Category: social media

I Love the Nightlife

I also love to boogie–especially in the disco round, oh yeah, baby.

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment after kind of a nice, slow and easy day around here. Paul stayed up late working so pretty much slept the entire day away again, and I myself got up late yesterday, too. I didn’t mind, even though I was a little perturbed that I got up so late. But I had a nice morning. I did some things I needed to do and cleaned and organized some more, and I got up pretty early this morning, too. I don’t know how motivated I feel today, but I am hopefully going to get some good writing work done this morning so I can spend the afternoon reading. Sounds like a winner to me. We did finish catching up with Reacher, Abbott Elementary, and Prime Target last night, too. Tomorrow I get to report to Criminal Court for jury duty in Mid-city, so I will be finding out what’s going on with that. I’m hoping to be dismissed before parade days start; I’d rather go to the office and leave early than try to get home at five from Criminal Court in Midcity, which would probably require taking I-10/90, getting off at Tchoupitoulas, and doubling back from there with no place to park. Ah, well, this too shall pass, and as a crime writer, it’s always interesting to see how criminal court–or courts in general–operate up close and personal.

It’s gray outside, and rain is expected, which should put a damper on any and all parades today. There are no night parades, so technically I could make a grocery run after King Arthur ends, but I doubt I’ll want to be out and about at that time anyway. I do have all kinds of things to do today–I want to spend the morning writing and the afternoon reading, if at all possible. It’s always so nice to curl up in my chair with a blanket and read while it’s raining, you know? I like feeling snug and cozy; which is why I am so particular about sleep arrangements. Want to know something weird about me? I sleep with four blankets, because that’s enough weight to make me feel snug and comfortable. I have a soft wool one on the bottom and one really velvety soft one on the top. I need two pillows, always, and also need the ceiling fan on and a little personal fan on my nightstand going. Weird? Just a little bit. But I think we all have things that we do, little rituals, that bring us comfort and joy. Just me? Probably. I always default to me not being normal, I suppose; the product of my youth. Thanks, bully trash!

I did work on an essay yesterday a bit, one called “Try That in a Small Town.” I started writing it when the Jason Aldean nonsense happened last summer, because that “real America” bullshit has always, always pissed me off; and essentially has always been used to demonize cities–you know, the economic engines that fucking drive the country–and reassure provincial types who stay in rural areas that they are more important than the city dwellers. This of course goes back to the lies that were always told to encourage immigration when white people felt the need to “fill the continent” with white people while exterminating the natives. You can be free, you can own land and property, you can prosper because the government will leave you alone to do as you please and not restrict your freedoms. No, the rich people needed more consumers, and they also needed population in the “empty” territories to produce and buy. The United States has always been expansionist; even the Founding Fathers assumed more states would be formed out of native land, after they were pushed out. Anyway, I actually lived in a very small town in a very rural county in an underpopulated state for five horrible years–and I will dispute to my dying breath this notion that small towns are the “real America” (fuck you again and again with razor wire, Sarah Palin)…because everyone acts like they’re like Mayberry when they are really Peyton Place–horribly judgmental with lots of cruel gossip and backstabbing, and the sexual perversions of these “good meat-and-potatoes Americans” not even Grace Metalious could have dreamed up–and Peyton Place was nothing more than a novelization of things she witnessed and experienced in a small town. It always infuriates me, you know, to hear this “real America” shit. Try to make it without Chicago, New York, LA, Boston, and San Francisco. The fucking economy would crater in about two seconds. But…cities are usually Democratic strongholds, so they must be demonized, always.

And there’s the rain! I knew it was coming. It’s just a drizzle but it’s enough for the gutter to drip water on the cat enclosure just outside my laundry room–and it’s only raining on that side of the house. This happens here a lot–it can be raining on one block but not the next; one part of the city can be getting a flooding rain while it’s sunny and bright in another–but I don’t remember the last time it only rained on the other side of the house. New Orleans, always so bizarre.

It also seems that the American people are getting fed up with what’s going on in Washington, and they are starting to push back. I’ve progressed beyond FAFO, to be honest1; the danger to the country’s future is that strong that the mocking and pointing fingers and laughing and atonement can come after the threat has been overcome. I think this is the kind of lesson we needed to learn; we’ve always taken our system for granted and always assumed the government was stable and would hold–forever smug about governments toppling and falling in other countries while we remained stable. The problem is that stability was only achieved through horrific compromises…and human rights should never, ever, under any circumstance, be left to public or government whim. The seeds of self-destruction were planted in the Constitution with the compromise on enslavement. Senators used to be appointed by state legislatures, not the people. BUT it was also designed to be a living document, changed and amended over time to clear up inconsistencies and always, always, intended to protect the people from government overreach. I also agree with something I saw on social media yesterday–every elected official should be required to have regular town halls to meet with their constituents, and they also need to remember they were voted in to work for their district, not the president. Separate but equal branches of government means nothing when elected officials in Congress abdicate their roles for whatever reason.

And really, what is MAGA but the modern Confederacy? Yes, they are also Nazis…but remember–the Germans learned about how to deal with undesirable sub-populations by studying enslavement and Jim Crow. There’s your heritage, rednecks. You were Hitler’s blueprint. And weren’t plantations simply concentration/work camps with a nicer name?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning (or night).

  1. I’ve not, and never will, forgive MAGA voters, to be sure–just like I’ll never stop mentally dancing and pissing on Ronald and Nancy Reagan’s graves. But I can put that aside for now to overcome this threat. But there needs to be a reckoning–unlike after the Civil War and 1/6/20. ↩︎

(Our Love) Don’t Throw It All Away

A cold Saturday morning in the Lost Apartment. My doctor’s appointment went well–all my vitals were at appropriate levels, my lungs are clear, and all medications appear to be working properly, which is lovely. I came home from that appointment to do chores and make the house orderly before we headed out to Metairie for Paul’s appointment, after which we went to Costco. You know, for the first Friday of parade season, it wasn’t that terrible. It was crowded, yes, and there were times I had to wait for inconsiderate assholes who were blocking aisles thoughtlessly (a regular occurrence at the grocery store, a rarity for Costco) and the check out lines ferociously long, but it didn’t take us long to spend a shit load of money (Paul also ordered a new pair of glasses and our membership was also due for renewal). I was a bit concerned about parking when we got back, as it was closer to parade rolling time that I was comfortable with. I had noticed there were a lot of cars parking in the neighborhood–unusual–when I left for my appointment, and there was also a lot more traffic on the roads I usually traverse. Understandably, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to park within a mile of the house, but once we departed for Metairie/Costco I realized why everything was the way it was–they’ve turned the side of St. Charles people can drive down1 while parades are rolling into an obstacle course2. This is, I imagine, for crowd safety precautions after New Year’s, but damn…it’s going to make negotiating St. Charles and the neighborhood about ten times harder than it is usually is.

Thanks, asshole terrorist. I hope you’re roasting in hell like you deserve.

I also spent some time with Lev AC Rosen’s marvelous The Bell in the Fog, the second book in his Andy Mills detective series set in early 1950’s San Francisco. It’s an interesting period to read about: after the war but before Stonewall, when sodomy was still an enforceable crime and the hatred of queer people was so intense they were targeted mercilessly and no one fucking cared.3 Lev is a terrific writer–I loved Lavender House–and this one starts out really well. It’s very reminiscent of the old masters of crime/noir/hardboiled–Hammett, Chandler, Cain–which is why he gets nominated for awards so regularly.

I also have apparently sold another short story. I had sent something to an anthology at some point last year and completely forgot about it, to be honest; yesterday I got an apologetic email from (I guess? It has been a while) the editor saying they want it if it’s still available. That was a lovely bit of news, to go along with the terrific feedback from the other anthology that asked me for one. I am going to finish writing another one this weekend (if it kills me) so I can focus on finishing my book. I’d forgotten–as it has been a hot minute–how nice it is to get positive feedback from peers. And rather than questioning or explaining it away in my head (just being nice, etc etc), I decided to accept it and feel good about it, which is a lovely new approach to my career. In the moments when I allow myself to go down the natural path of current events (my publisher will get shut down, my books removed from the bookseller websites–it galls me that they’re on Target’s website, although they probably make very little me off me–and my career shut down completely in the de-queering of the country), I find it ironic that my stress, anxiety and depression didn’t allow me to ever enjoy my career very often, and that now I am finally beginning to enjoy myself and the nicer side of publishing/writing, it could all be stripped away from me. (For the record, straight people, losing our writing careers because of our sexual identity is something we have to think about all the time. Do you? So, fuck off with your I’m-an-ally-as-long-as-it’s-just-words-online bullshit. DO SOMETHING.)

But yes, I am feeling like I definitely need to get back to producing work, and that feels good for a change, you know?

Sparky also let me sleep late this morning, the little darling, and even curled up in the bed with me rather than trying to get me up. I think he waits for my alarm like Pavlov’s dog; I’ve trained him to react to the sound as well as his stomach. We watched LSU Gymnastics win at Kentucky last night, but they didn’t have a great meet–a bit of a letdown after defeating Oklahoma last week in Baton Rouge and a packed house–but it was fine; they hadn’t won in Lexington since 2016, and this year they did despite a bad meet. We then watched the premiere episode of Season Three of Reacher, which is based on one of my favorite Reacher novels, and am loving it. (I also like that his portrayer, Alan Ritchson–whom I’ve liked since I first noticed him on Smallville–is a devout Christian and not a cosplay one; he calls out the evangelicals and their false prophet regularly. He recently gave an interview to GQ in which he talked about Matt Gaetz, whom he went to high school with, and just ripped him to fucking shreds. You see? I don’t object to Christianity when people actually are real Christians.) We also watched some Arrested Development, too, before going to bed much later than we should have.

Overall, Friday was a pretty good day. I am going to get some reading and writing and cleaning done today–I need to unload the dishwasher and refill it at some point; and there’s always organizing and cleaning to get done. I also need to answer emails–I no longer have to stick to my old rule of “no emails on the weekend”–and I need to get some more newsletters written and finished to send. I’m trying hard to not deluge people with my newsletter; I am very prolific, as has been pointed out in the past repeatedly, and who wants to read my thoughts, views, and opinions on a daily basis? Even though I didn’t publish anything–not even a short story last year–I still produce a prodigious amount of writing all the time.

And on that note, I think I am going to head into the spice mines–more accurately, I am going to repair to my easy chair with my book for a while before I actually start getting things done around here–and I may be back later. I am trying not to do more than one post here per day…but anyway, have a lovely Saturday, and I’ll be right back here tomorrow.

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  1. I’ve always marveled that one side of the neutral ground is for the parades and the other side is open to traffic heading uptown. St. Charles is a major artery of the city, and they usually have to keep that side open because everything inside the parade is blocked off–and people do need to get uptown. Not really sure how this obstacle course drivers need to negotiate will work, or if they are going to take them down every night and put them back up again before the parades start–which means shutting St. Charles down for however long it takes to set up. Sigh. ↩︎
  2. I’ll try to get a picture of it at some point. ↩︎
  3. Straight people have always been awful, and the white ones the worst of all. ↩︎

Take Me Home

Tuesday morning and we made it through Monday. I was correct; after running errands yesterday I was very tired when I got home from work. I spent some time with Sparky and did some chores, but overall, didn’t do a lot once I got home. We did watch some Arrested Development, too, before I went to bed. It’s very cold again this morning, but I’ll just wear layers to work and it’s also super cool that I came home to a warm apartment yesterday (as opposed to how it felt when I got up yesterday morning in the bitter, bitter cold–okay, maybe I was the bitter one and not the cold). Tonight I have to get the mail on the way home, before settling in to get my chores done and maybe do some reading and writing. I feel like I’ve already acclimated back into my regular life, but it’s also still relatively early in the week. There’s no telling how I will feel by Thursday. And next week is jury duty, and this weekend is not only parades but rain, so not sure how that is going to go at all for parade season.

I did breakthrough yesterday on something I’m working on with a bunch of other writers (to be honest, I’ve done very little thus far and have basically been one of those who came along for the ride) and did the things I was supposed to have been doing mostly yesterday, and must say I was very pleased with the result. Huzzah! I felt very accomplished, I have to say; that’s been hanging over my head for months, and I’ve certainly been checked out since the election. I’m not sure that I’m checking back in completely–it’s kind of been nice staying insular in my own little world these past few months–and I do think, going forward, that some of the decisions I’ve made about my peace and peace of mind are going to be a definitive priority in my life. I don’t need people upsetting me and/or pissing me off, and the methodology I use for social media now–annoy me and you’re blocked–is going to be the foundation for dealing with people from now on. I used to let things slide with people, and it’s definitely worn me down and out with those folks…because they always get worse. So, yeah–no more Mr. Nice Gay.

And I am finished apologizing to other people for not living up to their expectations. That is your problem, and it’s never going to be mine. I disappointed you? That’s on you.

Just like I got tired of people telling me, in excruciating detail, of what a bad person I am and a terrible friend. Well, I never claimed to be anything other than who I am. You don’t like it? I don’t give a fuck.

We’ll see how long that lasts, won’t we?

Probably not long. I think sometimes I might have too much empathy? I mean, I feel bad for fictional characters that don’t exist, too.

But I am going to try to not let the bastards get me down, and I feel like the best way for me to fight back, given my old age, is to write. Writing is activism, and always should be. Writers have changed the world for the better–the writings of French philosophers about the ancien regime and its abuses eventually led to the French Revolution; Marx and Lenin also wrote manifestos; and that’s not taking into consideration all the writers who opposed tyranny and wrote about freedom and justice led to our own revolution–and the Civil War. I am not a journalist nor a political scientist nor a historian, but I’ve read enough history and followed politics (and the combination of the two) over the course of my life to understand where all this bullshit we’re dealing with originally came from1, and while I am certain, better analysis of things would come from experts in that field…but I can write about them as a citizen, what I think about these issues and why, can’t I?

And I could never be as entirely wrong about everything as MAGAs and Andrew Sullivan.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be here again tomorrow morning.

  1. Helpful hint: remember how Hilary Rodham Clinton was mocked for talking about a “vast right-wing conspiracy” in the 1990s? Once again, she was right–and had people listened to her maybe we wouldn’t be where we are, here today. ↩︎

I Just Wanna Stop

Tuesday and Payday Eve. I woke up this morning around four thirty–that sense that something was off, somehow; I glanced at my clock and it was dark. Paul was listening to music on his phone and working on his laptop–and had a candle lit. Yes, the power was out, so when I did get up there was no coffee for me, I had to pack my lunch in the dark as well as get dressed in the dark, and the lack of coffee doesn’t bode well for the rest of the day, either. I was correct about being tired when I got off work and ran my errands; I was incorrect about traffic on the way to run my errands. 10 was backed up the worst I’d ever seen it, but this was due to an accident and not just heavy traffic. Once I got past the accident–it was in the center lane, just past the Orleans Avenue on-and-off ramps–it was clear sailing all the way onto the ramp to Claiborne Avenue, and it was smooth and easy after that. I worked on a short story for a bit, cuddled with Sparky, and Paul and I watched a few episodes of Arrested Development before I went to bed without cleaning the kitchen; I’ll have to do that when I get home tonight. I also should do a load of laundry. Sigh, it never ends.

I was also deeply amused by all the white people (read: racist pieces of shit and who they voted for) bitching everywhere about the Super Bowl half-time show. I didn’t watch the game–I even got the final score wrong when I posted it yesterday morning (but that WAS the score when I checked with almost two minutes left in the game)–but discourse was everywhere yesterday morning. I read some of the explanations and deep-dives into the performance, and so I wanted to watch it for myself, so I did last night before I went to bed. Wow, white people, way to miss the point completely. I’m sorry the show was too smart for you, and it probably made you squirm a little bit. Guess what? That’s what art does. I watched twice–once for the visuals, and the second time with the captioning on so I could catch what he was saying–and yes, it was absolutely amazing, and if you hated it because you couldn’t understand it, and the imagery and symbolism was too much for you, that’s a you thing. I’ve never understood people who think they’ve learned all they need to know once they’ve finished school, you know? My views and opinions are always shifting and changing because of new information. But…I am also an artist, and I cannot imagine calcifying my brain if I want to keep on making new art? But it was an act of defiance, as well; a big middle-finger to the Felon-in-Chief, and it was also, for me, the first moment of pride I’ve felt in this country since the election. It was a motherfucking breath of fresh air in the midst of all the foul toxicity rammed down our throats since November, and gave me a bit of hope that somehow we’ll get through this mess–but there will be a reckoning. Just like Bush II’s second term, they’ve way overplayed their hand.

And incidentally, I wonder if the halftime show was “family friendly” enough for the Louisiana legislature? No crotches were grabbed, no twerking, and no thongs or bouncing breasts or anything. (I am sure they didn’t approve of it anyway.)

And sorry, Chiefs and Travis Kelce–everything he touches dies. Was it an honor to play in front of a man who constantly attacks your girlfriend publicly all the time? And afterwards? Did you still think it was an honor when he tweeted about her being booed during the game? You’ll never go wrong expecting a straight white man, even one of the so-called “good ones”, to disappoint you when they have a chance to be a stand-up guy, because they’ll cower and scrape and bow every time. How is Kelce any better than Ted Cruz? It really lowered him in my eyes, and when Taylor finally does leave him I won’t be surprised, or terribly disappointed. This is similar to Drew Brees working with the Family Research Council–you know, the homophobic racists? I never saw him the same way after that, either.

Travis is supposed to be one of the good ones. Amazing how low that bar for straight men is, isn’t it?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Pay-the-Bills-Day Eve, and I will probably not be back until tomorrow morning, when I’ll have coffee.

Disco Nights (Rock-Freak)

Monday morning has rolled around and rather than regretting not getting more done this weekend I am simply going to be grateful for the rest, spending time with Paul and Sparky, and somehow managing to remain sane during these last days of the republic. Yes, yes, I know I am being overdramatic and am overreacting and need to calm down; how many times have I been told that (incorrectly every time, I would like to point out) over the course of my life by someone in an incredibly condescending way because it wouldn’t affect them so they didn’t have to care? It really does get old, you know. There was more stupidity this weekend, no doubt, but it’s nice to get away from every now and then.

I didn’t watch the Super Bowl, nor did I care too much, but when I checked the score last night with less than two minutes left in the game and the Eagles were up 40-14, I felt some satisfaction. I lived in Kansas and the Chiefs have been terrible for so long it’s nice to see them have success (like the Saints, Bengals, and Commanders), but…Patrick Mahomes’ trashy family; the Hunts (who own the team) are also garbage, the team name is offensive, so is the tomahawk chop (see also Florida State, Atlanta Braves), and they also have Harrison Butker, that horrible piece of shit kicker who hates everyone who’s not a straight white man. The Eagles? I love the city, I love Jalen Hurts (and what a great story for him, you know?), and one of my oldest and dearest friends lives there and is an Eagles fan–and she’s been ill; I know this will have made her very happy. Also: FOTUS was also clearly wanting the Chiefs to win…and everything he touches dies. 40-14? That wasn’t a loss, it was a humiliation. Remember when he showed up for the LSU at Alabama game in 2019? Alabama lost at home for the first time in like five or six years–and never once had the lead.

I’d definitely not want him rooting for my team, that’s for sure.

This isn’t going to be an easy week for one Gregalicious. I am behind on everything, am going to be super-busy at the office during the week, and am leaving early on Thursday to head up for Alabama. I will no doubt be exhausted when I get home on Saturday, but that’s okay. We then gear up for Carnival and jury duty, and finally can relax by the following weekend. I was very pleased to finish reading my book She Was Was No More (link to my substack review of it) this weekend, and now I think I will watch Les Diaboliques, and maybe rewatch Reflections of Murder (but not the Sharon Stone version from the late 1990s; which is a shame; she would be awesome as the mistress but the previews looked terrible). I worked on my short story for a bit yesterday, and hope to work on it some more this week as well as the book. I gave up on the short story I was writing, and pulled out another unfinished one that I think will work better.

We also watched more of Arrested Development last night, which we are loving. How did they not give Jessica Walter the Emmy for supporting actress for every season of this show? I’ve been a fan of hers since I was a kid and saw her in Clint Eastwood’s directorial debut, Play Misty for Me (the original Fatal Attraction), and of course loved her voice work on Archer.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I will check back in with you again tomorrow, okay?

I Just Fall in Love Again

Thursday morning and my last day in the office this week, praise the Lord and pass the ammunition. I was tired yesterday, but I did get some writing done last night. I finished the revision of the chapter, and now have two more to get done before I can right the next third. It’s going to need to be gone over again, but not right now. It also kind of felt good to be writing it again, and last night was the most I’ve done in a sitting on this book since before the blizzard disruption/distraction. The blizzard was actually rather magical, perhaps the best thing that’s happened this year, and it really was nice going into that bubble for those days–tuning out and just chilling in the cozy snug warmth of the inside while it was bitterly cold outside. Every time I looked out my windows I was captivated by it, seeing it swirling and twirling in such vast amounts with just the ancient glass separating me from the chill outside. Next weekend I am going up to Alabama to meet Dad; its been two years now, wow. That’ll be yet another distraction, and then it’s Carnival and jury duty. Jesús Cristo! That’s a jam-packed month, isn’t it?

I’ve also got to do my part in the ongoing fight against this illegitimate regime, so I need to take down time and rest when I can, all the while writing a book and working full-time. I’m really not the brightest, am I? And this is me slowed way down. I was thinking the other night that I want to finish at least two more books this year; which is kind of insane? I don’t know. I used to do three or four per year, I think. I definitely don’t think that is possible for me anymore. But at least I am thinking in terms of writing again, which up until recently boiled down to I probably should write today and then not doing it. I think that my mind isn’t as creative anymore when I am not actively writing, and so when I am writing the floodgates in my mind open and suddenly I am getting ideas about future projects and stories and essays and…you see how it works around here.

I barely slept at all last night, drifting in and out of a shallow state for the entire night. I feel rested physically, but also a little like I am operating in accessory and draining my batteries by the minute. I know that doesn’t make any sense, but it’s how I feel. I am going to be very tired this afternoon when I get off work, and fortunately I have no errands to run that cannot wait until the morrow. I did pick up my copy of the new William Boyle on the way home from the office yesterday, and I am hoping that tonight I’ll at least have enough focus to read some more of my book, which I want to finish by the end of the weekend if not sooner. I am still not feeling tired yet, but I know that’s going to land on me like a ton of bricks this afternoon to the point where I will be so tired I am almost in tears. I hate feeling that way, but the plumber is also coming to the apartment today (Paul’s working remotely) to fix the bathroom shower and the garbage disposal, so I can start using the dishwasher again, which will save me some time every day and free up counter space. Huzzah! I think I’m going to work on the kitchen some more this weekend, try to make it more efficient and easier to use.

I know I want to wash the car this weekend for sure.

Oh, and Idaho has petitioned the Supreme Court to overturn Obergefell and overturn same-sex marriage. Hmmm, where’s all that fucking trash that told me repeatedly I was “overreacting” and “no one’s coming for gay marriage.” Fuck off forever and drink some bleach with some ground glass added to it, garbage people. Gargle it before you swallow, while you’re at it. I am so tired of being told that fighting for my rights and those of my community aren’t as “important” and to “be patient for a little longer” while those courting our votes don’t lift a fucking finger.

But it’s also the Super Bowl this weekend, and while I am doing my best to avoid the whole thing–the National Guard is out, and I really do not like living in a military zone, with armed soldiers and tanks out and about–it’s kind of hard to avoid it completely. It’s definitely affected my drive home from work, as I can’t go the way I usually go because its inside The Superdome Military Zone and streets are blocked off; they’re even closing New Orleans air space around and during the game. I think they did this the last time the Super Bowl was here, too…but it was like ten years ago and I don’t really remember. I do remember the post 9/11 one, and it was much the same as this. I don’t remember armed soldiers and tanks last time, though.

Sigh.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. It’s also cool but humid, which means cool temperatures but it feels clammy, blech. I’ll be back tomorrow, most likely, and I’ll talk to you again!

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Born to Be Alive

Tuesday and somehow the power’s still on and life continues in this hideous new reality when the horrible news comes and just… keeps on coming to the point that my shoulders slump every morning when I get up and sign into my computer, wondering what the hell happened while I was asleep. (This morning it was the news that the Gail Benson and the New Orleans Saints advised the Archdiocese on PR during the most recent child-rape1 . It was bad enough when Drew Brees worked with a homophobic organization to violate the separation of church and state in Louisiana, but helping the Archdiocese look better in their horrific cover up? Seriously, Mrs. Benson? I mean, most Saints fans won’t care, but I am terribly disappointed in her.)

Speaking of the Archdiocese, Catholics also gave me a good laugh yesterday on social media. You see, the Super Bowl committee worked with some local group to do projection art on St. Louis Cathedral and the the museums on other sides. It’s very cool, and changes the looks of the buildings completely. People have been sharing pictures and videos of the light show changes…so of course here come some ignorant Catholics claiming it was “sacrilege” and “how very dare they do this to a Catholic cathedral”! (You know, all caps, lots of exclamation points, bad grammar and spelling errors and specious logic.) You mean the historic landmark of the city that the Archdiocese thinks the city and its citizens should pay for upkeep and renovations and repairs? How is it sacrilege to beam imagery on the outside? And don’t think for one second the Archdiocese didn’t ask for money for this. If you’re mad at anyone, be mad at your church leadership for selling indulgences like a Medici pope.

And try being mad at the administration manipulating the stock market so he and his buddies can buy low.

Speaking of idiots, some (white) people were big mad Beyonce won some Grammys for country music, big mad, and spewing their bile on social media because of course they (butt hurt white people) are the great arbiters of what is and what isn’t great music rather than the members of the national organization of recording arts and sciences. One, awards are lovely things bHow dare this big international superstar and living legend DARE to perform and win awards for country music? If you think that sounds about white, you’d be right. (You really can never go wrong assuming it’s bigotry when it comes to white people because it almost always is) First of all, no one owns country music or gets to decide what it is or isn’t. Music evolves. Country music was originally “country and western” as a category at the Grammys, but it was the western aspect of country music that had the hats and boots and so forth, not country. So country singers and fans thinking they “own” cowboys, boots, and hats is a bald-faced lie and makes them poseurs and pretenders, too. How many of your stars grew up on a ranch or actually worked with cattle? If they didn’t but wear hats and boots, that’s drag. A costume. Nothing more and certainly not authenticity. When I was a kid in Kansas guys who wore hats and boots but didn’t work with cattle were called “goat-ropers” (I don’t know why, but it wasn’t a term of affection). I also seem to remember the term dime-store cowboy as derogatory. It was so anathema that I would never wear a cowboy hat or boots to this very day–and I have always had the kind of legs that boots show off nicely, too. Jason Aldean is a goat-roper, for example. I grew up listening to C&W when I was a kid, and if you’re going to say Cowboy Carter isn’t “authentic country”…I got some bad news for you about a lot of the today’s racist country stars. I walked away from country after 9/11 and what that industry did to the Chicks (THAT was cancel culture, for the record, and THEY WERE RIGHT.) when the genre turned into the “Amurika” music genre. You were wrong about the wars, you were wrong about Bush, and you’re wrong again now, country fans.

You really don’t deserve to enjoy music at all.

The day job situation is still up in the air (thanks again, MAGA voting trash) but it’s going to be a day by day and week by week thing. Yay! I think I may need stronger anxiety medication. Heavy heaving sigh. We’re not sure, obviously, what the future holds but my day job is funded by the federal government through the CDC, so yes, ever since I woke up the morning after the election I’ve been able to add worry about my job still existing to the every day drama of life and all the other existential dread from everything else the administration is inflicting on us. Yay! Woo-hoo!

Maybe I should start drinking again.

I did get to work on the book a bit yesterday. It was painful and excruciating to pull those words out of me–only about three or four hundred, so a pathetic effort–last evening, and I am hoping that won’t be the case today. Sigh. And so, without any further ado I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back at some point.

Screenshot
  1. I believe in calling things what they are. Priests raped children. Period. Got a problem with that? Take it up with the Archbishop and the Pope. ↩︎

Renegade

Monday and back to the office with me this morning. I’m now recognizing that I need to appreciate every day I get to go into work because my job could easily go away at any moment, with a traitor in the White House who hates everything and everyone and has handed everything over to an unelected foreign illegal immigrant billionaire who essentially bought our country. Yay, tyranny!1 The Founding Fathers would be so proud. The American experiment had a decent run. And again, apologies to our former allies. DO your worst, we deserve it–even those who didn’t vote for it, because we were unable to stop it, and it goes back way further than 2015 and the ride down the golden escalator (an apt metaphor–our worship of the wealthy was literally a ride down to hell paved with gold). We didn’t start paying attention soon enough, complacent with our rights and our Constitution and our mythology that our institutions were strong enough to hold–despite being under steady and regular assault for the last forty years. (This really got going under Reagan, for the record. He was the first step on the path that led us here–the first cosplay Christian divorced celebrity to win the White House.)

I am a little groggy this morning, as getting up at six after not having to for the weekend isn’t an easy transition anymore. Damned disorienting blizzard, anyway. But I had a good day yesterday. I managed to get some writing done (yay!) and some stuff done around the house as well as did some reading. It was a a lovely relaxing day, and we finished watching season two of The Recruit, which turned out to be a lot of fun. I definitely recommend. The lead actor is terrific, and he’s also very good looking, which doesn’t hurt (I’m shallow, okay?). But there are so many of these international affairs/espionage shows now that it’s hard to tell them apart anymore, really. I do enjoy them, too–even if they are pretty much from the same cookie cutter and there’s always insane fight scenes and gun battles and things–which goes back to my love of Robert Ludlum novels and their intricate plotting. (I admire nothing more than an intricately plotted novel–see also Carl Hiassen and P. G. Wodehouse.) I had always wanted to try writing a spy adventure–spinning Colin out into his own series–but I haven’t traveled internationally very much and showing Colin working outside of New Orleans would be kind of weird. I have one idea I’ve been sitting on for a very long time for Colin; maybe someday.

The Super Bowl is also this weekend, and two major arteries for me to get home have been shut down–Poydras and Howard Avenues. I guess I’ll just have to go uptown and run errands this week on the way home rather than going straight home. Yay. And then it will be Carnival, and then…augh. I really need to get cracking on my writing. I know, it’s shocking that I’m having trouble focusing while living through an existential threat. I guess I need to really just push all of that out of my mind while focusing on writing as an act of activism. Writing queer stories has always been important, a way of shedding light on what it’s like to live and operate and love on the margins of society and culture. I’ve never spent a lot of time thinking about the political aspect of breathing life into queer characters and their stories, my focus is writing the best narrative that I can. But showing queer people existing, showing that they are normal and want the same things everything else does, is inherently an activist act when you live in a homophobic country2.

I don’t know why I am letting this bother me so much. I mean, after all, we have the Democratic Party fighting for us rolling over and playing dead but still, somehow, asking for money. Never again. Your party has died because of its inefficacy and its cowardice in the face of a threat. You’ve been cowards since 1980. “Oh no Fox might say something mean!” isn’t the position of strength we’ve been asking you to model for us for over forty years. Bravo for not rising to fight the threat to democracy–but your social media posts are really showing your constituents what you really think about us and how much you care about us…by doing absolutely fucking nothing. And when you do, you’ll simply blame us for not fighting hard enough or not donating enough money or something, I don’t know. Of course, the legacy media has also failed us completely, and continue to fail us on the daily, too. I no longer believe anything that comes from our legacy corporate media, frankly. I guess the irony of the legacy media becoming actual fake news after years of being accused of it will be more appreciated at some point in the future, I suppose.

Ironically, my idea for a dystopian novel set in the aftermath of the collapse of the US hasn’t been trying to invade and overwhelm my creativity. I guess when you’re watching as a country jerks through its final death throes writing about the collapse of civilization isn’t an intellectual creative pursuit anymore for me.

And on that cheery note, I am heading back into the spice mines. Have a great Monday, and I’ll be back tomorrow most likely.

  1. To Mitch McConnell’s eternal shame and disgrace. ↩︎
  2. Miss me with the “not all straight people” bullshit, thank you very much. ↩︎

All I Really Want to Do

Ah, Sunday in the Lost Apartment and how are you doing, Constant Reader? I slept pretty well last night, didn’t want to get out of the comfortable bed this morning, but nevertheless, here I am, having already downed one piece of coffee cake and cup of coffee and about to make a second cup. I don’t feel completely awake just yet, but I am hoping by the time I finish writing this I’ll be all warmed up to get back to my writing. I did some yesterday, about a thousand words or so, and I need to get strapped in and back to work this morning. Yesterday was an okay day; I didn’t get as much written as I would have liked, but I got some writing done. I didn’t read much of my book yesterday. Paul was off getting another tattoo and brought home a pizza from Midway on Freret (which is amazingly good, for the record). He didn’t get home until late, so we watched the first two episodes of The Recruit (there are so many of these similar type shows we’ve watched that we aren’t really sure which one is which, and the plots all kind of blur together, but they’re entertaining enough to watch), and I was tired and went to bed. I did also run my errands yesterday as well, and was very tired when the second episode finished; I was dozing off during it, which was why I thought it best to just go ahead and go on to bed and be done with the day, which is always a good thing now that the timeline of my life is now in the “collapse of the country” final stage. Woo-hoo! Just what I always wanted and dreamed of.

I was thinking yesterday–I saw something somewhere on-line about people “needing to prepare to live in a dystopia”–and it hit me that I already lived in one; New Orleans after Katrina, with so much of the city in ruins and so much not open and so few people here. It was so eerily quiet in those days, a weird stillness that seemed so very wrong, and adapting to schedule my days around when things would be open because if you didn’t pay attention you could miss your window of opportunity to get groceries, of which there wasn’t much to choose from. Same with the gym, the post office, places to eat–there also was a shortage of workers, so that was another drawback to businesses opening. I considered getting a part time job on top of the ones I already had at the time, just to help out…I never did. That was also when I was probably in the best physical condition of my life, too–the only thing I had control over was my body, so I controlled it as much as possible. Good times, right? Sigh.

It’s also Black History Month, which isn’t being celebrated by the government this year since, you know, the country is being run by racists now–well, openly racist and proud of it trash–and are doing everything they can to take us back to the days when being queer was a crime, anyone racialized had no rights when it came to white people, and women were second-class citizens who were completely responsible for home and family (despite the fact that women have always been in the workplace as working professionals–but they were limited to what jobs they could have: secretary, teacher, librarian, waitress, flight attendant, etc.). I know it’s difficult for white people to read Black fiction because they aren’t used to not being the heroic center of the story1; but reading books by voices different than those that cater directly to you is necessary because you need to see other perspectives that are also valid. Works by Wanda Morris and Tananarive Due bring the reality of being Black during Jim Crow to vivid horrific life; I am still reeling from the horrific truth of both Due’s The Reformatory and Colson Whitehead’s Nickel Boys. I can’t encourage people enough to read Black authors, and not just for Black History Month, which is performative support as opposed to actual support–like your rainbows in June that disappear on the 30th, not to be seen again until June 1 of the next year. I appreciate even the performative support, honestly, but it doesn’t fool me that it goes very deep, either.

We all really just want to be left alone to live our lives in peace, you know?

But people who’ve never been oppressed will claim to be oppressed and play victim–how many times have we seen that play out? I’ve seen straight white women call gay men pedophiles (including me) publicly on social media, and then cry and make themselves the victim for the outraged reaction from the gay men. Yes, bitch, I’m the bad one for blocking you for calling me a pedophile. Drink bleach, bitch. I don’t forgive or forget homophobia; it’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back every single time. There’s never any coming back from that–and microaggressions also add up until I can’t make excuses for people anymore–and another life lesson of the last five years have been that even a microaggression has to be called out. If it talks like a homophobe and acts like a homophobe…yeah, they are inevitably a homophobe…and yes, even people who think they are allies can be homophobes. I never wanted to be THAT gay, you know, the militant constantly pointing out how offensive people are being and so forth…but why protect the delicate feelings of snowflakes who clearly don’t give a flying fuck about how I–or any other queer–feel?

I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of the schadenfreude of watching those racist white bitches who gleefully wouldn’t vote for the highly qualified Black woman finding out they are also DEI hires, that they were the primary beneficiary from equal opportunity laws, and now they can just put up with the sexist jokes and the not getting paid the same and not getting promoted that turned working women into feminists in the first place. What’s even more interesting, at least to me, is that the anti-feminist women (Phyllis Schlafly, Ann Coulter, and others of their ilk) who benefited from feminist activism worked to undermine their success–and undermined all other women in the process. I really wish someone would just say to Ann Coulter when she’s bloviating (hilariously, MAGA hates her and the Left will never go anywhere near her, so who precisely is her current audience? Racists who hate Trump? Huge audience there, Ann, well done.) “shut up, no one cares what you think, you’re just a woman who couldn’t get into an Ivy for law school.” (Which is why she hates the Ivys, right there. There’s a lot wrong with the Ivys and the public perception of their ‘greatness’–but not letting Coulter in is worthy of applause.) The hilarity that they also voted to preserve their abortion rights but voted for Trump–you just can imagine how fucking smug they felt in the voting booth–who might ban abortion nation-wide with an executive order made me roll my eyes at the mental gymnastics those smug racist misogynist skanks had to perform to rationalize their votes.

White women have always propped up white supremacy because they “believed” that it protected them. I would even go so far as to say it also afforded them a taste of power that they didn’t get to feel otherwise in their lives (Southern women really lean into that ‘steel magnolia’ thing, which has always bugged the shit out of me. Just say you’re proud to be trash and be done with it), because in antebellum times they had power over their enslaved (check out They Were Her Property sometime) and after emancipation, they were still “above” freed Blacks, even with the power of life or death over the men. (Louisiana’s bizarre inheritance laws, which I researched again for A Streetcar Named Murder, have everything to do with rich men down here having both white families and biracial ones; so they couldn’t disinherit the white family in favor of the biracial one…which was enough of a problem that it had to be legislated here.)

Ugh.

And on that somber sad note, I will head into the spice mines and get to work. Have a lovely Sunday, and I may be back later. One never can be sure.

  1. Precious delicate little snowflakes that they are. ↩︎

I Want Candy

Work at home Friday, and I don’t want candy, at least not yet. Let me swill down my coffee first before I head for the jelly beans I bought this week as a treat. I‘m hoping that today will be a good day, and I’ll get a lot done. I was very tired yesterday; I hit the wall around noon, and even eating lunch didn’t really help at all. I did run some errands on the way home, but once I was home I was completely a frazzle so I simply collapsed into my easy chair and caught up on my reality television. Reality television really fulfills a need for television that doesn’t require you to think much other than to be judgmental of the behavior you’re seeing on the screen; and I do kind of enjoy the childish antics. I wouldn’t want to be friends with any of these women–not sure that I would even want to know them, in all honesty–which is interesting; but the nonsense is kind of addicting, but I do hate when they just scream over each other. I know this is why we watch, but for me the worst part is there’s rarely any karmic payback for rotten behavior–and as long as we keep watching, they encourage it. One of the more tasteless aspects of the Real Housewives franchises is how regularly they resort to homophobia for story-lines; this has been happening far too regularly on programs overseen by an actual gay man (my loathing for Andy Cohen runs very deep), and yet I still watch. Not sure what that says about me, but in these interesting times the last thing I need or want to do is take away anything that can distract me from the collapse of the American experiment.

Today I only have to work about a half-day from my desk here in the Lost Apartment; I have a meeting, some forms to go over, and some trainings to get done. After that, I’m probably going to run to the post office, pick up a prescription, and potentially swing by the grocery for a few things. I also need to write and I also need to clean. My shoulder feels tight this morning, too–not sure what that’s about, but I’m going to use the massage gun on it when I finish this and see if that loosens it up a bit; but I don’t think the gym is wise until I have a better read on what’s going on with that muscle. Ugh. I really dislike feeling feeble, but I also have to cope with not being who I was physically five years ago. Part and parcel of getting older, of course, and I need to resist feeling bad about not being able to do what I could when I was in my thirties or forties or even my fifties anymore. That’s how life works, after all, and since I have already lived far longer than I ever thought I would–I thought I wouldn’t make it to forty, honestly–I need to stop regretting new limitations and make them work for me rather than against me. My focus isn’t quite as sharp as it was before I had COVID–I still don’t know if it was long or short, but the effects I felt while testing positive–low energy, no short-term memory, feeling fatigue like never before–are still there. Was it from the COVID, or was it turning sixty? Who knows? I just know that was when my life first changed for the worst.

I still haven’t made that to-do list yet, either. But I did manage to get caught up on everything at work yesterday, which is always a relief; so I don’t have to play catch-up at all on Monday, which is great. January ends today, but I am not grateful that this hellish month is finally ending; because experience has taught me that things can always get worse. This administration has hung a target on the back of anyone who isn’t a straight white cisgender man–as some white women are finding out; you and your special needs children? DEI. You fucked around and found out, didn’t you? And think how happy and smug and proud you were when you pulled the lever for that fucking bastard, and how you were sticking it to “the fags and the transgenders and the dirty Mexicans and the Blacks”…yeah, no one’s a winner when it comes to fascism other than the straight white cisgender male, but I’ve given up trying to convince people to vote intelligently for the candidates that will work the hardest for them and do the most for them, rather than the emotionally stunted vote to punish other people gleefully. White people would rather fuck themselves over completely if it means fucking over people they don’t like or fear because they’re tribal morons who haven’t evolved into decency.

I think the biggest disadvantage we are at in this ongoing struggle is there is no real queer national media. Our so-called national news magazines long ago sold their sold their souls and consciences and commitments to the community; I used to joke how Out and The Advocate went from being our Time and Newsweek to our People and Us Weekly. When this happened about twenty-five or so years ago, I despaired. During the Bush administration wasn’t the time for the two queer publications with the biggest circulation in the country to go from news to lifestyle and celebrity culture–because we definitely needed more of those. Every day I get emails from queer websites promising me “thirst traps” of celebrities or hot guys from Instagram which is always a pleasant diversion, but…oh, maybe try to do a better job rallying the community and making them aware of their rights and what we can do to protect ourselves and so forth? But yes, pics of celebrities wearing gray sweatpants without underwear is what we need to “parch our thirst.” Can’t imagine where the stereotype that gay men are vapid and shallow and think with their dicks comes from.1

There’s definitely a need for that sort of thing, but it really can’t be everything, you know? And there’s no greater act of protest against this regime than finding joy in our sexuality and our exploits. Every time you have queer sex, it’s a protest–but we also can’t have sex twenty-four hours per day (no matter how much we try, and believe me, I have), and there’s more going on that we should be paying attention to?

The decline of the media was foreshadowed by the decline of queer media, almost like it was the canary in the coal mine. But it happened, and here we are.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday and I will be back on the morrow, most like.

  1. Not that there’s anything wrong with that–but hot guys and dick shots and so forth aren’t all we do and think about and hey, we’re capable of holding more than one thought in our brains. Who knew? ↩︎