Brrrr. It’s in the forties this morning (AIEEEE!!!!) and the temperature will hold steady for the day, and won’t stop dropping until about bedtime tonight, when it will drop some more and the wind chill will start falling. I should sleep super-well tonight, and am glad I don’t have to go to work until Tuesday (if then)–and the winter storm watch has gone into effect already. I need to go make another grocery run today–there were things I forgot (of course) yesterday, and I was hoping to make it to the gym later as well. My shoulder feels odd this morning, which isn’t the great, and I am wondering about resting it for another day and potentially going tomorrow? Or am I just being incredibly lazy? That could also be the case, am I looking for yet another excuse to not go to the gym? I don’t think so. I think I’m going to finish writing this, spend some time with Bemused (which is delightful) and maybe go run that errand quickly and get it out of the way, and just go to the gym later on in the afternoon, after I’ve gotten some cleaning and writing done? Who knows? It would probably be easiest to do the gym and then go to the store and get it all done at one time (me trying to be efficient as always, but I don’t need to conserve my time anymore, either; I just have to not waste time anymore.
We watched Carry-on last night, which was fun, despite the plot being full of holes. Jason Bateman continues to be the best Bateman; he brought a very creepy intensity with his very calmness to the role, and of course Taron Edgerton is adorable and charismatic and always very fun to watch. I won’t get into whether the story would work in the real world or not–action adventure suspense movies don’t really give two shits about realism anymore–and the reason for that is I haven’t worked in an airport for nigh-on thirty years (groan) now, and things most likely are very different from when I worked there; 9/11 changed airports forever, and I was a pre-9/11 airline employee who was very glad to be out of the industry when 9/11 did happen. I mean, it was entertaining enough to hold our interest for two hours–I did keep checking the Commanders/Lions score, though, because I love Jayden Daniels (one of only two quarterbacks for LSU in the last decade to beat Alabama), and love how much Commanders fans are falling for That Kid Jayden the way LSU fans did)–but it was entertaining enough. We also watched a Swedish show called The Breakthrough yesterday–a crime story–but it wasn’t that interesting and was actually kind of dull; Paul kept dozing off and I kept turning to my iPad, so that was a waste of time. Do not recommend.
I woke up earlier than usual–around seven thirty this morning–but it’s fine; I’ve been sleeping too late and need to get back into the habit of getting up early, and now I have my entire morning to get things done around here. My coffee is going down very nicely, too, I might add, and I do need to eat something so I can take my meds this morning. It’s also sunny out with no clouds in the sky, so it’s beautiful out if cold. It was gorgeous yesterday, to be honest; I didn’t wear a jacket as I ran yesterday’s errands and it was lovely–after the morning rain, of course. The wind is supposed to start picking up soon–gusts of up to thirty miles per hour, which makes it feel ten degrees colder outside than it actually is (wind chill!) so will definitely be needing a coat when I go outside today. I do feel warm and relaxed and comfortable here in the house, which means I’ll feel super cozy when I get into my chair to read this morning. I do feel contented this morning, despite the looming deadlines and the messy house. I’m not sure why that is, this morning being the last good day this country will be having for a very long time, but there it is. I’ve been trying to avoid thinking of the joke of a shitshow this country is going to be effective tomorrow, but it does seem that Americans are finally waking up to the fact that we are not, in fact, the greatest country in the world and it’s kind of eye-opening to see that socialist countries have a much better quality of life than we do with all our so-called “freedoms.” American exceptionalism is a very heady drug and more addicting (and dangerous) than heroin–because if you think you are already living in the greatest country in history, why does it need to be improved? That mindset has already been pushed on us by the worst abusers–the wealthy class–so they can continue to rob us blind and they take everything away from us, and we should be grateful they let us even have the minimal amount of crumbs.
I didn’t write very much yesterday–I was mentally fatigued from the week–and so I decided to just let my mind relax and be free, and of course I came up with a fantastic idea for a book as well as solved the issue with “Festival of the Redeemer,” so that should make finishing that a lot easier, and am most pleased about that; the title of the new idea is Diabolical, and I love that one-word title, which seems to be the direction I am going with non-series titles. (I also got to see potential covers for Hurricane Season Hustle yesterday, and I cannot wait to share the final one with y’all, as it’s pretty cool and a new favorite cover for me. Woo-hoo! Now to write the damned thing, you know?
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely last day before the fall of the country, okay? I will try to do the same.
And it is now Saturday morning in the Lost Apartment and all is well. Sparky and I are the only creatures stirring for now, and it’s kind of nice. It’s chilly again this morning, but that’s fine; all I have left to do this weekend is go to the gym and make groceries, and I haven’t decided whether to do that today or tomorrow; probably today so I can get it all over with and won’t have to leave the house tomorrow. Decisions, decisions. I need to do some writing and reading this weekend and some cleaning, too–I’ll have to make a list at some point.
Yesterday was a very good day. I was a little sore and achy–still am–from my return to the gym on New Year’s Day. I got all my work done, and then we made a Costco run; which wore me out and after getting home, lugging all of it inside, and then putting it all away did me in. I did read some more of Winter Counts, which I am really enjoying and hope to finish this weekend. I do have some emails to answer this weekend, and I slept deeply and well last night–Sparky didn’t annoy me out of bed until about eight thirty this morning, so that’s super cool and nice as well. I do feel rested, which is kind of nice, too. There’s no rush for me to run those errands today, either; I can run them at any time today I so choose. No college football today–and I doubt I’m going to watch any more of it this year; I am not only not a fan of any of the final four, but if I had to pick the four teams I absolutely wouldn’t want in the finals, it would be these four (there are a few that can be swapped out for Texas, and I don’t mind Penn State–but ‘not minding’ is a lot different than “that’s who I’m going to root for.” As far as I am concerned, the season is over. The Super Bowl is in a few weeks, which means getting home is going to be challenging for the next few weeks as they start closing streets in the CBD to get ready for it all. I don’t care about that, either–as long as neither the Bears nor the Cowboys nor the Falcons are in it.
I did write some yesterday, too–which was enormously pleasing. I have things I need to do this weekend, and right now I frankly don’t want to do something of them, but might as well get them out of the way. I’ll probably finish this and read for a while, to finish waking up and everything and ease my way into the rest of the day. We did watch LSU Gymnastics last night; they ran away with the meet against Iowa State, and they looked terrific. They were also getting dramatically underscored, which was puzzling, but they still won by over three points. I then spent the rest of the evening watching old clips from Game of Thrones, which I still kind of miss. When the show was firing on all cylinders, it was really was extraordinary; the production values, the acting, and the writing was all en pointe, and provided some of the best scenes of television ever produced. The Battle of Blackwater Bay? The demolition of the sept? The battle of the loot train? The Battle of the Bastards? The death of Ramsey Bolton? Lady Olenna Tyrell’s final dagger to the heart before expiring? The collapse of the Wall? Arya wiping out House Frey? The character arc of Sansa Stark? It really was exceptional television, even if they did blow the final season–and that is just a smattering of the show’s great moments; there are too many to really list. Paul and I were actually talking about rewatching the whole series again–the plots and subplots were so interwoven and plentiful that there’s a shit ton we do not remember about the show to begin with. But…time. The show last eight seasons, every episode is at least an hour long, and who has that kind of time? Maybe when I retire I can make the rewatch A Thing.
Stranger things, after all, have happened. I’d also like to rewatch The West Wing, if for no other reason than it was my comfort watch during the Bush II administration.
I’m also doing much better with my time issues; I am trying not to be motivated by the clock anymore and worrying about wasting time because I have so much else to do. I don’t have that much else to do anymore, thank you very much, and now that the anxiety is under control, I don’t get as frustrated as I used to or get stressed out as much: I don’t have TIME for this! used to run through my brain every time I would get delayed or stuck in traffic or something, and it’s really nice to not have to deal with that anymore. The solution to the Super Bowl street closures is simple–take the Interstate home from work every day, even though the bridge traffic always backs up. I used to tend to get very frustrated and stressed out every time I took the Interstate because of the bumper-to-bumper back up; now I don’t care and can just sit there and listen to whatever is playing through the stereo in my car. (I also forget it has a working CD player; I should start listening to my old CD’s in the car.)
And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines and read for a few hours before deciding how to divvy up today’s tasks. Have a lovely Saturday wherever you are, Constant Reader, and I’ll check back in with you again later–or tomorrow morning.
Yes, I am definitely pushing my boundaries with the social media puritans, aren’t I?
And another Sunday fun day has rolled around. It was cold in New Orleans yesterday, but I did drop books off at the library sale, picked up the mail, and made groceries. Irony of ironies, when I got home I realized I didn’t have one of my bags–containing the things I went to the store for in the first place. Sigh. So I will have to go out in the cold this morning to rectify that error, but that’s all right. I got some things done yesterday around here, and worked a bit on my editing of my own stuff (which is going slowly because it’s horribly depressing to see how shitty the writing is, despite reminding myself first drafts are always shitty first drafts are always shitty– it still wears me down).
Okay, I bit the bullet and went to the store to get the things I paid for yet didn’t have when I got home from the store yesterday It was actually pleasant; mayhap in the future I should go early in the morning to make groceries. It’s only forty degrees but sunny here this morning, that always odd combination where it looks like it’s hot and steamy outside but it’s not! Now that I have that out of the way–which is also part of it, the putting it off and putting it off until such time as my day is interrupted and never quite recovers. Now I have that out of the way and don’t have to worry about it, and because it wasn’t a crowded shitshow the grocery usually is right before a holiday, I feel neither tired or burned out from the experience. I know it sounds weird, but a crowded grocery store overstimulates me and wears me out.
I did sleep a little later than usual this morning, and the bed was warm and comfortable and inviting and I didn’t really want to get out from underneath the blankets. But Sparky was hungry and would not rest until I was up, which is just as well. He’s fed and if I’d lounged in bed even longer this morning I would have not gone to make groceries, so everything was a “win-win”. I did have the games on yesterday, for what it was worth. Talk about snooze-fests. Is this what we have to look forward to with this new system? Blowouts in the first round? I also don’t like the home field advantage half the teams get in the first round. It makes a difference. I was at least hoping, despite my antipathy toward everyone playing this weekend, for some good, fun games to watch.
It was a good thought.
Was anyone surprised that disgusting grifting POS Krysten Sinema is going out the way she has chosen to? What a despicably corrupt narcissistic bitch. May we never hear her name again except for her obituary and the outpouring of contempt sure to follow. She betrayed her constituency, she betrayed queer people, and she betrayed her party to cozy up to Fascists and block progressive legislation while taking bribes and enriching herself. One of the problems with our current situation is that anyone can run against a horrible MAGA candidate and look good, rally votes and win an election as a viable alternative to something worse–but there’s nothing stopping said person from selling out for personal enrichment once they are serving. I’d like to see an IRS investigation as well as a DOJ one to find out who’s been paying her to be Mitch McConnell’s little beta bitch since she took office. She was so hated in Arizona that Kari Lake would have beaten her in the general1. I hope she spends the rest of her life getting drinks thrown on her and pies in her fucking face, like the clown she actually is. Good riddance to some serious raw sewage.
I was thinking yesterday (fleeting thoughts I’ve had a lot over the last few months) about James A. Michener and how no one today would read any book as long as his were, back in the day. I enjoyed Michener–Hawaii was a bit much–but I’ve been thinking how amazing it would have been for books in that style to have been written about Kansas, Louisiana, or Alabama. I certainly would never write such a thing–I don’t have the patience to do that much research, let alone turning it into a million words or so of a novel. (Although Michener would have written about three hundred pages about the forming of the Mississippi River delta, let alone the lakes and the swamps.) I was revisiting one of my favorite New Orleans histories, Frenchmen Desire Goodchildren, and I was also remembering that Gallatin Street, one of the worst sections of the old French Quarter, no longer exists. It was a vile place of bordellos and sleazy, dangerous bars; murders and rapes and muggings happened there with a stark regularity until it was demolished to extend the French Market. I’ve been wanting to write another Sherlock story in the 1910’s Quarter, and having either him or Watson visit a nasty dangerous gay bar on Gallatin would be a fun scene to write…if Gallatin was still around by that time; I think it’s badness was over by the time Storyville was set up, but who knows? I’ve resisted writing about Storyville, because it’s already been done so many times…but I also think it would be fun to write about New Orleans during Prohibition, too, when New Orleans became known as the Liquor Capital of the United States. That…could be a lot of fun. Maybe even an ATF agent coming to the city to root out liquor sales, only to hang their head in utter and complete defeat?
Thinking of Michener also reminded me of how much I used to read when I was a kid. Granted, the distractions of a gazillion streaming services didn’t exist back then; there were only three real channels, and we didn’t spend most of our times looking at our phones because there were no images on it. It also has made me think about how my primarily formative years–the 1970s–were awash in cynicism and mistrust of everything and how huge conspiracy theories, or all kinds of other “unexplained phenomena” struck people’s fancies. There was, of course, the JFK assassination conspiracy theories–but there were so many others. The Amityville Horror (on which I called bullshit at the time and still do), the Bermuda Triangle, UFO’s…you name it, people were interesting in it. I read Erich von Däniken’s books about “ancient aliens”, and of course there was all kinds of deconstruction of religion and the Bible, which was also interesting–The Late Great Planet Earth was a huge bestseller, detailing how the prophecies of Revelations and the end times were coming true right before our very unseeing eyes! End times Christian theology took hold–and never really let go, either. The X-Files could have been made in the 1970s (although it would have never been greenlit) but there was a lot of media, especially film, that tried to cash in on all of this. During the shutdown I did my “Cynical 70s Film Festival”, and it’s really amazing how a thread of paranoia runs through so many films of that decade. It was a strange decade, that saw the further inward collapse of the social engineering that took place after the second world war–that excluded everyone outside of the straight white cisgender male. The center wasn’t holding, and now? We’re living in the midst of the backlash towards social progressivism in this country.
And on that note, I am going to make another cup of coffee and head into the morning spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later–one never truly knows, does one?
Well, it’s Tuesday and we survived Monday, did we not? I finally got all my work computer issues worked out yesterday (thank you, baby Jesus) so hurray for that and huzzah and thank heavens things are back to normal around the office and I could get my Admin work done–which was marvelous. I always feel so unsettled when I can’t function the way I usually do, and it felt weird yesterday morning to be using the borrower laptop again. Was Mercury in retrograde, or has it been? My work computer blew up on Thursday, Paul’s office building partially collapsed, and there’ve been other issues around over the course of the end of last week and the weekend. Heavy heaving sigh. Most were just annoying–like the work computer situation–and just had to be gotten through.
I was very tired when I got home last night but hung out with Sparky a bit and just had a bit of a relaxing evening. We watched more of The Diplomat, which is fantastic on every level–writing, acting, casting–and I went to bed a bit early. I did have some trouble falling asleep, though, and had one of those toss-and-turn nights. Getting through today is going to be a bit of a struggle for me, methinks; I am feeling a bit zoned-out this morning. I even worked on the Scotty a little bit yesterday, too, which felt like progress of a sort. I’m still a bit worried about my lack of desire to write anything, which isn’t a very good thing. I’m still getting ideas and thinking about writing all the time, scribbling notes in my journal and so forth, but when you’re not actually putting words down to make progress on fiction–any kind, really–always makes me feel like I’m not really writing. I was also realizing that 2024 was one of the few years since 2000 that I didn’t publish anything; not even a short story anywhere, nor did I write much of anything. On that scale, 2024 was an utter failure of a year, but I don’t want to be terribly hard on myself, either. 2023 was a very rough year, and 2024 was rough in dealing with all of the fallout from 2023’s happenings.
And it’s not like I’m not old. (No need to rush to assure me that “no, Gregalicious, you’re not old! You’re only as old as you feel!” Well, there are days when I feel like I’m a hundred, okay? Sixty-three is fairly old; only two years left to go before what used to be retirement age, until the Republicans decided that was too young to not work anymore.) My body creaks and groans, it’s harder to get out of bed in the morning (although it was never easy for me, ever), and I tire a lot easier than I used to. And every time I look in the mirror, I see an old man–and yes, I am aware that my own issues with myself probably make me see myself in said mirror as a lot older than I think I am; I forget that I’m in my sixties until the morning mirror reminds me. It is a grim way to start the day every morning.
Ah, there’s the morning kick from the caffeine and sugar from my morning coffee cake slice (one of the few sweet treats I allow myself). Hopefully it will be enough to see me through this entire day. I don’t think we’re going to be busy in the clinic today, so I can get caught up on paperwork that I couldn’t get to yesterday due to the work laptop kerfuffle, and I had some trouble getting it to work on some of my paperwork duties, so I am going to have to see if I can get that worked out for this morning. Yay!
The rest of the week stretches endless before me, but tomorrow is pay day, next week is Christmas (Jesus H. Christ!), and I have a lot of things I need to be getting done. But it will be nice to have two days off in the middle of the week next week. We’re going to go see Babygirl on Christmas, which will be nice. I’m thinking about getting us a pizza from That’s Amore out in Metairie for the holiday (and so I won’t have to cook anything and make any mess in the kitchen); Paul mentioned last night that he was sorry the one on St. Charles closed during the shutdown…which got a “um, it’s not that long of a drive out to Clearview Parkway” from me and I tucked that little nugget of information away. I can get up on the morning of Christmas Eve, order the pizza, and then drive out there to pick it up before Paul even wakes up.
That would be a nice Christmas surprise, wouldn’t it?
And on that note I have to get my day going. Have a lovely Tuesday, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow.
I faced up to some hard truths about myself yesterday. I knew I’d kind of coasting along and letting things slide and not really giving things my full attention, and that’s kind of been where my mindset has been for–well, for longer than it should have. Snap out of it, Gregalicious. But at least I was cognizant of that yesterday, which is a step in the right direction. I did get some progress made on work I have to get done soon, but I was very tired when I got off work yesterday and flagging by the time I got home from the office. (My day job is pretty routine for the most part every day. Some days are harder, though, and take a toll on me. Yesterday was one of those days; clients with needs beyond the usual normal work day, and those can be difficult to navigate. I felt great most of the day but by the end of my shift I was very drained and tired. The sometime emotional labor that is necessary to do my job wears me out, which is another reason why I’m not giving my emotional labor away anymore. My two jobs require a lot of emotional labor, and I just don’t have enough reserve in the tank anymore to waste, and so, have to guard it jealously.)
Yesterday I realized I’d been in a weird headspace since my trip up north and the election, which means there was some subliminal depression buried in my head showing itself in a weird kind of paralysis where I couldn’t really motivate myself to do much of anything. Generalized anxiety disorder is very sneaky. I think what happens is that when the depressive side of my brain starts firing off synapses up there, it’s like the anxiety takes hold of the depression and deepens it, all the while never being in the forefront of my mind so I can be aware that is going on–and because I don’t actually feel depressed, well, that doesn’t mean that I am not in a depressive state. It’s always kind of worked this way, now that I am thinking about it with a much more clear head this week (Monday was the last day of the lethargic malaise this time around). I also don’t want to have to add another medication to the chemicals I am already putting into my body more than once a day. I appreciate better living through chemistry as much as anyone, but at the same time…I don’t want to be taking more things if I don’t necessarily need them, if that makes sense? These malaises–I’ve had them before, of course, and usually they show up in the wake of finishing a major project, and I just assume it’s the letdown from no longer needing to use my creativity in a focused manner and it needs to recharge. I guess the malaise is kind of an emotional lull? Being in Kentucky and being in Mom’s house is always challenging; I just keep expecting to see her in the kitchen in the morning when I go for my first cup of coffee and it’s a jolt to remember oh yeah, she’s not with us anymore and I also give a lot of emotional energy to my father while I am there. That, the election, and the drive home–yeah, it’s not really surprising that I went into a malaise. But yesterday? Yesterday I did kick myself back into gear and dove into a project that needs doing, like last week, but I am making good progress and should be finished a week late this weekend. I was very tired when I got off work, but I am feeling like I am back in the saddle again, and there was no way I was going to get anything done last night anyway while I waited for Paul to come through the front door.
I’m taking that as a win, thank you very much.
Paul got home right around nine last night, which was delightful. His travels–usually a problem–all went smoothly (thank you, Secretary Pete) and he was in a pretty good mood. Sparky and I were both very happy to get back into our lives again, and Sparky was so glad Paul was home that he slept in the bed with both of us. There’s something about the regular breathing and heartbeat of a sleeping pet pressed up against you that is so incredibly soothing, isn’t there? I know Sparky sleeping in my lap while I recline in my easy chair always has a calming, settling effect on me as well.
I spent some time with The Demon of Unrest last night while Sparky slept in my lap (and didn’t like that I was reading at first, gnawing on a corner of the book and trying to get in between me and the book before circling a few times and laying down). It’s really quite good–I need to read more of Larson, clearly–and is the kind of history written the way I would have liked to have written about it, you know? It’s actually grabbed my attention away from my fiction read, which is saying something; I’ve always felt that History that is written in a more reader-friendly way, like The Demon of Unrest, should be more of a thing. Barbara Tuchman was really good at this, too; which is why I enjoy reading her so much (A Distant Mirror remains my favorite non-fiction history read of all time). And since I don’t have football games to watch this weekend, I’ll have time to get things done on Saturday–cleaning up around the house, reading, writing, editing–and as I said the other day, I don’t really care that much about the play-offs this year. I might get sucked into it yet, of course, but right now I am kind of relieved the season is over so the easy distraction is gone. It was a very weird season, too, which should get a recap at some point (maybe after LSU’s bowl game) because it’s so weird.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely mid-week day, Constant Reader, and I may be back later, though I doubt it. I have errands to run tonight after work (yay), and I imagine after I am done working tonight, Paul and I will start catching up on our shows again.
I just adore Cooper Koch, and am glad he, too, is having a moment as an exceptional young and out gay actor. He was exceptional in Monsters.
Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment and I don’t have to leave the house today if I choose that option. I did take the car in for the oil change (only to discover the car needs about another $1500 in maintenance–it is almost eight years old. The battery needs replacing, I need new tires, etc. etc.etc. Woo-hoo for more debt! I’ll take it back when I figure out how to pay for the rest), and then made groceries on the way home, which I’d originally planned to do this morning. Instead, I am going to stay here, maybe run to the gym a little later, and get some work done. I am going to write today if it kills me–I’ve not written any fiction since before I went to Kentucky, and that needs to stop–and I want to spend a few hours reading this morning, too. I am behind on writing, I am behind on reading, and definitely behind on cleaning the house. It’s been a time since the election, hasn’t it?
This blog is approaching it’s twentieth birthday; yes, I’ve been doing this since December of 2004, only I started on Livejournal, where I stayed for the first twelve years or so before finally ditching the site because of many reasons. I stayed longer than most people; I even got teased originally for still being on the site, which had become déclassé; I still use my AOL email address, too, for that matter–which often is the subject of occasional mockery there, too. I hate gmail, and AOL works for me, so I still use it. Anyway, while I was in Kentucky I realized/remembered, on election night, how old this blog is and how long I’ve been doing it–and how and why it first started. I started reflecting on that, and thinking about it, and when I started censoring the content on it to make it more palatable and less offensive to the people I thought might be reading it. I started writing the blog in the wake of what happened to Paul in the spring of 2004, which derailed everything in my life and started what I call the Time of Troubles. Over the course of more than a year–spanning from Memorial Day through August of 2005–it was literally one blow after another. Paul spent two weeks in the hospital after that Memorial Day, and my primary focus in life became taking care of him, and making sure he was okay. I postponed finishing Mardi Gras Mambo for over a year, and was too damaged and laser-focused on dealing with the aftermath and being there for him that I stopped writing entirely.
People were very kind to me during that time, to us both, actually, and extended book deadlines and so forth were enormously helpful. Paul and I didn’t really venture out much from our cocoon, other than going to work and the gym (me) and running errands. Paul focused on his job, and I focused mostly on my editorial work as I couldn’t write fiction. I wasn’t really in a place to write a funny Scotty book, and by December of that year I was already getting to the point where I was worried if I could continue writing. I had dinner and drinks with a writer friend in early December who actually had a great blog that I read every morning, and he recommended that I try writing a blog, just writing the things that I was thinking about or experiencing, to get back into the habit of writing every day. I scoffed, “who would ever read such a thing?” and he replied, “You’re not doing it for other people, you’re doing it for yourself” and that kind of became the blog mantra: it’s really just for me, to talk about things that are going on, my perspective on things no one would ever pay me to write about or have an opinion on but did want to write about and have an opinion on. It was kind of a diary for me at first, and I wrote about things I was interested in–like figure skating and football and New Orleans life–and it was something I enjoyed. I was really getting into the swing of it when the next “trouble” came along–what I call the “Virginia thing.” And of course, later that year, we had Hurricane Katrina, and I blogged about my anger; how cruel people could be (Republicans, it’s always Republicans) and I was defiant. We’d just gone through an election earlier that year in which the Republicans’ entire campaign centered the evils of same-sex marriage, with all the expected homophobia and cruelty they’ve perfected. (This is who they’ve always been, and the cruelty is nothing new.)
I started dialing back on talking about politics and homophobia and the world a lot after I started working full-time for a non-profit, and started volunteering and serving on others having to do with writers’ groups. I didn’t want anything I said to affect negatively on either where I was working or any place I was volunteering; the rules on what we could do or say or talk about at work were very strict, and while we were always allowed to have personal lives and opinions, I thought why take the chance? It‘s an HIV/AIDS non-profit, and we’re in Louisiana, and it won’t take much to set off some evangelical idiot outside of New Orleans and make them target our funding or our non-profit status so I stopped. I’m a gay man; everyone should know what my politics and values are and what political party comes closest to working for the world I want to live in.
But when I was in Kentucky, I started thinking about these things again. I no longer do volunteer work for writers’ organizations and/or events. My day job is no longer a red flag to Louisiana conservatives–we’re no longer the NO/AID Task Force, and we have an even more innocuous name now that sets off no alarms. We also no longer merely focus on gay men; we are open to everyone up on the third floor (my department primarily still works with my community–people at risk for HIV infection) and so I don’t think I need to concern myself about doing or saying anything that might trigger the Louisiana Fascist Party. I’m free to be myself again on here, and I am very opinionated. I know my blog and Substack have picked up a lot of new readers since I ran out of fucks. I don’t know if I am actually making people think, or if people are coming here to watch what they think is me having a very public mental breakdown so they can point and laugh. I’m not, for the record. I’m not even angry or hurt. I’m just fed up, and tired of letting people get away with this shit. You’re either an ally or not, but I don’t think most people know what that actually means. And when you make it clear to me that you’re not, that you actually think people like me are gross or repulsive or whatever demeaning default your privilege allows you to fall back on–why on earth would you think I like you and want to be around you? Someone dares to call out the entire community, so he’s clearly having some sort of mental break? Yeah, that’s it. That puts it on me so y’all can sleep better at night, right? Whatever.
And yes, I know when I write about these things I write passionately and emotionally. The hurt has long ago passed–I dealt with those feelings when the things actually happened, you know1? Sure, my anger and hurt comes out when I do, because I am reliving the experience in order to write it about it properly. If I wrote about it when it happened, it would be even more raw and painful and expletive filled than what you’ve been reading this past week. This is me, after the fact, recounting horrible experiences far more calmly now than I might have at the time. Think about it–this is me being calm and rational about being demeaned and dehumanized.
I also do want to thank everyone for not gaslighting me this past week, either–for not pulling some “#notallstraightmen #notallstraightwhitewomen” shit on me. I spoke in generalities despite knowing that nothing is a monolith. There are some good straight people out there, and there are some amazing straight white women. I do have friends in this community, people I love and would take a bullet for. My friends, the people I actually really know and love and trust? I would do anything for, and they also knew I wasn’t talking about them. One of my most dogged, OCD-like tendencies is absolute devotion to the people I love. I will always come to their defense, I will not allow anyone to treat them badly, and I will fucking come for you if you make the mistake of coming for them. They also know who they are. That devotion over the years has worn out in some cases–but I always remember people who were kind to me, helped me in any way, or ever did something for me without being asked.
I’ve primarily written about all of this to begin with for two reasons: so people won’t ask me about going to conferences any more, and to let everyone know about my experience so you won’t allow people to pull this shit with the other queer crime writers. The fact this stuff still happens–look at how surprised people are at these revelations I’ve been making–in this day and age has me concerned for the queer crime writers. They are all feeling despondent, betrayed, and more than a little scared about what MAGA has up their sleeves for queer people and their art, and their futures. Christian Germany murdered twelve million people for being different, after all, and set the world on fire.
And you wonder why we are so concerned about people who hate us in the name of religion being in control here? We see good little Germans everywhere, the news media capitulated in advance, and it looks like the entire government is falling into lockstep. Nazis now feel empowered to go out in public with swastika flags in progressive cities. Nazis targeted Communists–what have Republicans been calling Democrats since the 1930’s? Communists. We also know straight people will abandon us to save themselves 999 times out of 1000. Sad, but true and even a little understandable. Who is willing to put themselves and their families in danger for strangers? Not many.
That’s why we ironically celebrate heroes who take stands against inhumanity. Because they are rare.
Paul walked to Walgreens for a prescription yesterday, and then had to go to the corner liquor store at Jackson Avenue for cigarettes. I’ve gone there myself for things like bread and milk when I didn’t feel like driving anywhere. It was a nice store, owned and operated by a Pakistani family. Always clean, neat, and organized; the family members who worked there always fell over themselves to be polite, friendly, and courteous. I generally don’t like to go into liquor stores in New Orleans for any number of reasons, so I don’t. You can literally buy liquor at gas stations here, and the grocery stores (which used to have bars in them here); pretty much anywhere that sells anything sells liquor so you don’t need to go to a liquor store here. When he got back, he said, “Have you noticed that since the election bro culture is back on the rise? Loud, obnoxious bros, everywhere. I guess the Pakistani family sold the liquor store, because there was a bro working there–and you know he’s not checking anyone’s IDs. I guess they sold the business and got out. I hope they got good money because that’s a prime location.”
GREG: I hope they sold the business. We don’t know that for sure, do we?
We just looked at each other grimly for a few moments.
Over dramatic? Maybe. I’d certainly like to think so, but as my mother used to say, “You can never go wrong imagining the worst.”
I don’t speak for my entire community; I certainly don’t speak for Paul. My experiences are my experiences, and no demographic is a monolith. There are MAGA queers, for example, and they are even worse than the inbred mouth-breathers we usually think of when we think MAGA–who clearly have a humiliation fetish. I always wonder if the Log Cabins shoot a load into their shorts every time they are barred from some Republican/conservative conclave, or if straight men start dripping when they make queer jokes. I will never cease laughing at the arrogance of straight men who think every gay man is out here trying to get into their pants.
Louder, for those in the back: just because straight women settle, doesn’t mean gay men will. There’s always a hotter gay man than any straight man I’ve ever seen. The reason you straight men go to the gym now and get in better shape than straight men ever have been before in history is entirely because of gay men. Calvin Klein did more for male body culture with his advertisements than Charles Atlas ever did with the cartoon ads in comic books–remember those? “Hey, you kicked sand in my face!”
Funny how Charles Atlas advertised getting big and strong as a way to stand up to bullies, isn’t it? Male insecurity and not being manly enough?
And there is the opening to my essay about being a man. Well done, blog!
I also want to give a shout out to the Crime Writers of Color, who have always been amazing and supportive of this tired old white queen. Kellye Garrett is a national treasure who should be protected at all costs. You fuck with her at your own peril, do you hear me?
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I need to make a to-do list, and I need to write and read and do chores.
Screenshot
And it doesn’t even hurt that much anymore in the moment, either. Ultimately, I am rarely surprised when those who should know better don’t. I do get caught off guard sometimes, but after the initial shock it’s more of a world-weary are you really surprised? ↩︎
Ugh, I have to make an unscheduled stop on the West Bank this morning to get my car serviced. I’d hoped to make it to next weekend (it was on that to-do list), but the little wrench light came on yesterday and I need to get the oil changed now. There’s other servicing it’s going to need to, but it’s going to have to wait. I had hoped to get some stuff done around here this morning instead of sitting in the waiting room of my car dealership, but it’s a good time for me to read some more of The Reformatory, which is superb, but is also challenging to me–and you really do need to read books that make you uncomfortable. Tananarive Due doesn’t let up, never takes her foot off the neck of white supremacy, and she shouldn’t, either. No one should, and because of the sobering realities of that time period, I know this book isn’t going to give me the kind of ending I want for these characters that I love–I’ve read enough of the facts about places like Raiford to know the kids at this fictional version will not make it out of there alive.
I’ve been avoiding the news successfully. The really funny thing about the legacy media is they still don’t get it. They rubbed their hands with glee and breathlessly reported every MAGA insult, lie or slander as actual news and actively worked to undermine and demoralize the Blue vote for ratings, but can’t seem to wrap their minds around the reality that they betrayed their country for clicks and viewers by rubbing Blue voters’ faces in lie after lie after lie. It’s in their best interests, you see, to give MAGA every last bit of oxygen they possibly could because it’s always driven their ratings up. They shivved Biden by playing into MAGA lies about his cognitive function and his abilities to do the job, even as he single-handedly overhauled the country and brought it back from the abyss that yes, MAGA once again parked it on the edge of, teetering–just like 2008. They brooked no opposition to the Afghan and Iraq eternal wars, even as most Americans knew the war hawks were lying like dogs to send our young people over there to die for really no reason. We were told we didn’t support the troops by opposing the war (the conservatives learned their lesson from Vietnam, didn’t they?), and opposing the war was spitting on the graves of the 9/11 victims. The Chicks’ career was completely canceled and never recovered (which is why I am always “miss me with your bitching about the cancel culture YOU invented”). They drove the economy into the ditch, and the housing crash of the later Bush II years was actually a result of Reagan economic policies, but let’s deify that senile old fuck, shall we?
As Winston Churchill once famously said, “You can always count on the Americans to do the right thing–after they’ve tried everything else.”
But…I don’t have to give the legacy media my money, my attention or my clicks. I will continue to support independent journalism, but in cowering before his attacks, the legacy media turned itself into exactly what he said they are–fake news–and have utterly failed the country at their Constitutionally-appointed mandate to critique and criticize any and everyone who puts the nation at risk. Just like I’m not giving my money and my time to books by unproven allies anymore. There are some straight men whose books I will continue to read–but that already very short list has become much, much shorter. I am a little annoyed about having to go over to the West Bank this morning, because I had planned on pruning books by people I will never read–hey they got my money already–and taking them to the library sale this morning, but I now have the week to weed out those offending books and get them off my shelves and my stacks before they infect the others with passive homophobia.
As I said yesterday, I’ve made some people uncomfortable this past week, and the old Greg might have held back…but I don’t care anymore. For queer people, this is what we have to deal with on a daily basis from practically everyone. People think I was joking over the years when I’d say things like “I am 100% team extinction event”. I wasn’t. People think I’m funny for some reason I’ve never completely understood, but I’ve leaned into it as protective coloring for most of my life–as long as people were laughing they weren’t hating–and people often think I am being funny when I am dead serious. Maybe it’s my delivery, maybe it’s the incredibly expressive face (I can always maintain a calm, cool exterior when someone is homophobic in front of me, but that was a survival instinct I picked up in public school; don’t react, don’t let then see how wounded you arebecause that’s what they want–so deny them their fun as much as possible, but other than that, I can’t hide how I’m feeling), but yes, people think I’m funny. Younger kids have always been drawn to me most of my life, and I do think it’s the face; I can make my meme face to them and they always giggle and laugh; I also don’t really know how to talk to kids so I just talk to them the way I do with everyone else–and they respond to that. I am never comfortable around people’s children because you never know when someone is going to decide that I’m a danger to their kids, as some women I know seem to think I’m a pedophile groomer because aren’t all queer men?
Ever been called a groomer or a pedophile or both by someone you know? It’s happened to me more than once. And then the people saying it are shocked that I’ve cut them off completely, which is even more astonishing to me. Um, you called me a child rapist. (Always straight white women, of course. Of course because you are even worse than your men because you should know better. Can we stop making excuses for conservative women? Melania is exactly where she wants to be; she is no victim. Do you make excuses for Eva Braun, too? Eva Peron? Imelda Marcos? Nancy Reagan?)
And you think that’s forgivable? I hope you enjoy every horror of our new administration because you deserve it.
I’m also kind of amused at how people also seem to think we don’t have interior lives, too–and are also writers. You just blithely assume that I am what I present to you, too–like I’m not recording every insult, every slight, and every last belittling remark? I’m a writer who used to work for an airline, where you were fucked if you didn’t document every little fucking thing. I started keeping a journal when I was a kid, where I recorded all my hopes and dreams as well as all my hatred and bad wishes to the 99% of kids who were bullies, or were complicit. I always carry a notebook with me, and I started using blank journals when I worked for the airline. I kept everything in my journals–phone numbers, to-do lists, airline computer shortcuts that don’t come up very often, and often between flights I would sit at an empty gate with a cup of coffee and write–in Continental Airlines green ink–in my journals what was going on in my life. I see offensive shit on line? Screen cap, for the “Receipts” folder. I keep every email filed away in my archive and can locate it with a simple email search. I’ve bookmarked offensive essays, blog posts, and websites, and I’ve also recorded those website addresses in a “bigot spreadsheet.”1
You’re not the only ones who put on a mask. It might do you some good to reflect on that thought, too–we all have brains, we all have ears, and we all have memories and cognitive thinking capabilities, and we have a lot more practice in protective coloring than you ever will. Does that make you uncomfortable? Good.
And I don’t care if things ever change for me. As I said, I am done with conferences and things like that. But I’m going to be watching, and listening. You come for my queer colleagues, you have to come through me–and you have no idea what a monster I can be when it comes to protecting people I care about. I’m used to being treated like dirt. But you come for this new generation of queer crime writers, or the ones that have come since I entered this hellhole of a white supremacist community?
Just remember, I’m watching.
And no one ever sees me coming.
yes, if you’re wondering if I’ve kept a shitty email you sent me, yes I do have it in case I need it–like when you want something from me. I never send said email back with a note for why on earth would you want my help/advice/etc when you’ve made it abundantly clear what you think of me? I just read it again before deleting your latest email. I am not required to respond to you, nor are you entitled to my time or effort. ↩︎
Up far earlier than usual on a Sunday morning1, because of course, later on today I am driving to Kentucky. Twelve hours in the car, but I’ve figured out what to listen to on the drive, which is cool. I don’t know what traffic is going to be like, but that’s cool; I am also going to go a different way than I usually do–going thru Nashville instead of the nightmare that is always Chattanooga–so that will be interesting.
I was very tired yesterday morning, the way I always am on Saturday, but I got errands done and then came home to work on the house and get ready for today. We mostly watched football all day before going to bed; starting with Vanderbilt-Auburn (Auburn lost) and Mississippi-Arkansas, then Georgia-Florida, capping the night off with South Carolina’s big win over Texas A&M. The SEC is indeed crazy this season; it almost seems like no one wants to win it all this year. Now, all the one-loss and two-loss teams are going to continue knocking each other off the rest of the season, which is wild. LSU still has a chance, but they have to win out…and that won’t be easy (Alabama, Florida, Oklahoma, and Vanderbilt remain on the schedule). Interesting season, this first year of super-conferences and paying players and a play-off, hasn’t it been? All in all, a very nice, relaxing day was had by everyone in the Lost Apartment, including demon kitty Sparky–who turned himself into a love bug for the entire day. I’ve not yet packed or loaded up the car–I got up early this morning to do that specifically, as well as to add to the “I’m really tired so will sleep well tonight” feeling when I get there tonight. I’ll also be on the road for the Saints game today, so GEAUX SAINTS and I hope they do well.
It’ll be nice spending some time with Dad, resting and relaxing and reading. I don’t know if he’ll want to go do things–like sight-see historical sites in the area (I am not going to the Ark, rest assured of that)–or if we’ll end up just sitting around chatting and watching television. The weather will be similar up there to what we’re having down here, which is great as I don’t want to take a coat with me, either. I decided to finish listening to Gabino’s book in the car on the way up, move on to The Reformatory, finish reading it over the week, and then listen to Shadowlands in the car on the way home, so I can finish reading it when I get home Friday. I have a lovely weekend when I get home before I have to go back to work, and then of course it’s only a few more weeks to Thanksgiving. Paul is probably going to visit his mom for the holiday, which will give me a long weekend alone at home with Sparky, which could be a lot of fun.
And of course, once I get home from this trip I need to really get back to work on the book and everything else around here that I want to get finished by the end of the year. I need to do some research on actual hurricanes (as well as the ones that have hit New Orleans over the centuries, including from before when they got names), and I hope to spend some time brainstorming on the book’s plot. I know I want it to shift direction several times, but I am still not sure of how everything comes together and why, which is part of the fun ohf writing these types of novels, isn’t it?
And on that note, I think I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely, lovely day, Constant Reader, and I don’t know how much I’ll be here posting this week, so hang in there without me, okay? MAKE SURE YOU VOTE.
But not as early as it usually feels, thank you for the extra hour this morning, Daylight Savings Time. ↩︎
Yeah, I’ve been big on the Tudors for most of my life–first the Virgin Queen, and then her father, Henry VIII and his many wives1, and eventually the entire family (Henry VIII’s sister Margaret was a pistol–and it is her descendants who sit on the throne today, not Henry’s). As I got older, I became more interested in the century as a whole, and eventually I moved on from the Tudors to the Stuarts, who I find much more interesting. I still love the Tudors, and will watch documentaries and films, but won’t read any more books about them, especially because I’ve not really scratched more than the surface with the Stuarts, and I want to read more about the Tudors’ French contemporaries, the House of Valois. (Yes, I loved The Tudors, because it was more of a Renaissance version of Dynasty; I don’t watch historical films and expect accuracy2, and if you are, wake the fuck up. Book adaptations are never the same as the book, either. It’s entertainment, not a fucking documentary.)
Speaking of entertainment, I finally gave up on Jon Stewart with his defense of the indefensible. His joining in on the media’s decision to badger and hound Joe Biden–one of the most successful presidents of all fucking time–out of the race? None of that, not one bit of that, was actual concern; they all were giving (and continued, until recently) Shady Marmalade a pass on his obvious mental decline…and Jon’s decision to defend the indefensible “because comedian”? Fuck off and die, you arrogant rich white cisgender piece of shit. I’ll never watch him again, so congrats on that year contract extension, Comedy Central. You thought calling Puerto Rico a floating pile of garbage was funny? You thought comparing Travis Kelce to OJ, implying he’ll murder Taylor Swift, was funny? And on and on and on. Straight white male comedians will always circle the wagons for another comedian with a penis, but when a woman comedian (see: Kathy Griffin) is being attacked, not a fucking word? So he’s a misogynist, too. I’m not telling you what to do, Constant Reader, but Jon Stewart is dead to me, now and forever. And don’t even get me started on the 49ers and Nick the Traitor Bosa. Talk about pussy. Someone got slapped down by management when he hit the locker room and before he talked to the press, and like a good little beta soyboy, he caved and sulked like the pathetic emotionally-and-intellectually stunted bitch he is. He’s not being punished because when asked he shut his fucking mouth, which is the other primary difference between him and a true hero, Colin Kaepernick (besides the obvious “white man gets away with shit a Black man never could” racism).
And really, 49ers managers and coaching staff? Your team represents San Francisco, the most tolerant city in the country. Trade him to Dallas, where he belongs.
Thank God I am on anxiety medications. If not, I probably wouldn’t have slept at all since June. But the medications and my personal ban on legacy media companies who are garbage and untrustworthy has helped a lot with my election anxiety, and refusing to engage with the trash on-line (block, block, block) I’ve managed to take good care of my own mental health this time around. I refuse to worry about what will happen if he wins, or if he loses and they try another violent coup; I do, every once in a while, think you always wondered what it was like to be a Berliner in 1933…and I didn’t really need to get an answer to that question, you know?
I feel good this morning yet again; I’ve been sleeping well every night this week and it’s been really nice. I did my errands last night, got home and got started on the dishes and did some other clean-up around here. Paul didn’t get home until late, so I mostly went down Youtube idle curiosity research holes. I also managed to get the Scotty Bible’s first draft finished; it’s just raw information for now that I have to reorganize and pull together. I am also realizing, as I mentioned yesterday, that I should do a concordance of everything I’ve written by place; Kansas, California, New Orleans, Louisiana, Florida, and Alabama. That’s the problem of having characters cross over from stand-alones to the series and back again, you know? I was realizing that the lawyer the boys hire in Royal Street Reveillon doesn’t have as much information in the Scotty series about him as I would have thought…only to remember that Loren McKeithen has a much larger role in the Chanse series than the Scotty. Oops!
I also realized last night, as I watched news clips and documentaries about the Civil War, that with my anxiety gone I no longer feel the need to belittle and dismiss things I’ve accomplished in this wild and crazy career of mine. I’ve written a shit ton of books, short stories, and blog posts–and when I think about all the queer papers and magazines that I’ve written for over the years, yes, my output has been a bit prodigious. It wasn’t false humility (though I am often horrified at how easy it is to slip into egomania, and always over-correct once I catch myself); I honestly still thought I wasn’t very good at what I do. I always compare myself to other writers and come up wanting; but it’s really not a competition of any kind; I appreciate great writers who produce great work, and my work is different from theirs. I always strive to be better, to get better, and not stagnate–the problem that creates is it extrapolates to I could have done that better and dismissing it. Those are the kind of brain landmines I need to watch for, and avoid whenever possible. I’m proud of all my work, for the record. Sure, going through the old Scotty books was always difficult (I always edit it another time as I’m reading it) but doing it for the Bible, where I’m just looking for information, was different. Sure, there were some clunky things I could have said better, but overall, I was actually a little surprised to see how good–and clever–the books actually are. It also reminded me of how I used to write the first ones, what I have always tried to do in my work–whether anyone notices or not. (Someone once emailed me after reading one of my books and said, “Did you deliberately do this?” and delighted, I wrote back “Absolutely!” That was a big thrill for me.)
And I am proud of my work. I overcame so many obstacles to build this career, and I am pleased with myself, too. My books are pretty good–yes, there will always be a few where I think, God I wish I could give that one more pass, but even those are pretty good. There are some I am more pleased with than others; yes, I have favorite children. But that doesn’t mean that I am not pleased with all of them. How many people told me along the way that this would never happen for me, that I didn’t have what it takes, or that I have no ability at all? Maybe, maybe not–but if that’s what you think, how many books have you published? How many awards have you been nominated for, or won?
I really wish I’d known it was anxiety much sooner.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again, perhaps later!
I love that historians count all of the women he married as his wives; although technically the first two were actually annulled, so the marriages were never, at least legally, valid. ↩︎
I totally understand why films and television shows based on history have to make changes; the actual stories don’t play out perfectly for different media and thus must be adapted. I do ↩︎
And here we are, with a truly strange schedule for work-at-home Friday, as I have some things to get done today outside of the house; Sparky needs some shots (and his Freddy Krueger like claws trimmed, thank you baby Jesus), and we are going to go to Costco at some point. I made a list last night (I’m sorry, but those sausage egg and cheese microwave breakfast sandwiches from Jimmy Dean are addicting), and hopefully it won’t exhaust me. One can hope, at any rate. I did manage to do some of the dishes and get started on that, but was a bit tired and Sparky needed some attention, one thing led to another, and next thing I knew Paul was home and we were getting caught up on Agatha All Along1and watched another two episodes of American Horror Stories, which continues to be much better than we remembered. I would have sworn we stopped watching, but per Hulu, we’d watched all of the previous two seasons? I don’t know, I might have to revisit an episode or two of the previous seasons to trigger my memories. (It does bother me a little bit that I don’t remember things anymore; I seem to have forgotten a lot–but sixty three years of things to remember is apparently more than my storage banks inside my skull can handle.)
I did pick out a story yesterday for that other anthology I want to submit to–which means I need to get working on it this weekend, as well as other writing chores around the football games tomorrow. The Saints lost last night, so I don’t have to worry about watching them on Sunday, so that should be a good writing day for me. I’ll mostly be watching the Alabama-Tennessee game and the LSU-Arkansas game (but keeping an eye on the Georgia-Texas game, which is on at the same time), which makes my Saturday a little freer. I could watch the Auburn-Missouri game (the early game), but that’s a proper time for me to run errands and be home before the bigger game at 2:30. The living room really has gotten out of control and I need to get that under control this weekend as well. So, the plan for the weekend is to have a good writing weekend and a good “get things taken care of” goal is not a bad thing by any means. I think I am going to drive up to Kentucky next weekend for a week, see my grand-nephew (!!!) play football, that sort of thing and spend some time with Dad.
I also got caught up on The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City, which is the only reality show I am really watching anymore (I’ll watch Beverly Hills when it comes back, but the others are getting a bit tired for me; I honestly think we’ve reached max exposure for them and they’ve peaked), and at some point I’ll probably have to get to work on writing out my perceptions and thoughts about this cast, and why I started enjoying and watching so late in its run (I have a problem with shows with criminals in the cast; so by the end of the first season we already knew Jen Shah was one, and I just can’t support that; just like Teresa Guidice’s conviction ended my watching New Jersey–which I was already hate-watching by then); I have only watched the previous season of SLC, and it was quite good. I do have some other thoughts about reality television and why I watch (I think the night time soap comparison that the horrible Camille Paglia made in an interview a while back was spot on; she can be right sometimes, even if she is awful in general) that will probably go into an essay at some point; I also want to do something on gay reality shows, which are generally awful (despite believing, from time to time, that a gay show would be amazing–RuPaul’s Drag Race has, after all, pretty much taken over the world and made her a billionaire–but they are always tragic disappointments)–anyone remember the The A-List? Real Friends of West Hollywood?
My coffee is quite marvelous this morning, I must say. I slept really well last night (which seems to be more of a daily occurrence anymore, which is wonderful), and I feel rested and ready to go today. Once I finish this I am going to work on the dishes and the kitchen, and unpack my backpack. My work at home today is mostly correcting paperwork and some on-line trainings, which is lovely and shouldn’t make me tired in the least before it’s time to punch the clock and then spend the rest of the evening reading or writing until it’s time to catch up on our shows–for some reason Grotesquerie wouldn’t stream last night, and there are more episodes of American Horror Stories to check out. I also want to go back and watch The Assassination of Gianni Versace, which I’ve never watched all the way through (Paul disliked it). It also looks like a beautiful day outside. It’s been colder this week than usual; it’s only 63 today and the sun is our and the sky is that lovely New Orleans blue with puffy white clouds lazily drifting across.
And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, Constant Reader, wherever you are, and I may be back later; stranger things have happened.
Those are some legs. Sheesh!
Absolutely loving this show, and Joe Locke is fantastic, which pleases me to no end. ↩︎
Queer and Loathing in America 