Category: true crime

Step by Step

How on earth is it Pay-the-Bills Wednesday again already? As my grandmother used to day, “lord, have mercy” (it sounded like lawd-a-mersuh) But the week has gone rather well thus far, so no complaints on that score. I did feel a bit tired yesterday afternoon at work, but I just keep my head down and keep plugging away. I was very organized and efficient at work yesterday, too, and I have some catching up to do this morning but that shouldn’t be much of a problem. We’re aren’t terribly busy today, either, which is nice. We also started watching a new series on Netflix, Unchosen, which is about a British cult (fictional), but it’s incredibly well done and chilling–and like Trust Me: The False Prophet, focuses on a woman victim of the cult who is starting to think the cult may not be what it’s presented to be. (Watch Trust Me–you literally can trust me on this.) I’ve always had a mild interest in cults; I remember when they found the corpses at Jonestown when I was in high school. There was also a cult in the county seat where we lived in Kansas. They had purchased the campus of a defunct religious college and taken it over as a “religious college”–but only the religion was their cult. Those people were creepy as fuck, and it was even scarier the way they would corner people to proselytize; it happened a few times to me at places as varied as McDonalds, a gas station, and the grocery store. I looked the cult up a few years ago, when I remembered how weird that was–for a religious, deeply conservative Midwestern state, a lot of weird fucking shit goes on there–and they’re declining. The campus was sold to a local land-grant university, and I even found a book by someone who had left the cult. that I ordered but haven’t read yet.

There are still so many Kansas stories I want to tell.

I was also thinking about the hypocrisy of the entire “tradwife” thing. For one thing, traditional farm wives who baked their own bread and churned their own butter generally didn’t have running water in the house or electricity; so these grifters trying to sell this brand shouldn’t be using what the women they are emulating would have called witchcraft. Just a thought. And isn’t it interesting that conservative women are trying to sell women on the notion that it’s better to be so fucking busy in the kitchen and the daily chores to think about what they actually want from life. There’s a harrowing passage in Robert Caro’s first volume of the LBJ biographies he’s writing about what a day in the life of a rural farm wife was like, and I’ve never forgotten how awful and hopeless their lives were when they had to boil clothes and run them on a washboard to clean them–and having to cart the water from the well, which took multiple trips, not to mention trying to keep the house clean and the larder stocked and cook and take care of the children. (Loretta Lynn remembers those hard times with love and through rose-colored glasses in her song “Coal Miner’s Daughter.”)

It’s so patriarchical, isn’t it? “Keep your woman busy so she won’t have the energy to think about how much inequity exists in her life. She’ll be happier.1“

Remember when I was talking about how some show business people decided to turn Colton Underwood into THEE GAY of the moment, and gave us a reality show where Gus Kenworthy tried to show him how to be gay? I think it was called Coming Out Colton. I didn’t watch, and kind of thought it wasn’t very well thought out–“oh, look, an NFL player and former Bachelor has come out, and is a beautiful blonde blue-eyed young man, let’s give the gays a star”–but may watch it someday2. ANyway, the other example of not knowing what the queers want (her reality show revealed how horrible she was), Caitlyn Jenner, was interviewed by the unspeakably vile Tomi Lahren the other day and was whining about her passport being renewed with an M gender marking–entirely due to the policies she actually voted for.3 And of course, being a true piece of confused moronic trash, she “still loves Trump.” Yeah, he ain’t helping you with the passport thing. You’re no use to him anymore. I’d say maybe she’d wake up and pull her head out of her ass, but she’s been in that horrific Kardashian universe for so long it’s undoubtedly broken her brain.

I also did some chores last night; I thought I had turned the dishwasher on before I went up to bed last night, but apparently I didn’t; so I’ll have to empty and reload again when I get home tonight. I also think I’m going to do a load of laundry, too–or maybe that should wait until tomorrow night after work, so I can get another day’s worth of dirty clothes in there and only have the bedding to do on Friday.

I didn’t write anything fictional yesterday; I’m trying to figure out the best way to get the information I need my main character to get in this chapter. I’ll probably go over the nearly two thousand words I’ve already done to edit and revise and add some layers to, which should get me back into the story. It was a struggle yesterday, so I gave up and worked on some essays instead. (I started to say write anything, but caught myself and remembered–nonfiction counts. Rather proud of myself.)

The MAGA civil war continues to entertain. The Candace Owens/Laura Loomer war is hilarious; they are both monsters, but it’s lovely seeing them using their vitriol on each other instead of others. I love that The Onion bought Infowars and Alex Jones is financially ruined, which isn’t everything he deserves but is a good start. He and his followers are clearly heartless and soulless ghouls. I cannot imagine telling parents grieving their murdered children they are liars, or defiling the children’s tombstones. And I am not buying into any MAGA regrets or apology tours either, that take no responsibility or accountability, and then think we owe them forgiveness? I’m more likely to forgive and financially support Westboro Baptist than forgive them without atonement because they are still awful and are just trying to get ahead of the inevitable eventual collapse.

The ebook of Sinclair Lewis’ It Can’t Happen Here was on sale yesterday for $1.99, so I snapped it up because I was thinking about rereading it again. I originally read it during the second Bush term because I could see it coming then. The rise of Rush Limbaugh and Fox News in the early 1990s was the canary in a coal mine, and I saw the signs of this current situation already starting to fall into place. I don’t think our current situation is going to end up in the Turd Reich–we are perilously close right now–because it’s all blowing up, and I don’t think a Fascist takeover with all the reins in the small hands of an insane tyrant whose cognitive dissonance must inevitably cause a complete mental collapse, and I have a lot more confidence now that we can somehow come back from the brink. But there’s so much work to be done after, to even get back to where we were before, let alone make things better.

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

The beautiful Antinous, lover of Roman Emperor Hadrian, depicted as the Egyptian God Osiris
  1. Paul asked me, as we watched the show last night, “why do these cults exist” and I replied, “as a means of controlling and subjugating women. All cults seem to have that in common.” ↩︎
  2. Since I love reality television, I’ve been thinking about doing an essay on gay reality shows, and another on queer people on mainstream reality shows. ↩︎
  3. I was also rather interested to hear her mention her driver’s license–didn’t she kill someone in a vehicular homicide? How does she still have one? ↩︎

Rhinestone Cowboy

Tuesday morning and all is well this morning in the Lost Apartment. I slept well and feel pretty good this morning–thus far, at any rate. Yesterday was Injection Day, and the distress I’d been experiencing for the last week gastronomically is now over, which is terrific; you always wonder if the medication will stop working at some point. I even wrote a little bit of fiction yesterday–not much, but every little bit gets me further from the starting place and closer to being finished. Every little bit definitely helps, you know?

We finished watching the FLDS documentary, Trust Me: The False Prophet, which was actually chilling. These documentaries inevitably focus on the crimes of the cult leader, but what I loved about this one was it actually focused more on the victims, and how the documentary filmmakers just really happened to be in the right place at the right time to earn his trust and his endorsement of filming everything. It was absolutely fascinating, and it was interesting to see that one of the victims realized what was going on was wrong (“the path to hell”) and became an informant for the FBI. How fucking brave was she, and then the other women, having to wake up from what was going on and wonder how they were so easily fooled–but the lesson here is how easy it is to convince true believers in false doctrine, which is a very singularly important lesson for these times, right?

Likewise, these social media posts from people choosing The Filth over their lifelong Catholicism just make me shake my head1. There are none so blind as those who will not see. The MAGA regrets we are seeing everywhere aren’t deep or meaningful–no, they just think The Filth lied to them and deceived them, not that the evil policies being enacted and enforced are wrong; they’ll vote red happily and proudly over and over again, even as it is clear to anyone not wearing blinders that the policies they voted for are what they hate–but it’s easier to blame someone else for our failings rather than take accountability, true repentance, and behavior change. No, they aren’t sorry about ICE’s abuses and the racism and the misogyny or any of their horrible positions; they’re mad because the price of gas is going up, and nothing else. “He lied to me” is much easier than “wow, what I believed and voted for are actually wrong and pretty fucking awful in practice” and it has the added bonus of absolving the person of any responsibility for their conduct.

Frankly, their vote is one thing. Being MAGA is entirely different. I also love that they are also trying to police how we receive their regrets…which makes me question their actual regrets as they try to again paint themselves as helpless victims who “didn’t know any better.” It would be one thing had they been polite about differing views from the get-go, but they were all pretty fucking awful. MAGA parents whose children have gone no-contact also love to paint themselves as victims, too–“but we’re family!” falls on deaf ears when you haven’t been acting like family. MAGA is usually the last straw, to be honest–and if it’s not, then you must have been pretty fucking awful to your kids about politics. Were you being racist, homophobic, misogynistic, or transphobic? IMAGINE how awful the things you said must have been…and then to come on-line to engage for sympathy? “How could my kids DO this?” Well, if that’s the question you’re asking, they are going to keep doing it for a very long time, and I hope not seeing your grandchildren was worth being MAGA.2

When someone goes no-contact with me, I figure I must have done something to trigger that response, or that person has simply decided I’m too “extra”–that’s happened a lot during my life; maybe not that word, but basically that’s what it was–and sure, it bothers me and makes me wonder a bit–but I also respect their wishes and don’t try to fix it.

I was actually thinking last night that I’m feeling much better than I have in a long time. The corrective shoes have eliminated leg fatigue and aching joints. I’m sleeping well and feeling rested. Getting up in the morning to the alarm, which I would still prefer not to do, hasn’t been an issue, and Sparky isn’t as pushy about me getting up in the mornings as he has been–now he’s more purring and cuddling and mewing softly rather than attacking my feet and smacking me in the face. I may relapse again back into aches and pains and fatigue–one never knows–but right now I feel pretty good, and we’re going to leave it at being happy and feeling good on a day-to-day basis. Baby steps, y’all!

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great Tuesday, everyone, and I’ll be back tomorrow on Pay-the-Bills Wednesday (again???).

How come I never come across a gorgeous man in his underwear hanging out nonchalantly around columns?
  1. It also tells me how deep and real their faith was. You’re giving up your religion because the Pope criticized your mad God-Emperor? I’ll leave that to God, no need for me to comment. ↩︎
  2. As for me, I side-eye these folks. If people want to let bygones be bygones, so be it–but not me. I will go to my grave resenting and hating these people. I’ll never trust them. ↩︎

The Sweetest Thing

Y’all, I wrote fiction yesterday. I know, right? Needless to say, I was thrilled and delighted, and I definitely am still feeling euphoric this morning about it.

It was only a thousand or so new words on the new first chapter of Chlorine, but y’all–I didn’t have to force it and it flowed out of me the way that it used to. His voice was loud and clear in my head and I was there, in that zone, and Mary Mother of God1, when I tell you I can’t even describe how good it felt to be doing this work, setting up the story, sharing who the main character is, seeing it all through his eyes…marvelous. What precisely was I so afraid of, again? Oh yes, that it wouldn’t come back, and who could blame it? We live in interesting times, I’ve gotten much older, and I am still not 100% completely healthy in mind and spirit…but my spirit is centered and where it needs to be, and motherfuckers, I wrote fiction yesterday. I still can do it. I still have whatever it is in my brain that channels this through my fingers and onto the page, and it’s glorious. It may come and go, as it is wont to do sometimes, but this is the first time I’ve written fiction in a long time–and it’s also the first time in a long time that it actually felt good to do it.

Apparently there are youngsters who don’t know who THE Madonna is? Shame on you all! Madonna is a fucking legend, bitches–put some goddamned respect on her name! ESPECIALLY YOU YOUNG QUEERS. Know your history, know your icons and why they are icons, and be better. MADONNA stood up for the queer community during HIV/AIDS before most celebrities and she has always been a huge ally for us. I suppose next they’re not going to know who Elizabeth Taylor was…I saw a theory on-line yesterday about how these things are now possible, while we knew the music and stars of previous generations because we all didn’t have personal phones, and there were only three channels on the television, and we were exposed to the art of previous generations that way (and listening to the communal car radio on drives) and now…everyone has their own phones and playlists and so forth, so such cross-generational sharing of art no longer happens. It was an interesting theory, and it’s been echoing in my brain since I first saw it. My father loved 1950’s music and country; Mom was more mellow and loved Lawrence Welk and the kind of music she played on the piano growing up. My childhood was filled with the music of Patsy Cline, Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, George Jones, and that entire generation of country legends, and even the lesser known ones. I’m also glad this kind of exposure broadened my own musical tastes and aesthetics, and damn it, every young queer should know who Madonna and Elizabeth Taylor are/were. It’s queer history. There are many others, too, that you should know. Always remember, queer history isn’t as well-documented as it should be, nor is it reported on properly, so passing the knowledge down by word of mouth has always been important. Maybe the young, with their phones and ear buds and all the information of the world at their fingertips, don’t think they need to know about those who came before? I do remember explaining who Sylvester was to some young co-workers, and even playing the video for “You Make Me Feel Mighty Real” for them.

Yes, kids, we’ve always had bops.

I had a good day yesterday, although I could tell my injection is due today. Nothing major, but heartburn and gas and a mild discomfort, and a little dehydration to go with it. Like I said, I actually wrote fiction, read a chapter of Listen for the Whisperer, and as mentioned earlier, I worked on my own fiction writing, which was terrific and as I mentioned already, am still a bit euphoric. The Bold Strokes Book-a-thon was a lot of fun and reminded me that yes, Greg, you are a writer even if you never write anything else ever again, and of course, I write this every day (even though I only count fiction). My supervisor is in London for two weeks for a very well-deserved vacation, so I have more duties and responsibilities while she’s gone (hurray), but I’m hoping it won’t be a stressful, tiring week, and of course at the end of next week I am off to Alabama/Florida for Decoration Day and to see my recently widowed aunt. This month has really been nuts, hasn’t it? And next month is all about the doctors appointments, and blood work. Onward and upward, as I always say.

We started watching a creepy documentary about FLDS, called Trust Me: The False Prophet, which is about the aftermath of the arrest and conviction of their former child molesting prophet, Warren Jeffs (we’ve watched several documentaries about that pedophile already) and someone who stepped in and claimed Jeffs had “claimed and named” him as the new prophet so he could accumulate wealth (he was kind of a loser) and wives–including underage ones. I had never really thought about it before, but of course those women are groomed and conditioned to accept whatever their Prophet tells them is the Lord’s will. It really is fascinating to see how easy people can be conditioned to follow a man (or men in general) who is stealing their lives, their skills and abilities, and who they actually should have grown up to be. I do hope Sarah Weinman takes this on at some point.

I’m feeling a little bit more connected to myself these days, too–maybe I should have started all this introspective naval-gazing sooner? No, probably not. There was a reason for me to not examine myself and my life more deeply and objectively, and I needed to get older (and medicated) in order to do this work on myself. I’m trying very hard to get rid of the last vestiges of trying to please that is still wired into my brain.

I also started working on my next newsletter, which may even go out on Wednesday like it’s supposed to. Consistency, that’s me. The on-line rape academy report recently published by CNN (which came under attack almost immediately, because we must not ever talk bad about the menfolk! Their fragile egos and incredibly weak senses of self must be protected at all costs!!!) was disgusting but also my way in to talk about another reason I felt isolated from other boys (later, men), namely, that I never held girls/women in contempt the same way my male peers did?

Here’s hoping I hit that Wednesday target.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. The temperature dropped yesterday when the rain finally concluded, but I am sure will be sweltering by the time I get off work. Until tomorrow, Constant Reader, and have a good one!

The temple at Edfu, Egypt
  1. Shout out to Pope Leo! ↩︎

Smoky Mountain Rain

Yes, this is yet another song that inspired me to write a short story–“No Security Provided,” thus far an unfinished first draft, about a woman driving north on I-75 hurriedly but has to make a rest stop and finds herself in a bad situation–which I really should finish someday. It has the potential to be a very good story, you know? Or it could be a worthless piece of crap no one will want. Your mileage might vary. I’m sure it often does.

For the first time in three weeks I have a work-at-home Friday, and it feels nice to be getting back into my normal routine. Yesterday was fine; I made it through the day unscathed, not tired, and pretty cheerful for the most part. I got home in time to see the final rotation of the Gymnastics national semifinals, in which LSU clinched a spot in the finals with three incredible floor routines back to back to wrap up their night. That made me even cheerier, and watching the news didn’t upset me too terribly. (I think I’ve just snapped about the country, to be honest; I’m numb to it all, with one notable exception–more on that later) I have some quality assurance to get done this morning, and some chores I’d like to take care of. I’ll need to also figure out what to get from the grocery store and what to have delivered, and when. I do need to run uptown to the post office, and maybe can drop off a load of books to the library sale. I can do that tomorrow, and swing by–oh, you don’t need to know the rundown of my plans for the weekend. I’m not sure I do, to be honest, other than as a reminder. I’ve been watching Jeopardy! clips on Youtube, trying to sharpen my mind, as well as playing a computer game that requires focus and concentration. I don’t know if that will work or not, but it seems to be? Anyway, I am feeling content this morning. The good night’s sleep undoubtedly helped with me feeling good and rested this morning, and that is so awesome, you know? I didn’t even sleep in that late, either. Sparky was a cuddlebug again this morning, but not as patient as he was last weekend waiting for me to get up and feed him, so I was up shortly after seven without issue. I am on my second cup of coffee this morning, and I already had my morning coffee cake, but my stomach still feels a bit on the empty side, so I’ll be making some toast or something in a moment.

It occurred to me yesterday, as the news of the CNN story on the so-called on-line “rape academy,” that I will never run out of material for my newsletter series on masculinity, will I? Certainly not as long as mediocre straight men can’t get laid due to their looks or lack of personality….scratch a straight man, and the odds are in your favor when it comes to finding one who’s a rapist, or one who has thought about it. Intrusive thoughts are still your thoughts. And the way men will always circle the wagons without question or thought when a man is credibly accused of sexual assault has always been rather telling, I’ve always believed. Not all men, of course, one can never truly generalize any demographic group as there are always plenty of exceptions to the generalization, but…it’s always a man.

I remember as a kid, when reading about history or mythology, I’d encounter the word rape and not know what it meant; I assumed it meant abducting them and nothing more than that–the rape of the Sabine women comes to mind–and it wasn’t until much later that I realized what the gods and soldiers were actually doing, and how casually the concept was introduced to me, and by extension, to all kids in that time period as not a big deal that it’s no wonder than men are socialized to think their cavemannish belief they are entitled to a woman’s body whenever and wherever they want. (This is why I love Sarah Weinman’s work so much–Without Consent is probably one of the most important non-fiction works on women’s bodily autonomy in years–or at least since her last book. I really need to read it again so I can write about it. It’s just too important of a book for me to dash off some thoughts without being thoughtful, you know?)

It also looks to be another stunning April day outside, so maybe sitting outside with a book this afternoon might be a good call. Or a little walk down to the park and back, or over to Walgreens; I do need to get some Claritin. So, I think I’m going to bring this to a close and head over into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, y’all, and I’ll be back yet again in the morning.

Escape from Berlin

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

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

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

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

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

The emails can wait until Wednesday, seriously.

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

Gate and Garden

Wednesday morning that doesn’t feel like a Wednesday, following close behind a Tuesday that didn’t feel like a Tuesday. Sigh. I have today off to attend a memorial service for a close friend, and so tomorrow is also going to feel a bit off, too–another day in the office before work-at-home Friday and the weekend. Yesterday was weird, you know? I was a bit stiff and sore from Monday’s fender-bender, and my energy just felt off all day. It was very weird, honestly, and probably a hangover from the adrenaline spike on Monday afternoon. That accident could have been so much worse than it was, too. Thank goodness for staying calm in the moment, right? It was a bit cold yesterday morning, too, but it felt okay when I left for the office. I had an errand to run on the way home, and I was back in my chair with a purring kitty before it got terribly dark, which was a very nice outcome. I was very tired when I got home, too, so didn’t really do much of anything last night…and I slept for almost twelve hours! I’m not sure what that was about, but I feel rested and good this morning, the coffee is going down easily, and Sparky is perched on my desk watching the windows.

There was an arson attack in the Bywater the other night–some friends’ home burned, along with eight parked cars and I think maybe one more house? Arson is terrifying in a city with a long history of burning–I don’t even know how many great New Orleans fires there have been, but I do know big swathes of the Quarter burned down several times in the eighteenth century. I also know that under the right conditions the entire city could easily go up in flames again. When we lived on Camp Street in the mid-to-late nineties, there was an arsonist setting fires in the lower Garden District; theoretically, he burned down a house on Coliseum Street as well as the old Coliseum Theater–which I am still not convinced wasn’t an insurance fire–how convenient for the property owner not to have to deal with a historic building and the insane process to tear it down. There’s a big building full of condos there now…and I know at one point I had wanted to write a Chanse book about an arsonist here, but somehow never got around to it…and of course, this recent arson has me thinking about a New Orleans arsonist again; I also wrote two Scotty books about fires–Bourbon Street Blues has a house fire, and Jackson Square Jazz came out of the Cabildo fire…and of course, I also wrote about the fire at the Upstairs Lounge in a Chanse, too. So I have written about fires in New Orleans…funny how you forget things you actually wrote yourself, isn’t it?

I think when I get home from the service (and the errands we are going to run afterwards) I am going to get some chores done around here so I don’t have to do them this weekend. I won’t be as tired as I usually am on Thursday, either, so I should be able to get things done tomorrow night after work, too. I think I am in the clinic alone again, but that’s fine. It’ll be a busy day for me, too–lots of things will need to get caught up for the week, now that I am missing a full day–but it’ll be fine. I can also get some reading done, too–it really is wild how hard it is for me to sit down with a book these days, you know? I was remembering yesterday about how much I used to read–and when I was growing up books were also a lot longer. I spent the summer before my junior year reading Michener–I read Hawaii, Centennial, Tales of the South Pacific, and Chesapeake that summer; I really wish he would have done Louisiana–and the summer before my senior year reading Herman Wouk (Marjorie Morningstar, Youngblood Hawke, The Winds of War, and War and Remembrance) while also reading thick volumes by Taylor Caldwell, Irving Wallace, and many others.

And now it takes me two weeks to reread The Postman Always Rings Twice. How things change.

And on that note I am going to head into the spice mines as the world and country burn to the ground around me. Have a lovely midweek Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I will be back tomorrow morning before work! See you then!

Fast Car

Thursday and my last day in the office for the week. Huzzah! I am meeting a friend for a drink after work tonight–she’s in from out of town for a few days, which is always exciting, since I adore her–and of course, tomorrow is work-at-home Friday. I didn’t sleep great last night, so I may be a bit tired this afternoon when I get off work, but for right now, I feel pretty okay. My coffee is good, and the kitchen/apartment is still under control, which is always a good thing. I’ve not done any creating this week, which isn’t great, and I probably won’t do any tonight, either.

I am still horrified by what happened yesterday in Minneapolis, and its aftermath. It really is astonishing how the Right will literally lie about everything even when it’s recorded by multiple phones from many different angles that show they are lying. With this blatant example of what this administration is capable of, how can anyone trust anything they say about anything? Of course, the cultists are too far gone–they have to swallow everything they’re told without question, else the realization of their culpability and being so fucking wrong about everything would drive them completely insane. Bigots don’t like having their hideous values exposed or questioned. So far, Mr. Donald the Dove (thanks again for that one, Maureen Dowd, you horrific traitorous bottom-feeding bitch) has invaded Venezuela and is claiming sovereignty over a foreign country he attacked without even notifying Congress (interesting how all the oil company execs knew more about it than Congress). His thugs have now murdered yet again, and are trying to blame the victim. How long before they open fire on a crowd, to the cheers of Murdoch media and the disgusting filth that works at Fox and Newsmax?

Ken Jennings posted on Threads yesterday I’m voting for the candidate who promises to prosecute the former regime at every level. Says it all, really.

I hate living through the decline and fall of the United States. I had hoped to be dead before it happened, but no such luck for me. Ah, well.

After I got home from work last night, I collapsed into my easy chair to watch the season finale of Real Housewives of Salt Lake City–which was excellent–and the final episode of The Cult of the Real Housewife. I have some thoughts about the documentary, but need to think about it some more. The allegations in the documentary were explosive…but there wasn’t any concrete proof, other than some recordings of Mary Cosby preaching? The appearance and commentary from a Youtube influencer who’s made a career gossiping about Bravo shows on-line, whom I used to follow but stopped because…well, because he was kind of racist a couple of times and I was done with him, didn’t help convince me of the veracity of anything that was being alleged. Sure it was juicy, but there was absolutely nothing new that wasn’t already in the discourse when all of this started when she joined the show in the first place. On the other hand, I do enjoy her on the show, and wonder if I’m simply looking to rationalize continuing to enjoy her? I stopped watching New Jersey when a cast member went to federal prison, and I didn’t watch this franchise until its criminal cast member was no longer on the show. I don’t like rewarding horrific behavior, but…again, no charges, no law enforcement charges, nothing. I did keep watching Beverly Hills after the failed golddigger’s husband was arrested, but I am kind of done with it now.

Sigh.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. May you have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I hope you’re safe and sound wherever you may be.

Smoky Mountain Rain

Epiphany! Twelfth Night! Carnival begins! I made groceries on the way home from work last night (we were busy all day), and picked up our first King cake of the season–it may be the last, actually, because Paul was home when I got home from work, and we spent a good portion of the evening getting caught up on everything and making plans. We both want to be healthier this year, and work on getting into better condition. He’s going to start by changing eating habits now; I am going to wait until after Mardi Gras to get started because that will fuck me up with going to the gym and so forth; it always does, and then I can’t get back into it again.

Or maybe I am just delaying working on it because I don’t want to really get started and am procrastinating again. It’s a mystery, as always. (We are interrupting this post to remind Gregalicious that he is not to be self-deprecating or hard on himself in 2026; and this is dangerously close. REBOOT! REBOOT!)

I’ve always loved today’s title song, and one night when I was driving to Kentucky through the Smoky Mountains, it started raining…and I remembered the song and a story popped into my head, about a woman fleeing a crime, heading north on I-75, and stopping at a rest area, where through no fault of her own other than having to pee, pulls into the midst of another crime. I’ve never written the whole story out, either–called it “Smoky Mountain Rest Stop”–but when I was driving up there this last time, one of the problems I had with the unwritten story was security cameras…and there was a rest stop that said NO SECURITY PROVIDED. I made a quick drive through their parking lot and sure enough, no cameras…and I renamed the story “No Security Provided,” which is a MUCH better title1.

I also finished my newsletter review of The Postman Always Rings Twice and got it out of the way; I am working on yet another to send out this weekend (hopefully). I was a little bit done in when I got home last night–not fatigued, but a bit tired–and so never made dinner last night, nor did I do any chores. I got sucked into The Cult of the Real Housewife documentary on HBO, about Mary Cosby from Real Housewives of Salt Lake City. It was…interesting. I still have another episode to go, but am not really sure about it. It’s highly entertaining, and I may have some unconscious bias going on (because I enjoy her on the show), but…I just don’t know. Yes, it is weird she married her grandmother’s widower and had a child with him. But that church is small. How could that fund her extravagant lifestyle, even if it is a cult and they are all giving her every cent of their money and so forth? It seemed like a lot of innuendo without concrete proof of anything; they did use some clips from Bravo, so they had to have permission, right? I’m not sure how that works, but there had to be some cooperation from the network. Curious that no one from Bravo is in it, though–co-stars, Andy Cohen, etc.–other than the clips.

It’s also interesting how many housewives have gotten the documentary treatment. Someday this will all be very fertile ground for a forensic social/cultural anthropologist, or a doctoral thesis: what personality disorders make for good reality television stars? I try not to watch shows that feature (and reward) criminal behavior; and I don’t know that I was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that Mary Cosby’s church is a cult. Maybe episode three will be more damning? I’m not sure its against the law to be a cult? They usually wind up violating other laws, which is usually their downfall–or they all end up dead.

Not good options, are they?

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

I love how the colors of the illuminated stained glass glow in contract to the darkness and shadows

The Good Stuff

Wednesday morning and how is everything with you, Constant Reader? I can’t complain, but I really didn’t want to get out of the comfort of the warm bed and my pile of blankets this morning. It was so nice and relaxing and comfortable! And when you have your sweet kitty check on you then curl up and cuddle and purr–yeah, who wouldn’t want to stay in bed? Yesterday was an okay day for the most part. I wasn’t tired, and I had help in the clinic, which I don’t today and tomorrow. Heavy sigh. But I’ll manage to power through. I am pretty caught up on my work and current on everything, so I just have to maintain that status through the end of the week. Sigh. It’s so nice to not be exhausted all the time, you know?

The interesting thing about ICE being here with their Gestapo-like tactics and antics is most of what they are doing is focused on the conservative suburbs outside of New Orleans, in Jefferson Parish–mostly in Kenner and Metairie, and they aren’t getting the kind of welcome they would have expected in MAGA territory. This irony–all the MAGAts and racists who were so absolutely delighted that New Orleans, that bastion of crime and danger to white people, was getting ICEd, only to have them focus on the so-called “safe” suburbs when they got here–is almost too delicious to bear. Of course, if people were posting about ICE in Metairie and Kenner, most Americans wouldn’t have a clue where they were talking about, so as always New Orleans is used as shorthand because everyone knows New Orleans (another bitter pill for the suburban racist trash to swallow).

As always, the quote is “Bitch, you live in Metairie.”

I was reminded yesterday that I wrote the introduction to two omnibus collections of gay crime writer’s first three novels, and the two authors were Michael Nava (!!! It was SUCH an honor!) and Michael Craft (both a delightful person and a delightful writer) way back in the early aughts; my first published essays, as it were. I’d completely forgotten about them, and the only reason I remembered was I got a google alert that a used copy of the Nava omnibus had been listed on The Strand’s website. I know I had a copy of each volume (at one point I had copies of all the Violet Classics, or whatever they called that series), because David Rosen at Insightoutbooks (which I miss to this day) sent them to me as a gift. My, that was a long time ago, and I got paid really well for those introductory essays. I was tempted to buy it, even to the point of getting my credit card out of my wallet and…just before I started the purchase process, thought better of it and closed the site. I don’t need to spend money on something I may already have a copy of; if I don’t have it or can’t find it, I can always go looking again for it on-line, of course, so long as I make a note to keep track and don’t forget about them, like I had for like at least fifteen years.

Sigh.

But my coffee is tasty this morning, the apartment is warm and comfortable, and today won’t be anything I can’t handle. I did do the dishes last night and ran the dishwasher before going up to bed, so I am almost caught up on chores other than, you know, keeping it clean as I go (ugh, McDonalds flashback), which will make the weekend easier. Yay! It makes such a difference not being tired every night when I get home from work. I still bond with Sparky when I get home from work (after feeding His Majesty) while I am catching up on the day’s news, but now I don’t get sucked in because I am so tired I don’t want to get back up…and I am motivated, which is even better, you know?

Last night we watched two more episodes of Death by Lightning, which I am enjoying. I love US History (history in general, really) and the murder of President Garfield was another one of those “what if” moments in American history; what kind of president would he have been, and how different would things have turned out had he not died and been succeeded by his vice president, Chester Arthur, is a question we’ll never know the answer to. The show is very well done and very well acted, and we now have just one more episode to finish it off, probably tonight. This period, and this assassination, have really been lost to time–who, outside of historians and history buffs–even remember that Garfield was president in the first place?

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

We haven‘t had a tree since Skittle died. Skittle would knock off an ornament and walk away. Scooter tried to climb it and eat the power cords. I shudder to think what Sparky would do to one.

Hurtin’ (on the Bottle)

Monday morning and back to the spice mines with me this morning.

Well, the office, at any rate.

It’s very chilly in the Lost Apartment on this first day of December, which also means it’s the start of my Noirmas Season project. Huzzah!1 I also slept deeply and well yesterday, after a day of rest and not really doing a lot. I was very low-energy yesterday, which didn’t surprise me. I’ve always been tired the day after driving home from Kentucky, which is why I always have given myself a free day before I have to go back to the office. So being low-energy wasn’t a “still not well completely” reaction, but rather a normal one, which was an enormous relief. Sparky was also very needy all day yesterday, sleeping in my lap or insisting I go sit in my chair to provide a lap for him–he’s so sweet. He was kind of distant at first when I got home, too, but eventually forgave me and starting showering me with attention. But yes, I spent most of yesterday in my easy chair too tired to read, and watching news videos and getting caught up on everything I’d missed while on that Internet sabbatical I took. I had to clean out an unbelievable amount of emails, and I also have a lot to read and respond to at some point this week.

The coaching carousel finally stopped spinning yesterday, with Tulane’s coach going to Florida and a directional Florida university’s coach going to Auburn, with the big story of the day being Lane Kiffin deciding to leave Mississippi in the lurch and come to LSU. (Mississippi elevated their defensive coordinator to head coach–not interim, but head coach.) There was a lot of negativity about this, as there should have been. He is leaving his team with a 11-1 record and a play-off birth, so their fans are pretty bitter and angry2. Mississippi hasn’t had a shot at contending for a national title since at least 2003, and they made the 12 team play-offs before LSU, which no one would have thought possible as recently as five years ago. I’m ambivalent about the whole situation, to be honest. Mississippi fans have a right to be angry and they also have a right to hate him; he left them in the lurch before the play-offs to go to an archenemy. LSU-Mississippi is a trophy game every year, and they hate us and have for decades. The difference between this hire and the Brian Kelly hire back in 2021 is that Louisiana seems to have instantly embraced Kiffin, whereas Kelly was never completely accepted, and even after winning the division in his first season–a good start–LSU never saw that level of success again. I’m willing to give Kiffin a chance, just as I was willing to give Kelly (someone I didn’t like or respect) a chance. He did a great job at Mississippi–not an easy task–and three consecutive ten win seasons there is nothing to sneeze at. LSU is a brand (more on that later) much more so than Mississippi, with no disrespect intended; it’s just a fact. An undefeated LSU team, for example, will always be ranked higher than an undefeated Mississippi team–which is completely unfair–but that’s how this all seems to work these days. (Miami and Notre Dame, for example, have the same record but Notre Dame is ranked higher–and Miami beat Notre Dame. Your guess is as good as mine.)

Yesterday morning I finished listening to Fever Beach, and have lots of thoughts about it. It reminded just how important it actually is for funny writers to use their talents to skewer and satirize politicians and the state of the country. I have wondered myself about how much of the current world situation I should put into my Scotty books, and if so, how to handle it. My readers, of course, probably are more left than right; I cannot imagine how anyone could read that series and believe Scotty and his family are conservatives. I don’t remember if Fever Beach was considered controversial when it was published, and once it got started I wasn’t sure how I felt about it and the approach he was taking, but once I started laughing out loud (which happened quite a few times while listening) and got into the spirit of the thing. Mocking them is really the best way to handle them–and really, we should have never stopped calling them weird last summer.

We also finished watching the John Wayne Gacy series, Devil in Disguise, which was incredibly well done. I appreciated the focus on the families and loved ones on the victims, along with the trial stuff and backstory. This, Ryan Murphy, is how you do a serial killer mini-series. You don’t glamourize the killer. We then watched a documentary called The Carman Family Murders, which was interesting, sad, and horrifying all at the same time. (I think we’re going to make Sundays our “true crime documentary” nights.)

Tonight after work I need to make some groceries and order some to be delivered (or maybe I can order them all for delivery? Hmmm). I need to put the dishes away and finish the load of laundry I started last night (fluff and fold is all that’s left to do). I need to clean out my inbox and start thinking more about working on Chlorine. I also got the edits for new Scotty I have to get done, and I have another chore to do as well.

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

  1. Note to self: find my copy of The Postman Always Rings Twice tonight. ↩︎
  2. Again, who can blame them? There are people in Louisiana who’ve never forgiven Nick Saban for returning to college football at Alabama. ↩︎