Category: true crime

Puppy Love

Thursday and my last day in the office for the week. Huzzah! I am fatigued this morning. I went to the gym on my way home last night, and while these “workouts” seem hardly worthy of the name, the way my muscles feel this morning shows me that oh yes indeed, even as light as the weights are and as few sets I am doing, it definitely still is counting. This is why I have to be patient with the progress and not get ahead of myself. Last night, I was definitely tempted to add more weight and even had to talk myself out of it, feeling like I was wimping out–but how much more fatigue would I be feeling this morning? And yes, I slept like the dead last night, too–another sign. I may take an extra rest day and not go again until Saturday. I was also tired when I got home last night, so I didn’t do much of anything, including chores….so will definitely have to do those tonight when I get home. I picked up the mail yesterday, too, so I can come straight home tonight.

And of course, tomorrow is a work-at-home day. Huzzah!

I had another surprise at the post office yesterday, too–my Nancy Drew The Secret of the Old Clock action figure! It’s pretty cool, and I may save pictures of it for here until after Pride month, because I cannot think of a way to do a Pride post about–you know what? I just thought of a way to do it, so I guess I manifested itself into being. I also managed to get a Pride post done yesterday–Calvin Klein ads–and I have some more on deck, too; I’ll give you some hints about them–Dynasty, party culture, gym culture, etc.–and who knows when I’ll get them finished and posted, but they are definitely in progress.

I also got my copy of a book I read and reread over and over again as a kid: Stranger than Science by Frank Edwards. I am slowly remembering some other things about my childhood–my interests in the occult and the unexplained. There was a lot of this sort of thing when I was growing up in the suburbs of Chicago, and I am not sure why there was so much of this in the late 1960’s/early 1970s, but there was. The Bermuda Triangle was a big thing, and so were pseudo-sciences like Erich von Däniken’s Chariots of the Gods and so on; Thor Heyerdahl was having his adventures proving that Pacific Islanders traveled much further than most believed, and he also was proving Egyptians could have made it to America on papyrus boats, which was insane but interesting at the same time. I also loved things like Ripley’s Believe It or Not, which used to be a bigger deal than it is now; weird theories about space alien astronauts and forgotten history–I was really into this sort of thing–lost knowledge has always interested me, and books about recovering lost knowledge (or treasure) were catnip for Gregalicious. I don’t know if this was a natural progression of the 1960s movements, in which we became suspicious of government and less trusting, but the 1970s were a very strange decade, and immersing myself in my memories has been interesting. Anyway, Stranger Than Science is a book telling short tales of real events with no logical or rational explanation (this was where I first learned of spontaneous combustion, for one). Edwards used to have a long-running radio show with the same name and subject matter, and my interest in his book and other unexplained phenomenon (whether true, legend, or a combination of both) had more of an influence on me as a writer than I actually remembered. I’m looking forward to revisiting this book.

I also got Paul Tremblay’s Horror Movie yesterday, and I may be moving it up on the TBR pile. He’s become one of my favorite writers lately–since I read A Head Full of Ghosts a few years back, and I’ve not read anything of his that wasn’t compelling and unputdownable since. (I’m also enjoying Grady Hendrix and Riley Sager these days as well.)

And on that note, I am bringing this to a close so I can head into the spice mines. Have a marvelous Thursday, and look for a Pride post later!

Rockin’ Robin

We made it to Wednesday! Huzzah! Huzzah! Here I sit with my coffee on my middle of the week morning, and I feel pretty good, to be honest. I was very tired yesterday, but not in the “I can’t even think” way, but rather the “hmm, I feel fatigued” way, which is fine. Yesterday was Sparky’s birthday, and so I gave him extra treats and pretty much played with him for most of the evening until he went to sleep in my lap. He really is a dear, even when he has Big Kitten Energy.

It’s been a bit of a week thus far, hasn’t it? Who knew that Ginni Thomas wasn’t the most awful SCOTUS wife? AND THAT IS SAYING SOMETHING. I saw someone on social media suggesting we change it, as a society, from “Karens” to “Martha-Anns,” since that name isn’t as common and she is clearly the GALACTIC EMPRESS of “I need to speak to a manager.” Madame Torquemada wouldn’t think Isabella the Catholic wasn’t religious enough for her, and clearly she’d love to implement the Inquisition, too. Thanks again to the third party votes who gave us the president who would appoint him for your service–and again for your service in 2016. I mean, what a vicious, venomous little spider she is, sitting in her house brooding over people being mean to her, waiting for the day she can be spiteful–the irony is it doesn’t make her look like the wife of a Supreme Court justice, but the Alitos clearly have delusions of grandeur and think they’re superior to everyone else. Whatever, trash. Don’t call yourselves patriots when you’re preference is to wipe your ass on the Constitution, and I also love that Alito thinks he’s a superior legal mind to, I don’t know, say every previous justice, which is rather telling. He certainly should not be a judge. But again, me and everyone else not white-cishet were screaming from the rafters that 2016 was about the Supreme Court, and as usual, no one listened–and that was also the case with the 2000 election, too. Sigh. It’s the pits, sometimes feeling like Cassandra on the walls of Troy.

I do feel much more lively this morning than I have any morning this week, but that’s got to be the better night of sleep last night–best of the week, in fact. I have to go pick up the mail today, my copies of the new Paul Tremblay should be there as well as another book from my childhood, Stranger than Science, which I am justifying getting because I plan to use it in The Summer of Lost Boys, which makes it research. I started thinking more about the next book yesterday, too, and how to expand this novella out into a novel. I am of course still going back and forth on it; it could be a novel, or it could just be the novella I stick at the end of my short story collection, but I think it would be too long for that. I need to write the introduction for that and finish the final stories and get it turned in. I know that Never Kiss a Stranger is already about 23k words in length, and there are at least two other subplots I need to weave into it, which should make it all the more interesting. I’ve not done nearly as much writing this week as I would have preferred, but there’s still a few days left in the week, so I can hopefully make up for lost time. What I need to do is summarize what’s already done, figure out where to slot in the subplots, and then buckle up and do the work. Next week is also going to be a little odd; we have Wednesday off for Juneteenth, so I have to work two days, be off one, work two more, and then drive over to Florida to meet Dad for the weekend. Their anniversary is next week–the 20th, to be exact, so Dad wants to go visit Mom and then he’s going on down. It’ll be a nice, relaxing weekend, methinks.

I’m not even going to take my computer with me. I’ll be ignoring everything until I get back.

Today is also the anniversary of the massacre at Pulse nightclub in Orlando, God rest their souls. That resonated because of course it was a dance club, and I had images of it happening here at either Oz or the Parade, which is chilling–and I really hated that the reboot of Queer as Folk was set here and a club shooting was central to the story. Has there been a true crime book about that yet? I feel like someone should, but not me. I am not the right person to do true crime, because I write fiction, I’d probably be unable to resist the urge to twist facts and evidence to fit any theories I might have, and that’s a disservice to the victims. I have thought, numerous times, about the possibility about writing a true crime book based on this case I am following in Oklahoma–without actually talking to any of the people or visiting the area–because one of the more interesting aspects of it all is the reaction, and how it’s all playing out on just this one Facebook page I joined. It still doesn’t make sense that the investigation was so fouled up from day one. How did anyone ever accept the theory that he was hit and killed by the side mirror on an eighteen-wheeler, and besides, I don’t care how drunk you are–there are conflicting reports on how drunk he was, but the autopsy did say .14 blood alcohol content–you’re not going to be unaware of an eighteen-wheeler coming up behind you on a country highway. And there was no wreckage or debris of any kind where the body was found. Sounds intriguing, doesn’t it? At some point I’ll probably write a blog entry about this case, but I don’t think, as much as I believe I could base a compelling novel in it, that I’ll eventually do so unless I can come up with a artistic thesis (that sounds pretentious, doesn’t it?) for it.

It’s funny how writing is like just about everything else in my life, isn’t it? The more I do it the better I write, the more I enjoy the other parts of my life, and if I take a break from it, it takes a while to shake off the dust and scrape off the rust and reactivate my creativity and my writing muscles. I also forget how to write a book sometimes, and that becomes a bit scary until I start remembering things, like oh yes you always have a point to the book you’re writing and you know what theme you want to explore, or I’ll remember something about the process and wonder if I’ve always done it that way because I don’t really remember. I am also finding I am forgetting a lot of the scenes and characters and plots of some of the books I’ve written, which is even scarier–what if I repeat myself, like with Scotty’s predilection for getting into car accidents? Heavy heaving sigh. This is why being a writer is an exercise in madness, really.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a delightful Wednesday; there may be a pride post later on; one never knows.

It’s Four in the Morning

Tuesday morning and my alarm went off this morning–as well as the cat alarm–and so I am up, swilling coffee, and looking forward to my day. I did stop on the way home yesterday to get the mail and went to the gym to do Rehab. It was remarkably smooth, too–I was able to drive there, park easily, get in and out relatively easily, and get home. I feel a bit tired this morning, which is no doubt due to the unexpected rigorous exercise I put my body through last evening, so there’s definitely some muscle fatigue going on. We watched The Hit Man on Netflix, which was interesting and clever enough, and it was filmed in New Orleans–and that was the way to film in New Orleans; AKA, they just filmed it here like it was anywhere else, and didn’t feel the need to “Nawlins” it up (by which I mean constantly saying New Orleans, sending the characters out for beignets all the time, occasional mention of the Saints, etc etc etc), and there was only one scene where I was like, “if you work at UNO and live in Gentilly, why would you drive home via Liberty Circle?” It was a pleasant way to spend the evening, and it was a cute film; actually based on a true story here locally about an undercover cop (really a side gig) who played hit men in sting operations to arrest the person hiring him, and he’s actually good at it. Check it out, it’s a pleasant way to spend two hours.

I did spend some time writing yesterday, which felt good; I am now going to let that sit for a few days before marking it up with the proverbial red pencil (when I first started, you did use a red pencil or ink to mark up your manuscripts) and I am now going to start pulling Never Kiss a Stranger apart in order to piece it back together as a novel. I mean, why not? I love the main character, I love the minor characters, and the story itself is one I really want to tell and share with the world.

I also picked up the mail, and now have my copy of Summer of ’42, which I am hoping to reread relatively soon.

Hilariously, Harrison Butker (aka Hairy Butt) was in the news again lately for “saving” a teammate’s life, who’d gone into cardiac arrest. Turns out all he did was run for help–which, as someone who has been certified in CPR since 1997, I can tell you is the wrong thing to do. You’re supposed to call for help while starting CPR and ordering someone else to go for help, or to keep calling until someone comes. You’re never supposed to leave the person alone; seconds are critical and the longer before compressions starts the more unlikely it is they will be successful, not to mention the cessation of oxygen flow to the brain. Even if he was the person who was sent for help, it was hardly “his” heroism at play here; it’s really not all that heroic to go look for help when someone is having a medical issue. The irony that he got a female trainer to come out and save the man’s life–while getting the headlines for himself about his “heroics”; in many of the pieces the actual trainer’s name wasn’t even mentioned as they masturbated Butker’s fragile ego, as though saying to all of us who found his graduation antics in incredibly poor taste “see what a great guy?”

Given the other option was to let the man die, he literally did the bare minimum, but we’re supposed to call him a hero? No, heroes are my co-workers who run outside to administer NARCAN to an overdose and save lives. It’s become so routine now that no one even thinks about it, but watching my department immediately slip into crisis mode and work together quickly and efficiently to save a life is very impressive, and way more than Hairy Butt ever would do; he’d probably think the OD was God’s will or something.

The bar really is set low for cishet white men, isn’t it? They need praise for everything.

Sigh. The poor, sad, oppressed straight cis white man, right?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Wish me luck, and I’ll do the same for you, Constant Reader, and there’s going to be a Pride post later, I’m sure.

Screenshot

Morning Good Morning

Sunday morning and I slept late, which is fine, really. I keep forgetting that sleeping in on my days off isn’t a criminal act of any kind. After so many years of keeping myself overly busy and so I was always behind on deadlines and so forth, I’ve kind of gotten into the insane mindset that sleeping late is a waste of time that could be better utilized, writing or cleaning or reading. I do have some things I need to get done today–mostly running to the store to get the things i need to make a carrot cheesecake for a co-worker’s birthday tomorrow–but if i manage my day properly, I should be able to get things done.

I spent yesterday running errands, and trying to get things cleaned up around the house while dipping into two books–The Berlin Stories by Christopher Isherwood and Ode to Billy Joe by Herman Raucher. I ordered the latter from ebay after I started doing my research into Robby Benson for the post I made about the crush I had on him as a teenager; realizing the movie script and novel were written by Herman Raucher made me interested in reading the book, as well as wondering about Summer of ’42, and so I ordered copies of each. Billy Joe arrived yesterday, and I was curious about it. Usually novelizations were work-for-hire arrangements and the author used a pseudonym; some are better than others, of course, but just reading the first chapter of Billy Joe I can tell it’s head-and-shoulders above most novelizations, and it’s probably more thorough in telling the story than the movie was, which has me interested. I’ve also been thinking about The Berlin Stories lately, after watching the film Christopher and His Kind, and may revisit it again, too, for Pride Month; Isherwood is one of the literary gods of the gay canon, and the opening sentences of Goodbye to Berlin are perfect for parodying in the prologue to the next Scotty. I still have to finish my reread of Michael Thomas Ford’s Suicide Notes, and I think I’m going to bump the new John Copenhaver up on my TBR list. It is Pride Month, and I should immerse myself in queer lit for the month, don’t you think, Constant Reader?

I also want to write about Summer of ’42 at some point. Like The Other, it was an early read that was very influential on me, and one I often don’t think about when I do think about influential works I’ve read or make a list. I really do need to sit down and identify the books that really impacted me and the way I write; The Other, Summer of ’42, and so many, many others. I also want to write today; I didn’t really yesterday, but I did spend some time yesterday doing research; i.e. watching Youtube videos on the Oklahoma true crime story that fascinates me still, as well as ones that review the 1970’s and pop culture and what was going on those early years of the decade, which is when the book will be set. I think I am moving in a more historical direction rather than writing about the current day; Never Kiss a Stranger is set in the 1990s (1994, to be exact) and of course The Summer of Lost Boys is going to be set in either 1972 or 1973; I can’t decide which, although I suspect 1973 is going to end up being the winner when I finally have to decide.

We finished Under the Bridge last night, and it’s most excellent; I highly recommend it. Based on a true crime novel about the Reena Virk murder in Victoria, British Columbia back in the 1990’s, Reena was beaten badly by a group of girls–some she thought were friends–and then after the others left her broken and injured and bleeding along the river bank, a boy and a girl came back and basically, finished her off. The show reminded me a lot of Megan Abbott’s work; Abbott always writes about the mysterious world of female relationships, female rage and jealousy, and that’s what Under the Bridge does so beautifully. The acting is extraordinary; a real standout is Javon Walton as Warren, the young boy who kills Reena. Walton is very handsome in that young way, and I looked him up because the performance was so extraordinary, and turns out he also played Ashtray on Euphoria, who was one of my favorite characters on that show. Do watch it when you get a chance. I’m going to get a copy of the book now, too. Yay, more things to read! Just what I need!

We also started The Acolyte, but I was sleepy by the time it started and kept dozing off. No judgment on the show, I was just tired.

And on that note, I think I’ll head into the spice mines. I’ll probably finish the dishes this morning while making a grocery list, and then I’ll dash to the store and get gas. I may even finish one of these other Pride blog drafts, so have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later.

American Pie

Saturday! Woo-hoo!

Yesterday was an odd work-at-home Friday. Our power went in and out a few times during the day, and that threw everything off–laundry, work, plans for the day. But it did gradually and eventually all get finished in the end so Paul and I could spend the evening riveted by Under the Bridge. We only have two episodes left and it’s soooo good, and so delightfully queer-which was a delightful and unexpected surprise. Lily Gladstone continues to own the screen, and I can’t wait to see the final two tonight when Paul gets home from tabling at Pride for Saints and Sinners.

I slept really well last night, which was marvelous. I woke a bit later than I originally had intended, but that’s okay. I want to get some more cleaning done around the house this morning before I take books to the library sale, pick up the mail, and make groceries; then I intend to get some more writing done today. I did some more thinking about it last night before Paul got home, and I think I almost have the voice right. I also did some more research while he was at the gym–nothing like reexamining pop culture and the news during a distant time period (note to self: TV Guide archives must be checked as well), because it brings back memories, which also helps put me in the right mental place to write and create the story. I also kind of know how the story is going to go, and I also came up with another idea for the beginning, which I also really like. (I just had one of those imposter syndrome moments, where my brain suddenly panics and thinks, that isn’t going to work. Sometimes I really hate my brain…

During one of the power outages yesterday I decided to use the time productively and walked to the gym to do rehab exercises. It made sense when I thought about it–I mean, without power or Internet I can’t work, so utilize the time, right?–but after getting damp with sweat walking over there on a “feels like 105” afternoon, sweating more during the rehab exercise, and getting soaked with sweat walking home to a house without power that was getting hotter wasn’t perhaps the wisest choice? The power was still out for about an half hour or so at that time, so I took a very quick shower while the apartment began cooling down again and felt ever so much better. I also don’t feel exhausted or tired this morning, so maybe physically I am beginning to get back my stamina and getting back to normal, which is terrific. I was starting to worry that I was never going to do so, and I am nothing if not incredibly impatient.

I also watched Ode to Billy Joe yesterday (the film is on Youtube for those inclined to watch it again) because I’d been looking into Robby Benson for a Pride post, as he helped me understand that I liked men instead of women–so, so beautiful–and I realized I’d never watched this movie….and the movie, it turns out, is what fleshed the song out to give us a reason why Billy Joe jumped off the bridge; he’d been with a man, and the shame drove him to it because it was such an ugly thing to be that suicide made the most sense as an option. I’d heard the theory that he killed himself for being gay before, but didn’t realize it came from the movie…and the novelization of the script was written by Herman Raucher, who’d also written Summer of ’42, a coming of age novel and movie that were also kind of formative for me. Looking into it, it was released in the summer of 1976. We moved to Kansas that summer and the movie didn’t play locally, and I’d never watched any of its television airings. Anyway, the movie was interesting but there were lots of parts to it that didn’t play well for me today–I am always prickly about the way films have rural Southern people talk–but keep an eye out for my Robby Benson post if you’re interested in him.

I do feel good this morning, which is nice. I’ll go get cleaned up in a bit, but am going to work on either entries or the prologue this morning. I also plan on doing some rereading of my own work today–I am definitely moving Never Kiss a Stranger to the top of the to-write pile, because I am not entirely sure about the y/a I want to turn from novella into novel; I’m not entirely sold on the plot, to be honest. I also want to work on the kitchen this morning, too; I did buy the wrong vacuum cleaner (mine is a rug cleaner; so I can put water and shampoo in it to clean the carpets too, but it does work as a very powerful vacuum, so I’ll go ahead and use it–and maybe next weekend, I’ll clean the Oriental rugs with it.

Yesterday the right, through The Federalist, decided to come for Dolly Parton and basically call her a false prophet and a “danger” to Christianity. The recovering alcoholic who wrote the hit piece, Ericka Andersen, is about what you’d expect: a self-righteous born-again Christian who thinks she knows the faith better than anyone who ever lived or ever will live, which of course is apostasy, but she’s a soulless troll who got the attention she wanted. Andersen’s social media is now completely shut down as she is in the find-out phase of coming for Dolly. Dolly has not only given the world decades of amazing music and entertainment, she is also one of the most generous people alive, using her money and her fame to do good works in the world and is always kind and understanding and sympathetic; the woman literally loves everyone even her harshest critics. If ever there was an example of what it is like to truly follow the Christian path, it’s Dolly Parton–but you know, giving kids free books, donating millions of dollars to charity every year, and her incredible generosity to her employees at Dollywood? Sorry she won’t condemn people you don’t like, cosplay Christian piece of shit. And for the record, Megan McCain is married to the head of the Federalist Society–which is all anyone needs to know about what utter and complete garbage they are.

Seriously, they’ve come for Taylor Swift and now Dolly. Next thing you know they’ll come for Cher–which is something I would love to see them try.

And on THAT note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday, and I’ll be back later, okay?

Open Up Your Heart

Friday work at home blog! I do have to ZOOM into a department meeting this morning, but other than that–I am home for the day. It’s also a co-worker of whom I am rather fond’s last day, and everyone is going with him to happy hour, and I may join them; we’ll see how I feel later this afternoon. The way I am feeling this morning, though–like something the cat dragged in–I may not. I did sleep very well last night; I did get the laundry done last night but didn’t go near the dishes, and I haven’t assembled the new vacuum cleaner yet. I was tired when I got home from work last night, but did do a little bit of writing. I am very pleased with the work I am doing, if not thrilled about how long it’s taking me to finish, but I really don’t want to move on from this until I have it correct.

We watched another episode of Under the Bridge, which is extremely well done. I had wanted to watch this as soon as I’d heard of it, and then it was mentioned on the Facebook page about the Oklahoma true crime I’m moderately obsessed with, saying there were similarities in the two cases. (Under the Bridge is based on a true crime novel, which I am going to read at some point.) But the best part of the show is Lily Gladstone as Cam, the investigating cop. I never saw Killers of the Flower Moon, primarily because I am tired of Leonardo diCaprio, and didn’t think I could sit through three hours of him acting, but I was curious about Gladstone, and she is fantastic in this, as is Riley Keough and the rest of the cast, and it’s very well done. Not sure where it is going or how it’ll end–I am resisting the urge to look up the case–but as of two episodes I can highly recommend it.

After all the rain this week it looks like we’ll be having sunny weather all weekend, which also means heat and humidity. I want to get to the gym twice this weekend, need to make groceries (I promised to make a co-worker a carrot cheesecake for their birthday Monday), get the vacuum cleaner together and do the floors, and get the car washed. I want to get this prologue finished, and I’ve also realized that the project I wanted to work on next probably isn’t the project I want to work on next after all–so the choice is to read what’s already done, hoping it will trigger interest in working on it, or i am going to move it to a back-burner and move another project up…I mean, both have been on the back-burner for years, so does it really matter which one gets finished first? No, not really, only to me, and I really need to not get too rigid and inflexible (as I tend to do, grasping onto something and stubbornly refusing to see reason) about any of this stuff. It’s also heading into the second or third week of June or something, which is nuts.

I’d also like to do some reading this weekend. My TBR pile has always been out of control, but now I have so many great new ones on hand–John Copenhaver, Kellye Garrett, Amina Akhtar, Celeste Ng, Scott Carson, Stephen King, Lori Roy–that I cannot decide what to read next and it really is an embarrassment of riches, is it not? I also saw that Megan Abbott will have a new book next year, and so will Laura Lippman, I think. I really do wish I could just take some time off and spend it reading but even then I don’t think I’d even make much of dent in anything. I’ll take some books with me to Florida later this month when I go over to see Dad, and of course I am going to go up there for a week in October–more reading! Huzzah! I also think I’m going to stay here for Thanksgiving, but take that whole week off, which would be a really nice thing.

And on that note, I think I’ll head into the spice mines for now. Have a lovely Friday, Constant Reader, and I’ll try to get some of these other Pride entries done over the weekend.

Song Sung Blue

Pay the Bills Wednesday. Hurray.

I don’t think I’ll ever get old enough to be thrilled about paying bills. It is satisfying to be able to do so and not ever worry about them–oh, those dark days when it was hard to pay the bills, or I didn’t make enough to cover them, or…yeah, let’s not go there. Deeply unpleasant, and why I endlessly empathize with people who struggle financially; been there, done that, no desire to ever go back there, either.

I slept well last night again. We started watching Under the Bridge last night, which we are really enjoying; it dovetails in with the Oklahoma true crime case I am following in real time with some similarities. Paul got home late, so I spent most of the evening sitting in my chair reading The Rival Queens while trying not to get chewed up by a playful kitten with Big Kitten Energy until he got home. I was tired–I gradually grew more tired the longer the work day went on, but since school’s out (thank you, baby Jesus) traffic isn’t nearly as awful on the way home as it usually is. I went uptown and got the mail as well as picked up two prescriptions, and by the time I’d fed Sparky and let him chase the red dot for a while until he got bored with it, I was pretty much done for the day. I did write for a while last night (and am very pleased with what I did write, which is super cool), so that felt pretty good. It’s not coming along very quickly; I’m trying to find the right voice for this section (the story will be told in two similar, but very different, voices) and that’s why it’s taking me longer than usual to get this bit finished. It’s at about 2500-3000 words right now, and I need to add more. It’s still not completely right, nor am I super-satisfied with it–it’ll need to be gone over a few more times–but I am very close, and that’s probably good enough for me to put it aside. I think I am also going to write a synopsis that breaks the book down into the sections I am going to use to tell it–there’s no guarantee I’ll remember the story I have in my head right now, so best to get it down.

I do feel good this morning, like I can get everything done that needs to be done, and that’s always a nice feeling. I am not tired, maybe a little bit out of it and maybe a step slower than I was yesterday morning physically, but mentally I am awake and raring to go. Another cup of coffee will undoubtedly finish the job. I have to pick up the mail and make a grocery run on the way home this afternoon, and then I can relax into my evening. We’ll see how I feel when I get home, but there are chores that will need to be done as well as the usual bonding with Sparky (after he eats; he’s a big fan of food and cuddles after eating). Tomorrow is my last day in the office for the week (I think; there’s a department meeting on Friday but I am not sure if it’s mandatory-in-person or if I can call in from my computer at home–fingers crossed), and I plan to get some things done this weekend around the house. I broke down and ordered a new vacuum cleaner that should arrive today, actually; so I can do the floors. I am still going to try to see if I can fix my current one, and if not, I am throwing both of the old ones–neither of which work very well–out.

Such the exciting life I lead, right?

And today I get to call the IRS–hurray–to check on my return (it was filed almost a month ago, and should have processed already; maybe it was because it was late? I don’t know), and I need to make an eye exam appointment, which means seeing if Costco takes my vision insurance. I’ll be meeting Dad over in Florida later this month, so I’ll need some kind of sunglasses–when I went in October it was so blindingly bright it hurt my eyes–or at least find some clip-ons to go over my glasses; I certainly don’t give a shit if it looks ridiculous or stupid or not, which is one of the great joys of getting old…not giving a shit about what other people think. To quote Bette Davis, “other peoples’ opinions of me are none of my business”–which is great life advice, really. It’s so freeing.

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

You’re So Fine

Work at home Friday, and the weekend is nigh. Huzzah! Yesterday was a gloomy day with rains off and on, with a flash flood warning and everything. It was the kind of day that makes you feel lazy, you know? When the air conditioning inside has been going for days and then all that damp gets into the cold air? All I want to do is curl up with a book and a blanket. Alas, it was not to be as I was at work. Sigh. Why can’t these marvelous thunderstorms strike when I’m at home and can do just that very thing? (I was woken up by another amazing one this morning at around three; the thunder was so loud and close I kind of figured I’d wake up to no power.) But I slept well last night, have only a couple of things to do outside the house today–pharmacy, mail, gym–and am hoping for a really productive day.

I heard the news about the verdict (verdicts?) in the first criminal trial of a former president of the United States in history–well, he did say he was going to have a historic presidency, and he certainly has achieved a lot of firsts–first president to be impeached twice, first president to be criminally charged and convicted, and every time he seems to appear in court, he loses again–all that winning he promised the American people, who knew the winning was going to be done by prosecutors? I did dip into Twitter a few times to see the predictable meltdowns, and who knows what this means? He could still win the election, if people are nasty and hateful enough to still vote for him, and the absolute moral collapse of evangelical Christianity (they never had any high ground; they have always been abominations and apostates in the eyes of their God and the world they think he created)–now they are committing blasphemy and driving even more people away from Christianity–which has always needed the enforcement arm of the State throughout History to gain converts–they do not follow the ministry of Jesus, to whom they pay lip service and drape themselves in the symbols of their faith, but that is merely hollow pageantry, since their souls are blackened and shrunken with hate and pride and everything else forbidden in the Holy Book they love to thump but not read.

And yes, as much as I personally am enjoying all of this, it also saddens me, as someone who, despite its flaws (and there are many), loves his country. The very idea that someone could have been elected to the highest office in the land who was never anything more than a braggadosio; a liar and a rapist and a bigot and a psychopath, with no loyalty to our system, our Constitution, and the law of our land; only to himself and enriching his family at the expense of the taxpayers. He used the power of the position to commit crimes, and he had to commit crimes in order to get elected in the first place. I have always suspected there was more election interference in 2016 than we know about. Hey, if they can deny the results of 2020, why can’t we question the 2016 election? It was never properly investigated, was it, thanks to his enabling traitor acolytes in Congress; the cancer that is Mitch McConnell saw to that. I just hope more people see that the right is “party first” rather than “country first,” which means they definitely betray their oaths to protect and defend the Constitution, like the power-hungry corrupt trash they are.

Our country has been tarnished forever by electing fool’s gold and embarrassing us on the international stage, a sideshow freak hawking snake oil who’s never accomplished anything other than being a “fake” businessman on a reality show and stealing an election.

Needless to say, any plans to write last night were completely derailed by the news–I spent most of the night watching the news on MSNBC, I mean, it was historic (although I am growing very tired of witnessing history, seriously) and therefore should be paid attention to, but it also put me in mind of all the major changes and historic events I’ve witnessed: a man walking on the moon; Watergate; the end of the Vietnam War; the hostage situation at the Munich Olympics; the Bicentennial; the Iranian hostages; the Gulf War; 9/11; a president being impeached for a blow job; the endless wars that followed 9/11; the first female presidential candidate from either major party; and now…this national disgrace. In all honesty, given the evidence I’d seen, I didn’t see how the jury could not convict…but…the gravity of convicting a former president had me wondering if the jury would take the job that seriously and remove the aura of the Oval Office and see him as he actually is: a petty criminal who grifted his way in the public consciousness…and for the record, I’ve despised him and his family since he first started turning up in infotainment news. I cheered every bankruptcy and public embarrassment/failure, hoping that each would be the last time we ever heard that benighted name again.

And from 2015 on, he always reminded me of Greg Stillson from The Dead Zone.

I’ve also tried very hard to never talk about him on here, because I didn’t want the foul stench stinking up my blog…but how can I not mention the convictions, probably the biggest new story in years?

I do apologize to you, Constant Reader, for bringing him up here. Seriously, if a genie offered me three wishes, the first would be to never see or hear of him or his wretched excuse for a family ever again.

And on that grim note, I am heading into the spice mines. I feel very good and rested, and hope for a very productive day. I might be back later; one never knows, and tomorrow is the start of Pride Month, so I’m sure I’ll have quite a bit to say on that score all month long.

Manhattan Spiritual

Wednesday Pay-the-Bills blog, and woo=hoo! Isn’t it nice and exciting to be halfway through the work week? I feel rested and relaxed this morning as I sit here swilling coffee and reminding Sparky he doesn’t need more treats. (He really loves treats.) The sky is blue and the sun is already up, which is great. I really hate getting up in the dark, you know? Getting up when it’s already daylight–even if it’s not quite as light as it is later on–is so much better; I don’t feel like the night is being interrupted.

I ran some errands last night after work, mostly picking up the mail (got my copy of the new Ann Hood, yay!) and some other stuff. Tonight I have to make groceries on my way home, and I need to order some more things on-line, too. I also reflected some on the way I’ve been feeling about writing lately, and realized I’m just going through yet another prolonged malaise, which always makes me doubt myself and wonder if I should even bother continuing with it, while also contemplating taking some time off from it…and then remembering I have taken some time off from writing. Maybe I am just in a better mood this morning, or maybe I am finally rested enough to move forward from hereon out? Who knows? Writing hasn’t been easy for quite a while now, but I need to stop dogging myself about first drafts not being perfect because they never are. I think I am starting to get focused on what I want to write next…but I do need to get these short stories out of the way first and foremost, and I do need to get some of these other projects finished and out of the way. I also need to remember that music is the best thing for writing; I need background noise and music has always worked to put me into the zone. So…maybe put on my headphones and play some music the next time I am trying to write something?

I started listening to the new Taylor Swift album, The Tortured Poets Department, in the car yesterday and I am enjoying it. She really is quite the recording artist, and she also collaborates a lot with other amazing artists, too.

It’s so weird how I feel better rested and relaxed the deeper I get into the week, isn’t it? It used to be the other way around; I always started the week off great and then descended into exhaustion until by the time I got home on Thursdays I was so bleary-eyed that all I could do was collapse into the couch. But…there are certainly worse things, an I shouldn’t question it other than leaning into it and enjoying the ride. Maybe after I make groceries tonight I’ll be able to get some writing done. Maybe even some reading. I did do chores last night; I’ll need to empty the dishwasher tonight and finish the laundry, but it’s nice to try to spend some time at least catching up on mess or clutter or life debris; whatever you want to call that. I also spent some time yesterday catching up on the Noah Presgrove murder; again, the darkness in rural small towns is really something. I found a Reddit where someone had put together a time-line of the weekend, which helped clear some things up for me, but the conflicting stories is perhaps the most interesting thing to me. I don’t know if he was actually murdered or not, but I don’t see how it could have been anything else given his injuries. I also am curious about why the autopsy report took so long? Although I would imagine that area of Oklahoma would probably have to send the remains to a bigger city for a forensic autopsy? And he was buried not long after he died…so why did the autopsy take so long? (I don’t know how long it takes for an actual autopsy to be done, but nine months seems a bit extreme, especially in the case of a mysterious death.)

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I may be back later; one never knows. Have a great Wednesday!

Goodbye Jimmy Goodbye

Here it is Tuesday, and I am feeling okay this morning–awake and rested, if a little creaky (which is every morning these days)–and my coffee is really tasty this morning, which is lovely. I slept pretty well, other than the occasional sniffing/clawing/biting from Sparky, and I could have easily stayed in bed for another hour or so, but that’s okay. Functionality is perfectly fine.

We watched more Euphoria last night, and I have to say, we are really enjoying it. Nate is a monster, played beautifully (see what I did there?) by Jacob Elordi; but as wild and over-the-top as the show is, it’s also marvelously queer–and also shows the difference between a miserable existence that is completely a lie (Nate’s dad) to Rue’s unabashed, unquestioned bisexuality, and of course there’s a marvelous trans character as well, who is just as developed and three-dimensional and has an interior life as much as the others, which is terrific. Represent, HBO! I’m also a bit surprised that this show hasn’t been targeted by the right–drugs and sex and drinking and teenagers, oh my! But they never came after Gossip Girl either; selective outrage is never consistent, after all.

I did write some last night; it was all garbage, but at least it was something, right? Even as I was typing the words as they came to me, I knew it wasn’t any good. I had the voice completely wrong, and the words, which I’d intended to create a dream-like kind of mood (the way Megan Abbott does, so effortlessly), weren’t good either. It’s just a prologue, and it’s not the actual book I want to write quite yet, but at least it was something–and it was in my mind so much I couldn’t really do much of anything else until I got it out of my system. It’s only about 1500 words or so, and needs to be redone, but I can work on that while I work on these other stories I need to get taken care of. There’s a lot that has to go into this book, which is probably going to wind up being shorter than I had really ever thought about–it kind of needs to be, kind of quick and nasty and dreamy.

Now that I’ve finished Where They Wait (more on that later), I am going to go back to something I’d started before my trip, and then I have some others I’d like to get through relatively quickly; but I do have a three day weekend to look forward to; so hopefully I can get some other reading done, too. I know we are going to Costco this weekend–I need to make a list–and I also need to make groceries, but I’ll probably swing by the grocery store on my way home from work tomorrow since it’s Pay-the-Bills Day. I also want to get a lot of the apartment taken care of, so I can take books to the library on Saturday and I can also drop off the dry cleaning, which will be a lovely start towards making the living room look like a living room and not a fraternity dorm room.

I do continue to keep tabs on the Noah Presgrove case in Oklahoma; his autopsy report was finally released last week (why did it take eight months is another good question), and it’s brutal. I knew it was bad, but Jesus. He literally was beaten to death, and the injuries are horrific. I also became aware of another case yesterday–Tom Brown in Canadian, Texas–which is also weird, is also small town stuff, and Canadian isn’t very far from Comanche, Oklahoma…although I doubt the cases are connected, despite the proximity; poor Tom disappeared on Thanksgiving, and his remains weren’t found for almost two years. Skin Hollandsworth had done an eight-part series on Tom for Texas Monthly, which I will probably read over the course of the weekend. It also occurred to me last night that I have become obsessed with the murders of teenaged boys in rural America lately. But how many cases like this are there, where a teenaged boy (granted, Noah was nineteen, but that still counts) is murdered in a small town where everyone knows everyone, but no one knows who the killer/killers is/are? Come on, now. I’m not buying that for a second.

There’s no corruption quite like small town corruption, is there? That’s also uniquely American, I think, and tells quite a different story than all the “real America/Joe Sixpack” right wing bullshit they try to sell us, where every small town is Mayberry and good American values are still appreciated. Well, in my experience every small town is either Twin Peaks or Peyton Place, and if that defines America….well, we need to rethink that.

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