Category: Southern Gothic

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.

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.

Rooms on Fire

Good morning! We made it to Tuesday, didn’t we? Yesterday was a bit off for me, not going to lie. But I’m up early, didn’t hit snooze more times than I should, and I am waking up slowly. We’re going to be extremely busy in the clinic today and I am, once again, working an almost full appointment schedule by myself. Heavy heaving sigh. But tis the trials and tribulations of one Gregalicious life, and all one can do is bear it and power through. I do feel less wrung-out than I did yesterday, which is, clearly, a strong and steady improvement over Monday’s horror. It really wasn’t bad, actually, I just felt kind of inside-out all day. Work was its usual, and I stopped to make groceries on the way home–amazing how what I got would have cost about fifty bucks last year but is almost eighty now. Sigh. But we have to eat, don’t we?

We watched another episode of His and Hers last night, which is a very interesting show. I don’t think there’s anyone in the show to root for–they all seem like pretty terrible people, and we are learning everything very slowly, which is interesting but also doesn’t really draw you in because you don’t completely understand. It’s more observing than actually watching, if you know what I mean? It’s very well done, and it’s always fun to look at Jon Bernthal (who should be a bigger star in my opinion). The Beauty drops another episode tomorrow night, so tonight is looking like another His and Hers episode or two. I have to run errands tonight after work–have to go all the way uptown to get the mail and some more prescriptions–and I need to do a load of dishes and a load of laundry, too. Stay focused. I also want to work on the short story I started this weekend. I have a great idea for a story for an anthology that was recently announced, I just have to write the damned thing now. I really need to write something fictional soon–the creative writing muscles are atrophying as I type this.

I was also thinking more about Judgment at Nuremberg and societal guilt some more yesterday–and the subject of “what do the everyday people think” that this movie kind of addresses. The short story–set in a slightly future dystopian Louisiana–has me thinking about all of this sort of thing. I had always believed, since childhood, that the South was utterly and completely racist–and whenever I read a historical novel set during Jim Crow and before Civil Rights that centers heroic anti-racist Southern whites I roll my eyes. (Don’t even get me started on the To Kill a Mockingbird nonsense.) But as I read more actual Southern history, and talk to my dad about it more, turns out the South really isn’t a monolith–there were Southerners who opposed secession and fought on the other side, which sometimes led to horrible atrocities–a distant relative fought for the North, came home on leave, and was skinned alive by the Home Guard (sometimes you supposedly can hear his screams late at night in the back hollers)–aka the Confederate version of the Gestapo. The power structures of the Southern states were in the hands of the racists and the Klan (the argument could be made that they still are) so whites who actually opposed Jim Crow were also afraid. (One of the many striking aspects of Tananarive Due’s The Reformatory was the white family who were in the Klan that the teenaged Black girl worked for; the daughter, who reluctantly helps her, knows Jim Crow is wrong but will only do so much out of fear.) So, were Southerners who opposed enslavement and secession but kept quiet out of fear for their own safety any different from the everyday Germans just living their lives under an evil regime, without the power or safety to do anything? Again, that brings up that morality question–does silent opposition matter when atrocities are being committed?

This is why reading Black authors writing about the South is so important. Progressives are so frequently told we live in a bubble and not reality; but people who don’t read authors from different demographics are also living in a bubble of supremacy and racism that bears no resemblance to reality. (As well as Due, read Wanda M. Morris and Cheryl Head, for a start–and S. A. Cosby is always a sure bet.)

I had a lot of laughs yesterday at the pathetic white people outrage as the casting of gorgeous Lupita N’yongo as Helen of Troy because “historical accuracy.” Just out of curiosity, how many ancient Greeks are actually in the cast? Or Greeks, for that matter? Were you there and can conclusively state Helen was a white woman? Her father was Zeus, who fucked her mother in the form of a swan, and she was hatched from an egg. How many Greek gods are being played by actual Greek gods? Just say you’re a racist piece of shit and miss me with your coward-ass dog whistling.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, and I will be back tomorrow.

I will never stop being awed by how insanely beautiful Henry Cavill is….

Talk to Me

Monday morning and it’s still cold. Go figure. Parades start this very Friday, and if it’s cold, well, I won’t be bold. I am not going out there to get sick from being out in the cold, and besides, I’m old. Maybe it’s all that history I read where someone old caught a chill that developed into pneumonia and death within days. As much as I joke about it, I am not in any rush to leap into my grave (or the crematorium, as it were). I just don’t like being sick–and last spring I was sick enough to last me for a lifetime, thank you very much. I am about ready for this cold to take a serious hike. Although apparently tomorrow’s high is going to be seventy? But then it gets cold again for the rest of the week, but not nearly as bad as this weekend and today are going to be. Layers, layers, layers.

Yesterday morning was disrupted by the power outage. It was only out for an hour, but it was enough to disrupt the day and throw it off track. I did read in bed under my blankets with my coffee until the power came back on, which was lovely. After which, I went downstairs and read while watching the news. I was pleased that Carlos Alcaraz won the Australian Open (I am no longer a fan of anti-vaxxer Novak Djokovic). After Paul got up we finished The Night Manager before moving on to His and Hers, which is interesting so far. I do enjoy Jon Bernthal, so there’s always that. (I didn’t like his take on American Gigolo, which could have been really great, but we didn’t finish.) I didn’t get a lot of anything done yesterday, overall, but I did get some chores done and the house won’t take much to look orderly. We’ll see how I feel when I get home. I have to make groceries on the way, but that’s not a big deal. I have some dishes to do and such, but other than that and straightening out the kitchen rugs, I think I am pretty caught up on the house? There’s no laundry left to do, the dishwasher is empty and ready to be loaded, so once I put away the groceries, I can do that.

The news, for the most part, has been good lately–or at least, better than it has been. This weekend’s Epstein reveals were staggering, and are only going to continue to get worse and worse. Murder? Rape? Torture? Cannibalism? How nice that our modern elites looked at Caligula’s court and said “hold my beer”, right? I mean, we’re still living under a fascist government, so the news can only be so good, you know? Minneapolis is still under siege, the Supreme Court continues to be a joke on the regular, and day by day the trash that voted for him to “own the libs” are slowly peeling away from him because the hellish policies of the mad king are affecting them, too–which “isn’t what they voted for.” Aw, shucks, sugar, we warned you and you mocked us–and while I am pragmatic enough to understand we need them to turn on all of this and vote it out; but that doesn’t mean I am forgiving anyone. Even those of us who voted for the lady with the weird laugh own this, too–because we’re Americans, and we could have done more to stop this. None of us get to say we aren’t responsible for this because it is our government, we’ve allowed this all to happen, and now we all have to come together to rebuilt it all back together and clean up this fucking mess.

That was part of the reason I wanted to watch Judgment at Nuremberg again–we haven’t finished, we only got about forty minutes into it–because of the entire notion of societal responsibility and guilt. After the war, the common German people–who’d seig heil‘ed and gone to the rallies and threw flowers and cheered the military parades–weren’t allowed to look away from their government had done in their name. The question of “true believer” or “too afraid to say anything” is something that can never really be answered. I was born sixteen years after the war ended in a neighborhood filled with war and post-war refugees from eastern Europe. I was shown the military films of the freeing of the camps in elementary school. I learned very young that fascism and Nazism were both evil. My childhood and teens were filled with stories of the MOSSAD tracking down Nazi war criminals, all over the world. There was a lot of World War II historical fiction out there, too, and even more fiction about Nazism rising again out of the ashes of history–William Goldman’s Marathon Man, for one, and Ira Levin’s brilliant The Boys from Brazil–and I did see Judgment at Nuremberg in my teens, which got me interested in the day-to-day German people, how the scourge rose to power, and what they lived through and experienced. We were taught that Nazis and fascism and antisemitism were societal evils…and that we Americans, with our freedoms and our democratic republic, were morally superior. (We were not–and in our American arrogance we also believed that such a thing could happen here.) Now we are in a situation (again) where our government has turned us into a rogue, authoritarian wannabe dictatorship–just as the Roman republic declined into an autocracy. Don’t blame us! we post on social media in response to foreign scolding, we didn’t vote for this!

How does that make us any better than the former supporters saying this now? The American penchant for dodging responsibility is perhaps our worst, most narcissistic, societal and cultural flaw.

And on that somber note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and try to stay warm if you can.

The dragon float arrives at the Orpheus Ball

Long Way To Go

I slept in a little this morning, until His Majesty King Sparky, Lord of the Lost Apartment, had enough of waiting for his meal and got me up. I feel rested–it really is amazing what a difference waking up naturally (rather than to an alarm) makes. I have to brave the cold today and run some errands, but I intend to get back home and inside as quickly as possible. This morning feels like a read in my chair morning with a blanket draped over me before getting cleaned up and running errands while slurping coffee, which absolutely sounds marvelous. I want to get some writing done today. I had an idea for a short story yesterday for a call for submissions I really would love to do something for, and I would like to get some of that done today or tomorrow. I was also thinking about other stories, and Chlorine, while I worked on the apartment, and also made some notes, which was pretty cool.

Yesterday was a lovely day around here–not so much in the outside world, as ever and always, more on that horror later on–in which I got up, got cleaned up, did my day job duties, and started cleaning and organizing the apartment. I got all the laundry done, a start on the books again, and started organizing the laundry room/pantry shelves. I tried reattaching the exhaust hose to the dryer vent numerous times, but it kept coming loose again, turning the room into a sauna briefly. This is going to call for drastic measures, methinks, like Gorilla tape or something similar. But the shelves in the pantry are starting to look neater and more organized, which is always a plus, you know? And very pleasing to look at, you know? I do still like neatness, organization, and tidiness.

I had the news on while I cleaned and organized and occasionally sat down for a break. I greatly enjoyed all the news about the Bezos bribe documentary, Melania, which might be worth streaming for free for the unintentionally funny parts. (Paul does the best imitation of her opening line from the shitty trailer, here we go again, that is so eerily spot on it creeps me out while making me laugh at the same time.) I doubt that it will become a cult classic for midnight viewing, like Showgirls or The Rocky Horror Picture Show, but you know it’s laughably bad. The review in The Guardian was hilariously brutal; I’ve bookmarked it to go back and read it again whenever I feel down and need a cruel laugh to cheer me back up, and who better to laugh at than the soulless Slovenian concubine? The latest Epstein files drop was particularly horrifying (I don’t think most of us have the creatively evil kind of imagination to even consider how horrible all of it actually is–but all you have to do is look at what this vile regime is doing to simply distract us from it to know that its filled with unimaginable horrors. I’ve always said killing the kids was all a part of it, and that was just scratching the surface; the start of the unspeakably vile horrors on that island and various other places. I mean, they arrested a journalist, kidnapped a head of state, killed Americans and Venezuelans, and bombed Iran (unsuccessfully). It’s big, its huge, and the national security of any number of countries are also involved–and we would see behind the curtains at last to see how the wealthy elites have been enriching themselves at our expense in order to do this kind of shit.

The guillotine is too merciful for these pricks. And I hope Don Lemon sues the fuck out of all of them for violating his civil rights, wrongful arrest, targeted prosecution, and abuse of fucking power.

God, how I hate them all.

I have been thinking about my next short story collection, This Town and Other Stories, and finally got the notebook down with the manuscript and notes to take a look and see what I have for it, and what else would need to be finished to finish the collection, and was very pleased to see that I’ve published and sold enough stories since the last time I thought about it that I do have an entire collection of published stories, and won’t need to do write any new ones for it, except as perhaps a bonus for the readers? But we shall see, won’t we?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines.

Ole Smokey, the Orpheus train float, is one of my favorites.

Nothing Ever Changes

Tuesday of our latest arctic blast, but all is comfy and warm inside the Lost Apartment, which is lovely. The dry heat used to bother me–it still bugs Paul–but I’ve adjusted to it and it’s not the worst thing in the world. I mean, we could have to be out protesting in the streets in below zero temperatures (Minnesotans are making me very proud to be American, because fuck this fascist bullshit, now and forever.) I even saw an anthology call for short stories yesterday with the theme American Gestapo and you can bet your ass I am going to write something for that call. I have more than a few things to say about the collapse of American democracy, and a lot of scorn for those who cheer the decline and fall. I, for one, never expected the Reich-wing flip-flop on carrying a gun and gun ownership1, but these are indeed the strangest of times. And now it looks like the siege of Minneapolis might finally be ending; Bovino the Temu SS officer has been fired, and hopefully, that disgusting pile of filth known as Kristi Noem will be thrown under the bus along with him. Was this third government execution of an American citizen a turning point? Maybe, at long last. (So far, they’ve killed a black man–most people don’t know that part; outrage grew over the white woman; and exploded over the white man…as it ever was and is and will be.)

I mean, when you’ve lost the NRA and Greg motherfucking Abbott, it’s really is time for some serious self-reflection, isn’t it?

It’s cold again this morning, but it’s going to warm up a little before the next arctic blast (worse than the first) arrives later this week. We’re talking single digit weather in New Orleans, of all places. It’s going to be a weird weekend. I am going to try to get everything errand-wise finished by Friday, so I can stay indoors from Friday evening to Monday morning. Tis very cold here in my bay windows this morning, but it was pleasant at work yesterday (as opposed to our last cold spell, when the office was freezing). I slept so well last night–that pile of blankets was incredibly warm and comfortable and cozy last night, and I really hated to get out from under them this morning. When I got home from my errands last night (I had also ordered some groceries for delivery, too), I changed into my home-clothes (sweatpants and a hoodie and slippers), and sat down in my chair to read for a bit and watch the news before doing some chores, but Sparky had other ideas. He plopped into my lap and went to sleep…and then I was so comfortable, between him and the blanket, that I really never got back up again, other than for something to drink or snacks. It was entirely too comfortable, really.

Yesterday wasn’t bad at work, either. I wasn’t in the clinic after all, so I spent the day doing Admin stuff and getting caught up on everything–I’m never really very behind on anything anymore, but letting things slide always gets me in trouble. We’re slow this week, too, so I should be able to be all caught up on office work by Thursday when I leave. Huzzah!

I also finished my first promotional newsletter for Hurricane Season Hustle, which you can read right here! I need to do at least another one–the book officially drops on February 10–and I am getting really behind on the newsletters, aren’t I? The goal was once a week, and I’ve strayed very far from that initial ideal/goal over the last couple of years. I have so many started….and I really need to get more done, especially since (as with everything) I keep getting more ideas for them all the time! Heavy heaving sigh. It’s very hard to get things done, though, when I’m cold–but I need to stop giving in to the easy laziness and power through, don’t I?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and stay safe and warm–especially those in Minneapolis and Maine. I’ll be back tomorrow!

  1. Funny how they change their tune on everything, isn’t it? Suddenly the people who need a fucking AK-47 to go get coffee at Starbucks claim if you carry a gun in public the cops or a federal agent can shoot you? But, no, we’re the brainwashed ones… ↩︎

Imperial Hotel

Sunday morning! It’s seventy degrees outside this morning, with the cold front not quite here yet; it’s going to start raining soon (per the forecast) which is part of the front’s arrival, along with shockingly low temperatures later on today. It looks very gray outside, the ground is wet, and I am incredibly happy I don’t have to leave the apartment today other than to take the recycling out, which I should do right now before the rain gets here. Hang on, I’ll be right back.

Okay, I’m back. My legs are strangely tired and a bit sore this morning–the Achilles tendons in particular again–so I think when I finish this I might do some stretching, which I should start doing regularly again. I never really had to when I was younger–being naturally freakishly flexible meant I didn’t need to, but it was bad to never develop a regular stretching routine. I wonder, if now that my anxiety is under control, maybe the gym won’t be such an anxious experience for me. I’d conquered gym fear back in 1995, but after so long away from it I always had that anxiety whenever I would go back and try to get done as quickly as possible. I am going to return after Carnival and hopefully stick to it; I definitely need more stamina, and I’d like to shave off some extra weight (but without the assistance of the damned ulcerative colitis, of course). I know I’ll feel better the stronger and healthier I get, too.

Yesterday was definitely a day of odd energy. I got up a little later than I should have, and wasn’t as motivated as I had hoped. I would be. I think it was partly the oncoming storm on the horizon that was unsettling? I did run some errands (seven boxes of books to the library sale) and had some things delivered. I also braved the grocery store the day before a horrible winter storm descends upon us here in southeastern Louisiana. It was pretty hectic and crowded, and the check out lines were lengthy. But they were checking people out with a high degree of efficiency (for once), so it didn’t take nearly as long as I had feared it might. It was a very gray day, too–it was just gray and windy and chilly. I got home and unloaded the car and put everything away and relaxed for a bit. Sparky curled up in my lap and I spent some time catching up on the latest horrors from the current administration of fascists and liars and murderers. I also spent some time rereading one of my favorite books of history–Barbara Tuchman’s A Distant Mirror. We also watched the first three episodes of Ryan Murphy’s latest pretty production of a disjointed narrative, The Beauty.

In all honesty, I am not sure what to think. of The Beauty. It could easily have just been another season of American Horror Story rather than a stand-alone series. I also could do without child sexual abuse supporter and a friend of Diddy who regularly attended the “freak-offs” on my television screen. I’ll watch, but we’re not giving Ashton Kutcher a redemption arc, thank you very much. I’ve also not seen his ex-wife’s The Substance, but there seem to be an awful lot of similarities between the two. There’s a lot of things that could be said about our American obsession with youth and beauty, but I seriously doubt we’re going to get it from a Ryan Murphy show. It’s also my thought that the show will go off the rails and stop making sense, the way so many of the Ryan Murphy seasons do, before long. One day I may be able to break my hate-watching need for Ryan Murphy’s deeply flawed productions, but we aren’t there yet. After we caught up on it, we switched to the Australian Open and watched that until it was time for bed. I also made dinner last night, so the kitchen is a bit messy this morning. I do think, though, that once I finish and post this I may go read for a bit before getting cleaned up and getting the house under control yet again.

And yes, we’ve had another murder of an American citizen–a male nurse, at that–in Minneapolis by the tax-payer funded Noem thugs. She, and the rest of them, all lied about it, of course; which she should be civilly liable for; I do think the victims’ families should be able to file wrongful death suits against Noem, Homeland Security, and this administration. So glad y’all couldn’t bring yourself to vote for the highly qualified Black woman because you didn’t believe she worked at McDonalds and had a stranger laugh you didn’t like. Fuck you all, now and forever. There can be no forgiveness without atonement and genuine remorse. I’ll probably carry that grudge to the grave. Have fun in church today, Pharisees.

It’s funny, because one thing I’ve been researching for a future book is the 1970s and its pop culture, which is fun and interesting–although the clothes and hairstyles can be safely left to the past and memory. But one of the biggest things I can remember in the 1970s was the Bicentennial; many now aren’t old enough to remember that. I’ll probably write an essay for the newsletter about the Bicentennial at some point. Remembering what a huge fuss was made for the Bicentennial makes it kind of surprising that no one seems to give a shit that the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence is this July 4th. Kind of ironic that it was written as a result of years of authoritarian British colonial rule and justice…while on a major anniversary of the signing we have elected our own authoritarians and tyrant to abuse our freedoms and liberties. The way they can bald-faced lie despite the overwhelming video evidence that proves they lie about everything and anything.

The lengths they will go to in order to distract from the Epstein files is pretty telling, isn’t it? It’s worse for them for the epstein files to come out than shooting American citizens dead in the streets.

That’s a pretty big fucking tell, isn’t it?

Well, the rain has arrived and it’s very dark now, so I am going to repair to my easy chair and my coffee and read some more Ken Holt and Eli Cranor. Stay safe and warm wherever you are, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back in the morning. Thanks for stopping by!