Tag: 9/11

Sanctuary

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment and how are you this morning, Constant Reader? I didn’t feel like I slept very well when I first got up again, but now that I’m swilling coffee I feel more rested and relaxed than I thought I would when Sparky started rubbing against me and purring. It was also very nice to come downstairs to a cleaned and organized kitchen. I worked on the kitchen during the Michigan-Oklahoma game and did more during Alabama-Kentucky. Kentucky was terrible through the whole game, and Alabama played down to their level for three quarters. Likewise, LSU had an equally poor start against Louisiana Tech before turning it on in the second half. After LSU was winding down, we switched over in time to see Texas’ last minute comeback to beat Ohio State (good for you, local boy Arch!), which was also fun, as was Auburn’s domination of Southern Mississippi; overall, a good day in college football around the Lost Apartment, and the Saints start playing today, I think at Detroit? I really do love my football weekends in the fall. I was thinking about that very thing yesterday–and how much my love of football is connected to love of my family because we always watched football together.

Looks like another Democrat has thrown the trans community under the bus, and as I said, I am almost done completely with that party. I am so glad I never sent that prick Talarico a cent, and I am tired of grudgingly voting for them because they’re not quite as homophobic as MAGA. If leftists can become single issue voters and send the country down the drain, why can’t queer people? Oh, we have to unite, no matter what, despite homophobia being in our faces every day and the Democrats are too fucking afraid of having a spine that they are partly to blame for where we are now–and don’t think I”m not including Schumer and Jeffries in that enormous flaming pile of shit. Not one Democrat will call out Talarico and the other, either. That’s how much we matter to this group of spineless appeasers who can’t make a stand for humanity and decency. Never, ever, trust a fucking Christian minister, and don’t trust the bootlicking bottom feeders like Keith Edwards1 that support them and label them progressive. Listen to Black women, for fuck’s sake.

I’ve tried now, for years, to justify watching Real Housewives shows despite kind of feeling like a bad child getting away with something every time I do watch. The women are generally terrible people for the most part, and I try to embrace the mentality of a friend–“you shouldn’t feel guilt for doing something you enjoy”–but when the something that you enjoy makes you question on occasion if you yourself are contributing to the national brain rot and success of truly horrible people for simply being truly horrible people. I suppose there is something to the notion that they aren’t popular for being terrific, which is what they do seem to think. I need to really explore this more–why I enjoy the shows, what I get from them, and I believe a lot of the appeal is escapism, like the old night time soaps in the 1980s. A good case in point, though, is when you see housewives out of their usual element–like on The Traitors or Ultimate Girls’ Trip, I get a better impression of them and find myself liking them more. (Porsha was a lot of fun on The Traitors, for one example.)

But this Biermann child rape scandal is absolutely horrifying and gets worse with every new revelation. I have personally hated that woman since the first time I saw her on Bravo, and could never understand why this creature had a following on a show that was giving us Nene and Sheree, and more Queens later; we did not need this gold-digging narcissist on our television screens for any amount of time, let alone the spin-offs or bringing her back to the original show again. I remember her saying “I want to die in Dior” in that first season, and now it looks like she should die in prison for failing her children and most of all her own daughter; while still making excuses for her predator son and bailing him out and calling his more recent accuser a liar and other names, when she already knew he’d raped his sister. That is a disgusting human being. And no, I am not saying Kroy is without blame here, either. I never understood that relationship or marriage, honestly. I tried to respect her choices, I’ve tried to think of positive spins on her; she’s unashamedly herself, no matter how awful and amoral that self may be–but then I think about her offering her teenaged daughter up for a blow-job for John Legend tickets for the same son and you really begin to wonder what the hell was going on in that house? My sympathies are for the other children, frankly. As for Andy Cohen, he continues to show himself the worst kind of gay man, using and humiliating women and making them grovel for crumbs from his table.

Sigh.

I did send out my newsletter yesterday morning, and it got a mostly good reception, I wondered, because it was a reflection of 9/11 and the way this entire century has seemed so regressive ever since, even while some rights were gained, far many more were lost. (you can read it by clicking here.)

This weekend was good so far, overall, and I feel rested and good. I hope to get the rest of the apartment cleaned and tidied today–probably will do that during the Saints game–and I even reorganized the refrigerator, which was way overdue.

And on that note, I am getting another cup of coffee and making some breakfast before I head over to my chair and read for a bit. I hope to get some writing done, too–but…Saints game. See you here tomorrow morning, Constant Reader!

You know, he didn’t lose until he wore a T-shirt underneath to hide his nipples. Just sayin’.
  1. If you’re a friend of Taylor Lorenz, you’re a racist piece of shit, too. Hope this helps, Keith. ↩︎

Forbidden Love

Saturday morning and there’s football today! LSU plays tonight, in Death Valley as Louisiana Tech drops in for a visit. What will we see tonight as opposed to last week? I guess we’ll wait and see. There are good, interesting games pretty much all day today, too–so I’ll probably have the telvision on while I do things. I did some chores yesterday, but my mind kept wandering. I finished my 9/11 remembrance newsletter, and decided to schedule it for this morning rather than sending it out last night. I’ll share the link here tomorrow, and it’ll wind up on my socials, too. Is that how you say it? I am really terrible at using social media to promote myself.

I didn’t sleep well last night–never went into the deep restful sleep I generally have, so am a little bit rung out. Yesterday was a good day, for all my mind wanderings. I couldn’t stay focused on anything yesterday–not the worst thing in the world–but was able to get some chores done, and the house is looking much better overall this morning, which pleases me. I ran my errands (which included picking up my pre-ordered copy of Laurie R. King’s latest, Those Who Are Gone, and it’s always a delight having the new King on hand) and rested and relaxed for most of the day when I wasn’t cleaning or working on the laundry. I also started watching South Pacific but turned away after a bit when my mind started wandering again–there will definitely be more later–and I found old episodes of Flipper on Youtube (it’s a long story, but more on that later) so I watched the first episode. (It was sadly terrible in an almost comic way.) I also caught up on Real Housewives of Orange County, the worst of the housewives shows, but somehow I still wind up hate-watching.

I decided to give Scream Queens another try, too. We started watching it years ago, but I didn’t enjoy it because I hated both Emma Roberts and Lea Michele with a passion and refused to watch after seeing the pilot, but I don’t mind either so much anymore, so I thought why not give it another try and this time, the humor actually hit, so I am going to keep watching when Paul’s not around, because he doesn’t care to watch it–but he was laughing with me while I watched, but went back upstairs after a little while.

I wasn’t happy to be proven right this week about James Talarico, but his eager willingness to oppress trans people to appease bigots was no surprise to me.. I never trusted him, and if he does make it into the Senate, mark my words–another Sinema or Fetterman, watch and see. The way he allowed his supporters to come for Jasmine Crockett and said nothing while they undermined her as “unelectable” but now are screaming for her to help him win the race. SHe’s held him at arm’s distance since the primary, and now I have to wonder if it was more than “hurt feelings” (as the white leftists who dragged her for filth now “want to unite”–they won’t, but we need to, and am sick of it; I for one will never forgive them for calling me pro-genocide because I was voting for Kamala. Imagine the fucking nerve of some privileged straight asshole in their twenties saying that to a gay man in his sixties who survived the 80s. Fuck them now, fuck them then, and fuck them forever) and if she knew more than she was letting on. He sure threw the trans folk under the bus without a hesitation or a second thought, once it was convenient and he thought it would get him votes. You can never trust a Christian, and until it’s no Christians–it’s all fucking Christians. I do not trust him on marriage equality or any other queer equality measures. He’s not even bothering to pretend anymore. What other progressive stances is he going to walk back now for political expedience?

So much for his “christian” love.

We could have had Jasmine Crockett, and no one will ever convince me that they weren’t racists…because they sure had no problem with dog-whistles and bald-faced lies. I am no fan of Hakeem Jeffries, but when you have leftists basing their attacks in racist language? Miss me forever. You cannot be progressive and racist, period. If you are a bigot, you cannot be progressive. Please note: the leftists also are not condemning those racists, and–they have no interest in marginalized populations, so they’re basically asking us to trade oppressors. I voted Democratic for years, even when they weren’t much better on queer rights than Republicans; but that’s not the case anymore. If leftists can throw a hissy fit during a presidential election and not vote (or voted for Trump), I am going to do the same. I won’t be holding my nose and voting for the lesser of two evils anymore when the lesser keeps spitting in my face and telling me it’s raining.

After all, isn’t this the example the leftists have set for all of us? It’s their way or Armageddon? Good luck getting bigots elected without the Black vote–because they aren’t forgiving you for not voting blue no matter who, especially when you’re saying that to them now. And way to piss on the queer community. I don’t trust that wolf in sheep’s clothing, and never will. He showed us this week who he really is–a lying backstabbing opportunist ready to sacrifice marginalized communities at the drop of a hat for power.

Such a good Christian.

You can never go wrong not trusting a straight white christian man. I’ve certainly found that to be true, over and over again–real Christians are the ones who aren’t trying to convert everyone or preach in the streets, per the New Testament.

Faith without works is dead, and Talarico can go fuck himself with a razor-wire studded vibrator. What Christian kicks a marginalized community in the teeth like this?

And on that note, I am going to get cleaned up and going on my day. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I will be back here in the morning.

Secret

Work-at-home Friday, and here we are! I am taking the day off because I have a doctor’s appointment this morning and I have another one in the afternoon. Sigh. That’s what sick time is for, after all, and I am going to try to get caught up on things I’ve let slide longer than I should have. It rained most of the day yesterday, along with flash flooding in the metro area and yes, they were thunderstorms. When I woke up yesterday morning, I opened my eyes in time for a very bright flash of lightning, followed instantly by a low rumble of thunder that lasted as I pulled on my sweats and fumbled around in the dark like Velma on Scooby Doo Where Are You looking for my glasses. By the time I got downstairs, turned on the kitchen lights and the coffee maker, it was pouring. The water draining off the roofs and the rain fall on the side yard made a stream about two inches deep, and the current heading toward the street was very, very fast. I’d used my wagon last night, and hadn’t folded it up and put it away, so it was out there filling up with water. It was still raining heavily when I went to work, then the rest of my work day it was off and on all day. Yesterday was an odd day at work, actually. We’re restructuring the department again, which meant the testing room I usually use needs to be used by someone else–our next nurse, which meant a big production of moving me to another testing room. Long story short, they set me up in the wrong room but I couldn’t get into the room they wanted me in because someone else had already set up in there for the day. So, I couldn’t set it up or anything, and piles of the stuff I used in the original room was stacked up on a table, which made the room look messy, and yeah–I didn’t like that off-balance feeling. It wasn’t raining when I ran some errands on the way home, and then Sparky and I got in the easy chair and got caught up on the news. Paul came home late, but we watched the finale of The Shards (more on that later), then Coco’s exit from the US Open before going to bed. I did sleep very well, and I actually feel pretty good this morning. I am going to do some chores around here before cleaning up for my appointment, and this afternoon I’ll get to work cleaning and doing laundry.

It’s also 9/11 today, and the 25th anniversary of that horrible day when everything changed. I’ve been working on a newsletter about my own memories of that day and time; and everything that happened afterwards. It’s a very somber day–kind of how Pearl Harbor Day was more of a thing when I was a kid, because it had only been twenty years since the Japanese attack when I was born. Not even twenty; I was born in August and the twentieth anniversary was in December, of course. We barely even notice December 7th anymore, which is wild to me; when I was a kid I thought we’d always remember World War II–which is clearly not the case.

The Shards was infuriating. For one thing, nothing was resolved in the finale. Why would you open the season finale of a show with a major subplot involving a serial killer with a new, completely unrelated murder and turn the last episode not doing much with the serial killer at all into a whole new whodunnit, which is completely unresolved. Nothing was resolved, everything was left hanging, and I have no one to blame but myself for watching another beautiful mess produced by Ryan Murphy. I am going to start reading the book this weekend–people I know and respect loved the book and hated the show (quelle surprise), so I am hopeful that the book will provide more of what I wanted from the show (and didn’t ever get).

There are some good games this weekend, but LSU is playing Louisiana Tech tomorrow night at the same time as Texas-Ohio State, which means flipping back and forth between games. Will the Tigers have a big night against La Tech? Will Clemson rebound from last weekend? The Saints also play this Sunday, and I imagine we’ll watch the US Open men’s final, too.

And on that note, I am going to get another cup of coffee and adjourn to my chair to relax a bit before getting to work on chores and getting ready for my appointment. So, gave yourself a lovely little Friday, and I will be back tomorrow morning bright and early. Til then!

Desert Angel

Monday and I am not going into the office this morning. I started feeling sick yesterday morning, and as the day progressed, I felt worse and worse, only finding relief in some over the counter DayQuil and my Flonase. I got up this morning still feverish, congested, and unwell–so I called (texted) out sick. I am going to rest today and hope that’s all I need for this to run its course. I loathe being sick, but at least this time it’s something minor. Of course, the colitis is an auto-immune thing, and the medication I take for it increases my risk for infections, so there is that, too. I’ve not really been sick like this in a while, though, so I can’t really complain. Paul was sick first, and so I probably picked this up from him. All I wanted to do yesterday was sleep and rest, so that’s what I did for the longest time.I had a lovely weekend, despite everything going on in the world, which is one of those weird dichotomies of life. We watched the HBO documentary Murder in Glitter Ball City, which was interesting–gay murder in Louisville; I remember the case when it happened–and then I started watching the first season of the UK’s version of The Traitors. The cast is all every day people from all walks of life, so it should be interesting. The US version is also going to start casting non-celebrities, too, so it should be interesting watching and seeing if it works with any group of people. My guess is yes–all you need is a diverse group of twenty people for the premise to work.

Ironically, today’s title is a song Stevie Nicks wrote for the first Gulf War, out of concern for our fighting men and women. Here we are again, sticking our unwanted noses into the Middle East yet again as a “fight for our security”–it was a lie in 2002 and 2003, it’s an even bigger lie now–and at least this time, Americans are in a different place than we were after 9/11. (Although some of us saw through the right wing propaganda and knew it was all lies from the start, only to be called traitors who didn’t support the troops…which was the ultimate irony because one would naturally assume that supporting the troops would include not wanting them to be killed or maimed for nothing (or rather so Dick Cheney’s war profiteer buddies could get rich), but what do I know, right? Yeah, I am pissed as fuck about this shit, but still trying to not vent my spleen everywhere and direct it where it actually needs to go. This is happening again because we left the Reich off the hook for the Bush administration’s lies and corruption. As a nation, isn’t it time we learned ONE fucking lesson from experience?

Sigh.

I can’t believe it’s March already. Sheesh! It’s the Carnival effect, and we go through it every year, don’t we? And yet it catches us off guard every year, doesn’t it? Just like, I suppose, how we forget from summer to summer how brutally hot it gets here. Local amnesia? It’s entirely possible.

I watched some of the news yesterday as I rested in my chair and Sparky slept in my lap, but it eventually was too rage-inducing so I turned away from that and watched some history videos on Youtube (Margaret of Austria, the French Wars of Religion, the Battle of Midway) before settling in for Murder in Glitter Ball City, which I did enjoy, and which also raised some interesting questions for me about power dynamics in gay relationships–the gay couple in this were no Shane and Ilya, believe you me–and also reminded me of my short story “An Arrow for Sebastian.” I also kind of basked in the glow of Connor Storrie killing it on Saturday Night Live–I am such a fan, and really hope to see his star continue to rise. I love the whole thing about how both he and Hudson Williams were basically waiting tables when they got the gig, and now are global superstars. They also seem like such really nice guys, who are just gobsmacked and grateful for this change in fortune they’re experiencing. Stay away from both of them, Ryan Murphy. You can have Ashton Kutcher.

And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close and go lie down again for a bit. Hope you’re having a lovely day, Constant Reader, and hopefully I’ll be back and feeling better in the morning.

Cosimo de Medici, the father of his people, in the main square near the Uffizi

Ridin’ My Thumb to Mexico

Tuesday! We survived Monday, Constant Reader, and lived to tell the tale. Huzzah for us! I also gave myself my first Skyrizi1 injection on my own, and it was pretty easy and simple. Before anxiety medications, I would have undoubtedly worked myself up into quite the tizzy about the injection, but as I said, it was pretty easy and before I knew it all the medicine was in my system and I could toss the device into the SHARPS container in my testing room. I didn’t even bleed, or feel the needle at all. Also, the first time I did it, with the pharmaceutical company’s nurse watching and helping, I wasn’t wearing my hearing aids so couldn’t hear it running. Not a problem with the hearing aids in, though! It actually sounded rather loud, frankly, so if there was any doubt about whether they help me hear better, there’s the answer.

I also spent some time yesterday filing my claim with the Anthropic settlement. They had eighteen of my titles (!!!), which was time consuming to enter each book into the claim database, but it could have been worse; they didn’t have all of my titles, praise Jesus. I doubt I’ll ever see a cent from this, but hey, I certainly wouldn’t had I not filed a claim, right? But it was sobering to see how much they stole from me–thought they had a right to steal from me–but we are again living in the time of the Long Con, aren’t we?

Speaking of long cons, I woke up to the news that Dick Cheney has died2. We used to call Darth Cheney back in those pre-Tea Party pre-MAGA pre-Obama days, because he was a horrible, evil man whose primary concerns were getting us into endless wars so the company he used to work for, Halliburton (remember them, anyone?), could make billions in profit. The Republicans of that era used 9/11 and its aftermath to consolidate power, pass the egregiously unconstitutional PATRIOT Act (the foundation for the bullshit we’re seeing today), and the creation of Homeland Security. Remember how quickly the “fiscally conservative” Republicans spent through the surplus Clinton left behind, and pissed all over the budget and the deficit? But hey, so long as Halliburton was profiting from the wars, right? They lied to the American public to get us into Iraq, and no one was ever held accountable, which is part of the reason we’re in the mess we’re in now; we don’t hold politicians accountable for lying to the citizenry.

And don’t even get me started on the homophobia of the Bush-Cheney years. He participated in a campaign that targeted queer people and homophobia despite having a queer child of his own, if that tells you anything about who, and what, Dick Cheney was. He eventually publicly changed his mind about queer people and marriage equality, but he never acknowledged or apologized for his war crimes, or his crimes against the American people. Y’all can mourn him all you like; but his family has always been just as bad as he was–and his daughter’s anti-Trump turn didn’t make up for all the bad shit she has said and done over the years, either–and the widow is just as vile as her husband, if not more so.

I also made groceries on the way home from work last night. I wasn’t tired, which was odd; it was a slow day at the clinic and so I was able to get some other administrative work done, which was very cool. Paul was working on a grant, so I spent the evening watching videos for research on Youtube and taking notes. I worked on a novella for a little while (A Holler Full of Kudzu, for those who take note of these sorts of things), which was fun–I do like creating without any deadline pressures on me–and I love that I am sliding back into writing mode again. I do love writing.

I also finished my final Halloween Horror Month newsletter for 2025, about my recent reread of The Haunting of Hill House, and why I love the book (and its author) so much. It may be the best essay I’ve done for the newsletter so far; which probably has everything to do with how much I love the book, and writing about it. I am always so nervous to do those kinds of essays; one of the reasons I am so insecure about them, especially when exploring the art of others, is that I don’t have the kind of educational background I feel might be necessary. I’ve not read scholarship or articles or essays about literature or film or television; my insights therefore might not be so fresh or original as I think they might be; is anything really original anymore? But…my opinions are just as valid as anyone else’s, and why do I need to read the opinions of others to form my own? Confidence is always the name of the game, and working through and ignoring the lack of it in my brain can only help me grow as a person and as a writer, right?

Easier said than done.

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

Um, SIR YES SIR!!!
  1. This is the medication for the ulcerative colitis I have to inject every eight weeks. ↩︎
  2. He was 84, only a few years older than the current head of his party. ↩︎

Red Roses for a Blue Lady

Here we are on a cold Sunday morning and I hope everyone is doing as well as they can this morning. I went to bed early and slept well–I really do think adding another to the pile of blankets, and its additional weight, is making a difference. Today I have to do some reading and some writing, go to the gym and make groceries. I feel rested and awake this morning, so as I slurp down my coffee and wake up while Sparky wants my lap in the easy chair I have to admit I feel pretty good this morning. Maybe I shouldn’t let myself sleep so late on Saturdays? I don’t know, but the coffee is hitting the spot and I do feel more rested than I did yesterday, so your guess is as good as mine. It’s kind of gray outside this morning, and it’s forty degrees–yikes–but it’ll get warmer later once the sun is higher in the sky.

We watched LSU Gymnastics compete against three of the best teams in the country yesterday, and with half of their usual competitors out with an injury, they only came in second by three tenths of a point; and Haleigh Bryant can make that difference up all by herself, not to mention the other two powerhouses who sat this meet out–which bodes well for the rest of the season. It’s so cool knowing they are the defending national champions! We also watched some of the Australian Open last night, and I went to bed early. I also managed to get some chores done around here, and overall, it was a pretty good day. I don’t think I even went outside yesterday, to be honest–which is always a good day for me.

I spent some time yesterday morning with Ode to Billy Joe, and while Raucher is a very good writer, he doesn’t really know how to write for teenagers, I think. Just because the story is set in the early 1950s and people were more innocent (?) back then in theory, it’s almost like reading something from a past civilization, and in some ways it kind of is. Raucher tries very hard not to condescend to rural Southerners, but there is a touch of that “zoo animal” thing to the story, if that makes any sense? It doesn’t quite seem real, and Bobbie Lee, the female lead, seems so child-like it’s hard to believe she’s supposed to be fourteen, and “receiving callers”–did Southern girls still say that in the 1950’s? It’s like something from The Glass Menagerie, and I don’t know if that archaic social phrase was in use, if at all. But there’s definitely more depth to the book than there was to the movie, and I think I’m going to end up enjoying the book more than I did the movie–despite the beautiful presence of Robby Benson and his amazing blue eyes and surprisingly deep voice.

Thinking of Ode to Billy Joe being a historical now made me realize that my own 70s book is kind of an artifact of another time, too. Researching and remembering things from that time of my life is always a bit of a surprise; things that had been locked away in a corner of my brain coming back to the front of the memory banks. Television shows and commercials, the looming Bicentennial (which was, at the time, shockingly commercialized; although the Tricentennial–which I won’t make it to, but hopefully the country will–will be even worse), the gas shortages and economic fears, the ever-present threat of nuclear war and annihilation, the never-ending conflicts in the Middle East, and the massive clean-up of the country’s air, water and litter. Top Forty radio was a weird mishmash of all kinds of music, from the bubblegum of the Osmonds to the Rolling Stones, Queen, and the Who to horrible novelty songs that were incredibly popular and were overplayed to death to the point I never want to hear any of them ever again, and everyone watched American Bandstand on Saturdays to hear music and see the latest dance moves. I am really looking forward to writing it. I also have two short stories to complete sooner rather than later, and of course as always I have too much to do in too little time–but I can make it work.

I’ve also, since the election, been thinking about how to resist the new regime and the inherent hatreds, cruelties, and horrors that are coming with them. Our only hope as a country depends on the Republican-controlled Senate (well, Republicans plus the bootlicking traitor John Fetterman) actually standing up for the Constitution, and looking for a spine on the Right is as fruitless as a snipe hunt. I am not getting involved with the Democratic Party, because it feels like I’ve been throwing my time, money and energy on them while they just roll over and play dead since the 1990s; and nowadays seems to be no different. Here’s the thing about our system; the only difference between the two parties since World War II has primarily been on domestic and interior policy; the foreign policy has always been the same, and a lot of bad things have been done by our government in the name of “national security” and our endless thirst for oil. This changed a bit under the MAGA monarchy the last time around–turning our backs on traditional allies while cozying up to Russia, North Korea, and China (Ivanka needs her trademarks!). I also love how the MAGAts are so quick to whine and complain against the forever wars they fully supported, and does anyone else remember their toxic patriotism on the eves of the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq? How questioning the invasion decisions was basically treason and not supporting the military and pissing on the graves of the 9/11 dead? Because I sure the fuck do, and I also remember how the Right created cancel culture for the Dixie Chicks, as country music began to swing from being about the working class and resisting the rich? It’s also amusing to me that they complain about “forever wars” without remembering that the same people they are supporting today are the exact same people who lied to them and whipped them up into a disgusting “patriotic” frenzy?

I spent some time this weekend thinking about writing as activism, and that it used to be just that; my very existence and my career are made political by evangelicals and others of their ilk, and I had no say in that at all. Would I prefer to be left alone to live my life and make my own decisions without government interference? Absolutely. Is that ever going to happen? Not as long as trash and liars and false prophets continue to abuse the faith and the faithful for money, power, and control. How can anyone actually be a Christian and believe that the Prosperity Gospel of wolves in sheep’s clothing like Joel Osteen and other con artists of his ilk? Sinclair Lewis exposed all of this horror with Elmer Gantry, which is still as current as it was when first published in the early 20th century. Maybe Elmer Gantry, along with All the King’s Men, should be required reading in high school–but high schoolers won’t care anymore now than they did when I was one. (Also, back to the 1970s–there wasn’t an expectation that everyone would go to college, either. Only five kids from my graduating class went to college, I think, I could be off by one or two, out of forty-eight.) I’ve not thought of my writing as a way to make political statements–or at least I haven’t in a long time, at any rate, but someone pointed out to me several years ago (or longer, who knows anymore?) that my work was a lot more important than I’ve ever thought or believed; I did document what gay life was like in New Orleans before Hurricane Katrina changed everything. I also documented life in New Orleans in general, before , during and after a hurricane. I’ve written about gay con artists and corrupt hateful politicians and the far right and evangelicals and race and homophobia and misogyny. I often explore something that I find interesting in my books so I can learn more about the topic I am writing about as well as process my own complicated feelings about sensitive subjects. I even wrote a throuple into the Scotty series long before that ever became a subject for conversation in the community. It’s weird to think that my first two novels were released before Lawrence overturned sodomy laws nationally. My sex-life was against the law until I was forty-two. Forty fucking two.

I was filling out the pre-production form for Hurricane Season Hustle Friday, and I went to Amazon to look at the page for Mississippi River Mischief to see if information I needed was there–it wasn’t–but I also noticed I have forty-seven reviews and an average ranking of four and a half stars, which was kind of a surprise, albeit a pleasant one. That meant that overall there had to be more five star reviews than any other kind, else the average wouldn’t be over four, you know? This was a very pleasant surprise, in all honesty; I never look at Amazon pages for my books and especially never at the reviews; likewise, I will never go wading in the fetid swamp that is Goodreads. Who needs that aggravation? But as I said, it was a pleasant surprise, one that almost tempted me to look at the others, but I resisted the urge. I am more emotionally stable now than I’ve ever been in my life before, but why borrow trouble? And sure, it could be another ego boost but it could also be a blow.

And the last thing I need right now is something to rock my already shaky foundations.

California continues to burn, and people continue to expose how dark and twisted their souls and psyches are. It’s beginning to sound like most of these fires were started as arson–which would definitely count as a terrorist attack on Los Angeles, in my opinion; if Luigi shooting that fucking piece of shit counts as terrorism, burning down billions of dollars of property and destroying people’s lives as well as killing some of them definitely is an act if terror. Please don’t be a dick about the fires on-line, people. I’ve lived through a different kind of “act of God” that basically destroyed my city and generational wealth with it. Angelenos are still in shock and are going to be for a long time. This is a serious trauma, and believe me when I say a lot of Angelenos are going to be medicated for years to come. I’m still not entirely sure I’ve gotten over Katrina, in all honesty. So, for God’s sake, show some empathy and compassion for their suffering. Playing the blame game or bringing politics into this is fucking bullshit, so can you not do that? There’s no place in this country that is safe from an unexpected natural disaster.

And trust me, when it happens to you–you will hate those people. I’ve never forgiven any of them, including Chicago Bears fans. I had hoped that disgusting child rapist Dennis Hastert would die in prison, but he remains proof that only the good die young. Henry Kissinger and Anita Bryant is more evidence of that as well.

So, think before you post or comment. I hate Florida and Texas and their politics, but I also worry about them and try to do what I can whenever a hurricane devastates them.

And if you’re feeling smug and judgy–I’m looking at you in particular, Louisiana MAGA racists, remember that when a hurricane comes crashing through your home town.

And on that note, I am going to my chair to read my book for a bit before I get to work. I worked on the book yesterday and it went very well; I am feeling good about writing again and think I am going to be able to hit my stride again sometime soon. Huzzah! Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll talk to you again later at some point.

Oh, those wacky ballerinos!

I Got My Mind Made Up

Woke up to a new year! How exciting….although it doesn’t feel any different than yesterday, other than I don’t have to go into the office today, which is awesome. And of course, as soon as I signed into social media, I saw DM’s and posts asking me if Paul and I were “okay”, which was puzzling, so I went to NOLA.com and I guess there was a terrorist that attacked Bourbon Street last night, driving his truck into the crowd and shooting at police officers? I just saw where the attack occurred–Bourbon and Canal intersection–because I was wondering how that was possible since all the blocks are blocked off to traffic all night, so I knew it had to be an intersection on Bourbon Street, as those are only places on Bourbon you can have a car, or drive. How terrible–and I bet they lock the whole city down for the Super Bowl; shades of the 2002 Super Bowl here after 9/11–when I was coming home from training a client and was stopped at Poydras Street so the military (complete with tanks) could parade from the river to the Superdome in an act of theater designed, no doubt, to make us feel safer; it had the opposite effect on me. It just made me think about how I missed the days where we couldn’t imagine something like that happening.

Yeesh, indeed.

My New Year’s entries are generally about my goals for the new year, and I always explain why I have goals instead of resolutions–everyone inevitably breaks their resolutions, so I’ve never felt they were as important as setting goals for the new year. I don’t always achieve those goals, but they have been enormously helpful in the past and it really feels like I’ve done something when I accomplish one of the goals, or the goal makes positive change in my life, which is always very pleasant. One goal is to continue not participating in the legacy media, by never clicking or putting eyes on their broadcasts or articles. I will never subscribe to the Times or the Post ever again, and I do feel this goal is one that can be set and is completely attainable.

Another goal is to not do any emotional labor for anyone or anything that isn’t Paul, Sparky, my dad, or myself. I’ve been pretty good about that throughout 2024, and it is definitely one of the better things I did this past year was close myself off to other people’s problems. I am going to continue to not attend mystery conferences and conventions this year, and one of those important goals is to not financially support places that allow rampant homophobia and then do nothing when things are reported to them. I’m certainly not taking shit from anyone ever again in this community, so my decision to stay away and not participate in the community anymore is probably for the best for all y’all, because I’m calling this shit out now whenever it happens and since most straight people prefer no conflict, my calling shit out and calling out people for trying to gloss over outright homophobia from now on isn’t going to be fun for people anyway. Heaven forbid the racists and sexists and homophobes be made to feel uncomfortable, but it’s okay for us to feel unwelcome, uncomfortable and unwanted. Maybe we can start calling them convocations instead of conferences and conventions, since keeping Klan attendees is more important than keeping the people they target. FUCK ALL THE WAY OFF. And racist Bouchercon attendees? Feel free to go be racist on Bourbon Street at one in the morning and see how that ends for your skank ass. And for the record, hate is what leads to things like the attack on Bourbon Street last night, so by all means let’s keep encouraging that kind of behavior by glossing it over and acting like it’s not a big deal and it’s just “free speech” until someone is killed. American hatred, I swear, is like kudzu.

The most important goal for the year is to focus more on my writing career and give it the energy and the oxygen it’s always deserved but never got from me. I’ve always felt like I’ve always made my writing the lowest thing on my priority list, and that juggling between day job responsibilities, life responsibilities and the writing itself (let alone the promotion side of things) has always ended with me feeling like my writing isn’t a priority; part of the problem I have always had with saying no to people and to doing things is that fear and anxiety so controlled me and my actions for so long that I’d always end up making it the lowest priority–and “friends” who’d blithely dismiss my “well, I have a book due” with “you always get it done” aren’t really friends; any friends who’d want you to put aside one of the most important things in your life to do something for them aren’t really friends. Writing is what makes me happiest, and not writing always makes me miserable. Part of the depression of the last year or so was enhanced because I wasn’t writing–and whenever I tried, it was hard to get words down and they were terrible; I did some pretty terrible writing this year (as I am finding as I edit these first six chapters of the next Scotty; I did some work on that yesterday after work which was cool) and plan to do some more today, too. I need to get the ebook of Jackson Square Jazz edited and sent to the formatter–BIG priority, especially since it’s the twentieth anniversary of the trade paperback and its Lambda nomination (the hardcover came out the year before). I need to get my website finished, and I need to learn how to do promotion in the digital age, don’t I? Kind of sad that I’ve been doing this for twenty three years this January 20th, and still don’t know what I am doing. I also want to push myself more with my writing going forward, too. This Scotty is a tricky one, since I want the entire thing to take place between the arrival of a hurricane’s first bands and have the story finished before the final band passes and the storm is completely over.

I also need to be better organized going forward, and need to stay on top of things better. I need to file as I go and clean as I go–thanks again, McDonalds, for burning that into my head–and that includes cleaning out the attic and the storage space so I can stop paying for it. My memory is pretty much gone these days, so I need to be better about making lists and consulting them (they don’t do any good if you never look at them), as well as doing things when I get home and I am still in work-mode from being at the office. It doesn’t hurt to feed Sparky, file stuff, do dishes and so forth before writing or reading. I also need to be better about reading; if I read for an hour or so every day I’ll gradually get through that TBR pile for sure. I also need to be better about keeping house.

I know I say this every year but I am going to be healthier this year, and by that I mean taking better care of myself. After Mom died, I intended to be better about all this stuff, but I’d also injured myself so I couldn’t go to the gym either. And I did get some of it taken care of–I got hearing aids so I can hear better and finally spent the money to get my teeth fixed–and of course I needed about a full year to completely recover physically from the surgery. But if I stretch every morning when I get up, and if I go to the gym two or three times per week, and take walks on the days I don’t go to the gym–I’ll get healthier. Sounds easy, doesn’t it, but the reality is much harder to stay on track. I’ve also noticed in the last few weeks that I am not as groggy and tired as I was getting up so early for such a long time; I think I am finally adjusting to it, and I am not always tired when I get home from work, either.

All attainable and doable, I am pretty certain. So on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines and get some things done around here so I can head over to the gym. I am going to read until it’s time to go to the gym. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I’ll check back in with you again at some point.

There Won’t Be Anymore

Hurricane mornings are always weird and a bit off-putting. It looks right now like we’ll be getting close to a direct hit later today. Yesterday it looked like the eye would come through around seven tonight; it may be later than that now. It started raining yesterday afternoon, but it wasn’t difficult getting home because there was very little traffic and very little standing water. I was able to fill the tank on the way home (just in case), and I was able to get a loaf of bread when I stopped at CVS, needing something else so I thought I’d look, and lo and behold, they had bread! Ida was bigger than this and more powerful, but the thing about hurricanes is every one is different and so is their impact. The summer before Katrina, for example, Hurricane Dennis (a category 1) came ashore before Tropical Storm Cindy, which did more damage and knocked power out for half the city, while Dennis was a big nothing despite being a stronger storm. Go figure.

We’re in a lull, where everything is quiet and peaceful and even the rain has stopped. There are a couple of things outside that I need to secure this morning. The office did close today, so we’re all working at home for a few hours; I may take the day off, frankly. I overslept this morning because I stayed up watching the debate last night, which was far better than I ever could have dreamed, with the Vice-President demonstrating why I have been a fan for over a decade. Then social media exploded with the perfectly timed Taylor Swift endorsement, and all in all, it wasn’t a very good night for the Republicans. Thoughts and prayers.

I am choosing, however, to see the positive side of this disruption (even at their best, tropical weather like this is always an interruption of day to day life). I am writing a book set during a Category 1 hurricane, so it’s almost like I spoke this into being, but I am now remembering how they actually work when you don’t evacuate, and so that is enormously helpful; I want the book to take place over the course of a hurricane–from the outer bands to the final bands, and I wasn’t really sure how they work because my memories inevitable block this sort of thing out. But I do have the timeframe now that I need (thank you for something, Francine), and I just need to make notes throughout the day on conditions and how it looks outside and what the wind and torrential rain sounds like. So, turning this into a positive is how I am looking at it. Doesn’t mean I am looking forward to it or anything like that, but at least make use of it. Everything in life is material for a writer, after all.

So, I am going to try to do things around here today. I decided to use paid time off today and not have to do any work stuff–there is some, but I just am not up for it, really. And so I am most likely going to focus on picking things up and getting organized, maybe going through another Scotty volume for information for the Bible (my biggest fear is catching discrepancies and mistakes in the overall series), and going back into what is already done and adding corrections–names and so forth that I couldn’t remember. I had forgotten that I’d already named one of Scotty’s Mom’s siblings, and that he was her only brother. It’s really odd how amorphous Scotty’s family is outside of the immediate family, isn’t it? We don’t really know a whole lot about either side of the family, although we did explore the Bradleys a bit in Who Dat Whodunnit.

Despite the imminent threat of potential destruction, I’m still feeling good about writing still, which is awesome.

It’s also Pay-the-Bills Day, which feels superfluous, but needs to be done today for sure in case we lose power.

And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close so I can eat something and get cleaned up and get my day going. It’s getting dark again outside, so another band will be here soon. Have a great day wherever you are–and oh yes, heavy thoughts about today too because it’s 9/11. A hurricane on 9/11. Sheesh.

The Entertainer

Wednesday!

Yesterday wasn’t the best day. I had low energy and I kept thinking it was Monday and…it wasn’t. But overall, it was an okay day, if not the best. I was tired most of the day, finished my morning coffee by ten in the morning, and just dragged the rest of the day. I did manage to write the second chapter of Never Kiss a Stranger, which felt terrific even if I wasn’t having the best day, and I stopped on my way home to get the mail and pick up a few things at the grocery store. I was too tired to read after I finished writing to do much of anything, to be honest. Paul went into the office late, he was leaving when I got home, so it was me and Sparky for the evening. But I think the chapter turned out pretty okay, overall, so I am looking forward to getting into chapter three.

As Pride Month comes to a close, I think I may keep doing my Pride Posts at least through the 4th of July. After all, it’s Independence Day, and while queers may not have all the rights and privileges of straight cisgender people yet, I don’t think celebrating Pride through Independence Day isn’t a stretch, really. Plus it will set off the MAGAts to combine Pride with the 4th–you know how “patriots” are–and now that I think about it, that’s actually a great idea for a 4th of July post–what is and isn’t patriotism. I could also finally finish that 1/6 post that I started in horror on the 7th and have never quite finished. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that sick, terrified feeling I experienced following the news on 1/6/21 almost four years ago, which was very similar to how I felt on 9/11 and the days following. For far too long we’ve allowed the right to abscond with words like patriot, freedom, and liberty, as well as the flag and other symbols of our country–which matter more to the ‘patriots’ than, you know, actually people–and forced patriotism is just as meaningless here as it is in Russia or anywhere else with an oppressive government, which is what they really want here. The logic and cognitive dissonance required for them to think this way is beyond comprehension to me. But…another time.

I’m not entirely awake yet this morning, but I do feel less tired and achy and crabby as I felt yesterday morning. I think that’s a plus and a good thing, but we’ll have to see how the day goes. I only have one more day in the office this week–which is why I am so disoriented this week, and I plan on taking off the fifth for another four day weekend–and actually the coffee is also starting to hit. The shower will no doubt also be the final key to being awake today. Yay!

And that makes sense, as I’ve been groggy during the early part of the week and more awake and lively later in the week–which doesn’t make any logical sense, but that’s where I’ve been lately.

And of course, I just realized why I was off yesterday; today is Mom and Dad’s anniversary; the second he’s had without her, and last year I was up in Alabama with him to visit the grave and go by the courthouse where they were married. My mind always tries to protect me from painful things, it always has, and so I guess that’s why I didn’t put it all together until this morning. I don’t think you ever get used to not having your mother anymore.

And on that heavy note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Y’all have a great day, and I should be back later on with another Pride Post.

Superheated

And now it is Sunday in the Lost Apartment. I trust everyone had a most lovely and delightful Saturday? I did; I spent most of it cleaning and reading and watching figure skating and making groceries and running errands and doing all sorts of things that didn’t involve writing. I’m not entirely sure again why I am avoiding writing–yesterday methinks it was primarily due to the hangover of the final push to finish the short story, as well as trying to purge it out of my brain. Part of the joy of being a writer apparently is the absolute guarantee of self-doubt and second guessing everything once you’ve turned the story/manuscript in. I spent way too much time yesterday wondering “maybe I should have done this” and “maybe I should have done that” and on and on it goes–with the occasional second thoughts about the novel I turned in two weeks ago as well. Enormously lovely, you see.

But the figure skating was fun to watch, as always, and congratulations to our national champions (the men’s title will be decided today, with Nathan Chen most likely becoming the first US man to win five consecutive national titles in a row since Dick Button’s post-war dominance, winning seven in a row and two Olympic gold medals (a feat unparalleled until Japan’s Yuzuru Honyu won the last two Olympics). It’s also interesting to me how strong the United States has become in the ice dancing discipline this century, after decades of not being up to international snuff. The Saints also are playing today in the play-offs; playing Tampa Bay and Tom Brady for the third time and hoping to pull off the hat trick.

Today is going to be mostly spent reading and cleaning, methinks; I need to focus on my reread of the Kansas book manuscript and make some decisions about where it’s going to go, how to clean it up, what can be kept and what can be discarded. The manuscript currently sits somewhere around 75000 words, give or take; I need to add some more to it while taking other stuff out; strengthening some bits while underplaying others. I am also still greatly enjoying Laurie R. King’s The Beekeeper’s Apprentice, and am looking forward to spending some more time with Mary Russell…although I must confess that I am going to have to be very careful with reading more Sherlockian fiction, whether it’s actually Conan Doyle’s or pastiches, because revisiting the Sherlockian universe makes me want to write some more about my own Sherlockian universe. The period of time in New Orleans history where I have put my Holmes has already been written about by David Fulmer, in his series beginning with Jass, and I may have to revisit those novels–it’s been a long time since I read them, and I also remember enjoying them. Anyway, I am digressing, as always, from the original point: writing that Sherlock story has given me the bug to write about him some more, and as usual, I am thinking not only in terms of a short story but of a novel as well…with the full knowledge that actually Sherlockians will undoubtedly see my own feeble attempts as an abomination and heresy.

I’ve also been reading Gore Vidal’s Lincoln in dribs and drabs. I am enjoying it, but the lovely thing about Vidal’s writing is it isn’t like reading a thriller or a good mystery; you can put it down at any point and walk away from it, not missing it until you pick it up again. I am a fan of Vidal’s, even though he seems as though he would have been a horrible person to know–a snob both intellectually as well as in terms of class–but he also was fiercely intelligent and witty, and he looked at the United States with a jaundiced, unsentimental eye. I don’t think I’ve really read much about Lincoln as an adult–I of course read Doris Kearns Goodwin’s Team of Rivals back in the day, but don’t really remember much about it. Yesterday I also started reading through my copy of The Black Death by Phillip Ziegler–I have a vague idea for a murder mystery, most likely a short story, set during the plague years in Florence; I don’t think there is much modern fiction set during that time, so of course I am interested in it. I’ve spent a lot of time over the past year reading plague histories and fictions (yet somehow not rereading Stephen King’s The Stand) and I still would like to get back to my story “The Flagellants,” which I was having a lot of fun with last spring.

I’m also seeing conversations on-line about whether authors should include the pandemic in their fictions or not, which seems kind of counter-intuitive; did New York writers pretend 9/11 didn’t happen? Did New Orleans writers pretend Katrina was a near-miss? In both cases the answer is no. You may not want to write fiction set during the pandemic, but we cannot pretend the pandemic didn’t happen–particularly since it’s on-going. It’s hard to write about something–even harder to read about it–when you are still in the midst of it because you don’t know how it’s going to end. By the time I started writing Murder in the Rue Chartres it was already apparent New Orleans was going to come back from the flood, even if what the new city would look like was still being debated, was still uncertain, and up in the air. I’ve never written about Scotty’s experiences with Katrina, rather choosing to pick up his story several years later with the flood, the evacuation and everything else entailed in the destruction of 90% of the city in the rearview mirror. I get that readers might not want to read about and relive this past year plus; but I don’t see how you can write honestly about an America where it never happened. The last four years of this administration–including the sack of the Capitol–also cannot be entirely ignored either. So what to do? I suspect history isn’t going to be terribly kind to the insurrectionists nor the anti-maskers (deservedly so), particularly since they are the ones who politicized public health and safety because they believed the Mammon they’ve worshipped like a cult for so long; their own golden calf, as it were–despite all the warnings in their Bible. Ah, the dilemmas we modern writers face!

I do sometimes wonder if writers during the Civil War wondered if they should write about the war or not in their work.

And on that note, tis time for me to start mining spice here on Kessel, so it’s off into the mines with me. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader!