Tag: French Quarter

We Belong

Saturday in New Orleans and tonight is the Pride parade in the French Quarter. I won’t be heading down there, since we don’t have a booth there this year for work (at least not that I am aware of) nor are we passing out condoms or testing. We might be, but since I am always needed in the office four days a week at least for the clinic they tend to not ask me to do any events outside of business hours. I had a lovely and restful day working at home yesterday, doing quality assurance on forms until such time as my eyes were crossing and my brain was hurting a bit. Periodically having to take a break to deal with laundering the bed linens and the other laundry helped push that moment back further and further, which was also lovely. We also had thunder, but no storms! I didn’t run any errands yesterday. I will do that today, as well as have some things delivered. I got up early yesterday morning, even before His Majesty came up to let me know he was hungry, and was able to get moving on things earlier than usual. I also felt pretty good, if low energy, but the coffee and breakfast definitely helped with that. It is supposed to rain this afternoon–major thunderstorm around one, then showers the rest of the day–making it a terrific day to run errands and get safely home before the weather turns.

I came up with a short story idea out of nowhere yesterday, with a funny title, and it’s got Jem, my character from Death Drop, in it, and that’s also kind of fun. The entire concept behind it is actually kind of funny, and Jem’s droll sense of humor should make it even more fun to write. I also worked on the book some (I know! Madness!), which is really funny because I really did think yesterday morning before I showered that I still was dragging a bit so getting my day job work done would be enough of an accomplishment…and that all turned around on me, didn’t it? Huzzah! It feels so good, so right, to be writing again. I’ve truly missed it, and I’ve missed enjoying it even more than that! I don’t know what I am going to do with the story should I manage to finish it, but that’s part of the fun. I also worked on the book (I know, right?) a bit yesterday and hope to get a bit more written over this weekend. This week is also Juneteenth, so I have a three day weekend next, and the week after I am meeting Dad in Alabama for their anniversary, and the next week is the 4th.

Sparky let me sleep late this morning, which I do appreciate. I feel pretty rested and good today. I am going to go get gas this morning, pick up the dry cleaning, get the mail, and make a grocery run while ordering other things to be delivered later on today. After I finish and post this I am going to get cleaned up and read for a while. I also have to do some chores–the kitchen and my workspace in particular are in fairly bad shape, and there’s dishes like always. Sigh. But that’s really the thing with life, isn’t it? There’s always the minutiae that has to be kept up with…to quote my late friend Pat Brady, “I just wish someone would take care of the minutiae so I don’t have to.” Amen to that, sister, amen to that.

We started watching Maximum Pleasure Guaranteed, with Tatiana Maslany (whom I’ve loved since Orphan Black) and Brandon Flynn (who is unbelievably gorgeous); it’s interesting and Hitchcockian, which I kind of love, an Maslany is terrific as she is in everything. I also want to rewatch this week’s Widow’s Bay because I don’t really remember much of it, so I must have been either tired or distracted while I watched. I would also like to watch Daniel Craig’s Queer, if I can find it streaming this weekend, and of course there’s always The Mummy Returns, which I need to rewatch, and I’ve decided to rewatch and maybe reread Johnny Tremain for the 4th of July this year. I also need to send out a newsletter this weekend; so which one do I want to finish? Questions, questions, questions.

All right, I need another cup of coffee and I need to make some breakfast and get this day underway once and for all. Hope you have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I will be back tomorrow morning bright and early. Until then, toodle-oo!

Carlos Alcaraz’ milkshake brings the boys to the tennis court. Photoshoot for Vanity Fair.

Wuthering Heights

How is it Sunday already? From whence didst my weekend goeth? (I am sure that is incorrect usage, but I can’t be bothered to check) Yet it is gone already and tomorrow morning I’ll be up early again to head into the office. I was still running a bit on accessory and still recharging yesterday, and that was okay. I slept later than I’d expected, but that was fine. I drank my coffee and had my breakfast and made my entry yesterday morning. I read for a bit, caught up some on the news, and then ran my errands. I took a load of clothes to the dry cleaner and two boxes of books to the library sale. I also stopped at the Fresh Market to pick up a few things, and came home to just kind of chill and read some more of my book before Paul got up. I. had thought about heading to the Creole Tomato Festival at the French Market yesterday, but there was some kind of stupid other thing going on at the other end of the Quarter–right on my way to the Market, so I decided not to bother. I got some great ones at the grocery store on Friday, anyway, and I cut one up to have with mozzarella salad for lunch, and it was marvelous. Probably having the same lunch today, too.

Creole tomatoes are the best. I love Creole tomato season.

I also wrote a little bit more yesterday while the television was on in the background while Nurse Sparky took care of Paul (sleeping on him), which also felt kind of nice. It’s also kind of strange that I am learning how much I love writing again by going back to the very beginning; I am writing everything by hand in my journal, and my handwriting is getting prettier and prettier as well as more precise. I also wrote on the computer, about a thousand words overall on some short stories, about four in all, which was kind of scattered and fun again. I also started writing the opening of yet another novel–but I was worried about forgetting how I wanted that particular novel to open, so I wrote it.

It’s nice to be writing again, even if it is all pretty much scattered and all over the place.

I spent most of the day in my easy chair, either scribbling in my journal or watching television. We watched more of Cape Fear, Sweetpea, and The Boroughs last evening. We still haven’t watched Bridgerton or Stranger Things, and I’m not sure why we lost interest in either. Maybe because there was so much time between seasons? I don’t know. There’s a new Harlan Coben show dropping next week, and we’re looking forward to that–we always love Harlan’s shows–and I also did some reading yesterday morning. I would like to do some more reading this morning, and maybe even some more writing; one never can be certain how the day is going to go. I slept in this morning, and feel a bit tired, too.

But my coffee is going down nicely and my body is also waking up. My workspace is a complete and utter mess this morning, and I should work on that some. All the stuff I dropped off yesterday enabled me to clean and organize that corner of the living room, and maybe it’s time to start clearing out the bead trunk, too. I can keep things in there besides the beads–all the living room blankets, for one–and then close it for another clean surface. I’ll look into that this week, to see if ARCNO still has bead donations spots up and running around the city.

And I should do some cleaning and organizing of the kitchen.

And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close, so I can get another cup of coffee and make my breakfast to get this day started. Will it be a productive one, or will it not? It remains to be seen, and I will check in with you again tomorrow. See you then!

El Castillo, Chichen Itza, Mexico. And yes, despite being both afraid of heights AND falling, Greg climbed that thing. Coming down was much worse.

When Will I Be Loved

Well, Pay-the-Bills Wednesday has rolled around again somehow, and I feel pretty good this morning. I didn’t want to get out of bed–it was so warm and comfy and cozy under the pile o’blankets–but I did and took care of the morning business and had some coffee. Sparky is rambunctious this morning–I had to walk around with him on my shoulders for a bit to get him to calm down a bit. I did do some chores when I got home yesterday, and I need to have some things delivered this evening…and should probably run an errand, too. I also did a little bit of writing last night, which felt great–even as the words came out of me like they were attached to barbed wire. I also realized it’s not going to be that easy to get writing done over the next few months because Paul is having two knee replacements this summer, so I am going to be having to take care of him, too, in the dead miserable heat of summer. Heavy heaving sigh. But…that’s okay. It’s always something, isn’t it?

I’ll survive, won’t I?

I finished watching The Traitors Canada’s third season last night, and it’s one of the best seasons, if not the very best. Now, I am out of Traitors to watch, sigh, until new seasons drop. I don’t know that I’ll watch them as they air or if I’ll wait till they’re all available to binge. We also watched the latest Euphoria, too, before calling it a night and diving headfirst into the bed. I have to have labs drawn Friday morning for my GI specialist (whom I am seeing next month) and I have an on-line team meeting, but I’ll be spending most of the day going over forms and correcting them. And then it’s a holiday weekend!!! Monday is Memorial Day! I am hoping to be either be productive this weekend or to get a lot of rest, one or the other, and I want to take some walks in the mornings before it gets too miserable out there. It’s already eighty-one out there this morning, and it’s still May, for Christ’s sake.

I get hate mail pretty regularly; you can’t be a gay man in 2026 who exists on-line and not get hate mail–whether it’s email or DM’s or tags (this is why I never look at my DM’s and it’s a terrible way to try to reach me because I do not like to read that drek–although some of it can be amusing in its illiteracy, ignorance, and illogic–and it’s not something you ever get used to. It was really bad when I was EVP at MWA (which clearly has a lot of homophobes in its membership), and I would turn off DM’s if I could. Most of the hate email goes to spam now and I don’t see it, but one slipped through the other day, and it was highly amusing. Someone, who really needs to wash his or her ass and legs, decided something–anything–I don’t know what–deserved a written email response, and yes, it made me laugh really hard. You’re coming at me because I am in favor of vaccines? Being called a “pro-vaxxer” isn’t the insult you think it is, inbred imbecile, and here’s hoping you never have to watch a child you love suffer and die because you’re a fucking idiot who doesn’t actually love them, really. You don’t put someone you love at risk of death because you’re incredibly stupid, because clearly, you don’t even know what love is; a cat is a better parent. Chew on that, asswipe, and be glad I didn’t just post a screencap of your email–and I wouldn’t black out your email address, either.

Because these people are stupid enough to use personal or work emails.

Yesterday, despite feeling a bit drained still mentally–physically I was fine–was a good day. It’s always nice to get unexpected money, isn’t it?

Remember last year’s bubble protest in the French Quarter? Sum up: a rich man moved into the Quarter across from a bar with a bubble machine which has been there for decades, if not generations, and decided the bubbles had to go. End result? A mob of people showed up with bubble guns and so forth and buried the Quarter in bubbles…and did it again on the one year anniversary! I love how petty this city is! I fit right in here, seriously.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, and I’ll be back for my last day in the office for the week blog tomorrow!

Wide Open Spaces

Sunday morning and I am still feeling disoriented. I kept thinking yesterday was Friday, and that today would be Saturday. I have an errand to run and some groceries to have delivered. I stayed up late finishing the laundry–it was launder the bed linens day, postponed from Friday, which also helped with the day mind-fuckery–but slept very well and slept in. The kitchen looks much better than it did yesterday morning, but it still needs some work. After Paul got up, we just had a lazy day hanging out and watching television. It was indeed a gorgeous day out there yesterday and it looks like today is going to be just as lovely. I may take a walk later just to revel in the day and get some exercise. Maybe I’ll stretch today too–can’t hurt, right? I’m starting to feel the itch to become more physically active, since I am not nearly as tired all the time the way I used to be. It’s so lovely not to be tired, Constant Reader, you have no idea!

I can also tell my injection is due next Monday.

I was thinking–I did do a lot of that yesterday–about my recent newsletter essay about gender roles and my not fitting in as a child as a boy who didn’t conform to my assigned gender role (which meant I was gender-nonconforming) and that really, it was the late 1970’s/early 1980s when those rigid roles began to loosen slightly. I’m enjoying all this introspection and self-discovery journey I’ve been on for the past few years (beginning with Mom’s death), which also makes me realize how long I avoided examining myself and my life. I thought I did a lot of navel-gazing before, but it was always pretty shallow and never went very deep, ever; often, I think, because there were things about myself I preferred not to know, or to confront. But I’m more interested now in accepting patterns of behavior that I now understand were driven by the anxiety, which is now under control.

I also spent some more time paging through Jackson Square Jazz and kind of enjoying it, because it also is reminding me of writing the book and the research that went into it, particularly the Cabildo Fire, which was a real event that I wrote into the book as a pivotal moment for the plot and I got to write about some New Orleans history that may or may not have ever been talked about in fiction. (I also remember being rather taken aback when someone told me the pre-Katrina Scotty books were also important historically because they documented what gay Quarter life was like before everything changed; Jean Redmann did the same for the lesbian side.) I am in the thinking stages of the eleventh (!!!) Scotty right now, too–I know the plot elements I want to hit–and I am also thinking about getting back into the in-progress manuscript I am trying to focus my energies on (rereading Christa’s story from Crime Ink: Iconic got me back into that mindset again, even as I realized I couldn’t tell my story as well as they told theirs); I need to immerse myself into that world again as I reconfigure my main character, who I was softening a bit. No, the main character, Greg, needs to be on the make, as they used to say back then, using his looks and his body to advance himself in Hollywood, while painting a dark picture of what being queer in Hollywood used to mean.

And so, on that note, I think I am going to bring this to a close and go have some breakfast before settling into my easy chair to read; I think I am going to reread Listen for the Whisperer by Phyllis A. Whitney and try to get further into my first-time reading book. I also need to do the floors and clean up the workspace a bit this morning. Have a great Sunday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow on work-at-home Monday. Till then!

The beauty of Yosemite

24 Karat Gold

Sunday and later I have to head for the Quarter for a panel, a reading and the closing reception. I am so glad I took tomorrow off! Just thinking about the day ahead makes me tired. I was very tired yesterday but ran some errands, including picking up my copy of Enemy of My Enemy, the new Daredevil novel from the always delightful Alex Segura and making some groceries. I tried to be productive yesterday but fell into a vortex of laziness and rest that carried me through the day until I went to bed last night. I didn’t want to get up this morning, either, and Sparky was very insistent. I don’t have a lot of time this morning before I have to get ready and summon a Lyft to the Quarter. I don’t resent the wasted time yesterday–I did watch some of the figure skating–but will definitely have to recover while being productive tomorrow.

I am very glad I took tomorrow off.

I did start watching Inside the Manosphere yesterday, and didn’t last very long before I was nauseated and disgusted and had to turn it off, and I don’t even think I lasted a full ten minutes. We do very much live in the time of the grift, do we not? It seems like everywhere we turn, there’s a grifter trying to con people out of their money. I would say we are heading for a grift economy, if we aren’t already in one. The Fed said the Treasury is insolvent this past week, which is nothing new; the Treasury has been insolvent for decades now, no one has bothered to make it known. I know this is a conservative point, but the national debt isn’t a credit card where we can keep raising the limit every year. This means the truth is the world economy is really just smoke and mirrors; the United States cannot pay its debt but calling the loans and a default would collapse the world economy, so the credit ceiling keeps being raised, kicking the can and a world-wide economic collapse down the road so someone else can deal with it. (This was the thinking of the French Bourbons in the 1780s, and how did that work out for them?) I don’t have a problem with cutting federal spending, but cutting it from things that do not benefit the American people. Funny how that is always the first thing that needs to be cut, not the billions of dollars pumped into our military and into other countries as bribes to be our allies.

I don’t think there’s much benefit to being an American ally these days, is there? What do Qatar and the UAE and the Saudis and Kuwait think about that now? And of course we can’t even be certain that the news we are getting about this stupid new war is actually true, now that our mainstream media has become so deeply corrupted and untrustworthy. I’ll never trust CBS, CNN, or any of the big papers ever again. I suppose this regime has done the country a favor by showing how hollow and false and misplaced our trust has been in the institutions that supposedly make our democracy stronger. And once you see the pattern of American exceptionalism in the way we are taught to view our history and that of the rest of the world, the institutions crumble beneath the weight of the lies they’ve been telling us for years. Once you see it and the scales from your eyes are gone, you can’t unsee it, and you question everything you know.

One of the things about this decade and what I’ve been through on top of everything else we collectively have been through has been being forced to stop and slow down and think about everything. Having COVID in the summer of 2022 physically forced me not to check or answer emails or take phone calls or write or do anything other than watch television, and think. That illness and enforced rest made me realize I wasn’t very happy and I wasn’t enjoying my life anymore (or my authorial career) and that it was time to start making some changes…and after that initial illness, there were so many other times I was forced to take time off–surgeries and recoveries, etc.–and I was able to start examining myself and who I am and why I am the way I am, and to decide that ultimately the only person besides Paul that I am responsible for is me, and I am the only person who can make my life better and more peaceful. I started sorting things out for myself and dealing with my own issues, figuring out a lot of things I never took the time to do before, primarily because I didn’t want to examine any of this–and I think that I stayed so super-busy so I would never have time to think and process because my down time was spent resting because I was exhausted. I didn’t do a lot of chores or reading or writing yesterday mainly because I wanted to free up my brain to rest and think clearly and prepare. I’ve made peace with a lot of things over these past few years, and my mental health and my peace of mind is the most important thing in my life going forward.

And on that note, I am going to get ready to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, everyone, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

Pyramid of the Soothsayer, Uxmal and there’s no way I would climb that thing

All the Beautiful Worlds

Ah, you have to love waking up and checking your email and the first subject line you see is Reminder: Inspector Hole is now on Netflix. It always makes me laugh–as does the fact his first name is Harry–because I sometimes have the maturity level of a junior high student. I’ve always meant to get to Jo Nesbø’s highly acclaimed series, just never have. The Festivals will be over by Sunday night, and so normality might return to the Lost Apartment (I’m not counting on it) soon and we can start watching a new show, or the new season of a favorite. I’ll be done with The Traitors New Zealand (I’m not enjoying this season as much thus far, but it should start kicking into gear soon. I was bitterly disappointed they banished the hottest guy already, which threw a wrench in my social theory I was developing from watching. Then again, it could be the exception that proves the rule. Sorry, Fili, you were gone too soon) by the end of the weekend. I will be heading down to the Quarter later for the Saints and Sinners opening party, but will probably come home directly after. Everything I have to do is on Sunday, which will make for a long, draining day, and am very glad I wisely took Monday off to recover and run errands and get ready for the week. I have some work-at-home duties to get done and a training later this morning on-line, so I am also going to try to clean the apartment when my eyes get bleary and start to cross. I got up and fed Sparky on time before going back to bed for a couple of hours, so I feel very rested this morning. Sparky is also playful this morning, so he’s alternating between attacking me with claws and fangs or chasing a bottlecap. He really is adorable, if a bit of a pest sometimes.

I was tired when I left the office yesterday and came straight home from work. I plopped down into my chair with Lord Sparkster and caught up on the news, which was horrible as per usual with this regime. I obviously watched an episode of The Traitors because of course I did, have you been paying attention? I was going to start watching the new Paul Theroux documentary but after seeing the toxic white men all day on social media I just couldn’t face even watching these twerps getting mocked the way I am sure the documentary does (my favorite comment to these pricks on-line is “if everyone’s an alpha no one is”), but I’ll try it tomorrow or tonight when I get home from the party.

The world figure skating championships are also this weekend, with Ilia Malinin in first after the men’s short, with the other Americans in the Top Ten–and Amber Glenn and Isabeau Levito are third and fourth, in medal position. I was very happy to see Ilia’s short program on YouTube last night; he seems much freer and happier than he did in Italy at the Olympics.

All the homophobes are, of course, out in force since it was revealed that a future season of Bridgerton will actually feature a lesbian romance by changing the gender of the male lead to a woman. Oh, the straight white ladies—the same ones who creamed themselves—and still do—about Heated Rivalry, and members of the m/m community suddenly realizing, like gay men have been telling them for almost twenty years, that it’s a fetish for some of you and you need to listen to gay men and call out the homophobia which you never did.

For the record, you homophobic bitches, I read and consume lesbian art regularly because it’s good, not because it gets me off. If a gay man can read and enjoy lesbian art, a straight woman certainly can. Then again, if it’s okay for straight women to write vampires and space aliens why can’t they write gay men? (This has been said to me any number of times. Yes, we only exist in fiction, bitch.) I saw a lot of this misogynistic patriarchical thinking from a lot of hateful straight white women yesterday, and no, you’re never beating the allegations, ladies. Clean up your community and stop attacking gay men.

Someone also pointed out something interesting in response to one of those right-wingers who posted about how he has liberal friends and they all get along because they don’t talk about politics—they noted these posts only ever come from the right, never the left. How often do you see someone on the left post about how they’re still friends with their right-winger friends and family because they don’t talk politics? It’s never someone who isn’t MAGA, and the post inevitably was triggered by being cut off from friends and family members because you voted for a pedophile who’s destroying the world. “You make politics your personality!“ Well, I sure as fuck wouldn’t if I were MAGA, for one, and for two, it’s not politics, it’s morality. How many “I regret my vote” posts and videos have you seen from Harris voters? None? I do see a lot of pining and sadness from MAGA people who’ve been cut off, but they never seem to grasp what their vote and support actually showed decent human beings about who they actually are. I wouldn’t feel safe having my kids around people who support pedophilia, or just are okay with looking the other way.

Sigh.

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

The Temple of Poseidon, Attica, Greece

Twisted

Thursday! My last day in the office for the week, and the apartment feels empty. Paul moved into the hotel yesterday, so it’s just me and our needy kitty here this morning. Yesterday I was tired when I got home from my errands, and so mostly hung out with Sparky in my chair while watching some more of the Traitors New Zealand and catching up on the news. I didn’t really do a whole lot around here other than going to bed earlier and sleeping very well. I hope to make it through today without becoming exhausted so I can do some things when I get home from work tonight. And if I don’t, oh well. I work at home tomorrow and can certainly do chores when I need a break from quality assurance (which is mindlessly tedious). I am going to head down to the Quarter for the opening party tomorrow, but will most likely come home right after. Sigh. I don’t have to go down there at all on Saturday, so I might stay home all day and rest–I also took Monday off, since I have a panel, a reading and the closing on Sunday. I also managed to get a lot of my inbox cleared out, but I do have some emails I’ve been delaying sending for whatever reason so I guess I will have to bite the bullet and do that today. I hate when I don’t do things just because I don’t want to do them, you know?

One of the highlights of the week for me was MAGA coming for Alan Ritchson–you know, the huge musclebound man who plays Reacher perfectly–after he punched someone several times and a video was sent to TMZ–which conveniently didn’t show the inciting incident; in which Ritchson was attacked, hit and verbally abused before the guy finally pushed him too far and landed some punches–while yelling at him to stay down. Since Ritchson is a Christian who hates Trump (like any real Christian would; they’d pray for him but not vote for him), MAGA went wild…until the police investigation revealed that Ritchson was wearing a body-cam that captured everything, as did other security cameras and witness statements…and the footage was released. MAGA bitch boy is still crying victim, but the police cleared Ritchson and he declined to press charges (I absolutely would have). Once again, MAGA happily steps on the rake and gets the handle right between the eyes. It really must drive them crazy that the star of Reacher, which appeals to their manliness, isn’t MAGA. Cry harder, cuck bitches.

How am I feeling this morning? The Achilles tendons are still a bit on the sore side (will need to ice tonight and tomorrow). and there’s some fatigue in my quads as always, but my head is clear and I feel rested. The coffee is hitting marvelously and my breakfast sandwich was good, too. I don’t have a massively busy day ahead of me in the clinic, so I can get caught up on my office paperwork before I head home for the evening. I am going to need to get some things from the grocery store, but it can wait until the weekend, I think. I also need to take some clothes to the dry cleaner, and get the mail at some point. I noticed that the cost of gas went down twenty cents (thanks, oil companies) after I bought gas the other day. Typical.

I think I may watch that Paul Theroux man-o-sphere documentary this weekend, if I can stomach watching these preening, narcissistic morons who make money off fooling men with masculinity issues into thinking they have to revert to Neanderthal behavior to “be a real man”–while ignoring the actual fact that acting like an immature child isn’t attractive or appealing to anyone looking for a partner. It is research for my essay series on masculinity, so I suppose I can justify forcing myself to watch it. At least it will take my appetite away, or it may be incredibly inadvertently funny. I guess we will have to wait and see.

Sigh.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll see you again tomorrow.

Since I Held You

Ah, another work at home Friday and man, was I fatigued yesterday. I’m hoping that sleeping late this morning and tomorrow will knock the last of the fatigue out of my system. I was more mentally alert in the morning than I’d been since the infusion, but the brain wiring started sparking and malfunctioning in the afternoon. I do hate when that happens, and my legs get super-tired and my feet feel like I’m just dragging them along for the ride. Most unpleasant, actually. Needless to say, I didn’t run any errands on the way home last night, but after getting caught up on the news once I was home, I started doing research again on the 1970s by watching Youtube videos. (It’s amazing how much I’ve forgotten about the 1970s.) Today after work we’re going to go to Costco and run some various other errands, which means I’ll probably be exhausted again tonight. But that’s okay, I feel rested (my legs are still fatigued, though) and it’s always nice to get up to a cat alarm than to the horrible electronic beeping tones of an alarm.

I was kind of bummed there wasn’t a new episode of South Park this week, and I have to say, between the show and Gavin Newsom, I think this marks a sea change in the country. Turns out the MAGArbage doesn’t like being treated the way they’ve treated other people for the last ten years. Aw, they’re needing safe spaces like the precious, unique little snowflakes they are and always have been. But the masks are off them now permanently, and their narcissistic tantrums about “their” country and their “true” patriotism.

Sorry, if you try to overthrow the government, you’re not a patriot. And have we forgotten “Let’s go Brandon”? You’re not a patriot if you’re trying to cram your beliefs and values (such as they are) down the throats of everyone. You’re not a patriot if you celebrate and applaud violations of the Constitution. You can fetish worship symbols you don’t understand (for the record, wearing the flag as an article of clothing is also considered a desecration) all you want, but that doesn’t make you a patriot, especially if you don’t understand and appreciate what they symbolize.

And for the record, I am not about forgiving and forgetting. Straight white people, if and when this horrible period actually ends, will be all about that… just as they were after the Civil War. They always prefer to support other white people than oppressed minorities, to the detriment of the country, and we just wind up back where we were yet again because so many white people won’t address their bigotries and prejudices.

And as for Jillian Michaels, she has always been a garbage person. Anyone who calls herself a “gay woman” instead of “lesbian”? That’s kind of telling. She wants to join, and only associate, with the rich conservative cisgender white gays1. I do take some consolation in knowing that her unspeakable vileness means she is miserable and unhappy; it’s written all over her face. She must really be bitter that she can’t shame and embarrass overweight people on national television anymore. She was a disgrace to the fitness profession, and she’s a massive embarrassment of a human being. I hope she marries someone just like her and forgets the prenup. Irrelevant and useless, why does being a hateful bitch on television make her an authority on history and politics? Because she once had a reality show? Bitch, please.

This week, Taylor Swift announced, on the Kelce Brothers podcast, that she was dropping a new album, The Life of a Showgirl, in October. Yesterday she released the four alternate covers of the album, one of which is this:

One of the covers for Taylor Swift’s new album, The Life of a Showgirl.

She looks amazing, doesn’t she? But of course, trolls (who really need to get a life) did what they usually do whenever she does anything. The cover above was shared on social media by some bitter pill of a man in Houston, saying “She has young fans! How is this appropriate?” I personally have seen more skin on the beach or at a pool, and sometimes in the French Quarter. Yes, this is the problem, not a president who’s in the Epstein files for child rape, or all the youth pastors, or preachers, or priests arrested on the daily for raping kids. No, Taylor Swift in a Las Vegas-style showgirl outfit–on theme for her album–is the real problem2 kids are facing today.

God give me strength.

I am pleased to report, however, these zeta males were thoroughly ratioed and dragged in the comments…I don’t understand this sick need some people have for negative attention and being humiliated on-line (probably bots, but in some cases they are actually people), and probably never will.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, Constant Reader, and I will most likely not be back until tomorrow morning.

  1. The Log Cabins are vile, period. ↩︎
  2. Where is all the upset about kids possibly finding out about Laura Loomer and “Arbys in her pants”? Give me a break. ↩︎

Rhinestone Cowboy

Tennessee Williams is kind of responsible for my career, in a very indirect way. Sounds impressive, doesn’t it? But it’s true, even if he had been dead almost two decades.

When we first moved to New Orleans, Paul got a job working for the Grants Director of the Arts Council of New Orleans, and at that time, the Tennessee Williams New Orleans Literary Festival had an office in the Arts Council’s suite. Paul got to know the director, and he convinced me to volunteer with him at the 1997 Festival…which was my introduction to the world of the book/writing festival/conference. I had the best time. That first year I met so many authors, and they were so kind and lovely. I volunteered again the next year, after Paul was hired part time (he left the Arts Council), and that was the year I met the author who would offer to mentor me. Three years later, I had a book contract and had sold some short stories and there was no turning back for one Gregalicious at that point.

So, yes, Tennessee Williams had a hand in the establishment of my career as a professional writer. I began reading the plays again, and started using quotes from them as epigraphs for my books.

It was a no-brainer when John Copenhaver asked me to contribute to this anthology to write about Tennessee Williams, even if it wound up being kind of peripheral to the story itself. The anthology is up for preorders everywhere, or you can preorder from Bywater here.

There was a little brass plaque on the next to the table the host showed me to.

The plaque was below an enormous tinted picture window looking down Dauphine Street. Engraved on the face were the words “TENNESSEE’S TABLE.” The host offered me a menu as I sat in a chair facing the door, placing another down on the setting across from me. “Why Tennessee’s Table?” I asked. “Are there tables for Alabama and Mississippi, too?” 

I was joking, but in my two months in New Orleans thus far I’d found there were historic markers pretty much everywhere you looked. The others explained why the place was historic, but this one had no explanation, no words in smaller type below explaining why it was there.

This meant there was a story behind the plaque. I was also finding out the city had a story about almost everything.

His grin exposed a chipper incisor. “Tennessee is for Tennessee Williams, the playwright,” he explained, adding, “He loved the Quarter Scene and had lunch here every day he was in town. This was his favorite table, and he’d just call whenever he’d get in and let them know, so they’d reserve it for him. They put the plaque up after he died.” He winked. “We get a lot of Williams tourists who like to trace his steps—I guess to commune with his spirit, maybe? The plaque makes it easier for them.”

And less hassle for the staff, I added mentally.

I’d heard of Tennessee Williams. He’d also been out and proud when that could have been career and social suicide. The name brought up memories of chalk dust, a cold classroom in winter, and canned dry hot air. We must have studied him in high school. A Streetcar Named Desire and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, I think the plays were? I’d slept with a Williams scholar once, on a vacation in Honolulu. I’d met him on the beach. He had a stack of non-fiction books piled up on his nightstand for a paper he was writing, pages marked by a forest of Post-It notes.

You see the peripheral connection in that excerpt, don’t you? That’s all Tennessee had to do with my story, other than a later mention.

That table and plaque did exist. The Quarter Scene closed and was replaced by Eat, but it now called the Quarter Scene again. I don’t know if the plaque is still up by his table or not, but I always sat there whenever I ate there.

Years ago, when we first moved here, I started working on two novels. One became Murder in the Rue Dauphine, the other was a kind of Tales of the City kind of thing about three young gay men who rented apartments around a courtyard in the Quarter, with an older gay man living in the main house and kind of being a mentor to them all. I called that one The World is Full of Ex-Lovers, and began putting it together by writing short stories. One of those stories was called “Tennessee’s Table,” and that was what I immediately thought of when casting about in my head to write a Tennessee Williams inspired kind of story. I dug it out of the files–it was dreadful–and threw everything out except the very opening with the main character arriving at the Quarter Scene to meet someone for lunch. I also realized that this story would actually work in a longer project I am also writing–a book set in 1994 New Orleans called Never Kiss a Stranger, and so I wrote that story with the idea that I could insert it into the novel manuscript.

I am kind of pleased with it, to tell you the truth. It’s called “The Rhinestone.”

And just look at this contributors’ list!

A pretty impressive table of contents!

Have you preordered your copy yet?

A Little More Love

Saturday morning in the Lost Apartment and I am very tired. It was a lovely first day of the Festivals yesterday, in which I saw and hung out with some friends, met some new-to-me writers (Ashley Elston, who lives in Shreveport! Who knew?1), and went to the opening parties for both Festivals, then had dinner with friends. I also walked home from the Quarter last night, and as always, it was humid and about two blocks from home the delayed-sweat of night time humidity struck and I was drenched and sticky when I got home. Sparky was terribly needy, too, and I collapsed into my chair to see what fresh hells I had missed in the news yesterday (I do love being in a Festival bubble, I have to admit) and dozed off. I managed to wake up around midnight and go up to bed, and this morning…I am feeling very tired and worn out (not used to socializing, either), but once I am fully conscious and awake, I am going to have a great day. There’s a panel at eleven thirty that I’d like to see–Laura Lippman, Gillian Flynn, Megan Abbott and Alafair Burke (talk about a power panel)–and I need to do some research before the panel I am moderating this afternoon. I also have to speak at the anthology launch tonight, and after that I’m having dinner with some queer crime writers. Tomorrow I am on a panel and doing the Dorothy Allison Tribute Reading, and then the closing.

Thank God I took Monday off, because I will be completely drained and an empty husk.

I made my word count yesterday, but am not sure I can get it done today. Maybe after getting that research done on my panelists? The book’s end is getting tantalizingly close, but I know I am not going to be done when I need to be done, which is Tuesday. Why am I so unprofessional and difficult? Why can’t I ever make a deadline? That is a mystery for the ages, methinks. Oop, there’s the coffee kicking in at last…

In other exciting news, our auction raising funds for the Transgender Law Center continues to cook along, and today I am pleased to say that as of this morning, two signed Stephen King hardcovers are up for bid. The auction is open through Tuesday, so check it out, see what looks good to you, and bid on some excellent items! We’re almost to $30k in bids; which is fifty percent more than our goal, which is also amazing. Well done, community!

And on that note, I need to get moving. Sorry to be so brief, and won’t be back until tomorrow.

  1. Apparently a lot of people, since her debut hit Number One on the New York Times bestseller list! She’s lovely, by the way, and I am looking forward to reading her. ↩︎