not right now. It also kind of felt good to be writing it again, and last night was the most I’ve done in a sitting on this book since before the blizzard disruption/distraction. The blizzard was actually rather magical, perhaps the best thing that’s happened this year, and it really was nice going into that bubble for those days–tuning out and just chilling in the cozy snug warmth of the inside while it was bitterly cold outside. Every time I looked out my windows I was captivated by it, seeing it swirling and twirling in such vast amounts with just the ancient glass separating me from the chill outside. Next weekend I am going up to Alabama to meet Dad; its been two years now, wow. That’ll be yet another distraction, and then it’s Carnival and jury duty. Jesús Cristo! That’s a jam-packed month, isn’t it?

I’ve also got to do my part in the ongoing fight against this illegitimate regime, so I need to take down time and rest when I can, all the while writing a book and working full-time. I’m really not the brightest, am I? And this is me slowed way down. I was thinking the other night that I want to finish at least two more books this year; which is kind of insane? I don’t know. I used to do three or four per year, I think. I definitely don’t think that is possible for me anymore. But at least I am thinking in terms of writing again, which up until recently boiled down to I probably should write today and then not doing it. I think that my mind isn’t as creative anymore when I am not actively writing, and so when I am writing the floodgates in my mind open and suddenly I am getting ideas about future projects and stories and essays and…you see how it works around here.

I barely slept at all last night, drifting in and out of a shallow state for the entire night. I feel rested physically, but also a little like I am operating in accessory and draining my batteries by the minute. I know that doesn’t make any sense, but it’s how I feel. I am going to be very tired this afternoon when I get off work, and fortunately I have no errands to run that cannot wait until the morrow. I did pick up my copy of the new William Boyle on the way home from the office yesterday, and I am hoping that tonight I’ll at least have enough focus to read some more of my book, which I want to finish by the end of the weekend if not sooner. I am still not feeling tired yet, but I know that’s going to land on me like a ton of bricks this afternoon to the point where I will be so tired I am almost in tears. I hate feeling that way, but the plumber is also coming to the apartment today (Paul’s working remotely) to fix the bathroom shower and the garbage disposal, so I can start using the dishwasher again, which will save me some time every day and free up counter space. Huzzah! I think I’m going to work on the kitchen some more this weekend, try to make it more efficient and easier to use.

I know I want to wash the car this weekend for sure.

Oh, and Idaho has petitioned the Supreme Court to overturn Obergefell and overturn same-sex marriage. Hmmm, where’s all that fucking trash that told me repeatedly I was “overreacting” and “no one’s coming for gay marriage.” Fuck off forever and drink some bleach with some ground glass added to it, garbage people. Gargle it before you swallow, while you’re at it. I am so tired of being told that fighting for my rights and those of my community aren’t as “important” and to “be patient for a little longer” while those courting our votes don’t lift a fucking finger.

But it’s also the Super Bowl this weekend, and while I am doing my best to avoid the whole thing–the National Guard is out, and I really do not like living in a military zone, with armed soldiers and tanks out and about–it’s kind of hard to avoid it completely. It’s definitely affected my drive home from work, as I can’t go the way I usually go because its inside The Superdome Military Zone and streets are blocked off; they’re even closing New Orleans air space around and during the game. I think they did this the last time the Super Bowl was here, too…but it was like ten years ago and I don’t really remember. I do remember the post 9/11 one, and it was much the same as this. I don’t remember armed soldiers and tanks last time, though.

Sigh.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. It’s also cool but humid, which means cool temperatures but it feels clammy, blech. I’ll be back tomorrow, most likely, and I’ll talk to you again!

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Shine a Little Love

Wednesday morning madness, but the week is half over and we are sliding down into the weekend, which is kind of nice and cool, honestly. It does seem like this week is taking forever to finish, though. I was tired when I got home last night, but managed to get a little over a thousand words done on the book, which was nice if painful and painstaking. But I am getting back into the writing habit again, and the muscles are rusty and tired and complaining, but…I always complain, don’t I? Ah, well. I am writing again and making progress on the book and isn’t that the most important thing? I’d like to get at least one more book written this year, if I can, and the only way to do that is plant ass in chair and start typing every day, even if it’s not a whole lot getting done. Something is better than nothing. I’m going to run some errands tonight after work again–it seems like I’ve been running errands every night after work for the last week or so–but after tonight I don’t think I’ll run any until the weekend again.

Fascinating, right?

I do find it interesting that in the wake of a terrorist attack and with the Super Bowl this weekend (and FOTUS being in town for it) that this is the week the FBI decided to replace the special agent in charge of the New Orleans office. Strange, isn’t it? I know I won’t be leaving the house all weekend, that’s for sure, especially now that we have Kristi “I Shot My Kid’s Puppy In The Face” Noem in charge of national security…it also occurred to me last night that since we’re following the Nazi playbook now, is it too much of a stretch to think her incompetence is precisely why she was appointed? Do you think she or her foul lord and master would pay any attention to a memo (not that their FBI or CIA would produce any such memo) reading SO AND SO DETERMINE TO STRIKE INSIDE THE US? George W and his gang of monsters certainly didn’t. And wouldn’t a big terrorist attack justify martial law, suspension of everything, and invasions all over the world in the name of “national security?” Kind of like 9/11?

Everything old is new again.

It’s also very easy, when you’re marginalized, to go where you feel welcomed. I voted Left even when the Democrats were not doing anything for the queers, and weren’t much better than the Right because they were the only alternative. (My conscience will never allow me to vote for a Republican; in any race where there’s only Republicans running I do not vote.) I didn’t have a high opinion of the Democrats during the 1980s; they were all too happy to let us die from HIV/AIDS as much as their right-wing brethren were–but they weren’t laughing about letting us die, either. But their support was always lukewarm, and they really weren’t willing to fight for us–hence all our advances had to come through the courts (an option we no longer have, thanks to protest votes in 2016–and we learned nothing from that, or from when it popped up the first time in 2000). The courts are geared up now to take all of those advances away again–I really thought I’d never have to keep fighting for my rights as a senior citizens but I will be damned if I let that fucking trash win. So, I’m gearing up for another fight–one that will only end in my death or victory–which is why we have to reserve our strength, protect our mental well-being, and tag out when it’s necessary without guilt.

I also noticed yesterday that this illegal regime decided to erase trans people from existing on government websites; references to the “LGBTQ+ community” became the “LGB community.” Oh, uh uh, no way, no fucking how. I know there are queers in this community who are transphobes…and I think they are just as vile and disgusting as the MAGA ones. There’s one of those groups in the UK, I think; you’d think people who’ve been marginalized their entire lives would be more open-minded and understanding? But…there are racist gays, and there are misogynist gays–clinging to their whiteness or their masculine privilege rather than recognizing and fighting the true oppressors–straight white men and their awful wives. I remember back when I was on the board of directors for the National Stonewall Democrats, and the House had the votes to pass ENDA…if they removed the transgender community from its protections. White gay men screamed about ENDA and how the trans community wasn’t worth losing ENDA for everyone else, and “we could always add them later!” No, nope, nuh uh, not having it, and we wouldn’t. We came out strongly against it (branding it SPLENDA or ENDA-lite) refusing to send our trans siblings under the bus for political gain. I was furious; how was I supposed to explain that to trans people? “We got ours, now we’ll TRY to get yours.” The trans community felt hurt and betrayed, and who could blame them? I was willing to leave the party over it, and I am just as willing to walk out of anything that targets MY community. MY queer community is strong and beautiful and marvelous, and wouldn’t be without every goddamned color in our rainbow.

I will never cut my conscience to fit whatever this year’s fashions are.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have as good a day as you can, Constant Reader, and take breaks to breathe and re-center yourself whenever you need to. It’s going to be a long, hard, ugly fight–but worth every second of it.

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Born to Be Alive

Tuesday and somehow the power’s still on and life continues in this hideous new reality when the horrible news comes and just… keeps on coming to the point that my shoulders slump every morning when I get up and sign into my computer, wondering what the hell happened while I was asleep. (This morning it was the news that the Gail Benson and the New Orleans Saints advised the Archdiocese on PR during the most recent child-rape1 . It was bad enough when Drew Brees worked with a homophobic organization to violate the separation of church and state in Louisiana, but helping the Archdiocese look better in their horrific cover up? Seriously, Mrs. Benson? I mean, most Saints fans won’t care, but I am terribly disappointed in her.)

Speaking of the Archdiocese, Catholics also gave me a good laugh yesterday on social media. You see, the Super Bowl committee worked with some local group to do projection art on St. Louis Cathedral and the the museums on other sides. It’s very cool, and changes the looks of the buildings completely. People have been sharing pictures and videos of the light show changes…so of course here come some ignorant Catholics claiming it was “sacrilege” and “how very dare they do this to a Catholic cathedral”! (You know, all caps, lots of exclamation points, bad grammar and spelling errors and specious logic.) You mean the historic landmark of the city that the Archdiocese thinks the city and its citizens should pay for upkeep and renovations and repairs? How is it sacrilege to beam imagery on the outside? And don’t think for one second the Archdiocese didn’t ask for money for this. If you’re mad at anyone, be mad at your church leadership for selling indulgences like a Medici pope.

And try being mad at the administration manipulating the stock market so he and his buddies can buy low.

Speaking of idiots, some (white) people were big mad Beyonce won some Grammys for country music, big mad, and spewing their bile on social media because of course they (butt hurt white people) are the great arbiters of what is and what isn’t great music rather than the members of the national organization of recording arts and sciences. One, awards are lovely things bHow dare this big international superstar and living legend DARE to perform and win awards for country music? If you think that sounds about white, you’d be right. (You really can never go wrong assuming it’s bigotry when it comes to white people because it almost always is) First of all, no one owns country music or gets to decide what it is or isn’t. Music evolves. Country music was originally “country and western” as a category at the Grammys, but it was the western aspect of country music that had the hats and boots and so forth, not country. So country singers and fans thinking they “own” cowboys, boots, and hats is a bald-faced lie and makes them poseurs and pretenders, too. How many of your stars grew up on a ranch or actually worked with cattle? If they didn’t but wear hats and boots, that’s drag. A costume. Nothing more and certainly not authenticity. When I was a kid in Kansas guys who wore hats and boots but didn’t work with cattle were called “goat-ropers” (I don’t know why, but it wasn’t a term of affection). I also seem to remember the term dime-store cowboy as derogatory. It was so anathema that I would never wear a cowboy hat or boots to this very day–and I have always had the kind of legs that boots show off nicely, too. Jason Aldean is a goat-roper, for example. I grew up listening to C&W when I was a kid, and if you’re going to say Cowboy Carter isn’t “authentic country”…I got some bad news for you about a lot of the today’s racist country stars. I walked away from country after 9/11 and what that industry did to the Chicks (THAT was cancel culture, for the record, and THEY WERE RIGHT.) when the genre turned into the “Amurika” music genre. You were wrong about the wars, you were wrong about Bush, and you’re wrong again now, country fans.

You really don’t deserve to enjoy music at all.

The day job situation is still up in the air (thanks again, MAGA voting trash) but it’s going to be a day by day and week by week thing. Yay! I think I may need stronger anxiety medication. Heavy heaving sigh. We’re not sure, obviously, what the future holds but my day job is funded by the federal government through the CDC, so yes, ever since I woke up the morning after the election I’ve been able to add worry about my job still existing to the every day drama of life and all the other existential dread from everything else the administration is inflicting on us. Yay! Woo-hoo!

Maybe I should start drinking again.

I did get to work on the book a bit yesterday. It was painful and excruciating to pull those words out of me–only about three or four hundred, so a pathetic effort–last evening, and I am hoping that won’t be the case today. Sigh. And so, without any further ado I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back at some point.

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  1. I believe in calling things what they are. Priests raped children. Period. Got a problem with that? Take it up with the Archbishop and the Pope. ↩︎

Renegade

Monday and back to the office with me this morning. I’m now recognizing that I need to appreciate every day I get to go into work because my job could easily go away at any moment, with a traitor in the White House who hates everything and everyone and has handed everything over to an unelected foreign illegal immigrant billionaire who essentially bought our country. Yay, tyranny!1 The Founding Fathers would be so proud. The American experiment had a decent run. And again, apologies to our former allies. DO your worst, we deserve it–even those who didn’t vote for it, because we were unable to stop it, and it goes back way further than 2015 and the ride down the golden escalator (an apt metaphor–our worship of the wealthy was literally a ride down to hell paved with gold). We didn’t start paying attention soon enough, complacent with our rights and our Constitution and our mythology that our institutions were strong enough to hold–despite being under steady and regular assault for the last forty years. (This really got going under Reagan, for the record. He was the first step on the path that led us here–the first cosplay Christian divorced celebrity to win the White House.)

I am a little groggy this morning, as getting up at six after not having to for the weekend isn’t an easy transition anymore. Damned disorienting blizzard, anyway. But I had a good day yesterday. I managed to get some writing done (yay!) and some stuff done around the house as well as did some reading. It was a a lovely relaxing day, and we finished watching season two of The Recruit, which turned out to be a lot of fun. I definitely recommend. The lead actor is terrific, and he’s also very good looking, which doesn’t hurt (I’m shallow, okay?). But there are so many of these international affairs/espionage shows now that it’s hard to tell them apart anymore, really. I do enjoy them, too–even if they are pretty much from the same cookie cutter and there’s always insane fight scenes and gun battles and things–which goes back to my love of Robert Ludlum novels and their intricate plotting. (I admire nothing more than an intricately plotted novel–see also Carl Hiassen and P. G. Wodehouse.) I had always wanted to try writing a spy adventure–spinning Colin out into his own series–but I haven’t traveled internationally very much and showing Colin working outside of New Orleans would be kind of weird. I have one idea I’ve been sitting on for a very long time for Colin; maybe someday.

The Super Bowl is also this weekend, and two major arteries for me to get home have been shut down–Poydras and Howard Avenues. I guess I’ll just have to go uptown and run errands this week on the way home rather than going straight home. Yay. And then it will be Carnival, and then…augh. I really need to get cracking on my writing. I know, it’s shocking that I’m having trouble focusing while living through an existential threat. I guess I need to really just push all of that out of my mind while focusing on writing as an act of activism. Writing queer stories has always been important, a way of shedding light on what it’s like to live and operate and love on the margins of society and culture. I’ve never spent a lot of time thinking about the political aspect of breathing life into queer characters and their stories, my focus is writing the best narrative that I can. But showing queer people existing, showing that they are normal and want the same things everything else does, is inherently an activist act when you live in a homophobic country2.

I don’t know why I am letting this bother me so much. I mean, after all, we have the Democratic Party fighting for us rolling over and playing dead but still, somehow, asking for money. Never again. Your party has died because of its inefficacy and its cowardice in the face of a threat. You’ve been cowards since 1980. “Oh no Fox might say something mean!” isn’t the position of strength we’ve been asking you to model for us for over forty years. Bravo for not rising to fight the threat to democracy–but your social media posts are really showing your constituents what you really think about us and how much you care about us…by doing absolutely fucking nothing. And when you do, you’ll simply blame us for not fighting hard enough or not donating enough money or something, I don’t know. Of course, the legacy media has also failed us completely, and continue to fail us on the daily, too. I no longer believe anything that comes from our legacy corporate media, frankly. I guess the irony of the legacy media becoming actual fake news after years of being accused of it will be more appreciated at some point in the future, I suppose.

Ironically, my idea for a dystopian novel set in the aftermath of the collapse of the US hasn’t been trying to invade and overwhelm my creativity. I guess when you’re watching as a country jerks through its final death throes writing about the collapse of civilization isn’t an intellectual creative pursuit anymore for me.

And on that cheery note, I am heading back into the spice mines. Have a great Monday, and I’ll be back tomorrow most likely.

  1. To Mitch McConnell’s eternal shame and disgrace. ↩︎
  2. Miss me with the “not all straight people” bullshit, thank you very much. ↩︎

All I Really Want to Do

Ah, Sunday in the Lost Apartment and how are you doing, Constant Reader? I slept pretty well last night, didn’t want to get out of the comfortable bed this morning, but nevertheless, here I am, having already downed one piece of coffee cake and cup of coffee and about to make a second cup. I don’t feel completely awake just yet, but I am hoping by the time I finish writing this I’ll be all warmed up to get back to my writing. I did some yesterday, about a thousand words or so, and I need to get strapped in and back to work this morning. Yesterday was an okay day; I didn’t get as much written as I would have liked, but I got some writing done. I didn’t read much of my book yesterday. Paul was off getting another tattoo and brought home a pizza from Midway on Freret (which is amazingly good, for the record). He didn’t get home until late, so we watched the first two episodes of The Recruit (there are so many of these similar type shows we’ve watched that we aren’t really sure which one is which, and the plots all kind of blur together, but they’re entertaining enough to watch), and I was tired and went to bed. I did also run my errands yesterday as well, and was very tired when the second episode finished; I was dozing off during it, which was why I thought it best to just go ahead and go on to bed and be done with the day, which is always a good thing now that the timeline of my life is now in the “collapse of the country” final stage. Woo-hoo! Just what I always wanted and dreamed of.

I was thinking yesterday–I saw something somewhere on-line about people “needing to prepare to live in a dystopia”–and it hit me that I already lived in one; New Orleans after Katrina, with so much of the city in ruins and so much not open and so few people here. It was so eerily quiet in those days, a weird stillness that seemed so very wrong, and adapting to schedule my days around when things would be open because if you didn’t pay attention you could miss your window of opportunity to get groceries, of which there wasn’t much to choose from. Same with the gym, the post office, places to eat–there also was a shortage of workers, so that was another drawback to businesses opening. I considered getting a part time job on top of the ones I already had at the time, just to help out…I never did. That was also when I was probably in the best physical condition of my life, too–the only thing I had control over was my body, so I controlled it as much as possible. Good times, right? Sigh.

It’s also Black History Month, which isn’t being celebrated by the government this year since, you know, the country is being run by racists now–well, openly racist and proud of it trash–and are doing everything they can to take us back to the days when being queer was a crime, anyone racialized had no rights when it came to white people, and women were second-class citizens who were completely responsible for home and family (despite the fact that women have always been in the workplace as working professionals–but they were limited to what jobs they could have: secretary, teacher, librarian, waitress, flight attendant, etc.). I know it’s difficult for white people to read Black fiction because they aren’t used to not being the heroic center of the story1; but reading books by voices different than those that cater directly to you is necessary because you need to see other perspectives that are also valid. Works by Wanda Morris and Tananarive Due bring the reality of being Black during Jim Crow to vivid horrific life; I am still reeling from the horrific truth of both Due’s The Reformatory and Colson Whitehead’s Nickel Boys. I can’t encourage people enough to read Black authors, and not just for Black History Month, which is performative support as opposed to actual support–like your rainbows in June that disappear on the 30th, not to be seen again until June 1 of the next year. I appreciate even the performative support, honestly, but it doesn’t fool me that it goes very deep, either.

We all really just want to be left alone to live our lives in peace, you know?

But people who’ve never been oppressed will claim to be oppressed and play victim–how many times have we seen that play out? I’ve seen straight white women call gay men pedophiles (including me) publicly on social media, and then cry and make themselves the victim for the outraged reaction from the gay men. Yes, bitch, I’m the bad one for blocking you for calling me a pedophile. Drink bleach, bitch. I don’t forgive or forget homophobia; it’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back every single time. There’s never any coming back from that–and microaggressions also add up until I can’t make excuses for people anymore–and another life lesson of the last five years have been that even a microaggression has to be called out. If it talks like a homophobe and acts like a homophobe…yeah, they are inevitably a homophobe…and yes, even people who think they are allies can be homophobes. I never wanted to be THAT gay, you know, the militant constantly pointing out how offensive people are being and so forth…but why protect the delicate feelings of snowflakes who clearly don’t give a flying fuck about how I–or any other queer–feel?

I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of the schadenfreude of watching those racist white bitches who gleefully wouldn’t vote for the highly qualified Black woman finding out they are also DEI hires, that they were the primary beneficiary from equal opportunity laws, and now they can just put up with the sexist jokes and the not getting paid the same and not getting promoted that turned working women into feminists in the first place. What’s even more interesting, at least to me, is that the anti-feminist women (Phyllis Schlafly, Ann Coulter, and others of their ilk) who benefited from feminist activism worked to undermine their success–and undermined all other women in the process. I really wish someone would just say to Ann Coulter when she’s bloviating (hilariously, MAGA hates her and the Left will never go anywhere near her, so who precisely is her current audience? Racists who hate Trump? Huge audience there, Ann, well done.) “shut up, no one cares what you think, you’re just a woman who couldn’t get into an Ivy for law school.” (Which is why she hates the Ivys, right there. There’s a lot wrong with the Ivys and the public perception of their ‘greatness’–but not letting Coulter in is worthy of applause.) The hilarity that they also voted to preserve their abortion rights but voted for Trump–you just can imagine how fucking smug they felt in the voting booth–who might ban abortion nation-wide with an executive order made me roll my eyes at the mental gymnastics those smug racist misogynist skanks had to perform to rationalize their votes.

White women have always propped up white supremacy because they “believed” that it protected them. I would even go so far as to say it also afforded them a taste of power that they didn’t get to feel otherwise in their lives (Southern women really lean into that ‘steel magnolia’ thing, which has always bugged the shit out of me. Just say you’re proud to be trash and be done with it), because in antebellum times they had power over their enslaved (check out They Were Her Property sometime) and after emancipation, they were still “above” freed Blacks, even with the power of life or death over the men. (Louisiana’s bizarre inheritance laws, which I researched again for A Streetcar Named Murder, have everything to do with rich men down here having both white families and biracial ones; so they couldn’t disinherit the white family in favor of the biracial one…which was enough of a problem that it had to be legislated here.)

Ugh.

And on that somber sad note, I will head into the spice mines and get to work. Have a lovely Sunday, and I may be back later. One never can be sure.

  1. Precious delicate little snowflakes that they are. ↩︎

Take Me Back

Saturday morning and I feel rather well rested this morning. I wound up, of all things, sleeping on my left arm weirdly (on my stomach with arm across my chest) and this morning, it doesn’t feel either sore or tight. I knew it needed to be stretched, but this is very good news, meaning I can go back to the gym again tomorrow. I was very tired all day yesterday, too. I got my remote work done, ran some errands, and came home to write for a bit, but my brain was too cloudy for me to get anything done, really. I eventually gave up and sat down in my chair with Sparky to watch the LSU Gymnastics meet (they scored 198.00, which is a GREAT team score and something they didn’t do last year until towards the end of the season), and then we got caught up on Abbott Elementary before catching up on the news (always a mistake these days) and going to bed. I managed to get my chores done, and still haven’t made that to-do list yet–but hope springs eternal and hopefully I’ll get that done today, too. We shall see, but right now I feel pretty good. I hope it lasts.

Man, the kitchen is a mess this morning…well, the entire downstairs at any rate. But I will get that done as I write today. I do have to run a couple of errands today, so that will probably slow my progress down today, like it always does, but at least there’s nothing on television for me to get sucked into today, like tennis or gymnastics or figure skating or anything of that nature. So I have no excuse to not get things done today, right? That’s what I think, too. But it’s easy to get distracted and it’s even easier to get lazy and distracted. SO the key today is to not read the news or let our slide into fascism, aided and abetted by a legacy media that is not up to their jobs–or onboard with it all, like Fox, Newsmax, and OANN–not to mention a wimpy Democratic party that has essentially betrayed its donors and its voters and are now on-board with appeasement and sycophancy–so we’re basically on our own. The Democrats have been essentially spineless (with a few exceptions) my entire adult life, and now the party leadership can’t read the room and refuses to move aside for the bright young crop of future leaders; I’d rather fail fighting than fail rolling over playing dead. I have seen this, over and over, my entire life and yes, they have failed the country. Most of my ire is directed at the Far Reich, of course, but that doesn’t mean I have to accept the ineffectual leadership of the party anymore–and I sure as FUCK aren’t giving them another cent of my money. At this point, it’s simply throwing more good money down the drain for nothing. I’ve been waiting for results since I was twenty and have been disappointed repeatedly. If living as a gay American has taught me anything, it’s that being polite and being nice while working for change doesn’t work. It takes action, protests, and people willing to put their bodies on the line for it. ACT UP didn’t place nice, and they got results, didn’t they?

We need more Ted Kennedys and AOCs, not more Amy Klobuchars or John Fettermans (neither of whom will ever be president). Instead of fighting with policy, they are always playing defense, and badly at that. I honestly think their approach to opposition now is to cave on everything and let everyone suffer, while hoping things will get so bad we’ll win the midterms and 2028, in a repeat of 2006 and 2008. That isn’t leadership, for the record–although I am past the point of letting it all burn to the ground quickly so we can rebuild our new country out of the ashes of the old. Enough of this slow strangulation of freedom already.

And if anyone thinks I will ever mention Sean Duffy without making a reference to The Real World-Boston or Real World/Road Rules Challenges, they are very much mistaken.1

But somehow, I’ve managed to make it to sixty-three, which I never thought would happen. That should count for something, right? I’m kind of like Cher, I think–somehow I manage to keep going on. That’s the thing I suppose I cling to, my cockroach-like survival techniques. I never think bad things can’t happen to me–they certainly do enough times, and one thing I have learned over the course of hurricanes and hate crimes and death threats is that you can’t imagine bad things happening until they do, and so far I’ve managed to keep my few shreds of sanity intact, and knowing that I have somehow managed to get through it all somehow. I guess I’m a survivor? I certainly do have survivor’s guilt, for sure. I can never reconcile the randomness of my survival, either. I don’t think I did because I have some important role to play in the world, either–it’s literally one of those random things that happen people always try to find meaning in, when the truth is our lives, for the most part, are meaningless, but our egos are too fragile for any of us to consider we’re unimportant in the overall scheme of human and world history. I have no expectations of being remembered for long after I die, either. People will think it’s sad and then move on and forget me.

And I’m okay with that. My ego doesn’t require me to “live forever,” although I guess the books will, maybe.

And on that cheery note, I will head into the spice mines. I am going to read for a bit after I clean up in here, after which I will write, run my errands, and come home to read or write some more. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow or even later today; it depends, does it not?

  1. And for the record, I don’t think I’ll be flying anywhere for a long time. ↩︎

I Want Candy

Work at home Friday, and I don’t want candy, at least not yet. Let me swill down my coffee first before I head for the jelly beans I bought this week as a treat. I‘m hoping that today will be a good day, and I’ll get a lot done. I was very tired yesterday; I hit the wall around noon, and even eating lunch didn’t really help at all. I did run some errands on the way home, but once I was home I was completely a frazzle so I simply collapsed into my easy chair and caught up on my reality television. Reality television really fulfills a need for television that doesn’t require you to think much other than to be judgmental of the behavior you’re seeing on the screen; and I do kind of enjoy the childish antics. I wouldn’t want to be friends with any of these women–not sure that I would even want to know them, in all honesty–which is interesting; but the nonsense is kind of addicting, but I do hate when they just scream over each other. I know this is why we watch, but for me the worst part is there’s rarely any karmic payback for rotten behavior–and as long as we keep watching, they encourage it. One of the more tasteless aspects of the Real Housewives franchises is how regularly they resort to homophobia for story-lines; this has been happening far too regularly on programs overseen by an actual gay man (my loathing for Andy Cohen runs very deep), and yet I still watch. Not sure what that says about me, but in these interesting times the last thing I need or want to do is take away anything that can distract me from the collapse of the American experiment.

Today I only have to work about a half-day from my desk here in the Lost Apartment; I have a meeting, some forms to go over, and some trainings to get done. After that, I’m probably going to run to the post office, pick up a prescription, and potentially swing by the grocery for a few things. I also need to write and I also need to clean. My shoulder feels tight this morning, too–not sure what that’s about, but I’m going to use the massage gun on it when I finish this and see if that loosens it up a bit; but I don’t think the gym is wise until I have a better read on what’s going on with that muscle. Ugh. I really dislike feeling feeble, but I also have to cope with not being who I was physically five years ago. Part and parcel of getting older, of course, and I need to resist feeling bad about not being able to do what I could when I was in my thirties or forties or even my fifties anymore. That’s how life works, after all, and since I have already lived far longer than I ever thought I would–I thought I wouldn’t make it to forty, honestly–I need to stop regretting new limitations and make them work for me rather than against me. My focus isn’t quite as sharp as it was before I had COVID–I still don’t know if it was long or short, but the effects I felt while testing positive–low energy, no short-term memory, feeling fatigue like never before–are still there. Was it from the COVID, or was it turning sixty? Who knows? I just know that was when my life first changed for the worst.

I still haven’t made that to-do list yet, either. But I did manage to get caught up on everything at work yesterday, which is always a relief; so I don’t have to play catch-up at all on Monday, which is great. January ends today, but I am not grateful that this hellish month is finally ending; because experience has taught me that things can always get worse. This administration has hung a target on the back of anyone who isn’t a straight white cisgender man–as some white women are finding out; you and your special needs children? DEI. You fucked around and found out, didn’t you? And think how happy and smug and proud you were when you pulled the lever for that fucking bastard, and how you were sticking it to “the fags and the transgenders and the dirty Mexicans and the Blacks”…yeah, no one’s a winner when it comes to fascism other than the straight white cisgender male, but I’ve given up trying to convince people to vote intelligently for the candidates that will work the hardest for them and do the most for them, rather than the emotionally stunted vote to punish other people gleefully. White people would rather fuck themselves over completely if it means fucking over people they don’t like or fear because they’re tribal morons who haven’t evolved into decency.

I think the biggest disadvantage we are at in this ongoing struggle is there is no real queer national media. Our so-called national news magazines long ago sold their sold their souls and consciences and commitments to the community; I used to joke how Out and The Advocate went from being our Time and Newsweek to our People and Us Weekly. When this happened about twenty-five or so years ago, I despaired. During the Bush administration wasn’t the time for the two queer publications with the biggest circulation in the country to go from news to lifestyle and celebrity culture–because we definitely needed more of those. Every day I get emails from queer websites promising me “thirst traps” of celebrities or hot guys from Instagram which is always a pleasant diversion, but…oh, maybe try to do a better job rallying the community and making them aware of their rights and what we can do to protect ourselves and so forth? But yes, pics of celebrities wearing gray sweatpants without underwear is what we need to “parch our thirst.” Can’t imagine where the stereotype that gay men are vapid and shallow and think with their dicks comes from.1

There’s definitely a need for that sort of thing, but it really can’t be everything, you know? And there’s no greater act of protest against this regime than finding joy in our sexuality and our exploits. Every time you have queer sex, it’s a protest–but we also can’t have sex twenty-four hours per day (no matter how much we try, and believe me, I have), and there’s more going on that we should be paying attention to?

The decline of the media was foreshadowed by the decline of queer media, almost like it was the canary in the coal mine. But it happened, and here we are.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday and I will be back on the morrow, most like.

  1. Not that there’s anything wrong with that–but hot guys and dick shots and so forth aren’t all we do and think about and hey, we’re capable of holding more than one thought in our brains. Who knew? ↩︎

Treat Her Right

Thursday and my last day in the office for the week, thank the Lord. It has been a week. Yesterday was yet another one of those days, and by the time I ran my errands and got home, it was almost six thirty and I was exhausted, too exhausted to do more than put the groceries away and do a little writing before my brain went fuzzy and had to stop doing anything. We watched this week’s Prime Target, and shortly after that was over I was way too tired to do anything else other than tumble into bed; so tired that I in fact forgot to set my alarm. I got up when I always do, and without the ability to hit snooze just went ahead and got up. So, again, today is an out-of-sorts day because I am off my usual routine. It should be relatively simple today–an easy sort of catch-up between clients day–because almost all of yesterday’s fires (save one) burned themselves out before I fled the office at the end of the day and never looked back.

But hope springs ever eternal in my heart, mind and soul, and here’s me hoping that today will be the easy Thursday to glide elegantly into my remote work day and the weekend. I’ve still not made the to-do list I keep threatening to make, and I do think if I ever am able to do that (maybe over lunch today?) I might be able to get back on track. My memory is shit and mostly worthless anymore; I forget far more than I remember. Truth be told, I started doing that in my thirties, and it did help me a lot. It always did. So why do I not make them anymore? Self-sabotage1? Maybe.

Probably.

Le sigh.

And last night we had the first of probably many air collisions that killed everyone on board both craft. Thank GOD we have a professional bigot and former reality show ‘star’ in charge over the Department of Transportation than that DEI hire, Pete Buttigieg, right? (we really need a sarcasm font.) Nothing like cutting back on essential services for the general population, right? Who needs air traffic controllers? That’s some WOKE bullshit right there! By the way, racist assholes–how much are eggs today? Why is it okay for them to be expensive under one president when the previous one was blamed for the price? I am so fucking sick of hypocrisy…I didn’t vote for this shit show, and don’t think I am ever going to forgive anyone who voted for this, let alone letting anyone forget it. If I was going to have a tombstone, I’d want it to read I VOTED AGAINST IT ALL!

Sigh. It is so easy to allow the depression and negativity to take over and wallow in it, isn’t it? But that doesn’t get the work done, and it doesn’t make me feel any better about anything. The constant barrage of insanity and stupidity, reported breathlessly by the legacy media like it’s completely normal, pundits and influencers and everyone everywhere all at once with their (usually toxic) thoughts and opinions…it’s a lot and it’s also exhausting. That’s always their game plan–throw so much shit that you get worn out trying to avoid it and get overwhelmed and give in out of sheer exhaustion and hopelessness. Rage and anger are also exhausting, so getting on the outrage carousel makes it worse. I know, I know; I don’t just block anymore I will sometimes say shit, which I shouldn’t because why? Scoring points off a moron isn’t an accomplishment–and not one to be proud of if it is. I don’t like when some ignorant stranger pops off on social media and rather than scrolling past or blocking, I respond instead of blocking. Now that the trolls from Twitter are making their way over to the newer sites and bringing their shittiness with them, I’ve allowed myself to snap at their smug stupidity and cruelty. I don’t care about being shitty to them–they deserve far worse than what I might say to them on social media–but I don’t like having my mind go so negative. I guess that’s what happens after a lifetime of people trying to bully you on the reg. I also don’t see sinking to their level as particularly negative–and trust me, I do hold back because I can go so low I would come out on the other side of the planet–but I don’t like even giving them a moment of my energy, energy that could be used for positivity.

And on that pensive note, I am going to head into the spice mines and avoid social media for the rest of the day to preserve my peace. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll most likely not be back before tomorrow!

  1. The marvelous Benjamin Dreyer was talking on social media the other day about the etymology of the words sabotage and saboteur–and now I will always say them with a French accent–sab-o-TAHJ! ↩︎