Category: research

Runaway Lover

Thursday and it’s not my last day in the office for the week; I have a department meeting tomorrow that I need to come in for. I may stay for a few hours after and do some work here, but on the other hand I may just get back in the car and head home. I guess we’ll see how I feel, but it would be incredibly convenient to get all my errands out of the way. We’re supposed to start getting rain from Polo tomorrow, and continue with flooding rains all weekend…so I am not going to want to leave the house that often. I do have to go get my vaccines Saturday morning–I figured if they make me woozy again like they always do, it’s better to be home. LSU’s game is against McNeese State Saturday night–their fifth night game in a row–and I think a lot of the other games this season will be at night again. All the media alarm bells after the Mississippi loss subsided with the trouncing of Texas A&M last week, but…the remaining schedule remains brutal.

Well, Sparky closed my browser for me (thanks, babe!) and I lost three paragraphs of this entry which I will now try to reconstruct. Sigh.

I was tired when I got home from work yesterday, Sparky was needy, and I just needed to sit for a minute last night before doing anything, but I got sucked into the news–both national and football–and several wormholes (is it just me, but are Youtube videos becoming more and more AI-generated?) opened up for me before I switched over to this HBO documentary series about Warner Brothers–and old Hollywood stuff always works as research for the book. I went to bed shortly after that, and didn’t do a damned bit of chores at all. The apartment is still pretty well kept-up, but there’s some cosmetic cleaning that needs doing, the dishwasher needs to be unloaded and reloaded again, and there’s another load of laundry that needs doing, too. I’ll have to take care of some of that tonight so this weekend I can primarily focus on writing and deeper cleaning issues (baseboards, etc.). The house is also currently being painted, so much as I would like to go outside in this cooler clime to clean the windows…probably not going to happen until the house is finished being painted. (I have to negotiate an obstacle course most days when I get home to get into the house.)

Today is also the first day of Halloween Horror Month, in which I try to make sure all my reading and streaming needs are horror-related. I know I am going to revisit Halloween and A Nightmare on Elm Street–always excellent choices–and it’s always fun to dip into horror, which I need to read more of. I am going to listen to Shadowland by Peter Straub on my trip next Friday to Alabama/Kentucky–can you believe it’s next week already? I can’t–and will take some other horror along to read while I am up there. I am going to start reading The House That Horror Built, and I think on the way home i may listen to a Grady Hendrix novel.

I also need to get back to writing, either on short stories or on the book. I’ve been focusing a lot on writing nonfiction–the newsletters–and while I have really been enjoying doing that (and my writing is improving, which is always a delightful thing), I need to get back on the fiction horse. I’ve kind of been letting my creativity recharge, after finishing that story last weekend, but I definitely need to be climbing back into the saddle again. Maybe tomorrow, during the rains. We’re supposed to get up to five inches over the next few days–but we shouldn’t have any flooding concerns if the rain is spread out. Five inches in two hours or less and the city is underwater.

And on that note, methinks I shall head into the spice mines. Hope you have a lovely Friday Eve, Constant Reader, and I will be back tomorrow morning before my meeting. See you then!

My God, Alan Ritchson is just ridiculously handsome.

I Deserve It

It’s very difficult to market books about social issues. How do you promote something like that without looking like you’re trying to cash in on a tragedy, or some horrific real world incident? I don’t urge people to read Murder in the Rue Chartres every time a hurricane threatens Louisiana/New Orleans, nor do I ever try to piggyback promotion of the book which talks about the Upstairs Fire with the tragedy’s anniversary, or any time the fire comes up on social media. I don’t like the idea of capitalizing on tragedy for capitalism. It makes me uncomfortable, and while I don’t judge people for doing that, it doesn’t sit right with me.

Yesterday, I wrote and sent out a newsletter inspired by the breaking news about the mishandled Cornell gang-rape situation. Rape is something I have always felt strongly about–against, for the record–because it’s such a bodily violation. Having something shoved inside you without your consent–it sends a shudder through my body and turns my stomach whenever I think about it. So, I talked about the book I wrote about a similar situation happening in a fictional Midwestern town with a strong high school sports culture. My intent wasn’t to promote the book, which would be a shitty thing to do; the intent was to call more attention to the fact this isn’t something new; the book is OLD. I started writing it in 2015, after Steubenville and Marysville. Almost immediately after I hit post and share, I saw someone on social media bitching about people using this Cornell gang-rape (call it by its real name) to promote their “shitty book1s.” I knew that was a risk I was running by talking about my book in the context of why I wrote it (I had started writing the essay originally after the on-line Rape Academy expose by CNN), but after I blocked her, I shrugged. If she wants to assign that kind of blame to an essay I wrote about rape culture through the context of a novel I wrote about it and why, so be it. Go ahead and put me on your “no-read” list; I’ll put you on my “blocked as a bitch” list. See how that works?

Congratulations on your purity, ma’am.

Although I guess hit dogs do holler. The reason I reacted so strongly was because I was concerned people would think that was what I was doing, and anxiety medication aside, I somehow still feel a need to justify that newsletter. The woman probably wasn’t even talking about me–she just popped up, unasked for, on one of my feeds. It’s a free country and she’s welcome to express herself however she wants to–but I am not required to see, read or interact with her on any level.

And frankly, if people are looking for more information on how bad the sexual assault horrors are–well, authors might be thinking hey, you may want to read this for my research. I researched the fuck out of this over the many years I spent working on my book, but I would also direct people to Jon Krakauer’s Missoula, which examines the relationship between college athletics and sweeping rapes under the rug to protect players. LSU has had these problems over the years–it’s part of the package of why Les Miles was fired as football coach (although the cover-ups were okay as long as the team was winning at the national level), and there’s a rapist on campus today who is on the football team.

But all of this did make me think more about the marketing aspect of publishing, and how I’ve never been good at doing it.

I generally don’t talk about my books with an air to selling them to people; I don’t, as I made clear in my essay, selling books is generally the last thing I think about when it comes to my books. (Nothing bugs me more than when someone says “sell me your book!”) I don’t know how to talk about them in ways that will sell them; a manager I had in my twenties told me “you could sell ice to Eskimoes2” but that was just me being me, you know? I know I’m supposed to use every tool at my disposal to market myself and my books but that isn’t something I’ve ever been comfortable doing; to me, it’s cringe. I always think nobody cares and so I talk about my work and my writing in ways that I find interesting. I can’t write something if I’m not interested in it, and that usually isn’t an issue; I can almost always find something interesting (to me, at any rate) in most subjects…but I never, ever set out to write a blog or a newsletter with the thought this will sell me some books.

My mind isn’t wired that way. I guess other people’s must be? But I also don’t see the issue with writing about a societal problem through the lens of having researched the topic and being moved to write a novel to share these stories with people. I didn’t say buy this book, but rather I wrote this book and this is why I did, and the lifelong education on the subject that led me to write it, to try to make sense of something that is completely alien to me.3

I also wasn’t raised to “sing out Louise”4. Being raised to be modest and not accept compliments hasn’t been easy for me to process out of my brain/psyche, but I am getting better about it. But if you always downplay your achievements and successes, why would anyone else play them up? I also had that terrible anxiety-driven “pick me” bullshit going on, too; there’s nothing wrong with tooting your own horn so long as you don’t make it your entire personality, as so many seem to do. There’s a happy medium in there where I can live and exist, and I hope that someday I’ll be able to find that place where I can feel comfortable. One can hope, at any rate, right?

There was definitely a clown show on Capital Hill yesterday, and good ole Cornpone Kennedy had his stupid ass in it up to his neck. MAGA is such a joke; they are so not serious, but they are just as dangerous as a manic three year old on a massive sugar high who got into his parents’ gun cabinet. Thank God they are all so stupid and inept and incompetent; it’s like we got the Hogan’s Heroes brand of fascists here. Imagine if they were as smart as they are evil.

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

This photo, from the aftermath of the California fires, never ceases to amaze me.
  1. Anyone dismissing any group of books as “shitty” is always going to get my ire up. ↩︎
  2. Is that offensive now? If so, my apologies, but it’s a direct quote. ↩︎
  3. It did occur to me while I was writing the essay that the reason women have always felt comfortable around me is they somehow sense I’m not interested. ↩︎
  4. A friend of mine says this Gypsy quote all the time, and there is something to it. If you don’t talk well about yourself, who will? ↩︎

Don’t Tell Me

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment and I feel…slacker-ish this morning for some reason. Yesterday was a simply lovely day, from beginning to end, and I did manage to get some things done. Paul went to a show last night in the Quarter–a work thing–and so I was here all by my lonesome after about half-time or so of the LSU game (they won; GEAUX TIGERS!), and there were a lot of interesting games and outcomes yesterday, too. I did some reading, some writing, and some cleaning, and somehow wound up staying up later than I’d intended. I also got up later this morning than usual; but that’s also on me. The Saints play this afternoon, and I need to run to make groceries at some point this morning, too, but that’s not a big deal. I just need to get motivated.

Good luck with that, Gregalicious.

As I mentioned, LSU won, beating Texas A&M handily 35-6. It was only 14-3 at halftime, but again the Tigers had a big third quarter and put the game away. The defense looked impressive, and the offense misfired a few times, but overall, the Tigers looked dominant. We also don’t know how good or bad Texas A&M is this season (they lost to Kentucky in College Station last week)–but we also don’t know about Mississippi, either, after Florida embarrassed them in Gainesville yesterday 52-28 (!!!). Auburn beat Vanderbilt, and I caught the end of the Mississippi State-Missouri game, which MSU won with a strong defensive stand in the fourth quarter. I watched Texas-Tennessee, which came down to the last play, and Georgia embarrassed Oklahoma (shame) while Alabama buried South Carolina. I also caught the highlights of Iowa winning at Michigan and Wisconsin surprising Penn State. Overall, a very exciting day of college football. LSU takes a break from the SEC next weekend, playing McNeese State, while there are some other great games, too. I do love college football.

And yes, yesterday morning during the battle of the orange-and-white UT’s, I finished the first draft of my story, which pleased me to no end. It’s about forty-one hundred words, but they are mostly good words, and now I need to edit and revise. Again, it’s a very long shot, but I do enjoy writing, and it’s always nice to make very good progress on something. I may do some editing this morning after I post this and before I summon the energy and motivation to actually make the grocery list and head to the store. I also need to order some things to be delivered this morning, too.

While I mostly managed to avoid the news yesterday, I did occasionally check in on social media to see what was going on and that’s when I came across the horrific story of the Cornell 7….remind me about the masculinity crisis again? The real masculinity crisis lies in how they treat women, and so many of them fail. Cannot IMAGINE why so many women would choose the bear, can you? It’s hilarious, I’ve been trying to work my way into my newsletter essay about masculinity and my failures to be the traditional male in this patriarchical society and finally realize something about myself while reading up on the Cornell horror (and yes, there’s a rapist on the LSU football team–which is appalling–but I am not talking about that case because I’ve not had a chance to “do my own research,”–but I fail to see any research or reading that would make LSU look good, frankly)–the reason I didn’t feel particularly boy-oriented was because I never understood why we weren’t supposed to like girls at all, and that didn’t change after puberty, either, when girls were reduced to their breasts, ass, and fuckability, which is also part of the reason I wrote #shedeservedit, and now I have some more things to discuss there. (And no, I’m not saying my view of women wasn’t curdled by exposure to male-centering and women-dismissal; I’ve said and behaved in ways towards women that are toxic, but I learned and would like to believe I’ve unlearned a lot of my upbringing and social pressuring.)

I spent some more time yesterday with The Dead Zone, and John Smith is one of my favorite Stephen King characters. I am remembering, too, while I reread how much I’ve always loved this novel and how big of a fan I used to be (not getting into it now, or maybe ever), and that incredible run of great novels he had from Carrie through Misery. Maybe I should revisit another one, too? It’s been a while since I’ve revisited Firestarter….

I was reminded yesterday also about Richard Speck. He murdered nurses in Chicago when I was five years old, and I remember the horror vividly (I also remember when the news broke about Sharon Tate and the other victims on Cielo Drive in the Hollywood Hills). I’ve never read up on the Speck murders, but I read Helter Skelter as a teenager and it was terrifying–I’ve generally avoided reading anything else on the Manson family since. I remember, in both cases, how upset my mother was–a rural country girl living in Chicago with generalized anxiety disorder–and again wonder how much it must have terrified her when we weren’t home. Mothers worry, of course, but I wish I’d known when she was alive about the anxiety; I would have worked harder to ease her mind. (I also believe the anxiety shortened her life, but…she did make it to eighty-one.) Does anyone know of any good books or writing about Speck?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and GEAUX SAINTS!

Candy Perfume Girl

Here we are on a college football Saturday1 (GEAUX TIGERS!) and all is quiet in the Lost Apartment. I ran errands yesterday, got the mail, picked up my copy of the new Tananarive Due (yay! Hello, October Halloween Horror Month!), and after working at home, I did the laundry and cleaned up around here–somehow the kitchen had somehow gotten out of control again–while the Real Housewives screamed at each other on my television. I don’t know why I find that so entertaining, but I do and I am not apologizing for it. (And yes, I am going to write about it at some point.) We also watched The Traitors: New Blood and started the new American Horror Story: 13, which hurray for Jessica Lange, and hurray for Joey Pollari, who is playing the male lead–been a fan since catching the young openly gay actor in American Crime, an excellent anthology series from the 10s that didn’t draw near the audience it deserved for its writing and incredible cast, which included Regina King in every season. (I’ll watch Regina King in anything.)

I also went back through the book cases and massive TBR stacks to pick out an ambition list of reading for October, especially given how little I’ve been reading lately. My rereads are going to be The Dead Zone (long overdue for a reread, at least since 2016) by Stephen King and The Amityville Horror by Jay Anson. The new to me reads, if I manage, will be Christina Henry’s The House that Horror Built, A House with Good Bones by T. Kingfisher, and Shadowlands by Peter Straub, which I’ve never gotten around to in the forty years and more it’s been available (people always say their favorite Straub is Ghost Story; mine is Floating Dragon); I started it when it was first out in paperback, but never finished. I guess it didn’t grab me, but I grabbed another copy when I read a really interesting piece about it sometime earlier this century. (I also met Straub at Stokercon in Nassau, Long Island at least fifteen or sixteen years ago–the same conference I first met a pre-Gone Girl Gillian Flynn. Both were delightful and charming.)

I actually started my reread of The Dead Zone, and while I only got a few pages into the prologue, I was immediately reminded of why I love King, and that Johnny Smith is probably one of my favorite King characters, and while this book was always overshadowed in my mind by The Stand, which is my favorite King, as the books were released consecutively. I remember back when King was still a new writer and unappreciated by critics and reviewers while his books were literally flying off the shelves–one of my English professors in college, was very disdainful when he noticed I was carrying a copy of Firestarter with me, again shattering any thought I may have had about pursuing English as an undergraduate major because the professors were the worst kinds of snobs and my fellow English majors put no thought into their reading or analysis that wasn’t spoon-fed to them by the professors, whose egos definitely needed stroking (they all had mediocre minds).2 The irony is that while King has always done work of the highest quality, he was unappreciated while he was doing his actual best work. That run of novels, beginning with Carrie and ending with It, is probably unmatched by any other author in the canon of US authors; certainly in horror and crime….and those earlier works stand the test of time; I’ve reread all of those books numerous times.

Yes, a revisitation of a King classic is de rigeur.

Yesterday was a stunningly beautiful day. When I walked out to the car to run said errands, I was amazed at how gorgeous is was outside: warm but not excessively hot, and a coolness to the air that was very refreshing. Then I got in the car, started her up and looked at the temperature gauge and laughed. It was 86 degrees outside–but it wasn’t humid, which makes all the difference. (It’s currently 77 degrees outside; the kind of weather where you want to sit outside and read….or would, if I had a comfortable place to sit outside and read.) This is how the summer breaks us here. Anyway, as I drove around I was reminded again of how beautiful this city actually is, and again how lucky I am to live here so I can be continually inspired by this stunningly beautiful city.

I ordered myself a pair of Apple Beats Pro to finish off the gift card Dad sent me for my birthday. One of the most annoying thing to me about the new iPhone I got last year was that wired earbuds don’t work when plugged into them–and besides, I can’t use earbuds and my hearing aids at the same time. The other night when Paul came home I realized he uses over-the-ear headphones that wirelessly connect to his phone and a long overdue lightbulb turned on over my head. I can use over the ear headphones too, so I went ahead and ordered them. They came this week, but alas, I haven’t had time to set them up yet, so I intend to do that this morning. Just in time, too–since the weather has changed (hopefully for good) and I can go for walks now with them. My goal is to go back to the gym in January, and I need to start building up my stamina before that return.

At this point, kicking Ed Sheeran when he’s down is a bit mean and bullying, but I did laugh when his shows at Kraft’s stadium wound up canceled because of this huge nor’easter heading for New England, which has me worried about my friends up there. Take care everyone, don’t take unnecessary chances, and stay safe up there, okay?

And on that note, I am going to get cleaned up and head into the spice mines for the day. Hope you have a marvelous Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be here bright and early before the Saints game tomorrow. See you then!

Love this image of birds over a bayou near Lake Borgne.
  1. Very bad news for the Tennessee Vols, though–Trump is coming to their game with Texas today, and wherever he goes, the home team loses. I don’t like either team, but will watch and hope for a good game. ↩︎
  2. My college experience remains the biggest disappointment of my life. I expected so much more than a continuation of high school, you know? But…I also went to two really shitty colleges. ↩︎

Frozen

Wednesday Pay the Bills Day has rolled around again somehow, and here we are. I woke up from a very deep sleep around three thirty this morning, and napped/dozed until the shattering shriek of the alarm pierced through the darkness, impacting my ear drums with such a brutal assault that I had no choice but to hit snooze…followed by turning the alarm off and getting up before that horrendous noise erupted again. I feel pretty good this morning. I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home after work and errands; I sat with His Majesty sleeping in my lap for a while as I caught up on the news (that UN Speech–so aspirational and inspirational. Cut to media: “He’s finally sounding presidential.1” Eye roll to infinity) before getting up to clean up the kitchen. I unloaded the dishwasher and ran another load overnight, and cleaned off the counters, took out the trash and recycling, too. If I can keep up with the dishes and stuff all week, I don’t have to do that on the weekend and thus can get more of this long overdue deep clean of the house done. There are some awesome games this weekend, too, capped off with Texas A&M coming to Death Valley for a night game.

The Saints play at home this Sunday in the afternoon, as well, so I can get things done in the morning and early afternoon and then settle into my chair for the game. And while I have some work to do on work-at-home Friday as well, it’s just paperwork.

I feel pretty good this morning, and like I have finally managed to adjust to getting up at six. I am so not a morning person, and for most of my life succeeded in not having a 9-to-5 job–I’d rather sleep and get up when I am done sleeping and work in the afternoons and evenings. Then again, whenever I had an early morning job in the past, it would eventually get to the point where I’d look ahead and just see this kind of nightmare existence stretching on and on forever. Maybe I don’t do that anymore because an end is in sight? Granted, that’s dependent on being able to retire…which, by how things are going in this country, may not be possible.

I realized yesterday, when I saw that the “Clavicular” creature (Braden Peters, because of course his name is Braden) was arrested for allegedly drugging and raping a minor, that my essay series (which I am way behind on) for the newsletter about my not being a “typical male” and my personal struggles with the straitjacket of heterosexual values was primarily because I can’t really write about masculinity and my outsider’s view of it without defining those qualities that defined it when I was growing up–but reading this arrest news reminded me that I am not the only man who’s wrestled with masculinity tropes. Headlines have been screaming at us for years now about the “crisis” for straight men who are bewildered at how to be a man in this modern age…and wind up turning to idiots in the “manosphere”, or people like this idiot (or the Tate brothers) selling them a bundle of lies and bullshit about what “women really want” and so on, making men the victim in a society that continues to center them. (If only we could all be as oppressed as the straight white man in the US, amirite?) And there it was–how interesting that the issues a gay guy had with masculine tropes is now a straight man’s problem.

Years ago, Paul and I watched a horrible gay dating reality show called Boy Meets Boy, and something I noticed in that show–which had a terrible surprise twist that makes me think I should somehow rewatch and write about it again. Anyway, something I noticed about James–which I was noticing on other matchmaking shows as well–was he always talked about who the perfect man for him would be. That’s fine–we all have that kind of image in our heads when we’re single, don’t we–but…the premise is “I’m perfect and this is who he needs to be”, when the entire time I’m listening to him and watching and thinking, what do YOU have to offer? (My dream was a husband who liked to laugh, read, and was smart. My dream came true.) I mean, being chosen by him was how you won the show, but at the same time it was an awful lot of I and not a lot of we, which made me think he’d never find someone.

But this reminds me very much of the male loneliness epidemic and all these “crises” people are monetizing by telling young men how to be men…rather than doing the actual work they need to do in order to be attractive to a woman as a life mate. Women don’t care about muscles all that much; the truth is, the bar is set so low for most men that it staggers the mind that they can’t meet it, you know? Flowers on special dates, the occasional candy, and just listening to them and treating them like an actual living, breathing human being actually goes a very long fucking way.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, and I will see you again tomorrow morning bright and early. See ya then!

  1. I am being facetious here, but how many times have we heard some stupid pundit say something like this in the past? ↩︎

Skin

Well, we survived Monday, didn’t we? It wasn’t even iffy this time. I woke up before my alarm yesterday morning, only hit snooze once, and then got up, wide awake and feeling rested (Sunday I was still feeling a bit worn out, not sure why), but I felt very good all day yesterday. I ran a couple of errands after work on my way home, which was nice. We weren’t terribly busy yesterday so I was able to get caught up on some things around the office, and somehow tomorrow we get paid again? It seems like we did just get paid, you know. And it’s almost October, and we’re well on our way into football season. I feel pretty good this morning, now that I’ve got some coffee and my breakfast sandwich into my system and my body is going oh yes, we like how this feels. I also ran some errands on my way home, but Sparky was very needy when I got home. He didn’t even want to be fed until I’d picked him up and let him wrap around my neck while headbutting me and purring. After he ate, he wanted my lap (he’s so needy after he’s not been home alone all day for a few days) and so I thought let me catch up on the news but once he was asleep in a puddle in my lap, I was done for the evening. When Paul got home we caught up on Lanterns–which is really phenomenal and may be the best super-hero TV show of all time–and then we started a Spanish language show, Oasis, which is the same kind of show as Elite was, only with a summer spa/resort in the place of the school. I guess it’s more The White Lotus?

Tonight I have to swing uptown to get the mail, and may stop to get some things on the way home; we need some bananas (they get so overripened so quickly these days) and maybe some ice cream as a treat? We’ve not had anything like that in a while–we’re consciously trying to be more healthy, food-wise–so maybe, maybe not. I’ll see how I feel once I get in the car and to the store. The weather is still scorching during the day, topping out around 100 or thereabouts, but it’s dropping into the seventies at night. This is what passes for fall here in New Orleans, or football weather, at any rate. I know next month is when we’ll experience the big drop, down into the seventies/low eighties during the day but dipping into the sixties overnight, and sometimes colder. I doubt we’ll get snow this winter, when it finally comes, but you never know anymore, do you?

I see that Jaxson Dart got injured last night1, the day after Aaron Rodgers did. Shame that karma came for you both; I wonder whatever for? What could either quarterback have done that would…oh, who cares. Fuck them both. I don’t waste empathy on garbage.

I am going to try to be productive today, since I failed so miserably last night. I need to empty the dishwasher and reload it, pick up things in the kitchen, take out the trash, and straighten the rugs. I made lunch for the rest of the week this morning, so that’s taken care of for now. Outside of the bananas, I don’t think we really need anything else….maybe I should just stop at the grocery in the CBD on my way home from work tomorrow? I don’t know. Decisions, decisions, right?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, and I will check in with you again tomorrow morning!

The Krewe of Dolly is anchoring the second-line on 9-25.
  1. Can a Congressional investigation be far behind? ↩︎

Nothing Really Matters

LSU lost last night to Mississippi, and wow–the world didn’t end. It was disappointing, to be sure, but I don’t go on the emotional roller coaster that I used to, and that’s a much better way to be a football fan, methinks. No need to foam at the mouth or jupup and down or scream at the television. There weren’t many surprise outcomes yesterday, other than Kentucky beating Texas A&M, right after the Aggie crowd cheered Pete Hegseth, and why was he even there in the first place? Remember, the UT fans booed and embarrassed Ted Cruz, and won. Everything they touch dies, seriously. Alabama needed a hot minute before pulling away from Florida State, the Georgia-Arkansas game was so bad I couldn’t watch, and it sounds like Florida-Auburn came down to the wire, maybe being even the best game of the weekend. (I also didn’t know before that Lane Kiffin had played at Fresno State, either.) The Saints game with Baltimore is on at eleven this morning, and I’ll probably turn it on while do other things; I did a lot of cleaning yesterday while Paul was out, which was nice and very overdue.

I really do like this being old meaning you have less fucks to give about shit. No one told me about this side-effect of getting older…maybe I’ve finally become wiser? Nah, not likely. Just don’t really have any extra energy lying around that I can waste on things that really doesn’t matter anymore, or things I can’t control. (I always tried not stressing out about things I can’t control, but before medication, that wasn’t the way my brain was wired.) Hence, not being angry or super-disappointed about LSU losing last night. I’m still going to watch games every weekend; part of the fun of being a football fan is seeing how the season plays out–which is the more graceful and adult way to approach the season.

I did manage to reread The Stepford Wives yesterday, while taking breaks from cleaning and game-watching during the earlier games of the day. I had just revisited the book and wrote about it last year on this blog; I may write about it on the newsletter today, I don’t know. But there are other points to be made about the book and films, and I can go in more depth in the newsletter than I could with this blog. Ira Levin was absolutely one of the greats, and what he was able to do in his novels with so few words was a gift from the gods. I hate that I am unable to focus enough to read something new; I am going to try again this morning with The Shards. I also want to reread The Miracle at St. Bruno’s as a way in to talk about the Tudors and all the reading about them I used to do, and of course, Mary Stewart’s The Ivy Tree is also sitting there in my Kindle.

I also watched this week’s Real Housewives of Orange County, which keeps limping along and somehow escaping cancellation. The new season of The Traitors has also already dropped its first episode, and hey announced the cast for the next season of celebrity Traitors for the US, and it includes Bianca del Rio! That news more than makes up for them casting MAGA skank and Charlie Kirk worshipper Kristen Chenowith, who is probably trying to rebuild her image after she revealed her true skank self last year. I’d want to be a traitor in that season just to make her the first murder.

And on that note, I am going to get more coffee and repair to the easy chair for a bit, so I can wake up a bit more and do some reading. I also hope to write today, too, so we’ll see how all that goes, won’t we? I will, however, see you again tomorrow morning bright and early before I head to the office. Till then, have a marvelous Sunday however you spend it.

This is what we call in Louisiana an allée–a straight unpaved pathway through. matching trees or shrubs. It’s a very fun word that I want to use more.

Bedtime Story

Saturday morning here in the Lost Apartment, with a big day of college football ahead of me, all leading up to tonight’s LSU at Mississippi game, which most everyone in the country will be watching, I suspect. ESPN has really been riding the Lane Train, haven’t they? You’d be excused for thinking occasionally that there isn’t anything else going on in college football than LSU and Lane Kiffin (Dad calls him Fast Lane, and it’s not a compliment), and all that attacks and criticism (some is justified; I ain’t that big of a homer for LSU to think they can do no wrong) has certainly solidified Kiffin’s standing in the state of Louisiana; there’s always been this “everyone is out to get us” mentality LSU and Louisiana buy into very heavily1. But it also got the LSU-Clemson big ratings, and tonight’s game is going to be a big ratings hit, too. ESPN is doing it’s damnedest to push LSU this season for some reason.

I do miss watching Game Day–or having it on while I do chores, or read–but as long as that douchebag Pat Macafee is centered there, no fucking thanks. Sigh.

I was tired when I got home from all the errands yesterday, and after putting all the Costco stuff away, I just collapsed into my easy chair to mindlessly watch the news and old college football highlights to help get ready for a day of marathon-watching college football. I’ll kick off the day probably watching Georgia-Arkansas while picking up and doing chores, then will be switching between Kentucky- A&M and Florida State-Alabama (both should be bloodbaths), before finishing off the day with LSU-Mississippi, with occasional looks at Florida-Auburn. I think I do need a day of resting in my chair and taking it easy. Sparky let me sleep late this morning, so I woke up with him curled up next to me, and of course, had to come down and feed the little piglet. I felt a little physically and mentally tired as I came down the stairs, but coffee is now kicking in and my mind is much clearer and sharper than it was when I made that first cup (I am not on my second, for those keeping score.

Okay, I was hungry and a bit groggy still, so I cleaned up, got another cup of coffee, and a slice of the lemon-blueberry loaf coffeecake I got at Costco yesterday (it’s delicious, highly recommend) and am settled into my easy chair with my laptop and more coffee and SEC Today on rather than College Gameday–I always forget that’s an option, and has always been a better one than Gameday. I don’t care much for Paul Finebaum (he looks like he’s had his head shrunken), but he’s not Pat Macafee, so eminently more watchable than that buffoon. I feel so much better now that I’m cleaned up. I do have some picking up to do around here, and Paul is going to his trainer and then will. stay at the gym riding the bike, so I have the afternoon to work on the house and get everything ready to focus on the game tonight.

This has really been a week, hasn’t it? Between the Ed Sheeran mess, the continued crash-and-burn of everything and everyone (remember, the really horrible parts of the BIg Beautiful Bill don’t go into effect until. January and after the elections; I think that’s part of the reason they aren’t as worried about the midterm blowout that’s coming because they plan on blaming everything on a Democratic controlled Congress–just like they always do; “they aren’t cleaning up our mess fast enought! It’s their fault!”) on the right, and our economy is circling the drain. Are we great again yet? I can’t speak for everyone, but I know I’m tired of all this winning. He was right–Americans are so sick of his version of “winning” that the entire world is begging him to stop. We are going to come out of this completely isolated and with no allies willing to trust us….not that we have any allies left besides Israel….and I don’t know that I would call them an ally so much as a collaborator.

Converse came out with probably the most offensive ad in advertising history this week, and for the record, I am white, and the first thing I saw was a Klan robe and a lynching. I used to love Converse; I can’t wear their shoes anymore (haven’t in decades) because they aren’t good for my feet and. ankles–so I can happily state this morning that I’ve not given Converse any money since the early 1980s. Sydney Sweeney also released an ad for a gambling site (a new cancer on society) that wasn’t even sexy; it literally was just vulgar. The female form is beautiful, but this ad wasn’t sexy or beautiful at all; it was like comparing Playboy to Hustler. As someone who has never been aroused by a woman’s body, I thought Playboy was always tasteful and classy and beautiful; Hustler was always like “here’s my vagina! Can you see my cervix?” It’s her body, and she’s certainly entitled to do with it as she pleases, of course. I just don’t think it’s healthy for her acting career to focus on being a sex(less) symbol rather than the actual, you know, acting. By the time she’s fifty she’ll have had so much plastic and poison injected into her face she won’t be recognizable. I hate it when women don’t have enough confidence in their talents and rely on their looks and body for success.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Hope you have a lovely Saturday and whatever team you root for (if you do have one) does well today. GEAUX TIGERS!

  1. A lot of SEC/Southern football fans are almost cult-like in their worship of their school and team, and LSU is no different, of which I am well aware. That is a whole other subject, which I will explore in more depth at another time. ↩︎

Substitute for Love

Friday morning work at home day, with a trip to Costco on the horizon for later. I feel good and rested this morning, despite the fact Sparky tried to get me up around four in the morning for some reason. I did wake up, gave him a look, and went back to sleep while he cuddled with me, which was lovely. I was physically tired when I got home from work last night, so didn’t do much of anything other than writing. I did managed to get a (very) rough draft of that pesky chapter–which still needs some work–which has kind of log-jammed me these past few weeks. My goal for tomorrow is to edit everything I have done so far, preparatory to moving on to the next chapter and reacquainting myself with the characters, the voice, and the story. Woo-hoo! There are also a lot of great football games tomorrow, capping off with the one-two punch night games of Florida-Auburn and LSU-Mississippi.

The amazing thing to me about this Ed Sheeran thing is that it keeps going, and every day and hour it continues to go on the worse he looks. That’s what happens eventually when you’re more interested in being inoffensive–you wind up offending everyone. The fact that so many people he’s friendly with (and works with) are in the Epstein files kind of shows how morally and ethically compromised he is. When I was watching the news last night, I saw someone–I don’t remember who–talking about how entertainers, like Sheeran, are the modern day version of “bread and circuses” from the old Roman Empire (first time I have thought about the Roman Empire in days, if not weeks, for those keeping track–entertaining the populace and keeping our minds off everything else going on in the world. They keep us distracted (look at social media sometimes; it’s why there’s so much celebrity worship) so we will spend money and not see what the Epstein Class has done (and continues doing) to the world and society. Ed Sheeran got very rich doing his part to entertain and not talk about anything substantial (although the white children of Ukraine got him to be political)–he even says it in his pitiful “it’s not my fault” Pilate handwashing statement (“I want to provide a space for love and peace and escape”)…that’s very telling–and it’s hard to look at any of this and think Sheeran has any values, has any compassion or empathy or is, at heart, a decent person. He fucked over a friend at the bidding of a billionaire, has tried to deflect his part in this from day one, taken no responsibility for anything, and shows that he stands for nothing but the Epstein class he continues to make money for.

Does that sound like someone we should support? Christ, Ireland hates him now.

This entire situation is a classic example of what is fucking wrong with this country: a billionaire who diddled kids got his widdle fee-fees hurt, and he stamped his foot in anger and demanded he get his way, and he got it. They are above the law, an unelected and unchosen ruling class no different from the old British aristocracy, entitled fools with too much money who didn’t give a fuck about anyone other than themselves, while people went hungry and sick and died while they gambled away small fortunes at night while too drunk to see.

And the fact that both Sheeran and Robert Kraft are too privileged to shut up and stop digging their own graves just adds fuel to the fire. Sheeran went along with the silencing and suppression of a voice because it upset a billionaire.

That tells me everything I need to know about the Gingerdoodle.

And that’s it on this subject1–I’ve given too much time and energy to this nonsense already, but this naked abuse of money and power is infuriating to me, and always will be.

Ah, the coffee is now kicking in. I want to get another newsletter finished this weekend, clean out my email inbox, and of course, work on the book some more after I get my work duties done today. Costco and the other errands will undoubtedly wear me out, so I won’t do much tonight when I get home from all of that, other than finishing the laundry which I am starting this morning. I know the new season of The Traitors dropped its first episode last night, and there’s something else starting up again that I like watching, but can’t think of it right now. I also want to read a bit this weekend–which reminds me! The other day I mentioned a copy of The Miracle at St. Bruno’s, and I said there would be more later…and forgot.

The Miracle at St. Bruno’s is a historical Gothic set during the turbulent reign of Henry VIII and the great divorce–and how what was going on at court politically affected those every day citizens who had no control over the ever-changing legality of, well, everything. The Tudors were my real entryway into world history (or rather, modern European history) because Henry VIII was such a fascinating monster. I read a lot of Tudor biographies, but the only historical fiction I had read up to that point was mostly fictionalized biographies–history as entertainment–of royal Tudors. I even read a biography of Lady Margaret Douglas, one of the lesser known but crucial pieces of the Tudor body politic and the very thin line of succession that Tudor sterility caused. Philippa Carr was the by-line on the book, but it was another psuedonym of Eleanor Hibbert, a British writer who also published under the names Victoria Holt and Jean Plaidy. It was vastly different from another other Gothic I’d read, taking place over the course of about thirty to forty years, with the turbulent reigns of successive Tudor vastly differentiating in their religion and policy. It was also the first in a series called Daughters of England, because she wrote about the main character in Miracle’s sequel–each new book a new Gothic romance featuring the daughter of the previous book’s main character–and history and politics are also driving forces in those books as well. I may start a reread this weekend; I need to get back to reading fiction again.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Have a lovely Friday, everyone, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

Live oak stumps always fascinate and sadden me. The size is impressive, and they are beautiful to look at…but the sadness is from the tree being cut down. Our live oaks are so beautiful here in New Orleans, and we’ve lost so many in the thirty years we’ve lived here.
  1. I do love watching people reap what they’ve sown, you know? ↩︎

Take a Bow

Thursday morning and I got up before my alarm, wide awake and feeling rested. Weird, right? On a THURSDAY last day in the office for the week morning? Madness. Sparky is also being super-affectionate this morning. He keeps wanting to sit on my shoulders, so he can head-butt me and purr up there while I walk around doing things. I don’t mind, I just don’t know why he is some mornings and some mornings he isn’t. Of course it doesn’t make sense because cat, but I can’t help but try to make sense of it, because I ain’t right in the head, you know?

Last night wasn’t bad. I headed uptown to pick up the mail (my copy of The Miracle at St. Bruno’s that I got from ebay, more on that later) and swung by the grocery store to make a few bags. I came home, Sparky needed a lap, and that was the end of that. I watched news and examined my new book–a paperback in pristine condition, like I picked it up off the rack at Zayre like I did my original copy–and watched the news—along with any number of videos ripping Ed Sheeran1 and Robert Kraft new assholes. Paul brought a pizza home for dinner, which was lovely, and we watched LSU-The Difference on ESPN, a documentary series they are filming for this season (think ESPN isn’t all in on LSU? I don’t they are doing one for every top team in the country, and there wasn’t a guarantee LSU would be any good this year, and really, still can’t be sure how good they are anyway at this point). I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home and put everything away, but…I slept very well for the first time this week, and it felt marvelous. I think we’re going to Costco tomorrow after work, too. Huzzah!

I’ve fallen down a wormhole of Internet research thanks to a Facebook friend who shared a post about a “ghost ship” that can be seen under the right conditions on the Tombigbee River in southwest Alabama, the Eliza Battle. The ship was a classic steamboat of the era (which I will always associate–steamboats, that is–with Mark Twain), transporting cotton bales and passengers when a fire broke out in the cotton and the entire ship went up in flames before sinking. I like the idea of a ghost steamboat (I am also partial to steamboats, maybe I should write about that sometime), which could make an interesting story. I love these old folk tales of Southern states, and feel like some of them could be used to write novels or short stories; I’ve been trying to write one about the legend of Freniere and the 1915 Hurricane, which wiped the town out, for years now. Learning Alabama and Louisiana history, legends, and lore is ever so much fun, too!

Has the entire world gone mad? After the Pink meltdown, the Ed Sheeran disaster, and Arch Manning proving he has no home training, I pretty much thought we were done with ignorant celebrity bullshit, but Sarah Paulson decided to say hold my beer and gave an incredibly tone-deaf white woman interview, in which she expressed disappointment that her Black male costars on The People v. O. J. Simpson got movie offers and she didn’t–she was trying to make the point that it’s more difficult for women to get parts in movies because those roles are few and far between for women, whereas male-centered movies are a dime a dozen. It was tone-deaf to make the comparison with two Black actors, who face an entirely but equally horrifying different kind of fight–yes, they are men, but they aren’t white men. And she left out the most obvious reasons producers don’t think about her when they’re casting–girl, you’re an out and proud lesbian. Hollywood is not only misogynist and racist, but it’s also incredibly homophobic. It’s getting better, but there are still an endless amount of problems in that “liberal” community.

Speaking of homophobia, I kind of love that congressional candidate Chris Gallant did, in his pre-politician life, posed in BDSM gear and there are also pictures of him on Fire Island in his underwear. YAWN. He’s running for a House seat on Long Island, is an openly gay former Marine and firefighter…and the only thing his MAGA opponent can come up with is him posing for some sexy pictures that exposed nothing prurient and was in the past…newsflash: most gay men, have sexy photos of themselves, in bathing suits at the very least, and more have nudes than a straight person might realize. I also love that he’s being defiant and refusing to be shamed out of the race. Pictures in BDSM gear doesn’t mean you’re into BDSM, and if you are, who the fuck cares? ANd seriously, the party of MAGA and the buffoon they worship has some fucking nerve trying to morality police anyone. Yo, you’re party leader is a pedophile rapist psychopath. Why don’t you start policing him? Anyway, I donated a little to his campaign.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely, lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning on work-at-home Friday!

  1. I’ve taken to calling him “Gingerdoodle.” ↩︎