Category: revising

American Pie

…drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry.

Which also doesn’t make sense; levees are neither wet nor dry, simply an earthen man-made wall to keep water in or out. I do wish I had a twenty, though, for every class where we had to dissect the meaning of “American Pie.”

I feel good today, and alert, and like I can get things done today. I wasn’t tired physically yesterday, but there was some mental fatigue so I didn’t get much writing done. It was literally like banging my head into a brick wall, but I did get almost a thousand words done. We also finished watching The White Lotus, which was good and interesting and all, but was it great? I don’t know, but the acting was on fire, which was terrific. We then spent the rest of the evening watching news clips of the world burning to the ground (my favorite are the tears of the MAGA grifters losing money now; sucks to be you, live by the MAGA die by the MAGA), and ironically, I started thinking about the book and the closed door in my brain that had been constraining and holding back everything I was trying to do with this book suddenly burst open in my head and I know exactly what to do with this book going forward. Huzzah! Now to get the words down…

As you may well also remember, I am researching the 1970s (mostly the early to mid) for my next book, and yesterday I went down the wormhole of short-shorts for men. The 1970s wasn’t maybe the best time for men’s fashions, but for the first time in a long time men’s clothes became more showy, and everything was super-tight, to show off the bodies. (Sadly, most men still neither worked out much–and those who did, often skipped leg day so they really didn’t have much of an ass to show off in their tight jeans.) Shorts were short–sometimes barely covering the full butt cheeks, and those ragged strings everyone had in their cut-offs that were barely more than a square cut today. It was a tragic decade for fashion–for most styles of everything, really. Cars were big and ugly, so was furniture, and the middle class’s tract homes all looked the same with the dark shag carpeting, the wood paneling (even on some cars!), and linoleum. And the memories these forays into research wormholes bring back! And the nice thing is those memories aren’t painful anymore? So what if I didn’t have any real friends because most everyone was afraid of fag cooties? I read a lot of books, made up a lot of stories, and was always able to entertain myself so I was never lonely. Sometimes I would just pick out a kids’ mystery to reread. I didn’t leave the house much, really, other than for school or the occasional shopping foray with my mom until we started going back to church (a tale for another time). But I didn’t get into trouble, I kept to myself, and it didn’t bother me that I was solitary because…my natural default is solitary. Whether solitude was meant to be my default, or not minding being alone developed it that way or not, is a mystery for the ages.

And now that I’ve grown up into a published author, I find that I really do prefer solitude. It’s lovely to get together with people I care about, but…much as I enjoy that (and I do), I wouldn’t miss it terribly if it went away tomorrow and I spent the rest of my life as a hermit in my apartment. Oh, probably enforced solitude would probably not be my thing either, but it’s something one can dream about, at any rate.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have yourself a lovely little Tuesday, and I’ll be back to check in with you again tomorrow for Pay the Bills Wednesday!

The Logical Song

Monday back to the office blog, and it’s taking me a while to get my morning together. I feel good this morning; like this latest round of depression has finally ended. Not that anything happening in the world has gotten better–it certainly grows worse with every passing day; at least Germany had a fairly stable economy for a little while before things got super dark there in the 1930s, you know–but I always have to remember that I am not completely helpless in the face of the rising evil in the world, I do have a voice, and I should never in a million years allow the bastards to get me down and keep me from being tired or feeling beaten. This has been a lifelong struggle for me, and now almost every American is finding out how it feels when the government doesn’t give two shits about you–it never did, but people are finally waking up to the realization that unfettered capitalism, the ideal state for Ayn Rand, doesn’t work because her “men of the mind” always allow their greed and inhumanity to take control of things.

It was very easy for capitalist pigs to convince Americans that regulations–for their own safety–weren’t necessary. So, I guess we all needed a hard reminder that capitalists and corporations only care about money, and don’t care if they poison you in the name of profit, since some people never fucking learn and will never read history.

This last bout of depression was undoubtedly triggered by coming down from the Festivals, having to return to work, and all this horrible fears about my job and potential retirement. Thanks again, MAGA voters. But I do feel good this morning, better than I have since before the festivals, and so am hoping that this will carry me through until I get everything done that I need to get done. I have a shit ton of emails to answer and more to send. I have a lot of writing to do, and I need to get my taxes done once and for all. I need to pay bills, and I need to run some errands on my way home from work. I also feel physically better; I never really got past the Festival induced exhaustion. We’ll see how this goes.

I did manage to read some yesterday, and managed to finish the first part of Moonraker before my mind stopped focusing yesterday. It did amuse me; the entire first fifty pages or so of the book are about introducing the mysterious billionaire Hugo Drax, who has moved to England and is developing an amazing defensive weapon that could protect the UK from Soviet nuclear weapons, and has gotten deeply involved in British politics (sound familiar? That’s part of the reason I am revisiting the novel), and revealing him to the reader as a cheat at cards. He plays at M’s men’s club (ah, those last vestiges of the Empire and class distinctions!), and the manager suspects that he’s cheating, as he is quite successful. The manager and M want Bond (who became a master at cards on the job; can’t help but think of Casino Royale) to figure out how he’s doing it, and then give him a lesson to protect the club from a cheating scandal. Imagine the first part of a Bond film being about cheating at bridge! It also begs the question of just how far from the original character and his world as conceived by his creator, and how insane it’s gotten as the film got bigger, crazier and campier.

I spent more time on social media this weekend than I like to on the weekends, mainly because of the unfocused brain and my inability to focus–although social media, methinks, has had a lot to do with making my ADHD worse–and I could easily do that while watching the country burn to the ground on the news, and while watching documentaries about the Hapsburgs and how their incestuous marriages–a long-standing family policy geared to protect their money and their lands–eventually led to their downfall, I found myself getting sucked into several on-line dramas that just further illustrate divisions in the country. First up was the candle thing; turns out a gay candle maker decided to make a candle commemorating Cory Booker’s filibuster…and one of the options was cotton-scent. First of all, yikes–and then when Black women started calling the dude out for profiting on Black labor, he doubled down, and then someone came to his rescue–or attempted to, at any rate; this person (I am not using pronouns because I don’t know how they identify) was “camp callout”–I’d seen some of their videos about MAGA regrets, but…this person turned out to also be deeply problematic: long story short, Camp has a very well documented MAGA and anti-trans past; and then the candlemaker turned out to be a convicted sexual offender. Whoops!

Needless to say, they have both disappeared from social media, at least for now.

The bouncy house thing was another one of those “is this a real post or is it parody” posts, in which a white woman complained that the Hands Off protest she attended (her first protest) didn’t have any entertainment for her bored child, suggesting a bouncy house…and she got dragged for it, rightfully so. Good on you for going to your first protest, what the fuck are you thinking have you never seen a protest before? Granted, white people tend to not get teargassed or beaten or had police dogs set on them or firehoses trained on them (unless they’re protesting genocide!) because white privilege, but it was an incredibly tone deaf thing to say, given our proud history of incarcerating Black and brown protesters, along with their children. Leave the kids at home. Then another white gay man (sensing a theme) came in hard for Black women laughing at this idiot…calling them bullies. No one was bullying this woman…and tell me you don’t know any Black people without saying the words. I don’t speak for the Black community, but I do know the difference between bullying and clowning, and that was what was going on. People were laughing at her. No one was wishing her or her children harm, any of that stuff.

Maybe make some Black friends, Keith Edwards? Won’t be watching your channel anymore.

This, for example, is why Black people can’t trust white people–and similarly, why queer people can never fully trust straight people (having your bridal party go to a gay bar doesn’t make you an ally…being an ally doesn’t mean centering yourself and crowding out the people you’re supposed to be an ally of, for the record).

And on that cheery note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have as lovely a Monday as you can hang with, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow.

Don’t Cry Out Loud

..when you check your 401k. I checked mine yesterday, which is risk-adverse and there’s not much in it, and it was still a shock. Mine had declined in value by 10%–and it’s risk averse. I can only imagine what happened to those that were higher risk/higher reward but also higher potential for loss.

Remember how the Republicans have always wanted to make social security investment accounts, just like they changed pensions to investment accounts under Reagan? How’s that working out for y’all? They have never had the best interests of the American people at heart, ever.

Gah.

We’re supposed to have thunderstorms all day today, which will be a nice way of dealing with the humidity we’ve been “enjoying” over the last few weeks. It’s also supposed to be in the fifties at night this week, which means better sleep. I slept pretty well this weekend, Sparky getting me up early for food but I’ve also been going to bed early every night; really getting tired around nine these last few nights and dozing off in the bed. We finished watching The Residence last night, which I highly recommend. It’s a witty, well done, and deeply clever murder mystery set in the White House, and it’s very Agatha Christie. WE then started watching season three of The White Lotus, which everyone has been talking about; we’d started season one but gave up after the first episode. Parker Posey is perfectly cast, as is everyone else; and God, Patrick Schwarzenegger’s character is such a douche bro; I despise him so far, about three or four episodes in? LSU also won their regional final yesterday was yet another score over 198.00; this is their sixth straight competition with a score of that or higher–and they left points on the board yesterday. GEAUX TIGERS!

I just looked out the windows and the sidewalk is wet, and it hasn’t rained…which means the humidity must be getting unbearable outside. I am looking forward to the thunderstorms arriving, because that’s when I am going to curl up under my blankets and read some more. I wanted to go to yesterday’s protests, but correctly assessed in the morning that I was fatigued, and other than some chores, I wasn’t going to get much of anything done. I’d planned to run an errand, but stayed inside and rested, hence the television bingeing. I hate that I wasn’t able to go; but I feel rested and good this morning (so far) so maybe it will last and I can get things done. There was insane turnout yesterday all across the country (and even across Louisiana!), and of course, it was largely ignored by State Media (Fox) and State Media-lite (everyone else). The utter failure of the legacy media to meet this moment in US History will be studied for centuries, provided the coming collapse of the United States doesn’t result in the world being plunged into a reoccurrence of the Dark Ages.

I hate that I am now so old that I can’t even go to protests anymore. But the massive turnout nation-wide yesterday gives me some hope–even as cishet white people don’t seem to quite understand what protests are, and they can be dangerous? Especially under this administration? Everyone who actually was able to attend yesterday was basically putting their bodies, lives and freedom on the line to take a stand; for those of you who still don’t get it try googling Kent State, or any of the protest marches in Alabama in the 1960s. The insanity I saw yesterday on social media–I still can’t believe the “bouncy house” thread was serious–just is another indication of why most marginalized communities don’t trust the cishet whites. One of the reasons I don’t feel sympathy for any MAGA voter with regrets or pulling the “I didn’t vote for this” Pilate handwashing of their crimes–is because you did vote for this. He didn’t lie to you about any of this. He told you he was going to do all of this, but he did lie about everyone getting rich; but…he was talking about rich people and corporations, not the voters who worship him. Sorry not sorry I don’t believe your claims that you aren’t transphobic or racist or homophobic now and were just misled; any rational adult could see you were being given Flavor-Ade to drink and were lapping it all up and asking for more. I feel so owned, you have no idea.

And on that cheery note, I am going to head into the spice mines while I wait for the thunderstorms to arrive (although the sun has just come out again). I have cleaning to do and taxes to organize, and I had hoped to make it to the gym today…but my shoulder is feeling sore again, so probably best to stay home and rest it, I guess. I hate being frail. I doubt I’ll be back before the morrow, so have a lovely Sunday fun day and I will see you in the morning.

Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground)

Saturday morning and I have a couple of errands to do this morning. I need to go by the bank (I haven’t made a deposit in person in eons) and I have to swing by the grocery store. Sigh. I really didn’t want to leave the house today, but here we are. It’s also a struggle these days to get through as we go through and experience the collapse of the American experiment in self-rule. I think another significant part of our history that isn’t taught the way it should be is we aren’t taught about how many Tories there were in the colonies during the lead up to and aftermath of the Revolution. We aren’t taught New England threatened to secede during the War of 1812, or that there were people on both sides of the Civil War1 that sympathized with the other side; North and South weren’t monoliths the way we are taught. We aren’t taught about how many Americans were Nazi sympathizers and isolationists before Pearl Harbor, using the slogan “America First”–so you see why I have always raised a cynical eyebrow whenever anyone uses that slogan; it was tied to Nazi sympathizers to me.

Watching the collapse of our country is challenging and more than a little bit depressing. It is terrible that just as I approach the age of retirement and the final chapter of my life…well, the retirement may turn out to be involuntary, as my clinic’s funding is definitely on the chopping block, Social Security is about to be looted and destroyed, and I don’t want to even look at the paltry 401k, which has also probably evaporated. No job and no retirement funds is going to be awesome when I turn 64. Paul got the notice from the NEH to not bother applying for grant funding, as it’s all been cut, so his job may not survive this, either–no more festivals in the spring. So, miss me with “we need to be nice to MAGA voters now finding out”–fuck them now and forever. I will never forgive them, and their suffering lightens mine. You want to embrace them, be my guess. Me? I will never stop laughing and pointing, let alone mocking them and enjoying their tears. My patience has worn out for ignorant haters, sorry not sorry– and as they so eloquently put it, “fuck your feelings.”

Yesterday was a nice day, overall. I got up, had a virtual meeting at work, and then did my Admin work before running some errands. I got that done, and then Paul and I made a Costco run and spent an insane amount of money. After getting home, lugging everything into the house and putting it all away, I was tired. I collapsed into my chair for a while as Paul went upstairs to work on the NEH grant–but got the email so didn’t have to bother for the rest of the evening and we dove further into The Residence, which I am greatly enjoying. Uzo Adoba is fantastic as Cordelia Copp, the world’s greatest detective, and it’s very well cast, high production values, and the writing is quite crisp. The chief usher at the White House (the divine Giancarlo Esposito) is murdered during a state dinner, and Cordelia is brought in to solve the murder. I think what’s most interesting is the divide between the White House domestic staff v. the White House political staff; the domestics work for the House, the political staff comes and goes. I’d never really thought much about the staff of the residence, so it’s an interesting look at how that all works, and it’s very cleverly structured. Highly recommend.

I do have some errands to do today, and a lot of straightening up to do as well. I want to get some reading and writing in this morning, so I can go to the gym tomorrow (I know, right?) and get some more done. I’ve been letting things slide a lot lately, which probably means I am depressed, which isn’t surprising, given the state of the world and everything else going on in my life. I think there’s an element of why bother with this book, to be honest, which is counter-productive and quite self-destructive, but it’s hard to be productive when your default is almost always pessimism. I always knew Republicans were working very hard to destroy everything decent about this country (unfettered capitalism is sociopathic in nature), but I never dreamed they might actually succeed. To paraphrase Game of Thrones: “Whenever I wonder why the Republicans would do something so counter-productive to democracy, I like to play a little game: what is the worst reason they would want to do this?”

Littlefinger was right, even if he did end up with his throat slit for his treachery.

Yesterday I also realized that one of the great American traditions, going back to colonial days, of evading paying duties and tariffs was smuggling. I used to love to read about Colonial smugglers (John Hancock was one), and some great fiction was built up around smuggling. I’ve always thought the years of Prohibition (and alcohol smuggling) in New Orleans would be an interesting time to write about. That decade saw the rise of Huey Long to power in Louisiana, and there are some fantastic stories about that post-Storyville time here. Jean Lafitte was a pirate, too–but he was also a very successful smuggler. But again, one of the great problems of New Orleans/Louisiana research is going down wormholes and sidebars–my ADHD does not matters at all in this regard; I do remember wanting to write about “Mrs. Officer,” the first woman cop in New Orleans, who was hired because they needed a woman to search and interrogate criminal women, which was a problem during Storyville days. I mean, what a great decade to research and write about! Imagine what “Mrs. Officer”2 endured in terms of misogyny as the only woman cop in an era where women couldn’t vote.

There’s also a protest today scheduled in New Orleans, as well as around the country. I’m hoping to make it, it just depends on how tired I am after getting things done this morning. I feel pretty good right now, but that also doesn’t mean I won’t flag later, either.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you most likely tomorrow morning.

  1. This is a classic example of why I say we don’t teach history properly (which will end up being a longer-form essay for my newsletter at some point). There were plenty of Tories during the American Revolution. There were Southern sympathizers in the North and Unionists in the South–I knew about the North, but whenever I’d come across that about the South I figured it was after-the-fact apologia, excusing Southern whites for their inhumanity. But over the least few years as I’ve done more deep dives into Alabama history, and hearing more old family stories, I’ve come to realize it was actually true. Erik Larson discusses this in more detail in his The Demons of Unrest, which I do recommend. ↩︎
  2. SHe was always referred to as “Mrs. Officer,” which also makes a great title. ↩︎

What a Fool Believes

I’ve always been a fool, but my brain has always worked to convince me that is not the truth. (Spoiler: it is. I am constantly amazed at how foolish I am, or have been, which is one of the many reasons I second-guess myself all the damned time.) I often deceive myself that I handle things better than I do, and it seems I often don’t have the necessary distance from things to evaluate them properly.

I finally wrote about my friendship with Dorothy Allison yesterday on my newsletter; if you are so inclined you can click there and read it (you can also subscribe while you’re there, or not, it’s up to you). She died right after the election, and I never like to share my grief publicly (still fighting that “never bleed in public” training from childhood), because it’s personal to me. Doing the reading on Sunday, I realized I was finally in a place where I could mourn her publicly. Likewise, I didn’t want to do the last-minute reading in honor of Felice Picano because it was too soon. I’ll write about Felice one day, probably this summer, when someone or something will remind me of him and I’ll know it’s time. I hate being at the point in life when you start losing friends with greater regularity. That’s the thing they never tell you about getting old–being older means getting used to loss, and really, that’s about it.

Yesterday was a decent day. It was slow at clinic so I got a lot of my admin work caught up, but I wasn’t all there, if that makes any sense. I wasn’t tired, but just felt…drained. Not sure what that was about, so I came home and did chores, watched LSU win the regional semifinal by breaking 198.00 again (GEAUX TIGERS!), so they’ll be competing in the final tomorrow, and we started watching The Residence, which got off to an interesting start before I went to bed early. I feel pretty good this morning, have some work to do here, and then later will run errands. I mean, I feel as good as I can giving the fact that retirement is beginning to look like it won’t be an option for me ever–and what is most likely is involuntary retirement because of funding cuts. Thanks again, MAGA voters, for giving me another reason to despise you with every fiber of my being–and other people might forgive you at some point, but I never fucking will, and I’ll go to my grave hating and despising you fucking racist and homophobic pieces of shit. The only thing that is getting me through this stress is the grim satisfaction of knowing they’re suffering even worse and they know it’s their own fault. I will never stop belittling and mocking them as long as I have breath in my body. Staying positive in the age of negativity is definitely a challenge…especially now that Wall Street has cratered and we are on the brink of a world-wide depression that is no one’s fault but our own.

I also realized that today’s title really works, because I still cling to the belief that somehow we’ll survive this illegitimate regime and it won’t get that terribly bad. I’ve been bankrupt before, I can live through it again, I suppose. But this is what the Republicans have been pushing for since the Reagan misadministration, which I’ve been saying for fucking decades, only to be dismissed as lightly as Cassandra on the walls of Troy (I really would love to write from her perspective; I can imagine no curse greater than being able to see the future only to have no one believe you. No wonder she went mad)? There have been few, if any, good Republicans since the party was overhauled when everyone who’d really experienced the Great Depression1 was dead and couldn’t remind everyone of the policies that led to that disaster. And here we are, almost to the hundred year anniversary of the stock market crash and the depression that followed.

Americans never learn from their history and always repeat it. We are not a nation of smart people.

And on that truly sad note, I’ll head into the spice mines. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I will definitely check in on you either later or tomorrow.

  1. Worth mentioning that the collapse of our economy led to the same thing, only worse, around the world, which led to the rise of fascism. In true American narcissism, the Great Depression is always taught as an American issue, rather than a global one–another way history is taught incorrectly. ↩︎

Knock on Wood

Thursday and my last day in the office for the week. I can go in a little later than usual this morning, so I am sipping my coffee and eating my morning slice of marble coffee cake (from Rouses, and I love it) and slowly trying to get it together this morning before I hit the road for the office. I did some work last night, and some chores when I got home, but feel a little tired this morning–moving kind of slow here at the junction–but I can come straight home from the office tonight and I am going to get some work done tonight. Tomorrow is my work-at-home, and I have a department meeting to get through also. I can live with it. I think we’re also going to Costco this weekend (got to stock up before prices start rising uncontrollably, thanks again, MAGA trash voters), and I really need to pull it together for myself. The auction is still making money (the auction is closed but the donate button is still active), which is super-awesome, and very uplifting. Obviously, it doesn’t mean everyone who donated and everyone who bid are actually allies through and through, but it’s something, and I am not going to be cynical about raising over 300% of our goal. Woo-hoo, way to go, everyone! A bright light shining through these steadily darkening times.

It was very windy yesterday and we are having high winds again today, which is odd. It’s also much warmer than it usually is around this time of year, which is also odd, and definitely problematic for the looming summer. Sigh, and everything is going to be more expensive, including power (thanks again, MAGA!). The two grocery runs I made this week came out to over $140 combined, and I didn’t really get all that much, which completely sucks. I was tired when I got home from work yesterday, and wrote for a little while until I got stuck. I still got in over a thousand words, so I am calling that a win.

This week, a recovery from the festivals week, also involved the auction–not to mention the easy to see it coming second Great Depression–so it’s been a bit of a rollercoaster and now that all the adrenaline has died off, I am a bit worn down, which is why I think I am physically tired and a little mentally fatigued. The day is going to be relatively easy, overall; we’re not busy in the clinic today and I should be able to get a lot of paperwork and admin stuff taken care of, and I get to go home an hour early, which is terrific. Sparky will certainly appreciate it, and I want to get some chores done tonight. I need to do another load of laundry, and the dishes, pick up around the apartment, and take out garbage and so forth. Sigh. We also have a department meeting tomorrow morning that I can join remotely. Sigh.

I also have to get back to reading my current reads. I was enjoying both The Get Off and Moonraker, so I want to get them done soon. Moonraker is more interesting in the juxtaposition between the tone and tenor of the books vs the silliness of the movies. It is very much of its time, and the whole “gentlemenly” approach to the spy genre is snobbish. classist, and yet still interesting in a weird, classist elitist kind of way; the whole gentility thing they still have across the pond is something we’ve never quite adapted completely, which isn’t a bad thing. It’s been tried before, obviously, and some are still trying; the Boston Club and other organizations like it dot New Orleans–because of Carnival krewes. Carnival krewes were, from the very beginning, nothing more than an extension/adaptation of the men’s clubs in London, which I will definitely need to talk about when I write my essay about revisiting the novel.

And on that groggy note, I am heading into the spice mines. May your Thursday be free of drama and full of joy, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back on the morrow.

You Don’t Bring Me Flowers

You don’t sing me love songs…anymore.

I had been waiting to hear about an anthology I sold a story to (they asked me to keep it quiet until further notice), but had never did so I could never mention it. But it was announced; they just hadn’t tagged me. Anyway, the anthology is Celluloid Crimes, and will be released this summer from Level Best Books. My story is “The Last To See Him Alive,” which actually now is the first, revised chapter of Chlorine, which, if you’re wondering, I’ve never stopped thinking about or working on since I first brought it up on my blog six or seven years ago. Over the weekend, I did confess to someone that I have about six or seven novels currently in progress; Chlorine is definitely one of them. In fact, taking Chapter One and turning it into a stand-alone short story also triggered some creativity in my brain, and that helped the entire novel take shape, and now I know what the middle part will be, and the end will become even more poignant and noir-ish with these necessary changes to the story. Huzzah! More about the story and the anthology as it nears its publication date.

The auction for the Transgender Law Center concluded last night, and we raised over $58,000! I have to admit being enormously pleased and proud of the organizing committee as well as all the people who donated items and those who bid on them. Well done, everyone! This project began two or three years ago (it was before my arm surgery, I do know that much–I have no grasp or concept of time anymore–but other than that? Pfffft.) and it’s kind of hard to believe it’s over and done with at last. I didn’t do that much–the driving forces were truly Susanna Calkins, Sandra SG Wong, Ellison Cooper (Jen Dornan-Fish), Cheryl Head, and Ed Aymar. The group was exceptionally fun to work with, despite my on-going issues, and I didn’t contribute nearly as much as I ordinarily do when I am volunteering because of my on-going issues, but my fellow organizers were so efficient and on top of things I didn’t need to, which was lovely. It was truly a great group, and our advisory board (including spokesperson Robyn Gigl, Brenda Buchanan, and John Copenhaver) were also amazing and hard-working. What a lovely experience this was indeed.

I did get some writing done last night, but not nearly enough. After driving uptown to get the mail and then making groceries, I was pretty fried by the time I got home, so wasn’t really able to resist Sparky’s meowing insistence that I get in my chair and let him sleep in my lap, so I did. We continued watching Mid-century Modern, and you know, not every joke lands nor does every scene necessarily work, but all the actors are clearly having a good time with it, and Matt Bomer is absolutely perfect as the beautiful, former Mormon flight attendant who is actually very sweet and a little like Rose from The Golden Girls, completely without guile and literal. Nathan Lane can be a bit histrionic, but he’s Nathan Lane; always charming and likable. Such a shame Linda Lavin died, because she’s terrific as Lane’s mother–and was probably going to at least be nominated for an Emmy. But Nathan Lee Graham steals the entire show as a former fashion editor who is very quick-witted in that bitchy sarcastic way that so many of us develop as a shell for self-defense. It’s also refreshing to see a show about older gay men who, like The Golden Girls, still are vital and have sex lives and embracing life rather than sliding into self-pity or caricature. These characters would have been easy to play as one-dimensional stereotypes, but it’s a tribute to these actors’ skill that they have heart and are real people. I’m sure it won’t thrill some queer people–nothing ever does, we are notoriously critical of things about us–but it’s nice to see gay men as realized characters on a traditional style sitcom, and definitely a progression from Will and Grace.

I feel better today than I did yesterday; another good night of sleep was had, and this morning I don’t feel any brain fog or exhaustion like I did yesterday. I think I am now acclimating back to my life, which is nice because I also need to get my act together and start getting things done again. This weekend will most likely be restful and lovely as well; and perhaps time to start working on household projects (like cleaning out the attic) so the house can be sort of presentable and livable again. Stranger things have happened, you know. I started writing a tribute to Dorothy Allison for my newsletter, triggered by the tribute reading I did Sunday, as I have been remembering how much she and her work have always meant to me. It’s kind of hard to believe such a force is gone from the world.

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

Good Times

Up early before the sun, although the sky is beginning to lighten as the days get longer and summer looms, with all of its brutality, just over said horizon. I am feeling rested and more like myself this morning, which will make sliding back into reality and heading into the office a lot easier. I am so glad I took yesterday off. I was so tired yesterday I don’t even want to remember how that felt. I feel asleep in my easy chair with Sparky in my lap numerous times before I finally stumbled up to be around ten and slept like a rock for a solid eight hours. I’m still a bit disoriented, but by the end of the day that should be all sorted out, one way or another.

We finished watching Reacher last night and enjoyed it. This is the character I remember from the books, and the show is very well cast and very well done. Alan Ritchson is perfect for Reacher–acting, physicality, attitude–and I’ve always been a sucker for a paladin, haven’t you? Reacher is the epitome of the lone wolf/mysterious hero who always somehow manages to be in the right spot at the right time to rescue/help someone who needs it. I don’t know that I could write such a character or series, but I certainly have enjoyed Lee Child’s take on the classic paladin trope. I’m already looking forward to season four.

I feel rested today but still a bit disoriented and discombobulated from the weekend and making the transition from Famous Author Greg to regular go to the office every day and do chores Greg. I need to get back on the writing horse and get this fucking book finished (it’s not, and it’s due today, sigh)–it’s funny how every time I get on a roll with it, I get distracted and disturbed away from it. Naught to do but dive back in head first, right? I do have to go run the errands I didn’t run yesterday (too exhausted) on the way home tonight, but hopefully I can get some words in before we finish watching Mid-century Modern, which we started last night. The first episode has some flaws, and got off to a not very good start…but started picking up steam in the latter half and had some surprises–subverting expectations from what is clearly being done in a classic sitcom format (complete with annoying as fuck laugh track); despite setting up a traditional sitcom plot with a gay twist, that’s not where it went, which was a very pleasant surprise, and there were some really good laughs in the second episode. Linda Lavin is the jewel of the cast, playing Nathan Lane’s mother, and the fact she died during production is truly sad. I can see how it might turn some of its intended audience aside, but…can we really justify not even giving it a chance while bitching about our lack of representation in entertainment, let alone in the world of sitcoms? There is no pleasing some gays. My primary critique of Will and Grace was that it sanitized being gay so it wouldn’t scare some viewers–but it was also a network show airing mostly during the Bush years. The show was important, and some of the criticisms directed at it were definitely fair….I’ll probably explore my ambivalence to that show (while recognizing its importance) at some point over on Substack.

I also need to sort out my checkbook, figure out where I am at with things, and put proverbial nose to grindstone.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back probably tomorrow morning.

The Gambler

I am off work on this glorious Friday, as I prepare to slip into the Festival weekend. I do have things to do–writing–so I am fortunate that I have my mornings free all weekend, so I can get that writing done. I did have a good writing day yesterday–three thousand words and a whole new chapter, which isn’t bad for a Festival widow. I don’t have any assigned duties today, but I am going to head down for the opening party and there’s a panel at 4 I’d also like to attend. I need to do some writing and some chores here before I head out–as well as some errands to run–but I have some time today and it’s going to be a lovely one, methinks. It’s kind of gray outside this morning, but I think it’s going to be a nice day–even though the weather this weekend may not be the greatest.

I got some work done on the book last night, and I feel good about that, and as always, I am quite convinced it’s terrible work. Someday it would be nice to write something I feel satisfied with immediately after, but maybe that will happen for me at some point in the future. But I feel pretty good this morning, well rested and relaxed and my coffee is just simply superb. I’ve started laundering the bed linens already, Sparky seems content to hang out here by my desk and watch Cat TV out the window, and yes, I know he’s just waiting for me to vacate my desk chair–but at least he’s not being obnoxious about it…yet. There’s still plenty of time, especially since I need to unload the dishwasher and reload it and yes, I have a lot of domestic god things to get done this morning before setting out for the day.

There are worse ways to spend a day, you know?

After finishing my word count for the day yesterday (2700 total), I was pretty worn out and drained. It was a relatively easy day for the clinic, so I was able to get a lot of things caught up so I won’t be as behind when I go back in on Tuesday (I took Monday off also this year; I didn’t the last couple of years and totally regretted it); I’ll just have to catch up on Monday’s paperwork and so forth. So, yes, I am feeling good this morning, and I guess last night’s excellent sleep was due to getting the word count in for once and it was the sleep of the righteous. Ugh, just looking around the apartment this morning…yeah, I need to do some cleaning this morning around the writing.

I am also pleased to report that Crime Writers for Trans Rights met our auction goal on only the second day! We still have several days left for the auction, so get in there and bid bid bid! There’s all kinds of great stuff with very low bids on them, and some items that are awesome haven’t got any yet! I cannot even begin to tell you, Constant Reader, how the response to this auction has sort of (not completely, of course) made me feel a little better about this community I belong to. After the intense disappointments and homophobia I’ve experienced, including from people I thought were friends, my opinion of the crime fiction community was pretty fucking low, and as I said, after the betrayal of the election last November, I’d had it. Let me put it to you in a way that’s more understandable, okay, because I know some people have trouble letting go of their own privilege: when you not only will not call out a friend for saying something homophobic, and actually play along with it, what you are telling your queer friends is we can’t count on you if and when things get bad for us…and that election result was a promise that things were, indeed, going to get bad for us. If you won’t say to your buddy, “dude, that’s not cool and homophobic,” how can I expect you to do a fucking thing in the face of a coordinated government effort to strip me of my rights, my humanity and my citizenship? And joining in tells me you not only won’t do a fucking thing when push comes to shove, but you may actually become an informer.

And how I am supposed to feel safe around you, ever again? For the record, that’s what I mean when I say I don’t feel safe–I don’t trust the people I’m around to have my back in the face of homophobia, which isn’t a good feeling.

But at least my fears of negative responses from people to the auction have proven untrue, and my worries about not meeting our goal were clearly unfounded. It’s nice to be reminded that not everyone in this community is a bigot. Doesn’t mean I’m going to start attending crime fiction community events any time soon; I don’t feel safe there, despite the good people, and no, I will never forget having someone who has claimed to be “one of the good guys” saying faggy to my face at Bouchercon in Toronto, or being told I was “nobody” by Bouchercon programmers (speaking of fucking nobodies and hangers on).

I want to preserve my peace, and why the fuck would I spend that kind of money to go get treated like shit and have no one in the organization care? Which, again, is “you’re nobody.”

But thank you to everyone who donated and to everyone who is bidding for restoring some faith in the community for me.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. May your Friday be everything you want it to be, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

Tragedy

Thursday, and it’s almost the weekend. Not a normal weekend, but one where I have to actually be presentable and lucid periodically…and have to leave the house for extended periods of time. I slept pretty well last night, for my first night as a Festival widow; Sparky actually slept in the bed with me, too. I didn’t get much done when I got home last night, because I was tired after I got off work and the errands didn’t help much. I did start a load of laundry and ran the dishwasher, so tat is something I got done. I also managed to get some writing done, but not very much, so hopefully tonight’s writing journey will be better. We shall see.

I did watch the season finale of a reality show I follow for some reason–habit more than anything else at this point (I’ve almost always been a completist, and I usually will only ditch a show before its series finale if it gets really bad and stupid and I get annoyed with myself for watching)–and I think I might be pulling the plug on it. I had come very close to stopping watching a few seasons back when the show took a turn I didn’t much care for, and it seems like the cast has decided to circle back around to the behaviors that had me almost stop watching in the first place. I may watch the reunion episodes, but most likely not. I’m not really interested in the bullying antics of a failed grifter, failed gold digger, and failed child star who are actually so bad at their jobs that they can’t even give me a meme-worthy moment or line. I do sometimes need a break from Bravo’s reality shows because the lack of consequence for any of these horrible women reminds me that horrible people often never have consequences in reality (cough Tulsi Gabbard cough Pete Hegseth cough), and that’s not messaging I can really get behind.

The immorality of rewarding amorality gets to me sometimes, you know? I guess that’s why so many people embrace religion and the whole “afterlife” thing–bad people go to hell, right, so their punishment is in the next world, but the concept of the “get out of hell free card” methodology and epistemology negates every bit of the punishment/reward structure of modern American Christianity. “Faith without works is dead,” remember that part?

I think the lack of consequences in the real world is why I started writing crime fiction in the first place, so the guilty are actually punished. A definite argument can be made that crime fiction’s roots are in conservative ideology; the restoration of order after disorder, the Apollonic v. Dionysian paradigms that lie at the root of all good crime fiction, whether we want to admit it or not. I first started thinking about this in the wake of the police murders of innocent Black people over the last decade (shameful that it took me that long to open my eyes), which made me reevaluated my own biases about the police (the mythology vs. the reality), while all the time knowing that as a gay man the police are most definitely not looking out for MY best interests in any way. I was conditioned as a child, by the Chicago public school system, to see the cops are protectors and friends. (Did anyone else have an “Officer Friendly” who came to talk to your class about safety? I remember distinctly being conditioned to trust the police…)

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again later.

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