Category: short stories

Blue Eyes

Its the morning of Ash Wednesday and I am up at my normal time, trying to get back to normal and back into my normal day-to-day life now that Carnival is over for another year. The city is probably still in ruins, because there’s only so much they can clean up overnight, you know? The trees of St. Charles are dripping with beads and crepe paper and, of course, toilet paper from racist Tucks, er, Sucks1. I am so tired of the insidious nature of racism in incredibly stupid and small-minded white people. I can’t imagine how exhausted racialized communities feel. The closest thing I can think of would be how tired I am of homophobia and homophobes.

You haters are fucking tedious, you know? Get a fucking life already.

Readjusting back to normality after Deep Gras is always tricky. It’s Fat Tuesday that always winds up throwing me off–I am always aware that it’s Monday during Lundi Gras, but it felt like Sunday yesterday and I keep thinking today is Monday, and it’s not. That will take some mental adjusting, as will that tomorrow is my last day in the office again. But I feel very rested this morning, too. I spent a. great deal of time yesterday icing my ankles, so the Achilles tendons aren’t very tender this morning, but I am sure that will change as the day gets longer. I’ll ice them again tonight, of course, and I have some errands to do after work on the way home, too. I made potato leek soup in the slow cooker yesterday–it was sublime, probably the best I’ve ever made, and I added shallots this time, too–and that was quite lovely for dinner. I did chores and picked up a lot around the house, but never got around to the floors, which I hope to get to this weekend. I also managed to read some, which was very lovely, and I had a very strong burst of creativity yesterday that resulted in me making significant headway on an essay for the newsletter after sending a promotional one out over the course of the lengthy weekend, while getting an idea for another one–and I thought I was finished with the promotional Scotty newsletters; so that is a very good thing.

I also need to pack up more beads to donate to ArcGNO this weekend, and should also probably drop off a box of books at the library sale. I made some other reorganization decisions about the apartment this weekend, too–I need to clear out a shelf in the pantry so I can take some boxes down from the tops of the cabinets–and I really need to get the floors done. The house always looks so much better when I’ve done the floors, and maybe this weekend I can get the workspace windows cleaned, depending on the weather; I’ve not bothered to look ahead just yet. If it rains or is too cold, the windows can certainly wait.

While I did things yesterday, I was bingeing Celebrity Traitors from the UK, and even with a majority of the cast being people I had NO idea who they were, it was an excellent cast and an even more enjoyable game. I primarily wanted to see how the game ends, since I’ve never seen a season finale, and now that I know, I am pretty pleased, as I was afraid the way they wrap it all up might be a let down, but it’s not. And there was someone I’d actually met and had dinner/drinks with years and years ago in the cast! Yes, I am going to humblebrag, but the British actress Celia Imrie and I have mutual friends in common–and I had dinner with her and our mutual friend when they came through New Orleans a while back, which was marvelous. Naturally, I was rooting for her, but she was one of the last murder victims, alas. Stephen Fry was also on, and he was the first person I’ve seen note how badly the game is stacked in favor of the Traitors; I also observed to Paul “they really shouldn’t feel bad for banishing people who aren’t Traitors; the Faithful outnumber the Traitors by a 19 to 3 ratio, so of course they are going to banish incorrectly more often than not. I suspect I would be terrible at this game unless I was a Traitor.

If you’re a politics junkie2 and love watching MAGA eating themselves, pay attention to the Louisiana Republican primary for Senator Bill Cassidy (the pro-life OB-GYN who looks like a Muppet gone wrong) for some hilarity. Cassidy, as you may remember, committed the egregious sin of voting for Trump’s impeachment after January 6–hoping the person with no long-term memory would forget that six years later. About a month or so ago, Orange Foolius handpicked congresswoman Julia Letlow to endorse for the race. I’m not entirely certain she’d even announced? Cassidy’s dark money PACs are now going after Letlow, tying her to DEI and Nancy Pelosi and President Biden as a “dangerous liberal” (it took me a while to type that while laughing hysterically); does OF still have pull in Louisiana now? After a couple of weeks of silence, Letlow has finally released her own attack ads on Cassidy and seriously, this primary race can easily be called A Confederacy of Dunces.

I was sorry to hear that both Jesse Jackson and Robert Duvall died over Deep Gras. Both contributed significantly to society in their own ways, and giants cannot be replaced. I mean, look at this iteration of the current Democratic Party–where are all the great Democrats I grew up watching legislate? I mean, even the Kennedy in the forefront of public policy today is a very poor imitation of his father and uncles, pissing and shitting all over the family name. I also find it interesting that Hunter Biden was targeted and hounded for having addiction issues, while MAGA celebrates the brain worm guy who had addiction issues and clearly has something wrong with him.

After finishing reading The Secret of Hangman’s Inn, I started writing a newsletter essay about the Ken Holt series and this book in general, with a particular look at the series’ homo-eroticism–based on my recent reread of the book itself. The series, expertly written by Sam and Beryl Epstein under the name Bruce Campbell, is very much of it’s time–and you could easily see how things had changed since they were written. I remember there was a clue in one book that had to do with the cotter pin holding automobile tires on–they don’t have those anymore–and of course, no television, no automatic transmissions on cars, having to depend on phone calls and being home to take them, newspapers and syndicates with journalistic ethics, and so on. But this particular reread made me realize something about the juvenile series that I hadn’t ever caught on to before–and that will also be a strong piece of the newsletter essay.

I also decided yesterday what my next Scotty book will be and when it will be set. I wanted to jump ahead–the most recent, this new one, is set in August of 2019, and I am going to skip ahead to Mardi Gras 2022, when the parades rolled again after the canceled parade season of 2021–and I even know what it’s going to be about. Huzzah!

So yes, I had a very productive and good day yesterday. I feel rested, my right Achilles tendon has a bit of a twinge but the left feels good, and I feel rested and relaxed and motivated to get things done. And as always, we’ll see how long this feeling lasts. I am going to head into the spice mines now, and hope to have a great day post-Carnival.

Have a great Ash Wednesday if you “celebrate”, and if you don’t, have a lovely Wednesday–the rest of the work week is the downhill slide into the weekend, which will be here before I know it or am ready for it!

American swimmer Caeleb Dressel is an Olympic champion. And has pretty blue eyes.

Photographed at the University of Florida in Gainesville. Mandatory Credit: Robert Deutsch-USA TODAY ORG XMIT: USATODAY-451287 [Via MerlinFTP Drop]
  1. I saw yesterday that the racist assholes who hung black dolls by the neck with beads from their float have been kicked out of Tucks. Good. They also should be named and shamed, but I doubt that will happen. ↩︎
  2. This is an example of a time when I really miss Victoria. ↩︎

I Still Miss Someone

Everywhere else it’s just Tuesday! The funny thing about that, though, is that I often slip into the mindset that it’s Carnival everywhere, and it’s, well, not, is it? Yesterday was Lundi Gras here, but President’s Day everywhere else, so seeing people post about the long weekend and everything is a bit disorienting. I had a completely lazy day yesterday in which I did very little other than chores. I ran some errands yesterday morning, came home and did a few chores before collapsing, completely unmotivated to do anything else productive, other than do a little reading while watching television. Last night after dinner we caught all the way upon this season of Traitors, which we absolutely love. (This is an excellent cast, by the way, which also makes a difference.) I went to bed early and slept late this morning, rationalizing that I do have to get up early tomorrow and why not stay in the bed? Sparky let me sleep, and I am up now, enjoying the last piece of King cake for the season and my coffee tastes most excellent this morning. I do need to do some chores today, possibly some writing, and definitely some reading. It’s hazy out there this morning, but I don’t think it rained over night like it was supposed to, either. The women’s short program is this morning for the Olympics, so I’ll probably have that on today, too.

Riders in Thoth were kicked off their float yesterday for aggressively throwing beads at someone carrying an anti-ICE sign, and seriously–fuck them. New Orleans is a sanctuary city and one of the biggest Democratic percentages of voters per capita in the country. You want to be MAGA asshile racists? That’s what Metairie parades are for. Fuck you now and for all eternity. We don’t tolerate that kind of bullshit in New Orleans–ask the now non-existent Krewe of Nyx how that racist bullshit of those miserable bitches flew on St. Charles fucking Avenue. Keep your MAGA asses out in your racist MAGA parishes, fuckers. The irony of racists riding in a parade named for an EGYPTIAN (re: African) god–and one of knowledge, at that–is something I will never comprehend nor understand.

But my brain isn’t smooth enough to be MAGA, so there’s that, too. That’s D’etat and Thoth this year showing racist asses, as well as Tucks. Those krewes need to be punished. Maybe their parade permits for next year should be pulled. Kill it with fire and salt the ground so that shit never happens again. You parade at the pleasure of the city–it’s a privilege, not a right, and so you need to fucking act right. Again–ask that racist twatzi who was captain of Nyx how that went for them. Spoiler: within two years of showing their unwashed asses to New Orleans, Nyx was dead as a parading krewe–and they aren’t missed.

Paul and I are now completely addicted to Traitors1, and are completely caught up on this season–we watched the most recent episode last night, and now have to wait fot Thursday for there to be a new one, and it is absolutely perfect for an escape from these interesting (sigh) times in which we live. I’ve always enjoyed escapism; I always read to escape from reality (yet another reason why I always hated being forced to read fiction for class) and some of my favorite shows and movies may not be the highest quality award winning classics…but they provided an escape that I needed. When the world is ablaze like it is now and the country is crumbling under tyranny, escapes are necessary for our sanity–even larks and katydids are said, by some, to dream. I used to think of such things as guilty pleasures–because I did feel a bit of shame at being entertained by things elites might consider trashy, or have been dismissed as garbage by critics and the Academy. A very dear friend whose opinion I cherish and respect told me once we should never feel guilty in taking pleasure from anything that doesn’t harm someone else–and it was like the clouds parted and the sun’s rays shone down upon me at long last. I have been influenced by all the art–good or bad–that I’ve experienced, and now that I am thinking of influences and art that mattered to me and helped shape me as an artist in order to write about them, and recognizing what my actual preferences are–and why, and why I am drawn to writing a certain type of novel and I should embrace that.

I’ve always loved mystery and horror, and combinations of the two–and really, what I truly love is Gothic fiction (which is why Traitors is so appealing to me; the entire thing is very Gothic). I often admit to writers like John D. Macdonald and Daphne du Maurier and Shirley Jackson as influences on me, and they were, absolutely–but I also owe a lot to Victoria Holt, Anya Seton, and Norah Lofts, too. Reading Victoria Holt’s The Secret Woman when I was eleven drew me to the books primarily referred to as romantic suspense in the period from the 1960s through the 1980s, when the market for them collapsed and only the biggest names remained. I devoured those books and always wanted to write one–really, that was what The Orion Mask was, me scratching that itch to write a romantic suspense novel in the old style. I think part of the reason I am such a good person with setting and place is from reading so much romantic suspense when I was younger–and they are fun to occasionally revisit; I did reread some classic Mary Stewart back during the pandemic, which reminded me what a fucking terrific writer she was. Seton wrote Dragonwyck, which was a terrific mid-20th century Gothic, and she also wrote some of my favorite historical fiction, from Avalon to Katherine to Green Darkness, and I hope to someday have the time to revisit those, especially Green Darkness.

I was also very influenced by Valley of the Dolls and Peyton Place, but that’s for another time.

Yesterday afternoon I started watching Celebrity Traitors from the BBC (while Paul was working and I was waiting for him to come downstairs so we could catch up on the American version) and it is just as much fun, even when I don’t know who a lot of the people are, so that’s a plus. Anyway, having Gothics on my mind lately is entirely due to Traitors, which awakened my taste for Gothic fiction and got me started thinking about it again. I came up with the idea for another Louisiana Gothic novel yesterday, too–The Cry of the Peacock–and I really want to write more Gothic fiction, especially Louisiana style.

And all this racism with parade krewes? Now I am thinking about setting another Scotty during Carnival. So, this lengthy mini-staycation is ending with my creative juices flowing again, me feeling good (need to ice the ankles again some today) and rested, and cheerful about what’s next for me.

I hear the bands passing down at the corner, which means Zulu is here. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be here again tomorrow morning, for an Ash Wednesday blog.

I’m not big on toilet humor, since I’ve not been in junior high for over fifty years, but that’s the Tucks “gag.” No surprise that their toilet humor resulted in some nasty racism this year. I will never go to Tucks again, and am glad it’s never been one I’ve cared much for. Remember Nyx, you stupid racist fucks? Henceforth, I will only refer to them as Sucks.
  1. Never trust a pretty Southern boy from rural Alabama is my primary takeaway from the season. ↩︎

Escape from Berlin

It’s Lundi Gras morning, with my favorite parade–Orpheus1–rolling tonight, and I have two more days before returning to work. I am enjoying this little mini-vacation very much. My Achilles tendons are still a bit sore, so after I get home from the errands I have to run this morning, I am in for the day until Orpheus arrives tonight–unless it rains. It looks a bit gloomy outside the windows, if I am being totally honest. It does happen–and it’s been a hot minute since it’s rained, you know? I slept really well the last two nights, and I feel pretty good. I think another easy day of reading and hanging out around the house while doing some chores sounds lovely. I also spent most of yesterday off-line, and that was marvelous. I like that I am spending less and less time on social media. The world is burning, and doomscrolling isn’t much help with that, you know?

We made art during HIV/AIDS, didn’t we?

I did wake up early yesterday after a lovely night’s sleep, and had a pretty good day around the house. I emptied the dishwasher and ran it again, did some straightening up and organizing around here, and had the pairs figure skating short program on the television while I finished reading The Secret of Hangman’s Inn, and started reading another old series book, The Egyptian Cat Mystery, a Rick Brant science adventure. (Rick Brant is another one of my favorites.) I am going to try to read some of the Eli Cranor today, with some more of the Brant, too. I think I may also start Sarah Weinman’s Without Consent as well. I think going forward I will stick with the three–a new fiction read, a reread, and a nonfiction–going forward is my reading plan. I do need to start reading voraciously again; I miss it. I also need to write about Hangman’s Inn. I also managed to send out another promotional newsletter about Hurricane Season Hustle, which you can read by clicking here.

If the weather does hold and my ankles feel okay, I may take a walk later today to get some pictures of the bead trees blooming and all the debris along the sidewalk and in the trees. I feel rested, and Sparky was very cuddly this morning under my warm pile of blankets in the bed. I want to do some writing today, but I may not; it depends on how I feel when I get home from the errands.

We binged more of season four of The Traitors, and I love everything about this show. I cannot believe none of y’all told me I needed to watch this show. I mean, it checks ALL my boxes–murders, pettiness, camp, a castle, robes with cowls, lanterns and torches and executioners! Alan Cumming is having the best time camping it up as the host–and there are some iconic lines on this show; currently my favorite is “snatched tighter than a housewife’s jawline.” And there are three previous seasons to catch up on! It’s all so deliciously Gothic, which I love. We have one more episode from this season before we are caught up, and we’ll probably watch that either tonight or tomorrow; I’m sure Paul has to work, and I know he has his trainer today, too. I should be able to get some reading and writing done today, and today I can finish the floors–which I’ve put off all weekend.

The emails can wait until Wednesday, seriously.

And on that note, I am going to go get cleaned up so I can run my errands. Have a lovely Lundi Gras Monday wherever you may be, Constant Reader, and I will be back tomorrow for Fat Tuesday.

Alice

Iris Saturday, and it’s sunny with blue skies outside my windows this morning. It was a beautiful day. yesterday. I ran my errands after my meeting before coming back home and working until it was time for me to call it a day and start doing things around here. I did get the laundry finished, and the dishwasher is running (I meant to run it overnight but forgot), and the apartment is a bit of a mess, but I am taking today off from worrying about doing anything other than maybe doing some cleaning. Today is also the anniversary of Mom’s death (it’s been three years already) and I hate not being able to meet Dad up in Alabama this weekend, but that was just how everything shook out. I hate that she died on Valentine’s Day and Carnival always is around that dark anniversary, too.

Well, I guess I could just say I hate that she died.

I did watch Ilia Malinin and the men’s figure skating yesterday, and my heart broke a bit for the young man…and the pressure and everything is precisely why they should have sent him to Beijing four years ago instead of replacing him in the spot he earned for Jason Brown. (Don’t get me wrong, I do love Jason and his skating, but strategically it was an incredibly stupid self-inflicted wound by US Figure Skating. Congrats, how did that bad decision work out for everyone? I said it was a mistake at the time and got swarmed by Jason’s fans–hope you’re all happy!) I also remember that the same thing happened to Nathan Chen at his first Olympics, too, in 2018, before he won gold in 2022. And there are any number of great figure skating icons with no gold medal–and some with no Olympic medal at all. But Ilia handled the enormous disappointment with incredible sportsmanship and grace; amazing for a twenty-one year old with every camera lens in the world on him. I’m still incredibly proud of him and he still has an incredibly bright future–and there’s also no reason he can’t do another two Olympics, either. (Still bitter about the ice dance robbery.)

And how wonderful for that young man from Kazakhstan, Mikhail Shaidorov, who came out of nowhere and won the gold medal. What a delightful Olympic moment! It was fun whenever they’d cut over to him after someone’s score was posted and he was still in first place and it would hit him–I was pulling for him to medal, and the progression of watching him was this: Oh my God I’m getting an Olympic medal to oh my God I’m getting the silver medal to holy shit, I won the Olympics. I hope this means a secure financial future of touring and doing shows and so forth.; his life changed forever yesterday for the better. That’s one of the things I love about the Olympics, you know? Someone can go from being a nobody to a global superstar in one day.

We watched the LSU-Auburn Gymnastics meet last night, and after a wobbly-seeming start (to me) they roared back to the highest score of the season for any team and they left points on the board on several routines. The floor exercise was insane; the lowest score, the one they dropped? 9.925! They tied a school record on the floor exercise rotation and I’ve never seen such stuck landings from forward tumbling in my years of watching gymnastics, going back to Munich in 1972.

I also made notes on some short stories I am working on; my mind was kind of scattered yesterday; I didn’t even realize yesterday was Friday the 13th! It was a nice relaxing day of trying to get rested for today’s Iris parade so I can be out there for as long as I can. I doubt I’ll make it to Tucks; and I am not walking down to Harmony Circle for Endymion; I’ve not seen Endymion in years. I may wonder out tomorrow to check out Thoth and maybe take some pictures of the crowd–Thoth is very popular, as is Bacchus tomorrow night–but will most likely spend the day doing things around here.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines to read for a bit before I get cleaned up and Iris arrives. See you tomorrow!

Fitness instructor and swimsuit/underwear model Dave Rich of the UK. Pretty face, too.

Ooh My Love

Friday morning post-Muses work at home Friday! The streak continues for at least another year, as Paul got a lovely rainbow-hued shoe last night. It was a gorgeous night to be out on the parade route, but alas–I was very tired since I got up at six, and everything kind of ached. I came back inside after the shoe was achieved, but Paul went back out there while I fell asleep in my easy chair. Sparky let me sleep in this morning, and he was curled up into a ball, purring, between my shoulder and my head, which kept me there even longer because who doesn’t want to cuddle with a warm, purring kitty? It was fun being out there on the parade route–I may save my energy for tomorrow’s Iris/Tucks madness and skip out on tonight’s parades–but it was fun watching people and seeing all the fun costumes. I feel good this morning–a bit creaky as always, but rested, which is a vast improvement, you know? I have work to do today and I have a couple of errands to run, but I think I am going to try to read and clean the apartment once my work is done. I still have the bulk paper towels from Costco away, laundry to do, and of course, the floors. I also need to prune the books some while I am at it. The men’s Olympic figure skating final is today, too–so will probably have that on while I do chores around the house.

And maybe I’ll even do some writing today, stranger things have happened, after all. I also want to make potato leek soup this afternoon–and definitely need to organize the refrigerator/freezer. But right now I am sipping my first cup of coffee and have already scarfed down coffee cake, but am still hungry. I wasn’t hungry yesterday and didn’t really do more than snack after I got home from work yesterday. I did do some chores when I got home yesterday afternoon, but it was Thursday and I was tired, so I just kind of chilled and watched the Olympics for a while, before falling down into a news wormhole on Youtube before it was time to head out for the parade. I don’t have to work again (after today) until Ash Wednesday, so hopefully this sort of mini-vacation (I also only have to work three days next week) will help me get rested up and help me get my act together; a Greg at rest tends to stay at rest, so I need to avoid the siren song of my easy chair and Sparky.

Easier said than done, frankly.

But one never knows. I am going to have some things delivered today so I don’t have to go out into the madness and try to find parking and all of that mess–and then I won’t have to leave the house again until Monday, if then–although I should head uptown and get the mail Monday morning and do whatever I need to get done around town that morning since I won’t be able to get out of the neighborhood all day on Mardi Gras.

Okay, had a meeting and ran an errand and now I am back here, resting before I dive back into my work-at-home duties. I feel good, having had enough coffee and had a few things to eat, so my blood sugar went back up again. I don’t feel physically tired, despite running an errand, and I have some soreness still in my Achilles tendons, but I am going to ice them this afternoon while doing my work at home duties. I think that will help me with being out there for Iris tomorrow morning/early afternoon. It’s kind of grayish outside today, but not chilly; we’re supposed to get some rain over the weekend , too; I hope it holds off until after Tucks, at any rate.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, everyone, and I’ll return in the morning again–see if I don’t!

Muses bathtub and rubber duckies!

Two Kinds of Love

Muses Thursday! Happy shoe day to you, and you, and you! There are three parades tonight down the Avenue–Chaos followed by Babylon followed by Muses–and we will see if we can keep our 16 year streak of getting at least one shoe. I’ll probably be a bit tired by the time Muses gets to the corner–I am leaving the office early again today–so I can ice my ankles and hips before the parades, and rest and relax. There’s no figure skating to watch today for the Olympics (more on that later) so I can get some things done today and maybe be productive (maybe not); we’ll see how things shake out. I slept really well, which is always a plus, and my legs aren’t very tired, the Achilles tendons are still making their complaints known, if not as urgently as before. I also need to organize both the refrigerator and the freezer, because it’s out of control after going to Costco and making groceries.

Yesterday turned out to be a very good day. The weather was lovely, and we had some slight sprinkles of rain throughout the day, so the air was cool and damp. I left the office early (parade street closings; will be leaving even earlier today) and made groceries on the way home. There wasn’t much traffic on the way home, so the slalom course on St. Charles was much more fun to navigate (why people slow down to five miles per hour to drive around the barriers is a mystery to me; when no one is in front of you, you can go through it at about 20 mph and it’s like a Grand Prix) than usual and then I was home. I did a lot of chores, watched the disgraceful judging of the ice dance, and did even more chores. I was so pissed at the ice dancing (more on that later) I didn’t even want to finish watching Glitter and Gold, which I will probably never finish–but I can also always skip over the #metoo team parts, can’t I?

I saw an ad yesterday for a touring musical coming to the Saenger (I think)–an adaptation of The Great Gatsby. Seriously, who asked for this? It just seems to me that the story isn’t strong enough to carry a musical, nor can I think (I don’t think in terms of music or songs, sadly) of any potential songs that could be added to enhance and improve on the story.

I have now read The Great Gatsby at least four times throughout my life, and to this day I don’t understand why everyone loves it so much; I’ve never understood it, and my antipathy to this so-called Great American Novel goes all the way back to being forced to read it for a Lit class when I was a sophomore in high school. That class was responsible for me always feeling out of step with the Literary Academy and its holy gods and saints. (I was also introduced to Hemingway in that class, and I’ve never read any other Hemingway because I hated both A Farewell to Arms and The Old Man and the Sea–the sharks! The sharks!) It always puzzled me, but I hated being forced to read something because reading, for me, was always a joyous experience. Having to read something for a grade was an entirely different matter. The first books I was assigned to read were in junior high. I didn’t mind Sterling North’s Rascal, about a pet raccoon, but absolutely loathed The Adventures of Tom Sawyer with the white hot passion of a dozen burning suns. As someone who was just a few years older than Tom at the time of the story–I don’t remember how old he was; I’ve pretty much blocked out all my memories of the book I hated it so much–I didn’t think he was amusing or funny; I thought he was an asshole, someone I wouldn’t want to know, and would probably grow up to be an asshole. It was such an unpleasant experience that I developed an antipathy to Twain (I also hated the story about the jumping frogs) that kept me from reading him until my late twenties, when I decided to give him another try–and enjoyed his other work tremendously. There was an essay he wrote about becoming a steamboat pilot on the river, included in Life on the Mississippi, that has always stuck with me; I may have had to read it in high school or college, but I loved the essay so much that it did lead me back to reading Twain.

I went back to The Great Gatsby three more times over the course of my life and I hated it every single time I read it. I kept thinking, what am I missing here? These people are all awful and terrible; was that the point? They weren’t even interesting. I even read other Fitzgerald novels, and failed to see the genius every time. If forced to pick a favorite, I would say This Side of Paradise, if pressed–and I wouldn’t give it another read, either. Rebecca is a much more interesting take on the awful people of the upper class. Hell, Saltburn was a better take; so was Dynasty, for that matter.

And Fitzgerald has nothing on the Real Housewives.

Ironically, a writing teacher recommended I read Faulkner, As I Lay Dying to be exact, and that led me to Sanctuary and Light in August and The Sound and the Fury; and of course, I love “A Rose for Emily” because it was such a perfect capture of small rural Southern town dynamics. Every Southern town had a Miss Emily, didn’t they?

Hilariously, I’ve always considered myself to be dramatically under-educated in classic literature, but as I was thinking about this last night I realized that isn’t the case; I am self-educated in classic literature, and that always subconsciously fueled an insecurity about myself as a writer and as a reader because I did so poorly in college…and I need to get it through my head and into my subconscious that college failed me, not the other way around. I also need to get out of my own way with ambitions and goals and bury self-deprecation once and for all.

I am not going to talk about the figure skating judging farce from yesterday because I am still bitter and angry about the rewarding of the “#metoo” couple from France. Figure skating still has a lot of issues, and this was an incredibly glaring example. I will discuss this when I am more calm about it and can be rational and logical (the French team currently is “Abuser and the Rape Apologist” in my head). There was also some farcical bordering on insane judging in the team event, too. How did Ilia Malinin place second in the short? #madness.

And on that note, I am going to forget about Olympic medal-fixing for now and focus on tonight’s shoe. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I will be back tomorrow with a report on Muses…if I am not too tired to go out tonight.

Fire Burning

Wednesday Pay-the-Bills Day, and the parades start up again tonight with Alla and Druids. We’re busy this morning in the clinic, but I should be able to get my work done before I leave early today so I can get home and park the car within a mile of the house. First world problems, right? At worst I’d have to park at Coliseum Square, a whopping two blocks from the house. The horror!

This is kind of like when your biggest problem is choosing between a mimosa or a Bellini for brunch. The struggle is real! Oh, no, I may have to walk longer than I do usually!

I have to say, though, being trapped at home for the entire weekend sounds both magical and delightful. Watch some Olympics, hang around the house, wander to the corner to check out the parades, icing my ankles…yes, it does sound magical, doesn’t it? I may even be able to get some reading done over the lengthy weekend. I have Monday off, because Orpheus, so I can run errands when I get up that morning, replenish whatever needs replenishing, and so on. I will definitely be able to get some writing and reading done on Fat Tuesday, since I won’t be leaving the house.

We went to Costco last night after I got off work, since we wouldn’t be able to go again until after Mardi Gras. Costco, as always, was a bit exhausting, I must confess. There weren’t many people there, so we were able to get in and out relatively quickly and unscathed. I ran into Wacky Russian there–he works there now–and it was lovely to see him. But once the car was unloaded and everything (mostly) put away, I was worn out so I just collapsed into my easy chair and watched some of yesterday’s Olympic figure skating before retiring to bed. I slept well, my ankles don’t feel too bad this morning, and I get to leave work early because of living inside the box. I slept really well last night, too–must have been the Costco exhaustion. My body feels rested this morning, but the Achilles twins are protesting this morning a bit, and my legs feel a bit tired, but my mind is alert and I don’t think this is going to be one of those “so tired I’m spacy” days. Checking my time sheet, I get to leave at 1:30 this afternoon, so maybe I should make a minor grocery run on the way home. I get to leave at 12:30 tomorrow, and maybe that would be the better day? I’m not sure. I don’t have time this morning to see if we need anything, so maybe it should wait till tomorrow? Decisions, decisions, decisions. I could also wait until Friday morning and run them early. Sigh. I will even get home in time to watch the ice dancing final today. Woo-hoo! It’s also going to be in the upper seventies with a slight chance of rain today–we may get some thunderstorms over the weekend, which could be a major parade bummer…I wonder if they’ll roll anyway? Hard to say, really.

Probably the best part of yesterday was writing over a thousand words written on the short story yesterday, which was very pleasing. It started flowing, but I also was spending too much time agonizing over what to write next and structure and so forth–I need to remember that I just need to regurgitate everything as I write the first draft and then concern myself with fixing and strengthening the story in the next draft. It did feel quite marvelous to be writing fiction again, even if it’s something for a charity anthology call that doesn’t pay–there’s a reason I still have a full-time job, after all.

We also watched the second episode of Glitter and Gold, and it served to only deepen my loathing for the French team. I love Chock and Bates, and would be so delighted to see them win the gold medal to became one of, if not the greatest, American ice dance teams ever. I guess I’ll see when I get home.

ANd on that note, I am going to heat up my breakfast sandwich and head into the spice mines. See you again tomorrow morning, for the Muses day blog.

I don’t think Scott Glenn ever got enough credit for his looks. I could be wrong.

Whole Lotta Trouble

Tuesday in the Lost Apartment, and a lovely day was had by all yesterday. Today is MY PUBLICATION DATE FOR HURRICANE SEASON HUSTLE!!! Woo-hoo! Honestly, sometimes I thought that book would be the death of me, my writing career, or both. (It’s a lengthy story I’ve bored you with many times already, Constant Reader, and won’t again.) But now it’s out and I get to be happy for a little while before the reviews start coming in.

And no, I don’t read the reviews. Anywhere. I don’t mind bad reviews as long as they are thoughtfully critical; give me something I can use to improve my writing, thank you. But I have no patience for people who just want to score points off authors–or use their reviews to avenge themselves for some perceived slight, and that has happened to me more than once. It’s one of those things I never forget, you know? I remember my editor sending me a bad review copy with a post-it note attached with the words this one reeks with the stench of failed author–something I’ve kept in mind ever since. One of the reasons I don’t review books negatively or to score points off someone I dislike is because who has the fucking time? There are better uses of my time, and I’d rather not write something negative as an author, especially about another author, no matter how awful they are (I do always make an exception for Stephenie Meyer, though. She deserves far worse). If I genuinely hate a book that much I usually don’t finish it, and why talk about it? I’d rather uplift other authors and talk about books I loved, you know? Doesn’t that make more sense? I love books, I love to read, and I appreciate the work any author puts into writing a book.

At the very least, it’s a big commitment of time and work–and it isn’t easy for anyone.

I felt pretty good yesterday. My Achilles tendons felt sore by the end of the shift again, so I iced them when I got home (as well as other places that were sore and achy) and woke up this morning feeling pretty good physically, for a change. I hope it lasts! Yesterday was lovely, temperature wise, and I ran errands on my way home–mail, prescription, made groceries–and tonight we are going to Costco after I get off work, which I assume means I will be terribly tired when I get home and put everything away. Oh, well. I don’t work full days the rest of the week, as tomorrow night the parades start up again and I have to leave work early. Friday I work at home, Monday I took off, and Tuesday of course is a holiday. Tomorrow is also a “pay the bills Wednesday,” too. All kinds of things going on around here, right? I even managed to work on my short story yesterday and got another hundred words down. The writing is still very slow going, but something is better than nothing, or so I’ve always believed. Besides, it’s Carnival and it’s hard to do anything during the parade season, even on the days when there are no parades because scheduling life around the parades is exhausting in and of itself. I’m hoping after tonight there won’t be any need to make groceries unless I run out of something–hopefully nothing I can’t get by walking to the corner Walgreens, since the car won’t move from Thursday afternoon till Monday morning, if not later. I don’t know if I will go out for parades on Wednesday night, but I definitely will go out for Muses on Thursday night. I love me some Muses. I may be out on Friday night, too, for d’Etat and everything else, but for sure I will be out for Iris this Saturday and Orpheus on Monday night. Bacchus is always a zoo, and so I’ll most likely skip that one.

Parade planning!

I think we’re finally going to get rid of all the beads in the house and utilize Paul’s toy chest for blankets and pillows or something. I love catching throws, but it’s all just stuff to add to the already heavily cluttered apartment. I am very proud of the fact that we’ve been clearing stuff out in the last six months, but we’ve barely scratched the surface–but it’s already looking neater and tidier. Huzzah! Maybe this will turn out to be the year that I clean out the attic! Woo-hoo! Stranger things have happened, after all.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I will be back in the morning!

Uncaught beads end up as parade debris!

Has Anyone Ever Written Anything For You?

Tonight, Oshun and Cleopatra roll down St. Charles Avenue to kick off the Uptown parade season, and I will be trapped in my neighborhood tonight through Sunday night. Next week is the true insanity, beginning on Wednesday and going for almost a week. Yay for Carnival! I have a shit ton of things to do today, personally and professionally, so it’s going to be an interesting all-over-the-place kind of day. I’m meeting a friend for dinner at five fifteen, and will have to walk about six blocks to get there, but that’s not a big deal so long as my Achilles tendons don’t get out of control. I just need to keep my wits about me today, not get distracted, and keep nose affixed firmly to grindstone or else the day will go completely off the rails–which nobody wants or needs. I also have a meeting this morning and lots of work-at-home duties to get done today. AUGH. A busy busy day for me, and not off to a good start, as I didn’t get up early but lolled in bed late.

It didn’t rain on Wednesday night, so I didn’t feel as deeply rested yesterday morning as I had Wednesday morning. Maybe I should get one of those rain sound machines to sleep with? I don’t know if the noise will be as effective with the chilly wet air, though. I used to have easy listening CD’s a hundred years ago–morning rain, forest, waterfall, etc.–but don’t think I ever used them. It also didn’t rain last night, either–and the sun is very bright this morning. It’s about forty-eight degrees outside, which isn’t terrible. I am not certain if I’ll go out to the corner tonight or not–will depend, actually, on how tired I am when I get home from dinner. But for now, I just had some toast and finished my first cup of coffee and am feeling pretty good–so we’ll see how it all goes, won’t we?

Maybe the saddest thing that happened this week was the death knell of a once-great urban newspaper, the Washington Post. Nowhere in anything I read about this latest butchering of the paper did anyone note that there was a lot of backlash to the Post after Jeff Bezos cancelled the paper’s endorsement of Kamala Harris because his fellow pedophile and favored candidate wouldn’t like it. I recently subscribed to the Post–despite my disapproval of them, it was a good deal and they had book coverage, sports coverage, and recipes–and got a great deal at ninety-nine cents per month for digital access, so I figured a dollar wasn’t much to give them, and would cancel when that rate lapsed and went back to normal. It sure didn’t take long for them to make my dollar a waste of money, did they? I also didn’t see anyone else drawing a line from Watergate to right-wing hatred of the Post and this final vengeance for taking down Nixon. (Likewise, they’ve also managed to neuter the New York Times and CBS; the Times reported on the Pentagon Papers, and CBS opposed Vietnam. Conservatives are nothing if not vengeful and vindictive, and can carry a grudge for a very long time.) I had misgivings when Bezos bought the Post, but it took him ten years to take an Elon Musk-like chainsaw to the Post. He’s a monster. I wonder how many kids he raped on Epstein Island? You know he was there.

I think the funniest thing to be about all of this is that the Chatelaine of Castle TERF is in the files. That’s right, that bigoted old bitch who “wants to protect girls and women” is in the Epstein files and was buddy-buddy with him. I knew her fascination with the genitals of children had a much darker origin. Maybe she hates trans kids because she wants to know what genitals they have without checking before molesting them? Yeah, she wraps her bigotry in piety but when you’re friends with the biggest pedophile and sex-trafficker on the planet? Miss me with your concerns about women and children, bitch. The irony that she happily climbed in bed with the Christofascists who’d tried to get her “satanic” books banned and removed from libraries is equally delicious. She jumped into bed with the actual pedophiles and hung around with Epstein. So much for any moral authority she tries to claim. She hates queer people and loves pedophiles. Quite frankly, she deserves worse.

It’s easy to see why religions like Christianity have taken hold–because its basic message is one of elitism and exclusion: we’re going to heaven. Plus, there is nothing fair in this world and there is rarely any justice, so how do the rich and powerful keep the poor and the working class from revolting and guillotining them all? Give them a religion that promises every gets what they deserve in the next world with no proof! It’s easy to see why faith became so popular in the old days–don’t worry about no justice on earth–they’ll get it after they die is some impressive gaslighting, maybe the greatest example of it in history. There was a reason the French Revolution didn’t target ust the upper class–they also targeted the Catholic Church and abolished religion (which often gets left out of the lesson). The promise of the afterlife enables the rich and the powerful to do whatever they please, no matter how heinous, because well, God will send them to hell.

The Olympics have already started, and some of the team figure skating competition has begun, with a good showing by the US team so far, which is very cool. I don’t know how much of the Olympics I’ll be able to actually watch–there are two parades tonight, six tomorrow, and three or four on Sunday. I have to run errands this afternoon so I can get them out of the way because I won’t be able to do much driving after four tonight until Sunday night/Monday morning.

I actually worked on my dystopian story yesterday and it started flowing easily–probably because it isn’t hard to imagine an American dystopia in the near future. But it also felt good to be writing again, and that’s always a good thing. Hopefully I’ll be able to get it finished this weekend.

And speaking of the Epstein files, someone gathered the Epstein emails as an easily searchable Gmail inbox. Just click and you can see if your favorite oligarch or celebrity is there!

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow.

Seriously, no one does parade floats quite like New Orleans krewes.

If I Were You

Wednesday! We have almost made it to the weekend…and parade season. I don’t know why I bother thinking I can get anything done during the parade days. We’re going to try to make a Costco run on Friday and get back home before the streets close; I also have dinner plans and will have to walk there. I slept really well last night, as I was very tired when I got off from work and after running errands on my way home from the office. It’s raining–supposed to clear by nine, with no more rain for the rest of the day, and we’re back to normal February weather after the rain ends–fifties and sixties for the first parade weekend. I think the rain had something to do with the good, deep sleep, because rain always makes me sleep deeply. But I am awake, feel rested, and that’s good. I dragged some yesterday, hitting a wall in the afternoon so had to fight the urge to not run the errands after work, but I somehow managed. But it was a pretty good day at work, I stayed current on everything and caught up on a few things. I even forced myself to finish the laundry and get to work on the dishes, but forgot to run the dishwasher before i went up to bed, so will turn it on when I head out to the office.

It’s weird to feel so awake and rested in the middle of the week, but we’ll see if I can make it through the day without hitting a wall, won’t we?

But I picked up an insane amount of prescriptions yesterday, and we had a lot of mail, too. My injectable medication arrived, so I got it home and refrigerated. We watched His and Hers, and a lot of the news, to get a grasp on what is going on. the country and it seems almost completely insane–but it has for many, many years. It is interesting watching white people wake up to the hell they’ve wrought upon us all. I particularly enjoyed watching one Chad Watts of Kyle, Texas, getting his ass kicked by kids he attacked yesterday–he naturally went nowhere near the boys, the BIG MAN got out of his truck, pushed a girl down and started swinging on another. The girls were handling themselves well by beating the snot out of him, but their fellow protesters were NOT TODAY SATAN NOT TODAY and turned Mr. Big Man–who clearly only attacks those he perceives as weaker–into a fucking example. Generation Z and Alpha are not having it, and I am with them. These are the kids who’ve grown up since babyhood aware that the rest of the country was perfectly fine with them being slaughtered at school, so are we really surprised they learned run, hide, fight in kindergarten? An adult comes for a group of kids, they are ALL going to come for you because that’s what our gun culture required them to be taught as soon as they could walk. So, seeing a pro-gun MAGA getting his ass kicked by a group of high school kids around the age of fourteen? Chef’s kiss, no notes. These kids have spent their entire lives being wary of being shot in class and you think they’re going to be right wing? Their future has also been throttled, we’re busy polluting the world they have to live in (not to mention all the climate change stuff), and they are aware they may never own a house, have a career, or a family because of the world the previous generation has left for them.

Funny how “but the children”” not only doesn’t apply to making sure they have clean water, healthy food, or clean air to breathe, but their futures. But then the “but the children” people don’t think pedophilia is a un-crossable line, either–despite their trying to blame all queer people for it, right, Chaya, you fucking syphilitic skank? How DO you feel about being played for a fool these last ten years, or let me guess–you’re ploughing ahead with full steam despite the truth slapping you repeatedly in your hideously evil face. I really do need to kill her off in a book soon, don’t I?

Hmmm.

I did actually finish and send out a newsletter yesterday (you can read it here, if you like), about putting together the Scotty Bible to help with continuity issues with the series. I want to do two more, with the second going out on release day (February 10, for the record) and the other maybe between now and then. I did work on my short story a bit yesterday, too, so I am getting back in the saddle of slow going again. Anything, however, is better than nothing.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Hope your Wednesday is marvelous as you are, Constant Reader, and I’ll be here again tomorrow morning.

New Orleans really spoils us when it comes to parades. Every other parade now seems dull and pointless.