Category: research

Downtown

Sunday morning has rolled around again, and I am feeling pretty good. I slept well again before Sparky decided it was time for me to get up, and he let me sleep later (after he started) without much of a quibble. (I like to pretend he cuddles with me in the mornings before I get up because it’s nice; I know it’s because he wants to know the minute I get up so he can start meowing at me to come downstairs with him.) The closing ceremonies for the Olympics are today, which is a shame, as I always love the Olympics. There really is nothing more patriotic-feeling like rooting for young athletic Americans on the wolrd stage, is there? The fact that this was going on while the tides of our election have seemingly all turned to the positive has really been something. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what patriotism is and what it means to be patriotic–and not in the least little bit because the Right has made patriotism so distasteful and embarrassing. I am seeing the crowds at the Vice-President’s rallies moving to take patriotism back from the Christian Nationalists (the flag, the USA chant, etc.) because what they call patriotism is actually anything but. But the Democratic National Convention is going to be pretty thrilling this year, methinks, reminiscent of another dark period coming to an end–the 2008 election ending the nightmare of the eight years of right-wing control and endless wars and lies. I know I am actually excited about the election now, and while the fear and dread are still there, there’s a lot of joy and optimism.

And what an amazing Olympiad this has been, the haters and agents of darkness aside1! so many great stories, so many redemptions, and so much fun to watch and enjoy as always. It also felt different; maybe the fucked up 2020 Tokyo Olympics caused a reset; it didn’t feel like an Olympics and now, all I did was (besides root for our athletes) be happy for the all the competitors and medalists–I finally developed the proper Olympic spirit that doesn’t villainize great athletes from other countries. I never liked that whole xenophobic need for the US to win the most medals to prove our superiority as a nation; I do not want to be anything like the Nat C’s. Probably twenty years ago I might have hated, for example, Rebeca Andrade as Simone’s biggest competition–but this time around I simply enjoyed her skills and abilities and applauded for her just as I did for our gymnasts. I think I have finally unpacked and emptied the last of my conditioning as an American.2

I had a lovely relaxing day yesterday. Paul and I watched Challengers, which was interesting, and then caught up on House of the Dragon, The Serpent Queen, and started watching the second season of the show with Rob Lowe and his son on Netflix, which is cute and funny. I can’t think of the name of the show, but the first season was pretty pleasant and fun, so I hope the second season isn’t a disappointment. Watching these shows about royals struggling over the throne and power put me to thinking, again, about actual history, and of course the Catherine de Medici story, which I’ve always enjoyed. The banker’s daughter who became queen of France and mother herself of three kings and two queens. The show jumped from actual history to nonsense toward the end of the first season, and this second season is diverging dramatically from what actually happened; Queen Elizabeth never visited the French court, nor did Holy Roman Emperor Charles V (who actually abdicated and died before Catherine’s husband, Henri II) and likewise, his son Philip II did actually marry Elisabeth de Valois, but it was at her wedding celebration that Henri was killed. And they are starting to set up her daughter Margot’s story, which is also endlessly interesting to me. I’m still reading Rival Queens, the story of the mother-daughter relationship during one of the most treacherous periods of French history. I was also thinking about how people always say George R. R. Martin based A Song of Fire and Ice on the Wars of the Roses; but there’s another series of French histories called The Accursed Kings by Maurice Druon, focusing on the years 1310-1337, about the end of the main branch of the Capetian dynasty and the rise of the Valois branch–and the Hundred Years’ War. This aspect of French history–the lead up to that epic war–isn’t as well known, and I tore through that series when I discovered it at the Emporia Library as a teenager. It’s a great series, a fascinating time in French history (there are many fascinating periods in French history), and you can probably see why I love French history (and France) so much.

I’ve also been thinking, not only about the book I’m writing now but the next Scotty, too. I’ve renamed it Hurricane Season Hustle (saying party instead of season seems like asking for it, frankly), and started coming up with ideas for the plot. I have also been thinking about my short stories in progress, and I think I’ve come up with any number of ways to fix the ones I want to get fixed. My goal is to finish the short story collection this month and get it out of the way while working on the new book. Football season will be here before you know it, which will start taking up my weekends, so I need to be starting to get back to the grind of everything. I did do some cleaning yesterday around the house, too, and plan to do some more this morning before I go make groceries at Rouse’s. I can’t decide if I want to make steak fajitas for dinner, or pepper steak.

I did read a short story yesterday, “The Amateur of Crime,” by Stephen Vincent Benet. It’s an old story, Benet is a famous writer not known for his crime stories, and it was interesting, if a bit…I don’t know, unrealistic? I have found that non-crime writers who write crime short stories for whatever reason always seem to go for the “huh?” solution to crimes. In this case, the amateur detective on the spot is helped by any number of coincidences that also happen to give him the knowledge to solve the crime (there was a Faulkner crime short story that’s solution had to do with cigarette smoke trapped beneath a radiator…again, not realistic), which seemed contrived to me. But it was an interesting story, and again, reading it gave me some ideas how to fix some of my own in-progress drafts, or the ones that are finished but need revision.

There’s always so much writing to do.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines for the day. I do need to make a grocery list before running over to Rouse’s today; nothing major, a little run to get stuff for lunch and to make dinner a few nights this week. But for now, I am going to get cleaned up and do some filing and so forth, so I bid you adieu for now, Constant Reader, and I hope you have a marvelous Sunday.

  1. Hilariously, a while back when I did one of my Pride posts about how white women have always been the worst homophobes, a friend asked me why I didn’t mention the Chatelaine of Castle TERF, and I replied “she gets her own.’ But she is so evil and awful and horrible so regularly that before I can finish writing about her, she’ll do something even worse. Her behavior during these Olympics, along with the haters she’s embraced, was especially egregious and awful. ↩︎
  2. I sometime want to write about this, and the American mythology I was raised to believe that wasn’t the truth but something taught to justify white supremacy. ↩︎

Wooly Bully

Friday and working at home. I have a team meeting at ten on-line this morning along with other various work-at-home duties; I also have errands to run later on when everything is finished. I feel rested this morning, despite getting up so damned early (Sparky was very insistent this morning), and so while I swill my coffee and wake up, I can hopefully do some things around here, too, before I get to work. The kitchen isn’t nearly as bad as it usually is on Friday mornings, so I don’t have to start there this weekend to straighten up the house, which is very exciting. I’m going to try very hard this weekend not to succumb to the temptations of doing little to nothing. The boil water advisory was lifted yesterday, and today’s heat index will max out at 109. I was able to come straight home after work yesterday, which was really nice, and I spent the evening getting caught up on the day’s news before switching over to the Olympics. I always hate when they come to an end, and they really are uplifting and fun to watch; inspiring. (I bet there will be a lot of Olympic romances published next year.)

I do have that figure skating short story…it’s kind of noirish. Maybe I should revisit it?

The next Olympics will be in Los Angeles, just like in 1984. I lived in California then, and to this day I regret not applying to work at the games. But…it was a different time and a different world, too.

I came to the conclusion last night that part of the problem I am/was having with writing Never Kiss a Stranger was that old one-two punch of writer’s brain: fear that I’d fuck up telling the story, and fear that it won’t be the book that I want it to be. Which is absurd on its face; and haven’t I felt that way about every book I’ve written more than once during the process of creating the story? Maybe it’s different for the big names, but I am never fearless when I am writing something. I’ve never heard any of my friends who are writers I deeply admire and respect ever feel a lack of confidence in their work, or in their ability to tell the story they want to tell. I think that is definitely something I need to work on, and I don’t feel afraid about writing the book now, so hopefully that is progress. I think taking this Olympic break from writing was perhaps one of the smartest things I’ve done as an adult. I am itching to get back to it, I let my mind rest and heal, and my body had settled into my routine at long last. Likewise, I have to get back to reading every day, so I can get caught up on my reading, at least from this year. I am so far behind on so many of my friends’ and favorite authors’ books; but at least I know that I have some great books to read through the end of the year. And yes, I think I am going to do some reading this weekend.

I kind of feel good about things. I like that I am establishing boundaries, and enforcing them. I like that I am digging out of the hole and rut and everything else of the last few years. I like my life now that I have time to kick back and enjoy it, and relax without guilt. I like my job, I love writing, I am finally getting the apartment into a nice, comfortable living space by clearing out the clutter so no one will have to after I depart this world. I am back learning how to cook new recipes, and having quite a good time doing so. The heat is tiring, of course, and that also affects how I get things done after I get home, but the summer will be ending fairly soon and then I can get back into the swing of some other things, like regular workouts and things of that nature. I am making progress on my debt, which is also pretty great.

So, on that cheerful and hopeful note, I am going to head into the spice mines. You go on and have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll probably be back later on.

As We Go Along

Tuesday morning and for whatever reason, I feel much more rested and awake this morning than I did yesterday. I felt off all day yesterday, partly because I was sleepy still for most of the morning, and never felt like I ever completely woke up. This morning I feel like a new person, which is very cool. I like when I feel rested.

So yeah, I felt off most of the day yesterday. I started getting my work done and got most of it done–I’m still behind–and ran my errands after work. It didn’t rain on me on the way home, which was a lovely change, and so I got the mail (and a copy of Jericho Brown’s The Tradition). I also started reading, of all things, The Iliad last night. I’ve never read it or the Aeneid or the Odyssey–lyric poetry–even though I was very aware of the story and everything about it. (I had a Trojan War/Greek mythology era in my childhood.) I was actually enjoying myself as I read it while glancing up at the Olympics (I am really going to miss the Olympics when they are over.) So I did manage to get some reading done last night, which was incredibly cool. Maybe this weekend I’ll spend some time reading poetry and trying to learn about it. I was thinking about that last night as I drove around town, that the extra time I have now can be spent either relaxing or studying poetry or teaching myself something. I am going to definitely schedule in some German on Duolingo; and of course I want to keep studying Louisiana and Alabama history.1

I should have cleaned the kitchen when I got home last night. Sigh. I’ll have to do it tonight, and get the house a bit under control. It won’t take long–wouldn’t have taken long yesterday, either, but I gave in to Sparky’s cuddle needs and so I came down to a dirty kitchen again this morning. And before I knew it, the Olympics were on and I was sucked into the excitement of sport again. It was great seeing Louisiana’s own Mondo Duplantis win the pole vault and set a new world record competing for Sweden, the floor exercise was amazing–I can’t believe they didn’t air the medal ceremony, well done, NBC. The pictures of Simone Biles and Jordan Chiles bowing to gold medalist Rebeca Andrade was epic, and went viral, so why would viewers want to see it? I love the Olympics, and getting Snoop to go as our official ambassador was genius, but so much of the coverage in prime time–when they’ve had all day to stitch together the show–isn’t good. (Although my favorite was the woman griping about ‘why do they have a quarterback commenting on gymnastics?’ to get the reply “John Roethlisberger was a four time all around US champion and Olympian. You’re thinking about Ben Roethlisberger who quarterbacks the Steelers.’ I laughed for a good few minutes there, because her post had actually confused me and I didn’t know what she was talking about…for good reason.)

It’s funny because yesterday I was talking about not getting more books, only to get up to notifications that the new Gabino Iglesias and the new Donna Andrews are on their way to me now, which is marvelous. Maybe spending some time with The Iliad last night has reopened the flood gates to reading again….I guess we’ll find out this weekend, or maybe even tonight.

You know what’s really funny? This forced “Olympics break” from writing was the smartest thing I could have ever done. Sometimes you just need to trick your brain. By going from I should write every day and then feeling like a loser who can’t take part in his passion anymore, to I am not going to write for two weeks has absolutely worked. All I’ve really wanted to do these last ten days or so (however long it’s been) is actually write. I allow myself to hand write in my journal, but actually typing out fiction or non-fiction, and immersing myself in it? Not allowed. Maybe, just maybe, this means when the Olympics are over I’ll be eager to get back into the swing of writing every day.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, and I may be back later; stranger things have happened.

Reach

Monday morning and back to the office with me. I feel rested this morning–it took me a minute to wake up–and good, like this is going to be a very good week for one Gregalicious. It’s also my birthday month, which is kind of fun; I’ll be sixty-three in a few weeks (note to self: take birthday and day before off for a four day weekend), and that’s not nearly as traumatizing as it could be, you know? I don’t mind getting older; I never really have and I also don’t care about being old. I joke about it, but it’s never serious. A gay man who was in his twenties during the 1980s and made it to sixty-three? There aren’t as many of us as there should be, and that’s not something I will ever get over, I don’t think. A quick glance at the weather lets me know that it will “feel like” 112 today; Debby is battering the Florida coast; and we won’t be getting any rain today. We didn’t have any this weekend, I don’t think. I went out into the heat yesterday to make groceries, and retreated home as quickly as I could. (The cost of groceries is insane–I cannot believe how much I spent for so little…thanks, corporate greed!)

I’ve been listening to a podcast in the car the last few days, and I am really enjoying it. I’ve never gotten into podcasts–I have never been known as an early adapter; sometimes I don’t adapt at all. I’ve never really understood podcasts, how to find them, or even how to listen to them. I did figure it out last summer (I did find some great ones about hauntings and legends of the South; i listened to one about Julia Brown and the destruction of Frenier, Louisiana, for my unfinished story “When I Die”), but again–when I am in town I am rarely in the car long enough to listen to something all the way through, which totally sucks for audiobooks; you can’t listen to a ten hour book in twenty minute segments. At least I can’t; I don’t remember things anymore so it’s hard for me to pick back up if I go a few days without getting back into the book. Memory is necessary for reading, alas, which is why I am having so much trouble reading these days. Maybe if I commit to a chapter per night? I’ve either got to start reading regularly again or I have to stop compulsively buying books. Anyway, I asked my supervisor last week what audiobook she was going to listen to on her long drive this past weekend and she replied, “I don’t listen to books because I worry I’ll go to sleep. I listen to podcasts.” I of course then expressed my geriatric usual response to the word “podcast” and she recommended one to me, which I started listening to on the way home from work Thursday. It’s hilarious. It’s called “My Dad Wrote a Porno”, features three Brits (two men, one women) and that is what it’s about. One man’s dad wrote a porn novel, and each episode is his son reading one aloud and the three reacting to it. It is amazingly hilarious because…well, because the writing of the book, Belinda Blinked, is hilariously campy and bad. (It’s also a real book, for sale on Amazon.) I’ve been listening in the car non-stop, and we’re only up to chapter three. Apparently, there are eight seasons, so this should entertain me in the car for quite some time!

I really didn’t do much of anything yesterday other than the grocery run, finishing the final season of Elite (the first three seasons remain the best), which was a bit satisfying but…they did leave some of the characters with dangling stories, so it’s entire possible they could do spin-offs, but the only spin-off I want to see is one with Carla (Ester Exposito), but that ship has sailed, alas. Tonight we’ll watch more Olympics (we did last night, too); it is unbelievable how much of a good mood the Olympics puts me into. These games also seem a bit more special this time around; the 2020 ones were kind of messed up, taking place in 2021 with no crowds, so we’ve really not had an Olympics like usual since 2016. The athletes seem to really be grateful to be there; losing gold and settling for either silver or bronze isn’t coming across as “disappointing” or “losing.” Gold medals are rare, and fluky things happen at the Olympics; which is part of the excitement. You never know who’s going to become a star during the games (if someone had told me that a nerdy pommel horse specialist from Worcester, MA would capture the hearts of the American public, I would have laughed). So many amazing stories in so many different sporting disciplines…so inspiring, and the athletes are just wonderful. Just being there is a win, let alone getting a medal. I would just be so thrilled to be there I don’t think any disappointment would stick for long. I will be sorry when it ends, but am very excited the next games will be in Los Angeles! Woo-hoo! Our time zones so we can watch live!

I really do feel bad for the people who’d rather be angry than enjoy the spirit of sport and athletic excellence from young people who’ve trained their whole lives for this moment and celebrate healthy competition, but those people tend to find no joy in life and just want to make everyone else as miserable as they are. Misery loves company indeed.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, and I may be back later; one can never be certain.

That Was Then This Is Now

Sunday morning after a completely wasted day, in which I just really relaxed and didn’t do much of anything. It was unusual, and I didn’t feel bad for just sitting around and just, you know, having a day off from everything and just wasting it. I still don’t feel bad about it, either. I had a very rough year last year, and while my body is getting healed from everything my brain still feels a little bit off. Taking care of my mental health really is, and has to be, a priority for me. And let’s face it, life keeps coming at me (everyone, really) so fast and there’s so much to worry about and be concerned about and it sucks that every morning I have to wake up worried about what went on yesterday that I’ll find out about that I wasn’t aware of when I went to bed the night before.

I do have to do some things today, and once I am finished with this I’ll have to figure some things out for the week, make a grocery list and all of those fun things, and run that errand during yet another heat advisory (will only feel like 114 today, so woo-hoo!) before coming home for more Olympics. One of the coolest things that happened this year so far was the election turnaround happened just as the Olympics (another patriotic high) started–and the right’s divisive and borderline hateful reactions to the Olympics–has only served to make them look even more weird. Imagine your “patriotism” requires you to hate on our Olympic athletes, or not be supportive of them. That’s how deep the rot and sickness on the Right in this country goes; they aren’t patriotic, and they never have been. (Pro tip: if you have to constantly call yourself a patriot while you’re shitting on other Americans or boycotting the Olympics because of some weirdo freaks on Twitter, you’re not a patriot no matter how much flag paraphernalia you are wearing to bolster your claim, which will always be weird to me.)

I don’t have to advertise my patriotism because I know I love my country despite its flaws, and why I have always held it to a much higher standard–the same one the Founders did–critique and fix, never think everything’s just fine when there are still things to fix, in order to live up to the original principles the country was founded upon. The Founders didn’t think they were gods, and that the Constitution couldn’t be changed. They made it hard to do deliberately–not because they didn’t want the document amended or changed in any way, but to ensure that such a thing was necessary and needed.

And you know, life is hard enough without trying to make it harder for others, which is something I’ll never understand–why do some people insist on trying to make others as miserable as they are? Misery loves company, I guess, which is the really sad thing about humanity. I’m not perfect and I never claim to be, but I like to think I don’t spread misery around–unless it’s deserved. I’m not a turn the other cheek kind of person, I’m afraid. I try not to ever start drama–but if you try to create some I will end that very quickly and you will not try it again. People who cause and create unnecessary drama are people I cut out of my life, because I ain’t got time for your shit, and the older I get the less fucks I have; the field in which I grow my fucks has been barren for quite some time, and shall remain fallow for as long as I live.

My brain has always been a mess; I was talking to Dad about that the last time I saw him, as we talked about my childhood and when he and Mom were married and struggling, and I tried to make him understand how fuzzy my brain had been when I was a child. I had generalized anxiety disorder and ADD as a kid, plus the genetic legacy of the wild mood swings, going from happy to over-the-top hysteria on the turn of a dime. I knew the hysteria was not good, so I started trying to control it when I was young. I also always had a buzzing sound in my head when I was a kid; I really can’t describe it better than that. I also was very stubborn (a family trait on both sides) and willful. I wanted to please my parents, who adored me (I always knew this, even though I always was certain they were disappointed in me–anxiety again), and spoiled me as much as they could afford. I can remember talking to my mom a few years ago–it was probably longer ago than I remember, because she was herself in this memory and not the fading woman she’d been since her first stroke, and I said something about not being an easy kid to raise and she scoffed dismissively. “You were no trouble at all,” she replied, which gave me another insight into my family–they remember things differently. I was always certain I was a disappointment to my parents and failed them all the time growing up; I remember making Mom cry and Dad being disappointed or angry with me.

Probably the most insightful thing I’ve ever said to my parents–not realizing how true this was–that it was a “good thing I didn’t have children, because you two would have spoiled them rotten”–and they would have. They would have spared no expense with my kids, but I never trusted myself enough to be a parent or to want kids. I don’t think I’m up to having them or being a parent, as I second-guess myself with my cat all the time, but knowing how I am…I would have spoiled them myself.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great Sunday, and I may be back later; one never really knows, does one?

I just love these guys.

Listen to the Band

Good morning and happy Saturday everywhere and to everyone! I slept really great last night, and had a pretty decent day overall for a work-at-home Friday. I got my work done, and then went to the doctor. I’m healthy; good blood pressure, heart rate, all of the vitals were perfectly fine. I was also proud of myself; I had done some of my own research into my insurance, found the answers we both needed to get a prescription of mine potentially approved, and had a nice visit with him. I really like him; he seems to be genuinely concerned about my health and welfare–always a plus to not feel like another person to check off the list for the day–and he’s very personable. I highly encourage those of you not happy with your medical care to find a new one. It makes all the difference in the world.

I need to remember to always advocate for myself, and doing all that research also made me feel like I was vested in my health. I highly recommend it. Ask questions. Get second opinions. And remember you might have other options. There’s no rule that says you can’t fire your doctor if you don’t think they are listening to you or taking you seriously; maybe if enough patients dump them they might wonder what they are doing wrong?

Things you realize when you’re in your sixties. Oy.

Sigh.

But today is going to be a lazy one around here. I have some chores to do, and I’d like to get some reading done. Maybe I’ll try writing, or editing, or something this afternoon. I don’t know, I guess we can see how everything goes. I did end up making a to-do list yesterday for the weekend, and I can slowly make my way down that list today (nothing on it requires writing or editing or revising) before making a new one for next week after the weekend is finished. I did write in my journal last night while we were watching the Olympics, and I can also do some more of that this weekend, too. I think I am going to read some more of Mary Oliver’s poetry; I ordered Jericho Brown’s Pulitzer Prize winning collection yesterday, too. I was thinking last night about how I’ve been marveling about my free time and how I should be making more of an attempt to utilize the free time; I think I may start trying to learn Italian again through Duolingo–but maybe instead I’ll try to get my German back? I mean, hidden deep within the recesses of my mind lies my memories of taking and learning it when I was a teenager. Paul and I have also talked about a German vacation; so being able to fumble my way through German interactions is better than not even trying.

I think the locals enjoy it when I try rather than not–in Mexico the phrase I speak all the time is “No hablo español soy un estúpido americano”. They always smile and laugh and are very kind and helpful.

I do feel good this morning.

I think I’m starting to get a handle back on my life again after dog-paddling for about eight years. I do worry sometimes, when that occurs to me, that it’s like post-Katrina, where I’d have a good couple of days and think it was all over, only to discover that it wasn’t. But I do think I am more clear-headed now than I have been, and I don’t feel like I have that gauze over my brain that makes me not see everything as clearly as I should. Sometimes I get into my head too much, and overthink things. That’s from the anxiety–and despite the change in medications, I still will do that from time to time before recognizing what is causing it–depression, PTSD, anxiety, whatever–but it’s also not as frequent as before and it’s so much milder than it used to be that I’ll happily take it and deal with it now. I am sure you are tired of me saying this, but this medication change has so dramatically improved my quality of life that I will say it again: you have to advocate for yourself with your doctor. Had I done this ten or twelve years ago–no regrets, Greg, no regrets. I am grateful we figured this out, and that’s the name of that tune.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again later, no doubt.

The adorable British diving team, with out multi-Olympic medalist Tom Daley

What Am I Doing Hanging Around

Thursday morning and I slept really well last night. I feel good this morning, not bad for Thursday and my last day in the office. I was kind of loopy and tired all day yesterday, which was weird, and so I didn’t run any errands after work. I just came home and got caught up on the news, and then once again got sucked into the Olympics and did nothing around the house, which is a mess. Tonight I have to do those errands, and the chores when I get home because I’m a bad lazy person who will always put off anything he can until the next day. Ah, well. I never learn, do I? Isn’t that the definition of insanity: doing the same thing repeatedly but expecting a different outcome?

Guess we all know what that means.

But the weekend looms, and I have all kinds of things I need to do to get caught up for the week. Sigh, I always promised myself every weekend that I am going to be better about chores and things every night, but between the excessive heat (“feels like 112 today”), being tired, and the Olympics…well, yes, you can see how I let everything slide. Sparky isn’t any help, either; he always wants me to play with him and go to sleep in my lap and just like with Scooter, I always think okay I’ll sit for a while but then I have to do some things and then I started getting caught up on the news (and yesterday was quite the news day, wasn’t it?), but I don’t think I am going to keep talking about politics on here, even though this perhaps final season of United States is full of surprises, twists and turns, isn’t it?

One of the great ironies of these times struck me last night–the timing of the Democratic July surprise right before we head into the Olympics provides us a lovely contrast, does it not? The entire point of the Olympics is to be welcoming and inclusive for all countries of the world, to bring us all together in an appreciation of sport and young athletes. Our own athletes train hard for years, giving up any sense of normal life and pretty much their childhoods and their teens for the honor of representing their country in a celebration. Making the Olympics is a herculean task; winning a medal is so rare in the world of sport that those who do definitely should be celebrated–but everyone there should be, and should be having a wonderful experience, like all the people who are in attendance. People who walked through an airport anonymously just a week ago are now international stars and celebrities, recognized everywhere they go, and I love that for them. Watching the Olympics always makes me burst with pride for these athletes, and while I always root for every US athlete (because it’s my team), I also am happy for the other athletes too and want to see them have their moment. So, look at what is going on with our political parties re: the Olympics. The entire country is coming together in the spirit of sport…and the Christo-fascists misunderstood something, decided to get offended (and the French do not give two shits what Debbie from Salina, Kansas thinks, and laugh at the notion they’d even care), and BOYCOTT the games and not support our athletes.

Interesting. You admit your country comes second to your faith. So if you’re going to put your faith first ahead of the Constitution, why should we vote for you? That isn’t patriotism. That isn’t supporting and defending the Constitution. Historically, Christians have been responsible for some of the worst genocides in history. I was actually thinking this morning that the Paris Olympic committee should have replied to the evangelical hysteria by saying, “We are Catholics in France and do not care if we offend heretics. Be happy we didn’t reenact the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre, or the Albigensian Crusade, weirdos.”

I will also say that those who want to integrate religion into government are not patriots. A true patriot always puts country first, you know, like President Biden refusing to accept the party’s nomination. Your reward is not of this earth.

And doesn’t Matthew 6:5 read “When you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, who love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on street corners so that others may see them. Amen, I say to you, they have received their reward“. 

Sounds to me like Jesus was saying performative religion is unholy and gets you nothing in the afterlife.

But why listen to the words of your Lord and Savior? That’s not what modern American Christianity is–and miss me with the #notallChristians bullshit. If you’re not calling out the false prophets in your midst whose only God is Mammon, well…you’re complicit. Miss me with the hurt feelings, too. I’ve never seen such a profound lack of faith as I see in hypocrites like the evangelicals and apostates like Candace Cameron Bure, whose faith isn’t about acceptance and love but judgment. God doesn’t need you to defend him or speak out on his behalf, ravening wolf in sheep’s clothing. He’d prefer you be taking care of the poor and the sick rather than living it up in your mansion while children starve.

What was that Jesus quote about rich people, camels, and the eye of the needle? Maybe you need to take a long hard look at yourself and your toxic beliefs and values–and she has also never distanced herself from her nutjob weirdo brother, either…so it stands to reason the hateful bitch who starred in two shows set in San Francisco is just as big a freaky weirdo as her weird brother. Have fun in hell, Candace–I’m sure God will be thrilled you got rich making shows telling other people how to live and did nothing for charity and no good works.

Bitch.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, and remember, the women’s all around gymnastics is today!1

  1. And how much do I love that Simone Biles dragged MacKeighlah (or however her stupid parents thought you spell Michaela) Skinner for the fucking racist abuse condoning filth she is. Simone ended your tired ass, bitch–welcome to being a cancelled pariah in your sport. ↩︎

Tear Drop City

Monday! A new week, full of options and possibilities. Isn’t that the best way to look at Monday, rather than groaning about having to go back to work after the weekend? I suppose it’s easy for me to say that because Monday is my administrative day at the office, so I ease back into my job and don’t see clients until Tuesday. It was a nice weekend, to be honest. I didn’t get as much done as I had planned–I never do–but I got what needed doing done. It was a weekend of watching the Olympics, which I always enjoy, and relaxing and hanging out with Paul and Sparky, which is always my favorite thing to do. I need to shave this morning, both my head and face, but overall, it should be a relatively easy and stress-free day for the most part. Huzzah!

I can’t believe it will be August soon, too. I did not work on that short story this weekend whose deadline is Wednesday, but I may be able to get some of it done this week. I forgot all about it, to be honest, and that’s why I need a to-do list to reference. (Note to self: do that today, or else you’ll be floundering all week.) I guess the first thing on the list is to actually make one? Smart, because that way I can cross something off the list to begin with and feel like I’ve accomplished something already. Now that I think about it some more, that’s what I always used to do, too. It’s weird not remembering things like that, and then having it pop back into my head. That’s been happening with my writing lately, too–I’ll remember something that I used to do, or always do and have forgotten about. I remember that with Murder in the Rue St. Ann I started using Tennessee Williams quotes to open my books with, and that I gradually moved away from that over the years to using other quotes to kind of coyly suggest what the theme of the book might be to readers who are paying attention, or are simply marvelous quotes about either being gay, or New Orleans. I have a quote or two for the opening of the next Scotty–I changed the name of it yesterday, not wanting to play with fire–and yesterday I was thinking about the book, and what it was going to be about going forward, and I found another way to involve Scotty’s family, which will be interesting to play out, since he and the boys are staying at his Diderot grandparents while the renovations are being done on their Decatur Street home–so I can also riff on how different it is to live in the Garden District as opposed to the Quarter, where he’s lived most of his life. (I am calling it Hurricane Season Hustle now; which doesn’t seem to tempt fate quite as much as the previous title did, plus I was going to use that title for the fourth Scotty that fateful summer of 2005….)

Pretty cool.

I think this is going to be a good week, or at least this morning feels like it’s going to be one. I think I should probably keep getting up early on my weekends so I can get more done; the sleeping late always seems to give me a more lackadaisical approach to my weekends, and I inevitably end up losing track of time and suddenly it’s after twelve and I haven’t gotten anything done that I wanted to get done, which is never a good thing. And while I don’t like the idea of getting up every morning at the same time–I guess on weekends I could push it back from six to seven, so it’ll feel like sleeping late but really isn’t that much–if I want to get things done on the weekends efficiently I’ll need to get up early. Maybe I’ll let myself sleep late on Saturdays? I don’t know. But I need to shake things up in my life and get back on my regular horses again–writing and the gym. Both will make a difference in my life, won’t they?

I also need to read more. It’s weird that I have reader’s block, which I didn’t even know was a thing. But if I get up early on weekends, I can get the blog done early and can repair to my chair to read for a few hours over my coffee in the mornings. Perhaps if I look at sleeping late as cutting into my reading time, that will get me out of bed on the weekends…or I could continue using my weekends as down time where I mostly futz around the house. And the books continue to pile up around here while I let them go and don’t read. Heavy sigh. And I have so many marvelous books to read around here, and more coming in on the regular, too. And maybe there’s a connection between my not reading and not writing, too. Hmmm. They do kind of go hand in hand, don’t they?

Something else to unpack.

Story of my life, really.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday; I’ll most likely be back later, and if not, I’ll be here again tomorrow morning!

World and Olympic gymnastics champion Daiki Hashimoto

No Time

Wednesday hump day and we’ve made it to the midpoint of yet another week, one that is startlingly so much better than the ones preceding it that I actually don’t mind looking at social media. Of course, I’ve purged everyone from the mainstream media outlets I am boycotting now and probably forever, so I am not seeing their bullshit “pick me” scare headlines anymore, and you know, my world is already a much better place without them in it. My social media feeds now are filled with excitement in a way I’ve never really seen before. Does that mean I am in a bubble? Probably, but at the same time my news sources now are more reputable and reliable than the old US Big Four, who seem to be in the tank for authoritarianism and fascism. Who knew the fourth estate was such unethical garbage? The Right, as it turns out, was correct about them all the time, and they are more concerned with appealing to the people who will never buy their paper than serving the audience they’ve built over the decades…after all, now they’re saying we should have had an open convention. The head of the ticket stepped down, so the second person is stepping in–which is how it works and is the most important role of the vice-president–President in waiting, just in case.

And I think a lot of people are starting to wonder about JD Vance being a heartbeat away from the White House, given he is running with the oldest person ever to accept his party’s nomination. (Someone called him a shillbilly yesterday, and I still emit a small snicker every time I think about it.) Republicans have given us a lot of mediocrities as vice-presidential candidates this century, haven’t that? Dick Cheney, Sarah Palin, Paul Ryan, Mike Pence, and now this grifting garbage.

Yesterday was a good day. I had a very productive day at the office before coming home. I lost track of the evening–BBC America news clips on Youtube, so much better than anything native to these shores–and then checked in with a few of my young Gen Z political news junkies, like Luke Beasley and Meidas Touch (and yes, I know they are biased, but it’s nice to hear someone else puncturing their balloons of hollow logic), and before I knew it, it was late and Paul was home and it was almost time to go to bed. So, tonight I will have to be a bit more productive when I get home. I need to get the kitchen back under control before the weekend, and I need to do some errands on the way home tonight, too. Need to delve back into the book. July has also kind of slipped through my fingers, too, and I had wanted to try to write something for the Malice anthology–which I will probably not get back around to before its deadline, which is the 1st of August. I hate when I let that sort of thing happen.

It’s funny, but I’ve never considered my family to be Appalachian; we’re from Alabama. I knew there were mountains in North Alabama. I don’t think I ever made the connection that those mountains were actually the Appalachians (maybe I did and just don’t remember)–and it is considered Appalachia. So, like Vance, I am Appalachia-adjacent. I am a child of Appalachia but never lived in Appalachia, but spent a lot of summers there, like Vance. I would never write a book trashing my family as worthless and lazy (I couldn’t, because they aren’t), and extrapolating that out to everyone in Appalachia (#notallAppalachians). Even though I’ve always considered Alabama the home place for my family (my real “home” was always where my mother lived), where my roots are and where I come from, I am not really of Alabama or Appalachia. It strongly influenced my life because my parents were technically hillbillies (or Mountain Williams, as an old Bugs Bunny cartoon called them), but hillbilly has always been kind of a slur for poor white trash; and one I’ve always kind of proudly claimed, jokingly. But I don’t know as much about either Alabama or Appalachia as I probably should. I’ve been making up for it with Alabama, but I really do need to study my heritage more–and being Appalachian is a much better heritage to claim rather than the Confederacy.

And I do love my lazy approach to research, in which I idly come back to it whenever I remember.

And I am just as Appalachian as JD Vance, and at least I am neither ashamed or embarrassed by the fact or my family.

I’ve also really enjoyed watching Appalachia come together on social media to drag him for the lying filth he is. (The fact that I got all the jokes, too, was definitely an indicator of the heritage, wasn’t it?) Hell, every time I drive up to eastern Kentucky I am going to Appalachia.

And on that note, I am getting cleaned up and heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll probably be back a little later on.

I’ve had cowboys on my mind lately. They definitely can be sexy as fuck, as depicted here.

It’s Nice to Be With You

Here we are on a Sunday morning, wide awake and feeling pretty fine, if I do say so myself. I slept later than I intended–the past two nights I’ve slept for over nine hours, if not ten–which will be a problem for me tomorrow morning, but that’s every Monday morning, isn’t it? Heavy sigh. Our anniversary was nice and low-key. We ran all the errands I didn’t run on Friday because of the weather–we also got rained on yesterday–but I also noticed when I got home from all the errands and had everything put away, I wasn’t exhausted like I have been every time I do a big errand like Costco–and I made groceries, too! I realized once I had the groceries all put away that I wasn’t tired or worn out. This is a great development on my return to normalcy (or what passes for it around here) with recovery and exhaustion and stamina. It also rained overnight–thunder and lighting and downpours–which woke me up around two or three, but the bed was so comfy and warm and cozy, and the sound so comforting that I was able to go back to sleep almost immediately. Sparky also was cuddling with me after I fed him and went back to bed. No wonder I didn’t want to get out of bed this morning.

Paul’s getting a tattoo this afternoon and is going to bring a pizza home, so that’s today sorted. I am going to do some chores this morning, get cleaned up, and want to write this afternoon. I am also going to try to get some reading done–maybe a short story, since for whatever reason I don’t seem to have the bandwidth to read anything longer–and I do want to get chapter four of the new book finished. I’d like to dive into one of my short stories, too, now that I know how to revise them and make them work better. I may even start writing another Sherlock story–crazy talk, right? But my coffee is kicking into gear and my head is clearing, which is always nice, and I should be able to have a productive day. I think I’ll just put Spotify on the television and listen to music while I do things around here. It certainly works for me.

We watched A Family Affair, a romantic comedy that actually worked, mostly thanks to it’s incredible cast of Nicole Kidman, Zac Efron, Joey King and Kathy Bates. It was cute, and funny, and really well done; which I generally don’t say about this film genre because they are generally goofy and kind of fluffy and predictable. It was like a big budget Lifetime movie, but they put the money into the cast, script and director–and it was also beautifully shot…though I’d kind of like to know how an author can afford a house in southern California right on the ocean, but…fantasy, Gregalicious, it’s a fantasy.

I think today, after Paul gets home, we’re going to start watching Lady in the Lake on Apple, based on a book I loved by an author I loved, Laura Lippman, and after that, we’ll dive into the new gladiator show, Those About to Die, which looks to have lots of gratuitous male skin and homoeroticism. Woo-hoo! I do want to watch some other films that have come out this summer, but not enough to rent them, like Civil War, which was controversial and might be fun to watch from a ‘the world IS burning to the ground’ perspective, and could spark an interesting (to me anyway) entry about dystopian art and/or whether art used for propaganda is still art. I generally have a lot of Imposter Syndrome when it comes to writing essays and so forth, because I have this feeling that any arguments or interpretations i might made during the course of said essay had already been made or debunked–especially when it comes to commentary on any kind of literary art. I like to think I am smart and intelligent and have interesting perspectives, but I always suspect that I’m not as smart as I think I am (no one is as smart as they think they are) and that trying to sound intelligent and discuss something artistic will simply expose my ignorance and lack of education to the world.

Like that’s ever stopped me before.1

And on that note, I am going to finish this, get some more coffee and have some breakfast before getting cleaned up and getting to work. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later.

I never tire of pictures of Finn Balor. That body! That face! Superstar!
  1. It actually has, to be honest. I often decide not to write things because I fear I am not educated enough on the subject to even try. ↩︎