Tag: China

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!

Love Potion Number Nine

Saturday and it’s cold in New Orleans. We were supposed to have a cold spell on Thanksgiving, which didn’t happen, but the mercury dropped suddenly overnight Thursday and it was very cold here yesterday–and even colder this morning. I didn’t get much done yesterday, other than the bed linens and my review of Lavender House, which I did finish reading yesterday morning (it is superb; I cannot encourage you enough to read it if you haven’t already) and then spend some time trying to decide what to read next. I picked out some books that look like fun reads–there’s one in particular I am leaning towards–and then spent the evening reading The Rival Queens, which I finally fished out from between the washer and the dryer; there’s slightly less than an inch between the two machines, and Sparky1 loves nothing more than knocking stuff from on top of the dryer down into that crevasse. The Rival Queens has been down there for a few months, and yes, it took me that long to fish it–and the other things–out of there. (My nasal spray for allergies/sinus issues–something new–was also down there, hence the need for me to spend more than a few moments trying before giving up in frustration.)

I’d also forgotten that there are big games this weekend; today is Ohio State-Michigan (won’t watch), and the Iron Bowl are on today before the LSU game tonight against Oklahoma in Baton Rouge (first regular season meeting between the two; the last time they played was that insane 63-28 win over them in the play-offs for 2019 where the score was 49-14 at half-time), so I probably am not going to get a lot done today other than some reading and some errands and some cleaning. I do need to make groceries today, and pick up the mail. I was thinking about trying to drop off books to the library sale, but they may not be open–which isn’t a big deal; I can either leave the box in the car for a week or bring it back inside (not likely). The refrigerator and all these cabinets/drawers in the kitchen all need work, too. There are also any number of chores that still need to be done around here. I did spend some time making notes on short stories yesterday, and so I’m hoping to get some writing done today and tomorrow. We shall see, shall we not?

I just can’t get angry at myself for using this long weekend to rest and relax and recharge, you know? And it is very cold in here this morning. It’s going to be mostly in the sixties during the day and forties at night until they average between high sixties during the day and low sixties after dark later next week–normal for this time of year down here. I’ll probably do some more business stuff this morning that I need to take care of–paying the bills and making a grocery list–and then I’ll probably go to my chair with my new book and get under the blankets for the day once I get home from doing all of that. I am going to try to write in my chair with the laptop–if I could just normalize using it while I am in my chair instead of the iPad, which is really getting very slow and probably needs to be replaced, which isn’t going to happen. A new iPad is not in the cards for me for a very long time, thank you very much. Since Apple products are made in China…imagine how much more they are going to cost with a tariff! Especially since Apple will take advantage of said price increases to up the price even more, as all corporations do, as we learned during the “supply chain issues” from the pandemic. Price gouging is a disgusting thing, but it’s something we all have to get used to once again.

I was better off in 2024 than I was in 2020, but hey–why not vote for racist sexist homophobic authoritarianism when you can blame it on the price of eggs and pull the old “it’s the economy” fake out when it’s really the racism and sexism and homophobia you’re really embracing. Maybe a significant portion of the population honestly believes that somehow things are better under Republican governance; all I know is they are incredibly bad at it, have proven this time and again (Reagan, both Bushes, the Tea Party, MAGA) by tanking the economy repeatedly–but all those bigotries are really more important than anything else to almost fifty percent of American voters, which means that once again the bad Americans are slightly outnumbering the decent ones2. Pundits are now apparently bending the knee, and MSNBC is desperately trying to center itself as the resistance for ratings again–which is exactly what they were hoping for this past summer as they repeatedly shivved Biden and Harris and threw yet another election to MAGA. #FAFO, MSNBC and CNN. Your audience let you pull this bait-and-switch in 2016 and fell for your manipulation, which failed in 2020 and you went all-in on again on the same bait-and-switch on your audience. Sorry not sorry, progressives eventually learn. The legacy media overplayed its hand by putting its thumb on the scale for money and power–and are finding themselves abandoned, high and dry, as they should; they have betrayed their mission of journalism and so betrayed the country. They are soulless corporations, and let’s face it–any pretense at populism led by a corporation is corrupted by the corporation from the start.

Sigh.

If only we could learn to live up to and respect, rather than paying lip-service, to the ideals this country was founded upon.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and who knows? I may be back later. Stranger things have happened before.

  1. Unlike Scooter, Sparky is like Skittle when it comes to knocking things off counter tops or any flat surface. Scooter wasn’t a normal cat, he was just a big lump of orange lap cat. ↩︎
  2. Just like before the Civil War! No one really cared about slavery in the north until the South fired on the flag, period–if anything, emancipation was more of a religious movement, about morality–and once they were free, everyone abandoned them to the mercies of the former enslaving aristocracies and the resultant monstrosities of Jim Crow. SO, how much did Northern whites care about Blacks? Not very much, and probably far less than they do today, which isn’t much, either. ↩︎

You Wanna Jitterbug?

I’m not really sure when I became aware of Wham!, if I’m being completely honest. I think I remember seeing the video for either “Wham Rap” or “Bad Boys” on MTV, and I immediately clocked the lead singer, a handsome young boy with brown hair and an amazing smile…but thought the other guy (who turned out to be Andrew Ridgely) was more attractive. When they released their next album, Make It Big, I really liked the debut single, “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go,” which was catchy and boppy and a lot of fun. The video was probably one of the gayest things I’d ever seen, but again–it was light and catchy and fun and silly, like the song. I bought the album, which was far better than I could have ever imagined it being, but I never became a big fan. Their next release, Music from the Edge of Heaven, included my favorite song of theirs (“I’m Your Man”), and I actually saw them in concert, in Oakland. I was working at a department store at the time, and some of my co-workers were HUGE fans. They’d bought tickets to a Wham concert, and one of the people dropped out…and they offered me the ticket. I was already burning out on concerts at this point, didn’t really want to drive to Oakland for a concert, and wasn’t a huge fan of the main act….but there were two opening acts: Katrina and the Waves, whom I also liked, and the Pointer Sisters, whom I loved. So, I agreed to go and use the ticket, figuring at least I know the Pointer Sisters will be amazing live (they were), but I wasn’t prepared for how fantastic this little teeny-bopper bubblegum teen idol-style act would be. George Michael was incredible live.

I left that concert a George Michael fan, and shortly thereafter Wham dissolved and George went solo…and had the kind of solo career that all artists hope for, which completely eclipsed Wham. Andrew and Wham played a small role in the two George Michael documentaries we watched recently, but when I saw that there was a Netflix documentary that focused solely on Wham, I thought, I need to watch that because no one really remembers how fucking HUGE Wham was before George went solo.

And taking into consideration that they were in their late teens/early twenties when they blew up…that’s pretty remarkable.

As I said, I tagged George Michael as gay the first time I saw one of their videos. (I also tagged Freddie Mercury the first time I saw him; Greg Louganis at the Montreal Olympics; Elton John; and any number of others who eventually came out.) I couldn’t tell you what it was about George; whether it was his voice, his posture, the way he moved, what it was about him, but every alarm in my head went off. He’s gay was my first thought, and my second was one of sympathy. Sure, I was in my early twenties, deeply closeted and deeply conflicted about my life and my future, but I still felt sorry for a rising pop star/teen idol on the cusp of superstardom because all I could think was, if not being myself is making ME so miserable and I’m just a college student, how awful would it be if you were a worldwide star/celebrity? I felt nothing but sympathy for anyone else, regardless of class or status, who had to lead a closeted existence.

How much worse was it for someone in show business, who achieved worldwide superstardom?

And while obviously Andrew Ridgely is the only one of the two still around, it’s pretty clear he and George remained close until George’s death. They were childhood friends; the pictures of them from childhood are astonishing. Andrew was always a pretty boy–he’s kind of always looked the same, really; for me it’s the eyes–while George was kind of plain and drab; who knew he’d grow up and have supermodel looks? I always wondered, you know. Andrew always seemed kind of superfluous to the group, if I’m being honest; I guess he co-wrote some of their songs, and I also guess his presence–his own exuberance and showmanship–helped George with his own shyness and the support was there for him always; he mentioned in one of the documentaries about his life that the mutual agreement to disband also meant that he was going to have to face all of it on his own for the first time.

But the primary takeaway from the documentary–outside of what a good friend Andrew truly was–is how HUGE Wham actually was world-wide before they disbanded. They toured Communist China in the mid-80’s to sold out arenas. That was kind of a big deal back then, as Western entertainers were viewed by the regime as “decadent.”

How did I know George Michael and the others were gay the first time I ever laid eyes on them on my television screen? I honestly don’t know. I’ve never looked at or considered “gaydar” as anything other than a joke, really; something all gay men joke about as we wish for the hottest of male celebrities–singers, musicians, athletes, actors–to turn out to be gay after all. Representation matters so much, and with more and more celebrities feeling comfortable and confident enough to come out over the last decade or so, we’re getting queer characters on television series and in books; we’re even getting television series and movies with gays as primary characters. I don’t like it, obviously, when the representation is bad, but at the same time we gays come in every shape, size, and type of person. There are gay villains and demons just as there are role models and angels. I do wonder, when my mind is wandering and I am tired, if gaydar is actually a thing; something that was programmed into our collective DNA millennia ago, giving same-sex attracted person a subconscious sense that recognizes like, as in oh he is like me as a protective measure? What was it about George Michael, and Elton John, Greg Louganis and Freddie Mercury before him, that triggered something identifiable in my brain? (I did wonder about Rock Hudson when watching McMillan and Wife.)

It’s curious, isn’t it?

If you’re a George Michael fan, I highly recommend Wham, because the fact that George was a huge star already before he went solo sometimes (often) gets left out of the story.

And Make it Big is still a good record.

No Matter What Sign You Are

Happy Mardi Gras! Everywhere else it’s just Tuesday.

It’s a beautiful day and I feel rested this morning. Granted, I’ve felt rested every morning for the last six or seven days upon arising only to run out of proverbial steam and become exhausted by the late afternoon–yesterday was another one of those; once I ran my errands and did my work I was burned out and worn out by five pm; there was no Orpheus for us last night–so we’ll see how things go today. Ukraine still seems to be standing this morning, which has been on my mind non-stop these last few days since the invasion started, and I really need to block that out. I’ve been thinking a lot these last few days about the other places in the world being visited by the horrors of war and oppression (the Uyghurs in China, Yemen) and how those stories aren’t (or weren’t) being covered with the same kind of blanket 24/7 reporting. That saddens me, as it does send the signal that Americans don’t care about Uyghurs or Yemenis, but do care about white Ukrainians.

Even when it comes to foreign policy, we can’t escape racism, can we?

Today is a day off, obviously and I am going to take full advantage of that. I am going to try to finish writing that story this morning–it’s been a struggle–and I am going to be productive and effective today; which means closing social media completely and only checking in periodically when I take a break from working. The house is a mess, filing needs to be done, and I am going to use today as an organizing/writing/get caught up day. I am going to not bother with emails this day because that is exhausting and I don’t want to get off track. I don’t hear either Zulu or Rex down at the corner–I’ll probably wander down there at some point–probably when I am barbecuing lunch–to get an idea of crowds and so forth.

Paul and I watched Toy Boy last night after he got home from work–I was actually half-dozing in my easy chair when he got home–and we have only two episodes left. It’s very strange and different this season from the last; there’s a new villain (and he is sexy as fuck) and the restructuring of the corrupt wealthy people who run the city in order to deal with this new threat has been interesting. Lots of sex and nudity, lots of male strippers in bikinis, but some also seriously strange side subplots that indicate that the producers and writers may not have a real idea of what they are doing. The gay couple from season one is hardly in this at all, and their relationship doesn’t make any sense this season at all; them meeting and falling in love while dealing with rejection and mental illness and disability was quite powerful in season one; this season they aren’t doing much of anything and are hardly in the show at all, which is disappointing.

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday and while I am always sad to see Carnival end, this year was a bit bittersweet. I only went out to King Arthur to see friends; we went to Muses to get Paul’s shoe (mission accomplished) and I went to Iris on Saturday; a significant difference from our usual “out there every night” type parade season. But I never felt entirely comfortable out there in the crowds–it’s going to take a while before I stop thinking everyone is contagious–and of course, this year was a more difficult one for Paul with his events at the end of this new month; people having to cancel because of nervousness about traveling, etc. I always look forward every year for the festivals to be over–I worry about Paul’s long hours and stress levels–but I think this year more than any other year I really want to get to April intact. I tested myself for COVID this morning and I am not infected; I will test myself again tomorrow before I go into the office just to be certain, and probably will again this coming weekend. I always wear masks in public anyway, so even if I am contagious the odds of giving it to anyone else are decreased; and I wash my hands (or use hand sanitizer) a lot. But I will be really glad and happy once the threat has finally passed, you know? I don’t know if this is how we are going to be living from now on, or if work is going to continue to change or evolve or go back to what it was before the pandemic (which I rather doubt); everything is still uncertain, and uncertainty isn’t something humans–especially this one–cope with very well.

And on that note, I am going to get cleaned up and get to work. Happy Mardi Gras, everyone!