Category: the apartment

Pink Shoe Laces

My blog has gotten a little more feisty than it’s been in quite some time. I’ve talked before about how I toned myself down a bit on here–I have no desire to argue with anyone about my opinions, thank you very much–but I’ve also started speaking out again against insanity and cruelty and stupidity. Despite the loss of the anxiety, I still get angry about cruelty and injustice. I also tend to not talk about things where my opinion isn’t perhaps as educated as others’; I defer. I also don’t want to ever speak for another marginalized communit1y other than my own–and I always make it clear I only speak for myself. I am not a tastemaker or an influencer or anything like that, not am I some great authority on anything other than my own experience, education, and feelings–and sometimes I even question that. I’ve also recently realized how I am not nearly as self-aware as I have always smugly told myself I am; in fact I am capable of self-delusion to an almost pathological extent. But as long as I continue to learn and grow, and don’t dismiss anything out of hand because something isn’t my experience. I do think I am different from most in that I listen to new perspectives and don’t reflexively react negatively to changes in culture and society. It gets frustrating for me when people are obtuse about queer issues and often refuse to listen (there’s nothing quite like being straight-splained about queer experience); so I always want to be open to anything that isn’t bigotry or prejudice (I will never be open to either of those). My trans friends have been an incredible exercise in educating myself and understanding and above all else, compassion…and so have my racialized friends (I saw a Black woman use that term on social media instead of non-white or people of color; I kind of like it because it’s true. White people invented the construct of race identity and racism to begin with, so using racialized seems appropriate to me).

I hate that I’ve basically had to spend most of my adult reeducating myself, but at least I never get tired of learning. Society and the culture have gotten a lot better about a lot of things, but we still have a long way to go.

I finally appealed an egregious medical decision by the most evil of insurers, Blue Cross Blue Shield of Louisiana, and faxed the form along with my letter of complaint (about multiple issues since they have taken over insuring me the first of this year) and all the necessary documentation–the entire thing wound up being fifteen pages and OOPS, I may have sent it to them twice. They were a shit company when I was saddled with them because of preexisting conditions before the Affordable Care Act; I couldn’t switch insurers fast enough once that became law, and now I am stuck with them again–and they are just as shitty as they were before (which I pointed out again in my letter, along with all the violations of the Affordable Care Act they’ve committed with just ME alone; God only knows what an audit would show). Y’all fucked with the wrong faggot, and if this isn’t resolved, I will not rest until they’ve all been fired.

Obviously, they’ve clearly never met me.

I slept better last night than I have all week so far, which is definitely weird. We’re in a dense fog advisory with potential rain today, but it’s bright and sunny and the sky is clear and beautifully blue this morning. I ain’t gonna lie, much as I love rain, I don’t like being out in it. I love rainy days on the weekend, when you can just snuggle up under a blanket and get some reading done. I’m starting to get better organized with everything, and my life is slowly starting to come back to what it was before the surgery. I’ve also realized that I’ve been in a kind of transitional malaise, the way I feel only after I’ve finished a book and need to get started writing another one. I also am coming out of the malaise, I believe. Both days this week so far had been a bit off, and today I feel…more normal than I did the last two days. I don’t know what that will translate into in regards to writing, but I am hoping to climb back up on that horse this week, maybe even tonight when I get home. The apartment is looking better still, doesn’t need a lot of straightening, but there are some incomplete chores that I do need to finish before the weekend, preferably tonight–but that will depend on how I feel when I get home–how I survive another day at the office.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, all, and I will probably check in again later.

Ballet boys (ballerinos) have unbelievable bodies. I’ve always wanted to write a gay noir set in a ballet company…I mean, look at that effortless perfect split!
  1. I will never forget–or forgive–the straight white bitch who responded to a tweet I made about Marianne Williamson’s horrific lies about HIV/AIDS in the 1990s who told me to “be quiet and listen to Marianne’s beautiful message”. I doubt that bitch will ever tell a gay man to shut up about HIV/AIDS again. ↩︎

Put Your Head on My Shoulder

Yesterday was one of those days.

If you will recall, I woke up feeling pretty good yesterday and was all amped to get to the office and get to work. As I pulled into my parking spot for the day I got a text message notification: the building had no power. Sigh. Since I was already there, I texted my supervisor that I had arrived and should I wait? (You never can be sure when power will be restored in New Orleans and there are any number of variables involved that you can’t calculate.) Apparently the outage was cause because someone in the Bywater neighborhood took a chain saw to a power pole? #idiot

But the power came back at around nine thirty-ish, so I sat there for two hours waiting, and of course, once you stop moving when you’re feeling ambitious, it’s not easy to kick everything back into gear and get moving again. Sigh. But I did get my work going again, which was great, and then when I got off work I came home for a ZOOM chat with some writer friends that I don’t see enough of as it is. It also struck me yesterday that when Bouchercon comes to New Orleans, I don’t have to register. I live here, and can see my out-of-town friends whenever I want to and just hang out in the hotel lobby. So…my future attendance and registration is going to depend on changes being made to the dinosaur the event is, hopefully dragging it into the twenty-first century or at least make steps to making it a more inclusive place.

Beginning with no more fucking diversity panels–which they are doing again in Nashville.

There are few things that make diverse writers feel welcome at conferences more than putting them on display like fucking zoo animals.

And the code of conduct? I don’t have any confidence that they will respond to any complaints made to them–I’ve seen how they’ve mishandled things in the past–so why on earth would I believe that they’d take a complaint from me about the Very Important Writer who said “faggy” to me face a couple of time and act on it? “Oh, it was in the bar” would be the first response, and you know what? Having a code of conduct is meaningless when you don’t have the balls to enforce it. For the record, going into a hotel bar and having a few drinks doesn’t make a Very Important Author using a homophobic slur to me okay.

Likewise, I had another incredibly uncomfortable experience at Left Coast Crime the one time I went–both racist and homophobic–that sometime I will have to share here. (And yes, I am white–but the woman assumed I wasn’t…it really is a story best told in its entirety at some point. And yes, I’m still shaking my head over it. In-SANE. Almost two years ago to the day, really, and I still can’t wrap my mind around it. I think the reason I haven’t posted about it because I’m not sure how a white man writes about racism he’s experienced? (For the record, I wasn’t offended because she didn’t think I was white, it was about her approach and what followed–including doubling down on the racism and going to town on homophobia– that I still can’t wrap my mind around.)

It was also pouring rain when I came home, so thank heavens I left early for PT…only to get home and think ugh, I am not walking to the gym in this downpour with the streets flooding, so I’ll have to go after work tonight. It shouldn’t be bad, no matter how crowded it may be, because my workout is actually pretty simple and quick and easy. (Not easy, but definitely can be done quickly and I don’t have to really take up a lot of space, is what I meant. I think there’s only one machine I have to use.) The streets were flooding too–I had to drive through some standing water, fortunately not too deep–and guess what? We’re having a thunderstorm right now, but it doesn’t seem as though it’s as bad as last night. I guess I’ll find out on my way to work this morning? Not a very appealing thought, really.

And on that sad note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check back in again later I am sure.

Sleep Walk

Monday morning and back to the office afternoon a really lovely weekend, which wasn’t nearly long enough to satisfy anyone, really. I am wide awake, which is lovely, and I thought I wasn’t sleeping well last night–but this morning I feel rested and fine. Odd, right?

I really need to buckle down and start writing. I started three short stories ideas yesterday (“Passenger to Franklin”, “The Adventure of the Kaiser’s Spy1,” and “The Haunted Bridge,” for specifics) and I reviewed some of what I have already written on the next book, which was interrupted by the surgery. It’s now extended deadline is April 1, so yes, I need to get cracking. I did get a lot of work on the apartment done this weekend, and I was correct that I had ordered the wrong smart keyboard folio for my iPad, and Apple no longer makes them for mine because it’s too old. They recommended Amazon or eBay; I found one on eBay and ordered it so it will come later this week, which is terrific. Once I got home from refunding and returning that magic keyboard, I decided to go ahead and order two things from the Apple store to be delivered–an external wireless keyboard for my desktop, that is wider than the basic one and has the number pad, too, and a super storage flash drive that will also connect to my phone and iPad…and that resulted in an insane Kafka-like experience. The delivery was supposed to come between 3 and 5; their website showed that “Orrin” picked up my delivery at 4:46, and about half an hour later it was marked “out for delivery”–and the stuff can’t just be dropped off; it has to be handed to a person so you have to be available to go meet the delivery when it arrives. The website never updated, and the delivery never came. I finally connected with Apple Support on my phone, which was insane. Their records showed the driver had never picked it up–and it couldn’t be rescheduled for delivery today, all they could do was cancel it and refund the money. I don’t know if the “support person” I was communicating with was a real person or not, or if it was AI. Whoever it was, either they were AI, or English wasn’t their first language. I still don’t understand why they couldn’t just reschedule the delivery till today, but here we are, you know?

Thanks anyway, Apple. I have since decided that it was frivolous to buy those two items, so thank you for fucking this up and saving me quite a bit of money.

I did spend some time working on the apartment and it’s starting to look better. Hilariously, all the changes I made in the reorganization (the drawers, shelves in the kitchen, etc.) have already been forgotten so I have to go looking for things now–right now I can’t find where I put the printer ink–but that’s okay. I guess I am gaslighting myself!

I did spend some time this weekend reading Norah Lofts’ The Little Wax Doll, which I remember reading in junior high but as I read it, it feels very new to me. I don’t remember anything about it; maybe I never read it in the first place but had a copy which I started to read but never finished? Regardless, I am definitely enjoying it. It’s slow-burn horror, which is starting to slowly ratchet up (it’s one of those “rural communities that seem perfect but always have a dark secret” stories). I like Lofts’ writing style, which was more common in the mid-twentieth century work–she has a point of view character, Miss Mayfield, but her third person is removed; like a cross between an omniscient narrator and tight pov. It has a very Gothic feel to it that I really like, and I am looking forward to finishing it at some point.

We also started watching an Australian show, The Tourist, starring the always fun to watch Jamie Dornan (sigh) as a man who is in a car accident and gets amnesia, but he has to figure out who he is because a lot of people are trying to kill him. We’re two episodes into the first season (and there are two seasons thus far) so I am guessing he doesn’t find out for quite some time….

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a marvelous Monday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later; one never can be sure.

  1. Yes, this is a Sherlock in 1916 New Orleans stories. ↩︎

Come Softly to Me

Sunday morning and as predicted, I didn’t get nearly as much done yesterday as I wanted to, but it was mostly about time more than anything else. I picked up the mail and stopped by Fresh Market, but then once I got home…well, there were chores still to be done (still have some more to do this morning) and I never did get around to writing anything besides blog entries yesterday, like a very bad Gregalicious. Today I have no choice, I have to write today…and I also have to drive out to the Apple Store in Metairie, and make groceries, both of which will be tiring. (I knew I’d regret putting that chore off until today, but at least it’s sunny out today; I think it’s going to be a rather lovely day out there.)

Sparky is always a problem for sitting at the computer as he always wants to sit in my chair–he will hang out and be obnoxious (right now he’s sprawled across the desk, his flicking tail brushing the keyboard as he knocks other things off…) and then jump into the chair the minute I get up for more coffee or anything, really. Heavy sigh, the joys of Big Spoiled Kitten Energy.

I did manage to watch Christopher and His Kind yesterday, which is Isherwood’s memoir about his life in Berlin during the rise of the Nazis, and it much more explicit than Isherwood’s earlier fictions about Berlin. During that “Staged Right” about Cabaret I watched the other night, he wrote it in reaction to the movie, to leave the record straight (as it were) about himself and his life; he hated that Cabaret made Brian/Christopher into a bisexual and that Sally was played by Liza Minnelli, when the actual Sally was marginally talented at best. It was an interesting film, but Christopher himself really came across as a bit of an asshole. There was also a lot of explicit sex, and there’s no question in watching this film about what his sexuality was, for sure. Matt Smith is simply stunningly beautiful, and Alexander Draymon as Caspar is just too beautiful for words. The two stories (Cabaret and Christopher and His Kind) are similar to each other, but I’m not really sure if a watcher didn’t know that both came from the same source, those similarities are simply base facts the story grew out of, and you might not even recognize them as the same story. I may need to revisit the books sometime when I have more time…as I recognize that a lot of the revisiting of fiction I talk about is probably never going to happen. But as always, I find rereading something as an easy way to shake off the not-reading mode I’ve been in for so long. We also watched the new BBC adaptation of Agatha Christie’s Murder is Easy yesterday, which we quite enjoyed…although I am waiting for the racists to complain since they cast a Black man in the lead.

So I started rereading Norah Lofts’ The Little Wax Doll yesterday, of which I remember very little of my original read back in junior high school (I read her novels about queens and royal women before moving on to her other novels, which was very definitely an eclectic mix), and find myself enjoying it a lot more than I did when I was twelve–I did enjoy it, but I am certainly seeing it differently some fifty years later. As a kid, I just read Miss Mayfield as a lonely spinster who spent most of her life working in Africa in her colonial “white savior” role with her best friend, who hopes to save enough money to buy a little place she and her “best friend” could retired to; now it’s screaming lesbians at me. The book was originally published in 1960, and of course there are the queer deniers who like to think we never existed in the world before Stonewall. The phenomenon of spinsters sharing a home was just a fact of life, and the British never really inquired much further than that–the British cold politeness.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. There’s a lot to get done today and I am feeling like I will be able to make some significant progress today. Wish me luck, and I may be back later. Happy Sunday, Constant Reader!

Venus

Saturday.

Yesterday was a good day, productive both for day job business and chores and things around the apartment. My PT, as noted yesterday, didn’t seem as difficult as it had the last few times, which was awesome, and like I said, I got shit done yesterday. I started rearranging and reorganizing and making the kitchen more functional (which also required me to throw out a bunch of shit I was just hoarding, really), which is long overdue. I need to work on that some more today before I run errands. I had hoped to not have to leave the house either day of this weekend, but I decided yesterday to postpone the Apple Store trip until Sunday morning–and Paul ordered some things that require me to go by the post office, which means I am going to make a stop at the Fresh Market on the way home from the postal service. We watched this week’s Abbott Elementary, which is terrific, and then we finished True Detective: Night Country (I am guessing that all the men that hated this season? Misogyny, period. How dare a crime show center women? How dare a crime show be run and written by a woman? I enjoyed it, thought it was very well shot, and so they didn’t tie up every loose end? Ryan Murphy never does, either, and studios keep throwing hundreds of millions of dollars at him. And this season engaged me so much I am curious about rewatching season one and watching the other two, as well).

I also listened to the Bad Gays podcast on James Buchanan (shout out to myself for my story “The Dreadful Scott Decision,” which was in The Faking of the President anthology and centered on Buchanan and his “mysterious” sexuality), which I greatly enjoyed.

I feel good this morning. There’s a little bit of fatigue, but it’s not terrible in the least. (It always hits on the second day with full force, so tomorrow will be a challenge.) I want to do some writing to day (actually, need to) and of course I need to keep working on the apartment, and I have some things to assemble that I’ve order. I also want to read more in my book, and possibly watch some classic gay cinema later on today. I don’t know what Paul will be doing today, but I suspect he’ll go to the office and I won’t see him for most of it. I want to watch Christopher and His Kind first, and of course need to finish my rewatch of Saltburn so I can finally finish my entry on it. (Interesting how I’ve recently become obsessed with openly gay writers of the mid-twentieth century, isn’t it?) I’m still enjoying Feud, but it feels like it’s getting repetitive and is being too drawn out; like four episodes might have been sufficient instead of the planned eight.

All right, it’s a bit brief but I really need to get back to work around here this morning, so more coffee, perhaps a bit of breakfast, and a brief one-hour repair to my chair to read for a bit. And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I will probably be back a little later.

Lonely Boy

Friday work at home day blog, in which I have PT in a little while and all kinds of things on the agenda to get done. I was productive last night, chore wise, and while I still have some chores to do, I am further ahead than I usually am when I wake up on Friday morning. The weather turned cold yesterday afternoon, and I came straight home. Sparky was feeling needy when I got home, so I had to spend some time cuddling and playing with him (he managed to get the hanging mouse toy off it’s string…but this morning he is playing with the string, and the mouse is nowhere to be found). I watched some news–always a downer–and then the Staged Right Youtube channel’s history of Ethel Merman’s career; from which my primary takeaway was Helen Lawson in Valley of the Dolls was so clearly based on Ethel that I can’t believe she didn’t sue…and it made me want to reread the book again. There was a downpour that started right before i went to bed–and it was even colder when I slipped under the covers. Although a quick check tells me it’s 58 outside…sigh.

But I am awake. My arm feels a bit fatigued, but that’s okay, I just need to monitor myself more at PT and at the gym. I am definitely mentioning it this morning, though–even if it makes me feel like a whiner. This is my arm, that had a serious injury and a major surgery, so I need to get past that kind of self-defeating mentality and understand that they need to know if it’s been tired, hurting, fatigued, etc. If I don’t tell them what I am feeling accurately because I want to please them (a problem my entire life, which has created more issues than its resolved, frankly), this could be bad for my arm.

It’s funny, because the other day I was emailing a friend who’d said something kind to me, and one thing I said in response was Oh, good. I always worry that I am a pest or am too much. He replied that he toned himself down sometimes, too, for the same reason: being too much. After I got his response, I started thinking about it, worrying that phrase and that feeling that both of us, gay men in their sixties, have to tone ourselves down because people think we’re “too much”, and parsed it some more during Ethel Merman’s career history and some other Youtube videos last night. Too much. How many times have I been told I am “too much,” that I’m not “masculine” enough1, that I need to change who I was and how other people saw me (narrator voice: you cannot control other people’s perceptions of you. All you can do is hope for the best) and that has impacted how I feel about people and how I act and behave, and how much of myself I reveal and share with them. Sigh. Keep unpacking that shit, Gregalicious, and remember, you are who you are and never let anyone dim your bright queer light.

And remember–no one ever tells a straight man he’s “too much”–even when they sexually assault women, so…maybe fuck all the way off?

All right, I am now home from PT. The sun has come out, but it’s supposed to rain all day and most of the weekend. I’ve decided to wait until Sunday morning to go to the Apple Store in Metairie. I don’t really want to deal with evening traffic to get there and back–traffic back into the city is always a nightmare around that time–and they open later, so I can get up later and go later and not have to worry about traffic and so forth. PT was a bit harder this morning, but some things were easier. I am going to make a to-do list for the weekend, as well as a list of all chores I want/need to get done this weekend, and figure out some other things.

And on that note–several hours later, my bad–I am heading BACK into the spice mines. Have a great Friday!

  1. I am writing another essay–which I hopefully will finish someday–about this very thing; the strait-jacket of toxic masculinity I was raised with and conditioned by education, school, and culture to think and believe was the only “normal” way to be a man. It’s called “Are You Man Enough.” ↩︎

Personality

Thursday and my last day in the office for the week. Huzzah. I was tired after work yesterday–I made groceries and went to get the mail–but I did get some things donw last night around the house before collapsing into my easy chair. I watched another one of those “Staged Right” documentaries (this time about Evita), and then Paul came down and we watched another episode of True Detective: Night Country, which really took a turn last night! We’re enjoying the show tremendously, despite all the noise on-line about people hating it…and by people, I mean men. I don’t think I’ve seen a single post trashing the show that wasn’t by a (straight) man? Which sets off my “bullshit misogyny” alarm, frankly.

The weather had turned yesterday by the time I got off work; it had gotten a bit colder and the wind had dramatically picked up. It was also kind of gray, which reminded me of how it is before a flooding rain….borderline tornado weather. It feels cold in the apartment this morning, and the high for today is at about sixty. It may rain today, and there’s a 95% chance of it tomorrow. I have early PT tomorrow morning, and at some point I need to drive to Metairie to return something to the Apple store (I’d ordered a keyboard at long last for my iPad, but it’s the wrong size). Loathe as I am to do that–go out there–it was far too expensive for me to just slide and do nothing about. Heavy heaving sigh. But really, it’s not that big of a hassle, and in going out there, I can actually treat myself to Sonic or Atomic Burger as a treat for having to go to Metairie and deal with Lakeside Mall. Shudder.1

I feel good and rested this morning, which is very unusual for a Thursday. Last Thursday was like this, too–I ended the day feeling energized, and got a lot done when I got home. I hope that will be the case tonight. I have loads of laundry in both washer and dryer that need to be dealt with tonight; I need to empty and reload the dishwasher; the floors are looking horrific; and of course I need to assemble the shower caddy. I also need to redo my to-do list, and perhaps make one just for the weekend. I am going to have to go make groceries at some point this weekend, too. I need to go by Lowe’s at some point, too. We need more filters and I am going to splurge on a new barbecue grill, as the last one is well past its last legs, frankly. I also need to reorganize both the freezer and the refrigerator, as well as get rid of some more boxes of stuff that is no longer needed to be kept.

I love feeling reinvigorated in the mornings, frankly. I don’t know how long this will last, of course, and it’s possible I’ll get tired by the end of my shift, but that’s also okay. I don’t beat myself up over being tired anymore, and maybe the loss of anxiety is making me lean into my own stasis more than I ever have before, but I don’t think my creativity is gone–I’m having too many ideas and thoughts and making too many notes–but I need to refocus it on writing actual words down, rather than just thinking about them. I also need to start reading again. I hate how far behind I’ve fallen on my reading.

I did start listening to podcasts yesterday in the car, which was really cool. I found one called Bad Gays, which is hosted by the author of the book Bad Gays and someone who works at the Gay Museum in Berlin (which, if we ever go to Germany, is something I’d like to see); and I listed to the episode on James I of England (VI of Scotland) and his male favorites. I didn’t see an episode on two historical figures I am fascinated by, Henri III of France, and Louis XIV’s brother, Philippe d’Orleans; Philippe’s lover the Chevalier de Lorraine was the definitive bad gay of Versailles. I should fictionalize the Affair of the Poisons…which would give me an excuse to visit France for research. Plus it’ll give me the excuse to study up on the period more, too. I love seventeenth century France.

I think I am going to watch Christopher and His Kind this weekend, and I may even rewatch Cabaret for good measure. I also found some other gay movies on-line to watch that I’ve never seen, like Another Country and Maurice. I also want to rewatch Saltburn so I can finish my entry on it.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. May your Thursday be wonderful, cheery and bright, and I may be back later–one never knows.

  1. Hilariously, now that my anxiety is under control I’ve realized my hatred of driving and having to go places was always anxiety-based. Always. ↩︎

My Sharona

Wedesday pay-the-bills day, after a very good night’s sleep and this is the first time this week I’ve awakened feeling…awake, if that makes sense. I had a decent day at work yesterday, ran errands on the way home from work (will be doing that again tonight), and then got home, feeling inside out and tired. Sparky was feeling needy after being home alone all day, so I decided to just relax in my chair and let him cuddle up to me and go to sleep, which was pretty much how we spent the rest of the evening, with the occasional getting up for the bathroom or something to drink. We watched a documentary on Youtube about the backstory of Cabaret, which was interesting, from Isherwood’s Berlin Stories1 to the stage and film adaptation as I Am a Camera, and then finally stage and screen versions of Cabaret, along with the revivals. It was interesting; I knew there were a lot of differences between the play and the film, and that later revivals often used songs that were original to the film. That sort of thing always interests me. I spent most of the rest of the night reading news reports, trying to get back on top of what is going on in the world while I’ve been focusing on my recovery and getting through the days productively, and I have to say it was horrifying, absolutely horrifying. I’ve been aware of everything going on, of course, it’s just not something I’ve allowed myself to really think about and/or through until last evening.

The world is indeed in terrible shape.

My arm feels fatigued this morning, too, from Monday’s night’s PT. The muscles in my left arm were twitching/spasming a bit last night, but they did the same thing on Sunday. I don’t think it’s a big deal or anything that needs to be reported at any time before I have PT on Friday, when I can talk to my actual physical therapist about it, but again–I think that’s just a natural reaction to working hard, which the arm is definitely not completely used to yet. I still feel good about my progress, and I am trying valiantly to resist frustration at not being fully recovered yet. But hell, I’ve made it this far already so why complain?

NARRATOR VOICE: He can always complain.

I have to say, now that I made my decision about Bouchercon and posted about it, I feel a lot more relaxed and less anxious about the whole thing–and really, that should tell me something: if I am feeling anxious about something, or dismiss it when I think about it so it won’t stress me out, that should be when I decide not to attend or do something. It would definitely make my life easier. I still have a ton of entries in the draft folder I need to eventually do something with, but hopefully tonight when I get home I will feel like getting some work done and Sparky won’t be needy–since I cannot seem to resist his wiles ever. He’s just so sweet (when he isn’t being a terror).

And so, here I am on the midway point of my work week. Things appear to be picking up, after the slow start to everything this week. The apartment still has chores that need to be done–laundry and dishes and so forth–and yesterday’s mail had a shower caddy that I ordered; one that goes over the shower head. I bought one a while ago–and every time I got in the shower I’d think I need to get one that goes over the shower head because the one I got doesn’t fit there and is a pain in the ass, but I would never remember to buy and/or order one that works better. Of course, assembly was required (and a Phillips head screwdriver! What is this madness?) and I just wasn’t there last night to do it properly, plus Sparky was trying to knock everything off the counter and I just said fuck it and shoved everything back in the box to do at another time. I also got my new, magnetic measuring spoons yesterday, which means they will either stick together when not in use or will stick to the refrigerator or the oven hood. Huzzah!

And as always when I am feeling alive and energetic in the middle of the week, I am already thinking about all the things I can get done over the weekend. WHY do I always think I can/will do more than I wind up doing? I think this is part of the constant self-defeating thing that I do; I think I will be able to do more than usual but inevitably will wind up not doing it all so I can feel like I’ve failed and thus can self-reproach, which is really not the best way to live one’s life.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. There are, after all, bills to be paid. I may be back later, one can never be entirely certain. Have a lovely Wednesday at any rate!

  1. I am thinking it may be time to revisit Isherwood; and I don’t think I’ve read Christopher and His Kind, which would be a great place to start. ↩︎

Mack the Knife

Yesterday was a low-energy day. I felt fine, but not motivated, and that was partly due to feeling more tired than I have in a while. My mind wasn’t foggy and my muscles weren’t fatigued, but at the same time I just felt off-balance and getting things done just wasn’t going to happen. I did my work duties, of course–I always manage to get my work duties done, and I am still ahead of the curve on all of that–but I was more spacy than anything else mentally, having trouble remembering things and so forth, etc. I also managed to run errands on my way home from work, and then went to the gym for PT. It seemed a bit easier this time than it did on Friday, in all honesty. Once I was finished with that, I came home and showered and had a mostly quiet, slow evening. I fell asleep a few times in my chair and finally went to bed early, slept really well, and now feel pretty good this morning. My legs feel a bit fatigued from the walking, but other than that, I feel like today is going to be a good day.

I am completely awake now. This is something I’ve noticed since the change in medications–it doesn’t take long for me to shake off sleep and grogginess and wake up completely. That is something I much prefer to how I used to get up in the morning, to the point where I really don’t dread getting up in the morning so much. It’s also entirely possible that my body has finally completely adjusted to getting up this early every morning. How many years did it take, LOL? But whatever the reason, I am not displeased with this development.

It was a beautiful day yesterday when I set out for the gym to do PT. It wasn’t nearly as difficult walking over there in the late afternoon; I wasn’t feeling tired so I made good time walking. There was also no one there–I’d finally managed to time it so it wasn’t crowded. Several guys came in just as I was finishing up, and escaped. I’ve never felt really comfortable or relaxed at this gym since we joined it all those years ago. I knew everyone who worked at our old gym, I knew a lot of people who worked out there, and it was just a short two block walk up St. Charles. We also belonged to that gym for almost eighteen years or so, and so getting used to a new one was always going to take me a while. I never got used to it before because I never managed to get into a rhythm of going regularly, either. That’s one of the things straight white people get to take for granted, you know? They never have to worry about dealing with any kind of hateful, bigoted reaction to their existence, which can happen at any time, really.

You never get to completely relax when you’re in public.

Which is really a continuation of a theme I started in my “why I am not going to Bouchercon this year” post from yesterday. It’s very hard to ever trust straight people, really; I’ve been burned so many times in the past that you become paranoid and it then spreads from straight people to all people. You never can be sure if the group of people you’re hanging out with in a bar, laughing and having a good time, won’t start talking about you using slurs when you walk away. There are people who realize the optics of homophobia aren’t good, so they are very careful not to give you anything to make hay with in your presence. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t homophobic, it actually means they are worse–they know it’s wrong and socially unacceptable but do it anyway. I will never forget the self-styled Very Important Author who felt it was okay to smugly use “faggy” in casual conversation, while looking at me with a smirk on his face I so badly wanted to punch off it. (He has since outed himself to many others as a garbage human being since then; I just smugly smile when I hear tales about his most recent egregious crime.) It’s hard to explain what that is like, you know, so that people will understand? (And I think it’s also important, while making this point, to defend the other people around when he said it, because he got called out almost immediately. That was a good feeling.)

One last time for the arrogant straight men in the back: there aren’t many gay men who’d be interested, so stop flattering yourself that we are all such deranged cockmonsters that we froth at the mouth over straight guys. We don’t. And I would add further that we would never, unless they collectively start figuring out what anal hygiene is. Hilariously, they always forget that some of us are tops, you know–so if I were to ever sexualize a straight man, I wouldn’t be thinking about him fucking me or me sucking his dick; I’d think about fucking him.

Not something that plays into their disturbing male-on-male sexual fantasies, is it?

Seriously, straight men, stop flattering yourselves.

And yes, I have been rethinking a lot of things about my past and my life since Mom died. New information always is cause for a good rethink, and again it’s interesting (if sad) to realize how oblivious I inevitably was throughout the majority of my life. Heavy heaving sigh.

And on that glum note, it’s off to the spice mines with me. Hope you have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again probably later.

I Want to Break Free

I have, after a long internal debate with myself that’s been going on since before my surgery, finally decided not to attend Bouchercon in Nashville. There were still a few things on the plus side for me to go–the proximity to Dad and the ability to visit him on the same trip; seeing friends that I usually only see at Bouchercon–but over the past two weeks the negative side of going has really been brought home to me.

I also realized this weekend that I can just go see Dad anyway, and the truth is that this Bouchercon is already spoiled for me. I just can’t get excited about booking the trip, scheduling how to pay for it, and everything else involved with planning the trip; this year just thinking about it felt like an odious chore that I kept putting off. I keep getting surprise medical bills, too, which also played a part in my decision. I kept pushing back making the decision and figuring out the costs because I didn’t know what else I was going to have to budget for in the meantime.

I want to be clear that not one single negative was enough to break the camel’s back with me, but the accumulation of so many negatives and missteps by this event ultimately was just too much for me. Tennessee’s ban on women’s freedoms and its archaic, hateful anti-trans legislation had already made me wondering about my own safety there1; the recent murder of Nex Benedict2 in a ruby-red state with these exact same kind of laws on the books, along with the very same accompanying dehumanizing rhetoric, was the last straw for me. I just can’t.

It might also be different if the local host committee didn’t make an incredibly egregious error in scheduling a Lifetime Achievement3 winner whose conduct and behavior doesn’t hold up under a closer scrutiny, and his insistence that a deeply problematic person interview him–bound to cause an uproar from the very start–may have been an oversight or something the host committee didn’t think would be a big deal…

NARRATOR VOICE: It was, in fact, a big deal.

I am not going to go into further detail here, nor am I going to mention names–they’re well known enough, and the kerfuffle was kerfuffly enough, for most people to know who I am talking about in the first place.

It also didn’t help matters much that they published the list of categories for this year’s Anthony Awards and ditched the cozy-friendly Best Humorous category, which essentially guarantees most authors who write funny aren’t going to have a chance to be nominated this year. After San Diego created the category last year (and yes, I was a finalist), I had hoped that future local committees would commit to keeping it, making the awards more inclusive and admitting that humor isn’t taken as seriously as darker, heavier books. 4

Just another disappointment to pile onto the others over the years.

NARRATOR VOICE: Humor is seen as lesser because it’s more “frivolous.” But if humor is somehow easier to write, why do so many writers avoid it? If you think writing funny is easy, try doing it some time.

There is a valid point to be made that the only way to effect change you want to see is to get involved and help make that change. It’s why I joined the national board before realizing it would never go anywhere and there wasn’t anyone really vested in change–there are board members now I know are fighting the good fight, but there are also some still mired in the 1980s who think “all change is bad!” No, fixing problems as well as anticipating others is not a bad thing. It never is, and those who are resistant to it should remember that stubborn adherence to antiquated rules, policies and ways of doing things results in stagnation, and the cracks such stagnation creates will soon be too apparent to miss when they start appearing.

NARRATOR VOICE: Change can be scary, but it’s a necessary part of life. This is also true for businesses, non-profits, and events. Not changing and adapting means no room for further growth. I am not the same writer I was twenty years ago, for example. I’ve never wanted my art to stagnate.

There’s also an email circulating containing screen-caps of questionable tweets by other people in the crime fiction community–misogynistic, borderline racist and definitely homophobic–and all the guys posting are people I know and consider friends. It was disheartening, as it always is to see proof of what straight guys will say when they don’t think any gays or women are around. It’s why I can never entirely trust straight people, to be honest. I know that white people will be racist if they think everyone around them is white–and those present who aren’t racist never call them out, just kind of smile uncomfortably. The difference between outright homophobes and those who are just there by defaulting to it is that I appreciate the honesty of the actual outright homophobes more than those who smile in your face and then make horrific gay jokes when I’m not around. This was also a bit disheartening, but while it’s disappointing its a needed reminder of why queer people generally can’t trust the straight ones.

NARRATOR VOICE: Only making homophobic jokes when no queer people are around doesn’t make you an ally–so don’t be surprised when queer people have issues trusting you.

I’ve been around publishing for a lot longer than I like to remember, if I’m being completely honest. I’ve seen a lot, experienced a lot, and all of this sort of bullshit makes me tired. RWA seems to think it’s a great idea to promote using AI to its members. There was another issue with the Hugo Awards that recently, horribly, blew up (John Scalzi did a great write up about the recent Hugo controversy here.). And of course, there’s these latest disappointments from Bouchercon, too.

So, it’s easier for me to bow out entirely and not participate this year. And finally making up my mind one way or the other was such an enormous relief…no regret at all, just relief.

And that’s saying something about how tarnished the brand’s Nashville franchise has become. (A local in Nashville went on a thread about this year’s controversy stating that if queer people don’t feel safe or welcome they should start their own event–which told me exactly what we’d be dealing with should we go. Bouchercon deleted the homophobic trash’s posts, but they were screen-capped, of course.)

I’m not calling for a boycott–that’s not for me to decide, and besides, there are some very valid points about going and establishing a presence at the event. But I am not going, and this is why I decided not to spend my money there.

  1. “But you live in Louisiana and its laws aren’t much better” isn’t the “gotcha” you might think it is, so don’t bother. I am sixty two years old and can’t just uproot myself and Paul to move to a blue state at this point in our lives, without jobs or significant resources to fall back on. I am not encouraging anyone to move here, nor do I tell people to come here, either. Bouchercon is here next year, so I will go for sure, but that doesn’t mean I am okay spending money or time in a state where me or my friends might not feel safe, nor would I presume to tell them it’s okay to come here. ↩︎
  2. You can claim the ME report said their death had nothing to do with their injuries from the beating they received, but I don’t trust anyone in law enforcement or anyone employed by that hate state. Until there’s an independent autopsy, I will not accept the ME’s report, period. ↩︎
  3. He is anti-cancel culture–only dresses it all up in prettier language and what appears to be more nuanced thought. But I’ve never seen any “free speech advocate” who doesn’t also think that racists, misogynists, and homophobes shouldn’t get any pushback or consequence for using hate speech–so that tells me all I needed to know about this person. ↩︎
  4. And don’t @me about how hard it is to run such an event. I know exactly how hard it is to run and plan such an event. It is what my partner does for a living, I’ve been on Bouchercon’s local committee before, I served on the national board, and I helped write the program for Dallas. I also chaired World Horror Con in New Orleans. ↩︎