Sunday and the morning after the holiday; all is well and peaceful this morning in the Lost Apartment. I had stuff delivered yesterday, so I didn’t have to leave the house (I am getting a bit spoiled by all this delivery service, but it’s wonderful and I am not going to stop using it). I ordered everything in the morning and it was here by twelve! Ah, modern convenience. Something good that came out of the pandemic that future generations will thank us for. Who knew that horrible time had a positive impact in some ways? It made for a lovely start to the day, really. Sparky wanted me up early yesterday and rather than resisting his entreaties, I got up and started my day, which was cool. I did some filing and organizing, and I also finished and published a holiday newsletter yesterday, about the 4th of July and remembering back to the bicentennial in 1976, which was very different from what we saw yesterday and what we saw in the time leading up to yesterday. Everything he touches dies, doesn’t it?
Going outside to get the deliveries or take out trash/recycling wasn’t terrible. I may be acclimating to this summer, which might not be a terrible thing. Oh, I’ll still bitch and moan and whine and sweat and feel the humidity sucking my soul out of my body like always, but…you do get used to it. You’re aware of it, of course, there’s no escaping any of that unless you’re inside the blessed cool, but your subconscious is aware that it’s not going to kill you even if it feels as though it might.
I wasn’t able to read any yesterday morning, alas. By the time I got everything ordered and delivered, and had done some of my chores it was past noon. Paul was up and watching Wimbledon, so I broke out the laptop and did some writing on it in the living room, which was nice. There was some good energy in the apartment yesterday. I felt really good and content. I also have some things to order for delivery today, too, which I also hope to take care of this morning. I polished a newsletter that has been sitting in my drafts since late May and will probably get it sent out tomorrow morning (I’ve done two in two days already this weekend, and I am aware it could quite easily be overkill). I also started two more, about more serious subjects, that I hope to get done this month. I need to finish Lev’s book so I can write about that, too. There’s literally no end, is there? There’s also the Half Man one I need to write…where’s my to-do notebook?
I also wrote about a thousand or so words of fiction yesterday, which felt good and was absolutely marvelous. We finished The Big Conn and hey, at least he felt remorse and bad for the victims, which is more than SSA did. WE started watching Sugar which we are loving Colin Farrell yum, love the stylizations and the occasional dips into classic Hollywood, and really like the character, too. Colin Farrell is perfect for this Ross Macdonald/Raymond Chander-style detective show; why has someone not tried filming a Lew Archer with him in it? You know what else I’d like to see? Alexander Skarsgaard playing Travis McGee. We also watched some of Wimbledon yesterday, and probably will watch some more of it this afternoon.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Until then!
The Golden Band from Tigerland prepares to perform “Pregame” on the field. It’s the one with THE four notes that bring everyfan to their feet.
Friday morning and the office is closed for the holiday today, so no work-at-home chores for me today. Sparky let me sleep a little later this morning and I definitely didn’t want to get up this morning, either. I feel a bit worn down today, and a bit foggy, but I’ll be fine once I shower. I was able to leave work early yesterday and run a few errands on the way home (my medication arrived in the mail; had to get another prescription; and pick up my dry cleaning) but I did feel a bit wrung out when I got home. I did some chores (laundry, dishes) and we started watching Margo’s Got Money Problems but didn’t really care much for it, and thus gave up on it. I want to read a bit this morning and do some cleaning around here, and hopefully get some writing done as well. I want to work on newsletters today, too–I have my entry about A Violent Masterpiece to share, and I also want to write about the weirdness of this holiday weekend. They haven’t issued a heat advisory for us yet, but it’s still possible. It currently “feels like” 104 and it’s not even nine yet. There’s a possibility of thunderstorms this afternoon, too. I may have some things delivered today, to get it out of the way so I don’t have to go outside other than to take out trash. That sounds like a lovely plan to me.
It’s hard for me to believe and wrap my mind around the idea that the Bicentennial was fifty years ago; the summer I turned fifteen and was about to start my junior year of high school, starting over again in Kansas, where I stuck out like a sore thumb the moment I crossed the threshold. This is the summer I turn sixty-five, and the country is in a very different mood this time around. Apparently, Ba’al is planning to give an epically long speech tomorrow at the Great American State Embarrassment, and is threatening to go as long as he possibly can to prove that he did. No incumbent president has ever died on July 4th, but at the very least his make-up is going to run–and no telling what will happen to his rat’s nest. However, President Zachary Taylor went to a lengthy celebration of the 4th on a very hot humid day, ate some cold milk and cucumbers to cool down, and got sick and died a few days later.
Dare I dream?
Essence is also this weekend here in New Orleans, and I hope that it’s back to its best form; there were a lot of complaints and some scandals in recent years. Louisiana racists hate Essence Festival (just as they hate Bayou Classic weekend, another Black event), and were pretty gleeful about its possible demise the last couple of years (there are also Quarter businesses that close both weekends, but they’re not racist, wink wink),so here’s hoping its back to form this year and rebuilds back bigger and better than ever before.
The battle between New Orleans and Louisiana rages on, with a grand jury here indicting our criminalistic conservative skank Attorney General for, among other things, abuse of power. Our lovely governor has promised to “pardon her instantly” for any convictions she may get in New Orleans…(that MAGA love and respect for the law and the Constitution on full display here, may they both burn in their own hells for all eternity)…yet conservatives called Huey Long a dictator…when Huey never pulled any of this kind of shit on his own, and he and his candidates always won in landslides. At least the day to day people loved Huey because he fought the 1% to benefit the people–which our modern day demagoguery can’t be bothered with.
I’ve been listening to some old favorites lately in the car as I drive to and from work and around town–albums by Fleetwood Mac, Stevie Nicks, and Pat Benatar from my youth and most of them still hold up today and could be hits. Some of Stevie’s 1980s albums are very much of their time, vastly over-produced like the most excessive Bonnie Tyler hits of the period, unfortunately; I’d love to hear them remade with a more timeless production style.
And on that note, I am going to get cleaned up and head into the spice mines for the day. I need to do some chores, and I need to get the kitchen and my workspace back under control. I hope you have a lovely Holiday Eve, Constant Reader, and I hope to see you again here tomorrow morning on the nation’s birthday. Until then, Constant Reader!
So, pay the bills Wednesday has somehow rolled around again, and how? Your guess is as good as mine. It’s also the first of July (rabbit, rabbit!), with a three day weekend on the horizon and we’re over halfway there (oh-oh, living on a prayer). It’s also the nation’s 250th anniversary of independence (or declaring us to be independent of the British Empire), which, of course, has been completely fumbled by the idiots y’all voted into office in 2024. I am old enough to remember the Bicentennial, and it was lavish and elaborate and lengthy. The entire country went Bicentennial. Everything was “Bicentennial this and that or this or that”–commemorative glasses, stamps, coins, flags, posters…Bicentennial Minutes, which were one minute history lessons during commercial breaks, were also impossible to escape (as a History buff, I loved them) and “Spirit of ’76” was everywhere you looked and the country went nuts celebrating itself.
This time? Not so much.
Although we should be grateful the corrupt SCOTUS didn’t overturn the 14th Amendment, that doesn’t mean birthright citizenship is safe. (I do like the thought of lil Marco having his citizenship stripped, along with Ted Cruz.) So glad people listened to Susan Sarandon in 2000 and 2016. Imagine a supreme court with justices appointed by Gore and Obama, and then wonder where we’d be at right now if so many people hadn’t been so stupid four times this century. It’s also kind of amusing to see Democratic Socialists primarying–and defeating–incumbent centrist Democrats who’ve sat by and allowed this to happen. Too busy listening to their donors and billionaires and corporations to give much of a shit while Republicans unraveled the social safety net and helped rape the country. Will they follow their base, or will they continue telling us to “vote blue no matter who”…until they don’t like the blue candidate for being too far to the left. Under a more fighting and aggressive style of leadership, the Democratic Party could end the Republicans once and for all this year and again in 2028; but no, they’d rather be bribed to work for corporatists. Right, Chuck and Hakeem?
Apparently, we need to purge our party as well of these MAGA-lite corporatists. Begone, corrupt beasts! Get thee behind us, Satans!
I slept well again last night. I ran uptown to make groceries (every time I set foot in a grocery store it’s about $80; so glad those prices came down Day One!) and pick up the mail before coming home. Yesterday didn’t feel as miserably hot because the sun wasn’t out–we had a merciful cloud cover all day–and even this morning, when I took the recycling out, I thought oh this isn’t so bad today!
Reader, it was eighty-nine degrees outside. Clearly, I am acclimating to this summer.
But it’s nice to not be physically tired, you know, especially after a trip and eleven hours in the car driving. Oddly it’s more about my brain fatigue more than anything else; those batteries need some more charging, I think–but there’s a marvelous three day weekend on the horizon and I should be able to get some rest and do some things. Tonight I am heading home after work–and I get to leave the office early tomorrow, too, on Holiday Weekend Eve. I did work a bit on the newsletter last night–writing up some thoughts on Blessed Water, and I also want to finish the one on A Violent Masterpiece, which I should have posted about already. I also can’t remember where I was with everything before the trip, so I am trying to get my act together. I also have to pay the bills, too. Heavy heaving sigh. And I think I want to do a newsletter on the 4th, to talk about the Bicentennial and the failure of imagination handling this notable anniversary of our independence…and really, it’s no surprise no one feels like celebrating this country the way we did in 1976.
I do want to finish Rough Pages and move on to my next read. I also need a reread and a nonfiction read, too; I am leaning towards Sarah Weinman’s Without Consent (her writings are always worth reading; and I kind of want to revisit The Real Lolita, too, given that pedophilia is the right-wing aim now), because I actually remember the Ridout case and the moves toward exposing rape and how the victims are inevitably punished more than the perpetrator, like it’s not a big deal….I always want to say to rape apologists, “Bet you wouldn’t feel the same way if someone forcibly penetrated you anally while holding a knife to your throat, now would you?”
Yeah, that’s what I thought.
We’ve been watching Monarch: Legacy of Monsters, and we are totally on the monsters’ team. All the personal melodrama surrounding the characters, with its weird shifts in time and ages of the characters, isn’t terribly compelling or interesting…but the monsters are fucking amazing. Visually, it’s a stunning production, and that’s really all I’ve been looking for this week at night. I think we’re going to binge The Vampire Lestat for the holiday weekend, which I am looking forward to–Sam Reid does such an excellent job as Lestat it’s not even funny. I also really like Interview with the Vampire and all the changes to update were wonderful. Too bad they shit the bed on the Mayfair Witches, which could have been an incredible series instead of a huge disappointment. How could write Michael out of it? How?
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in again tomorrow on Holiday Weekend Eve. Till then!
Home again, home again. It’s hot as Satan’s taint here in New Orleans–Alabama was cool and lovely in comparison and it was hot as fuck up there–I was drenched in sweat getting the car unloaded; something was going on in the ‘hood yesterday because I had to park at Coliseum Square and walk back, which exhausted me and so I just collapsed into my chair and sat there for a bit before showering and relaxing for the evening. We got caught up on Maximum Pleasure Guaranteed, which is absolutely delightful (Tatiana Maslany never disappoints; how she didn’t win an Emmy for every season of Orphan Black is yet another example of how wrong they often are) and then a few episodes of Citadel. I slept in this morning a bit, which was also nice, but I feel a bit worn out this morning. I slept very well last night, too. I did sleep well in Alabama, and I am glad I got to spend time with Dad; even if it was so brief. I didn’t do much of anything up there other than hang out with Dad and sleep, but it was nice.
I was very lucky with my parents for the most part.
The drives up and back were lovely and uneventful. I listened to Margot Douaihy’s marvelous Blessed Water in the car, and got to chapter eight listening to Lev AC Rosen’s Rough Pages, which is also excellent–for the record, queer crime writers are consistently knocking it out of the park, people, what are you doing? READ them. On the way up I stopped in Ellisville to get gas an they had a Jack’s (their hamburgers are good good good so you’ll go back back back for more more more) so I ate there. New development on the drive up–my legs stiffened on both drives, making walking when I got out more difficult than it needed to be, but that can also be chalked up to Greg is now so fucking out of shape it’s like he never worked out in his life ever. I stopped at the Love’s at Mile 24 in Mississippi and brought Arbys home for dinner. Paul very kindly washed the bed linens yesterday so I came home to fresh and clean bedding, which was so marvelous. I slept for almost eleven hours last night, and I cannot remember the last time I did that. I feel a bit rung out this morning, but that’s the sleep hangover and some muscle tightness in my legs. Gee, Greg, why don’t you just stretch?
I am oft times oblivious and clueless.
I’m not sure if I am going to do any writing today; like I said, I feel a bit worn today, so I don’t know how that is going to play out. I do need to do some work on the kitchen and living room, too, and some laundry. A rest day to do absolutely nothing would have been lovely, but if I get it all done quickly–and focus–I can get it all under control in a couple of hours…but I really want to get back to reading Rough Pages. I’d like to do my essay on Blessed Water today, but that’s going to depend on my energy levels and how much I can get done around the house, too. I am going to at least finish the chapter I started in the car yesterday and possibly another.
One of the nice things about these trips is they enable me to disconnect from the world’s insanity and get some perspective on things. (The “State Fair” is another humiliation for him and the country; the Lyon County Fair back in Kansas had higher attendance (and better rides and activities)…a county fair. State fairs are a bigger deal than this “national” one. I can’t seem to remember Gerald Ford making the Bicentennial about him, or him coming up with an “alternative” Bicentennial he could make money from…but Republicans in the 1970s put country before party nor were they a insurrectionist movement looking to install fascism back then….these Republicans would have let Nixon serve out his second term. All of where we are now is a result of Reagan, whose money and power above all else mentality began the tribalism, and brought us Newt Gingrich and the divine right of Republicans to rule.
Sigh. And catching up on the news after three glorious days makes it all the more surreal, you know?
And on that note, I am heading for the spice mines. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back in the morning. Stay cool!
Bayou sunsets are so gorgeous!I highly recommend they use this color next as the Reflecting Pool cycles through the Pride flag.
Sunday morning! It’s seventy degrees outside this morning, with the cold front not quite here yet; it’s going to start raining soon (per the forecast) which is part of the front’s arrival, along with shockingly low temperatures later on today. It looks very gray outside, the ground is wet, and I am incredibly happy I don’t have to leave the apartment today other than to take the recycling out, which I should do right now before the rain gets here. Hang on, I’ll be right back.
Okay, I’m back. My legs are strangely tired and a bit sore this morning–the Achilles tendons in particular again–so I think when I finish this I might do some stretching, which I should start doing regularly again. I never really had to when I was younger–being naturally freakishly flexible meant I didn’t need to, but it was bad to never develop a regular stretching routine. I wonder, if now that my anxiety is under control, maybe the gym won’t be such an anxious experience for me. I’d conquered gym fear back in 1995, but after so long away from it I always had that anxiety whenever I would go back and try to get done as quickly as possible. I am going to return after Carnival and hopefully stick to it; I definitely need more stamina, and I’d like to shave off some extra weight (but without the assistance of the damned ulcerative colitis, of course). I know I’ll feel better the stronger and healthier I get, too.
Yesterday was definitely a day of odd energy. I got up a little later than I should have, and wasn’t as motivated as I had hoped. I would be. I think it was partly the oncoming storm on the horizon that was unsettling? I did run some errands (seven boxes of books to the library sale) and had some things delivered. I also braved the grocery store the day before a horrible winter storm descends upon us here in southeastern Louisiana. It was pretty hectic and crowded, and the check out lines were lengthy. But they were checking people out with a high degree of efficiency (for once), so it didn’t take nearly as long as I had feared it might. It was a very gray day, too–it was just gray and windy and chilly. I got home and unloaded the car and put everything away and relaxed for a bit. Sparky curled up in my lap and I spent some time catching up on the latest horrors from the current administration of fascists and liars and murderers. I also spent some time rereading one of my favorite books of history–Barbara Tuchman’s A Distant Mirror. We also watched the first three episodes of Ryan Murphy’s latest pretty production of a disjointed narrative, The Beauty.
In all honesty, I am not sure what to think. of The Beauty. It could easily have just been another season of American Horror Story rather than a stand-alone series. I also could do without child sexual abuse supporter and a friend of Diddy who regularly attended the “freak-offs” on my television screen. I’ll watch, but we’re not giving Ashton Kutcher a redemption arc, thank you very much. I’ve also not seen his ex-wife’s The Substance, but there seem to be an awful lot of similarities between the two. There’s a lot of things that could be said about our American obsession with youth and beauty, but I seriously doubt we’re going to get it from a Ryan Murphy show. It’s also my thought that the show will go off the rails and stop making sense, the way so many of the Ryan Murphy seasons do, before long. One day I may be able to break my hate-watching need for Ryan Murphy’s deeply flawed productions, but we aren’t there yet. After we caught up on it, we switched to the Australian Open and watched that until it was time for bed. I also made dinner last night, so the kitchen is a bit messy this morning. I do think, though, that once I finish and post this I may go read for a bit before getting cleaned up and getting the house under control yet again.
And yes, we’ve had another murder of an American citizen–a male nurse, at that–in Minneapolis by the tax-payer funded Noem thugs. She, and the rest of them, all lied about it, of course; which she should be civilly liable for; I do think the victims’ families should be able to file wrongful death suits against Noem, Homeland Security, and this administration. So glad y’all couldn’t bring yourself to vote for the highly qualified Black woman because you didn’t believe she worked at McDonalds and had a stranger laugh you didn’t like. Fuck you all, now and forever. There can be no forgiveness without atonement and genuine remorse. I’ll probably carry that grudge to the grave. Have fun in church today, Pharisees.
It’s funny, because one thing I’ve been researching for a future book is the 1970s and its pop culture, which is fun and interesting–although the clothes and hairstyles can be safely left to the past and memory. But one of the biggest things I can remember in the 1970s was the Bicentennial; many now aren’t old enough to remember that. I’ll probably write an essay for the newsletter about the Bicentennial at some point. Remembering what a huge fuss was made for the Bicentennial makes it kind of surprising that no one seems to give a shit that the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence is this July 4th. Kind of ironic that it was written as a result of years of authoritarian British colonial rule and justice…while on a major anniversary of the signing we have elected our own authoritarians and tyrant to abuse our freedoms and liberties. The way they can bald-faced lie despite the overwhelming video evidence that proves they lie about everything and anything.
The lengths they will go to in order to distract from the Epstein files is pretty telling, isn’t it? It’s worse for them for the epstein files to come out than shooting American citizens dead in the streets.
That’s a pretty big fucking tell, isn’t it?
Well, the rain has arrived and it’s very dark now, so I am going to repair to my easy chair and my coffee and read some more Ken Holt and Eli Cranor. Stay safe and warm wherever you are, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back in the morning. Thanks for stopping by!
Monday morning and I have an ophthalmologist appointment before I head into work. I slept super-great again last night, but didn’t really want to get up this morning. The appointment is pretty far out for me in Kenner (near Clearview), and I have no idea what time I will get to work. This is to check me for Stargardt disease, which my sister has and is genetic. I also have errands to run after work tonight–post office, make some groceries–before I come home to an apartment and all my chores. I was very tired yesterday–drained from the trip and all the driving over three days or so–and was able to only get some filing and organizing done, as well as ordered groceries for delivery and put them all away. The sink has dishes in it, there are dishes in the dishwasher that need to be put away, and the floors are always the worst. If I can stand it, I can do a bit every night before really focusing on it Friday, which is a holiday I don’t feel much like celebrating or acknowledging this year, given the dismantling of everything since January. I also have to get the bills figured out–I am terribly confused about these medical bills I am getting–and have a shit load of writing to do.
We started watching Olympo, a Spanish series about an athletic training school, and it’s quite fun. Not as fun as Elité, but we’re also only three episodes in. The big mystery of season one seems to be the use of performing enhancing drugs, with a swimmer collapsing and another swimmer determined to find out what’s going on. There’s also queer content; both gay and sapphic, which is very fun. Naturally, the cast is all gorgeous young Spaniards, which makes it very pleasant to watch. I’ll let you know how it goes.
I need to finish reading my current three reads (Summerhouse, Sing Me a Death Song, The Crying Child) before moving on to my next three. I also need to get back writing again; it seems like months since I’ve worked on anything, which is silly–I worked on writing last week, but the trip makes everything seem like it all happened an eternity ago, which is one of those weird time things I’m becoming more and more aware of the longer I live. I also need to clean out my email inbox, pay some bills, and pull my life back together–I’ve not been on top of things since I got sick after Saints and Sinners, really. Definitely need to. make a to-do list and a grocery list before heading out this morning, and maybe do some things around here before leaving for the appointment.
I did go down a research rabbit hole on Youtube again yesterday, though–more 1970s research, and I was also remembering the Bicentennial and how it really started overpowering the zeitgeist after President Nixon resigned and was pardoned. Next year is the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence; I am a little surprised that it’s not as big of a deal, or even a deal at all, so far. But we were a different country in 1976 than we are now, aren’t we? I was still in high school, we’d just moved to Kansas, and the Olympics were coming up, too–Montreal and Nadia Comaneci–so that was a busy summer for me, and one of major changes for one Gregalicious. (If you think it wasn’t a major change to go from a suburban Chicago high school to a rural one in Kansas, think again.) I also have Alabama stories bouncing through my head since I drove home on Saturday.
But now I have to get back to the spice mines and make that to-do list before cleaning up for the appointment and a short day in the office. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow as the month changes and the summer ratchets everything up even hotter than it was in June.
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.
I was a voracious reader from the moment I learned how to read–all things considered, my favorite waking activity was reading. I loved nothing more than those enormous doorstops of books that used to get published (apparently when the cost of ink and paper was considerably less), and during the Bicentennial madness, James A Michener released a book called Centennial, the history of a small town on the Platte River in Colorado that was renamed Centennial in honor of Colorado becoming a state in 1876–the nation’s centennial year. (I’ve always thought it odd that we trace our nation’s birth back to the Declaration of Independence, rather than the ratification of the Constitution, which created the United States government.) I really loved the book, even the several hundred pages about dinosaurs and how the ancient swamps gave way to the Rocky Mountains and the plateaus. Another thing that was big in the 1970’s was the “mini-series”–although at first they were all adaptations of novels and sometimes were called “books for television.” NBC, I believe, filmed Centennial, and I watched and enjoyed it thoroughly.
But the standout for me was Gregory Harrison, a young new-to-me actor who played the pivotal character of Levi Zendt, who actually founded the town (it was called Zendt’s Farm before the renaming in 1876) and I could not get over how good looking he was. There was also a shirtless scene, and I became a big fan. He was, looking back, absolutely one hundred percent my type; how many characters have I written about a hot lean muscular man with blue eyes and curly dark hair? Okay, his eyes were gray but that’s close enough for atom bombs and hand grenades, is it not? He then was on Trapper John, MD, which I didn’t watch (outside of General Hospital, I’ve never really watched many medical shows, and not sure why that is), and then he made a made for TV movie in which he played an actor who becomes a successful Chippendales-type dancer, For Ladies Only. It wasn’t a great movie, but he danced in thongs and bikinis and quite lustily, I might add, and that was really all I was watching for–but Marc Singer, player an older, mentor type, kind of stole the movie out from under him (more on Marc Singer another time)
I mean, what’s not to like?
For Ladies Only was an attempt to cash in on the Chippendales craze, and they were everywhere in the early to mid 1980’s–Donahue, Oprah, every talk show during daytime you could imagine–the entire concept of women appreciating men as sex objects, the way they’ve always been seen by men historically–and even The Young and the Restless had a regular cast member who was a male stripper (who mentored Nikki when she became a stripper; yes, Nikki had a rather sordid past on that show). It was the time period when what I call “the gay gayze” really kicked into gear.
The movie For Ladies Only wasn’t the greatest movie ever made, but Harrison was one of the few actors at the time who could pull off playing a male stripper and actually not need a body stand-in or anything (neither did Marc Singer–and if you need to know anything else about Singer, google image search “Marc Singer the Beastmaster”; he was also a big crush of mine after I saw this film). It was one of those sad morality plays that always wins big in the end. Harrison’s character was a struggling actor who gets recruited to join a Chippendales type show, his popularity begins to grow but now when he goes on auditions, no one will cast him because he was a stripper (how did that work out for Channing Tatum, you ask? Three smash hit films about Magic Mike, that’s how). I recorded For Ladies Only, and kept that videocassette for many years, finally discarding it in a purge before leaving California.
Thank you again, Mr. Harrison, for helping to define my taste in men–especially fictional one; how many characters have I written with curly dark hair and blue eyes?–as well as realizing for sure just how not straight I was at heart.
I saw that John Jakes died yesterday–or they announced he had passed yesterday–which was kind of jolting; primarily because he’d come across my radar again lately. I don’t remember who or how, but I was looking at something or looking up something and a quote from him about reviews and critics and his place in American literature, or he was asked about the literary stars of the day or something (these memory lapses are so aggravating) but I loved what his response was: I don’t remember exactly the comparison, but he compared books to wine: his were an inexpensive wine you could pick up at a grocery store, satisfying but nothing special, while others were the really rare and fine vintages you went down into the cellar to retrieve and had to blow dust off the bottle. (It may have been meats; I can’t remember exactly but the wine analogy seemed more correct and apt, frankly.) I appreciated that, because I spent a lot of my teens and early twenties reading Jakes’ American history novels. They were fun to read but not great, and I wound up reading the entire eight volume Kent Family Chronicles as well as the North and South trilogy (and I think in some weird way the train of thought that led me to the Jakes quote was remembering Kirstie Alley and Patrick Swayze in the mini-series of North and South, because I was also thinking about the Civil War because I was watching Civil War documentaries on Youtube, which led me to abolitionists and a meme I saw reading I don’t argue with people John Brown would have shot and you see how that all goes; the weird and twisted slipperiness of my mind. I hadn’t thought about Jakes in years; and now he’s popped up twice within a couple of weeks. (He was ninety, so had a long and full and vastly successful life. Those books were all bestsellers and the first three of the Kent books were filmed for television; I think the original plan was to film them all but that ended after the third made for television movie.)
I think there were eight books in the Kent Family series; the original plan was to follow the family through American history, but the book series ended in the 1880’s, I think; it ended before the twentieth century–which was smart. How would you cover the world wars and Vietnam? Civil rights? These were very pro-Americana books, too; they were all part of the big Bicentennial Celebration of 1976–which was a very big deal at the time, if you weren’t born yet, and the years leading up to 7/4/76 were a lot of patriotic overkill, frankly. Every business and company had some sort of Bicentennial celebration tie-in, starting in about 1974, I think, so by the time the actual Bicentennial rolled around many of us were already sick and tired of hearing about it. We had just moved to Kansas that summer, and we still only could get one channel–CBS out of Kansas City. (Hard to believe there was a time when you could live somewhere and only get one channel, but it used to be very commonplace, and there were only three networks anyway.) The primary problem, for me, with the Kent series was how plausible is it that every member of this family is a friend or acquaintance of every famous person in our history?
I slept well again last night, which is marvelous. I did laundry and put the dishes away after work, and made a grocery run, picked up a prescription, and got the mail. I was a busy Gregalicious yesterday, and I worked some more on the book as well. I feel a lot better about the book–it’s not nearly as terrible as I had feared; I really do need to work on not hating my work or at least going overboard as far as their condition, frankly. I am looking forward to making some more good progress this weekend as well; now that I am feeling more myself again (I feel good this morning, too) I think I am going to be able to get all of this finished and revised and reworked and handled and improved. This is the part of writing a book that I enjoy; the drudgery is the first draft, and the polishing and improving is the most satisfying, because you see and can feel it taking shape.
I did break down and watch the first episode of the new season of Ted Lasso without Paul last night; it was marvelous, as expected, and just such a delightful show and characters. I decided it was okay to go ahead and watch because I figured I wouldn’t mind a second watch when the Festivals are over. It just might well be my favorite comedy series of all time; definitely up there with Schitt’s Creek and Cheers for sure. Today I also am heading in to see the doctor this afternoon about my toe, which still hurts to bend and twinges when I walk, but I am not limping. Maybe it’s a waste of the doctor’s time, but you never know, and once you’re past sixty you kind of have to take any of these sorts of things that happen seriously. (I have a tendency to ignore it and hope it goes away on its own.) It’s been nearly a month since it all started; I think it was exactly four weeks ago today that it started hurting and initially swelled, but between Carnival and Mom, I didn’t really have a chance to get in, and as soon as I was able to know for sure I could make an appointment and keep it, I did–and this was the first one available. Fingers crossed it isn’t anything more serious than arthritis or (sigh) gout.
It’s amazing what a difference to my overall mood getting back on the writing horse makes, seriously. Now that I am working on the manuscript again, I’m sleeping better and feel more settled and like myself again, which is lovely–I was beginning to wonder. I wasn’t quite as tired yesterday when I left the office, and I have to say, it’s been marvelous feeling rested and being able to work again. Much as I whine and complain about writing–usually, it’s not the writing itself I complain about, but rather deadline stress more than anything else–I do love it, I do love doing it, and it really makes me happy. I recently realized that while my primary identity is author, another identity (and one I’ve held much longer than author) is reader. I have always been, first and foremost, a reader. I love to read, and wish I had more time to do so; hence the not worrying about ever being bored if and when I do get to the point of retirement–there will always be books to read, stories to write, and something to clean around the house. I am only bored if and when I choose to be; and there’s also always some movie I haven’t seen I can stream, too. I’m a homebody, and the older I get the more true that becomes. I am putting off a Costco run until after the Festivals, even though we’re getting low on things and out of others; there’s no point in doing much restocking of the kitchen since Paul will be moving down to the hotel on Wednesday and not coming home until either Sunday or Monday. I need to figure out what I am doing over the weekend myself. I think I have something Saturday morning, a reading that afternoon, and then a panel on Sunday? I don’t know, I’d have to check I suppose, and at some point I should get that all put into my phone calendar.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow.
Queer and Loathing in America 