Monday morning and back to the office with me this morning. I don’t feel fatigued, but I also didn’t want to get out of the warm bed or out from under my pile of blankets. But the coffee is going down easily and tastes marvelous, and the Lost Apartment is mostly clean; I didn’t finish the downstairs yesterday so there’s some touching-up still necessary tonight when I get home. I’m hoping that I won’t be too tired to do that necessary touching up. I certainly don’t want to leave it for the weekend, especially since I don’t have my work-at-home day this week since we’re having an “in-service” day so I have to come in.
Paul had a board retreat so he was out of the house for most of the afternoon and into the early evening. I worked on the kitchen and finishing the living room some, had groceries delivered, and made Greg’s Swedish Meatballs for dinner (they were superb; the alterations I made this time were the right ones). I also did some research when I was taking a break from cleaning–hurricanes, the 1970s, gay Hollywood during the days the studio system started crumbling–and also did some reading. I am pleased to report that The Hunting Wives is very well written and very different (already) from the series, which is kind of exciting. I also dipped into Shirley Jackson’s Life Among the Savages, and it staggers me how her writing style, that unique rhythm and voice she had, easily adapts from quiet horror to family humor.
I also started rereading Hurricane Season Hustle, the long-delayed Scotty book (why does it always seem to be Scotty books that get delayed?), and I have to confess that it’s actually not bad. The writing isn’t terrible and doesn’t need a lot of fixing, which is enormously pleasing. I simply have to write five or six chapters, the epilogue and prologue, and put some shine and sparkle on it. I am not so certain why I am always so down on my writing, especially in its sloppy early stages, because my low regard for it is not shared by most. I am working on not being hard on myself anymore–I certainly don’t need to prove anything anymore to anyone–and while I don’t think it’s wrong to think I can do better (because one always can), I need to be a bit kinder about it. Part of the reason I think I’m able to watch these Hurricane Katrina stories and documentaries now is because I am going to be dealing with, and exploring, Scotty’s memories of Katrina as the current hurricane is battering the Diderot House. I think the plot is kind of clever, and I am an award-winning author, after all. Is that confidence I feel? #madness.
We started watching Smoke on Apple Plus last night. It co-stars Taron Edgerton as an arson inspector, and Jurnee Smollett as a police detective assigned to work with him on two serial arsonist cases. It was created and written by Dennis Lehane (remember him? Mystic River? Of course you do.), and the first episode was interesting; both characters are complex and have a lot of issues, and the acting and writing is top notch. The show appears to be a slow burn (see what I did there?), and we are definitely down for watching more. We had an arsonist in the lower Garden District in the late 1990s; the Coliseum Theater was one of his victims as were several other houses in the neighborhood. Fire and water are the two elements that New Orleans dreads–how many “great fires” have there been here, anyway?–and maybe it is time for a novel about fires in New Orleans?
Then again, I’ve already done the Cabildo Fire. The Upstairs Lounge fire, too.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow.
I’ve always thought today’s title, an old classic by the Cars, would make for a great y/a title. What if a gay teenager was in love with his straight best friend (it happens), only to have the best friend get a girlfriend the gay kid suspects is evil, as in occult evil? No one believes him because they think it’s jealousy…this story always springs to mind whenever I hear the song.
And that first album by the Cars is still a jam, almost forty years (!!!!) after release.
Saturday morning here in the Lost Apartment, and Sparky let me stay in bed later than usual, which was lovely. I am slurping down my first cup of coffee and have already had my coffee cake, probably moving on to cereal in a moment. I do feel good and rested this morning. I took it easy after work yesterday, simply sitting in my easy chair and morphing into a cat bed for a worn out purring kitty. I finished watching Hurricane Katrina: Race Against Time, which I really appreciated. I did get a little teary when listening to the experiences of the people who couldn’t leave and the clusterfuck of the response to the catastrophic levee failure (which failure was lain entirely at the door of the US Army Corps of Engineers, where it belonged), and the response was entirely a systemic failure. It also went after the media reporting, which was wrong and caused problems for the efforts to rescue people and get them out. I did remember how angry the reporting by the legacy media made me (fuck Fox News and their racism now, then, and forever) because I had a flash of anger again at the incompetence. I’m glad I watched, but I will never stop mourning the New Orleans that was before, or the people we lost. I also decided to go ahead and write a twenty years later essay for the newsletter. Last night as I watched, I was trying to remember what I actually did write about Hurricane Katrina and the aftermath (besides the blog): my novel Murder in the Rue Chartres; my essay “I Haven’t Stopped Dancing Yet” and a shorter, edited down version called “I’m Still Dancing”; and the short stories “Annunciation Shotgun” and “Survivor’s Guilt.” I think part of the reason I wrote so little about Katrina and the rebuilding was because I didn’t want to be defined as a writer by the storm.
But I think there is another essay about Katrina inside of me that I need to write. I may start writing it this weekend, but we shall see.
I do have to go pick up some prescriptions and some groceries while I am out, and I am going to potentially order some more to be delivered this afternoon. I also made good progress on chores yesterday; I did all the bed clothes, and a load of dishes that needs to be put away, and I also cleaned off my kitchen counters. I also picked some things up around here, too. I want to write and read today, too–once I finish this I will go to my chair and read for a bit before I go run those errands and get them out of the way so I don’t have to leave the house tomorrow. Monday is my last infusion and I took the day off so I can come home and rest and read some more. Huzzah? Huzzah! I think we’re probably going to move on to watching Wednesday’s second season tonight, too.
I do feel good this morning–the cereal was an excellent choice, but now I need toast–and so I am hopeful I’ll be able to get some things done today. So, I probably should put some bread in the toaster and bring this effort to a close for the day by heading into the spice mines for the rest of the morning. Have a lovely and terrific Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back either later today or again tomorrow morning.
Adorable out gay Olympic gold medalist in diving Tom Daley of the UK
There are three “disturbances” out in the Atlantic with the potential to develop into tropical systems. None are a threat to the Gulf Coast (at least, not yet), but we are heading into the time where hurricane season is super-busy. This year is also the twenty-year anniversary of Katrina, so I’ll be avoiding all the coverage of that for the most part. Even after twenty years, it’s still hard for me to watch any of that stuff–but maybe this year I should break the power of the PTSD and watch it all. It was such a horrible time, truly…but we did watch that show about Memorial Hospital (Baptist). But twenty years on, maybe it is time to watch some of the coverage that I pointedly ignore every year. I dunno, we’ll see.
Yesterday I felt a little under the weather–stomach again–which had me concerned that I was having a reoccurrence of the colitis, but this morning I feel fine, even well rested for a change. I managed to get a lot done at work yesterday, which was great, and I made groceries on my way home. I was tired when I got home, but I wrote for a very little while before Sparky’s need for attention wore me down and I went to my chair. We watched some more Unspeakable Sins, which is such an amazing rollercoaster ride. More has happened in the seven or eight episodes we’ve watched than happened in an entire season of Melrose Place. Nobody does soapy thrillers quite like the Spanish language production companies. So far, we’ve had a failed blackmail seduction, two kidnappings, one faked death, and several criminal syndicates–and of course, lots of videos of wealthy and prominent people at sex parties. We also have a teenager whose stepfather got him addicted to drugs and abused him.
That is seriously one fucked up family.
We’re finally out of the heat advisories, and the maximum temperature for today is 89…which is low for August but I’ll gladly take it. Rain (gasp) is also in the forecast. The rain is predicted for late this afternoon, around when I’ll be coming home, actually, so no errands tonight for sure. I didn’t want to get up this morning, but…that’s really nothing new on a work day, is it? This is a slow week in the clinic (next week is busy busy busy), which is nice, since we’re having a site visit tomorrow. I think I have everything done that I need to have done for the visit, which was the entire goal for yesterday.
I am feeling good about most everything and am not being critical of myself for not pushing myself harder, you know? I’m also kind of still adjusting to life again, which seems to take longer to do the older I get, and seems more necessary as well more often. This has not been a great decade for me, and I can definitely state that my sixties haven’t been the best so far (I’ve pretty much forgotten the fifties, in all honesty). But the inexorable passing of time continues, as the sand in my hourglass continues to run, and my instincts are telling me to make the most of my time, so…sure, I get the I don’t want to’s still, and of course, the temptation of recharging with Sparky in my lap is always there, but I know I can get the work done when I put my nose to the grindstone.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow.
Sunday of the holiday weekend and I finally feel rested. Yesterday was another sinus day, but I did get some things done. I did some clean-up around the apartment, finished reading Summerhouse (which I really enjoyed) as well as some more of my other two current reads; I’d forgotten how chilling The Crying Child was. We also started watching a show with Jensen Ackles called Countdown. It’s mildly entertaining, and might get better, but the only reason we started and continued was Jensen Ackles. We’re both fans, what can I say? We’re still planning on seeing Jurassic World Rebirth this afternoon, so there are things I need to do before we leave for that today (Paul did have his trainer yesterday). I want to get started on Megan Abbott’s El Dorado Drive, I want to get my next newsletter finished and sent, and I want to do some writing today. I haven’t consulted my to-do list all weekend, which was a strategic error, I believe–but the apartment looks a lot better this morning than it did yesterday morning when I got up, so I will take that as a win.
I was horrified to see the scope of the flash flooding and loss of life in Texas, and no, I don’t care that Texas is a red state (Louisiana is as well, remember?). Are some right-wingers callous and hateful and disgusting when a natural disaster strikes a blue state? Absolutely; I’m old enough to remember “christians” blaming Hurricane Katrina on the gay community, and also some Republican elected officials basically saying fuck New Orleans, it’ll just happen again. Does that mean I will point and laugh and enjoy suffering somewhere else? Of course not. You cannot call out the right for their cruelty when disaster strikes a blue state when you return the cruelty when one hits a red state, period. I get the impulse, of course; but this is one instance where my empathy outweighs my anger and desire for revenge on all MAGA. The loss of children especially–I don’t celebrate mass shootings in red states, either. It really is a matter of humanity. No parent should lose their child this way (anti-vaxxer parents, on the other hand,,,), and really, no parent should outlive their child. Those people who lost everything in the flooding are going to be suffering enough as is with the cuts to FEMA–North Carolina victims of Helene last year are still suffering, and their requests for government assistance were all rejected-and let’s face it, a fully funded FEMA was hard enough to deal with, let alone what an underfunded FEMA will be like.
And yes, I am well aware that if and when another disaster strikes a blue state, MAGA will be cheering for the disaster. But that’s on them. I certainly don’t expect awful people to change, or suddenly discover they are capable of empathy after all. That ship has sailed, alas.
Of course, Wimbledon is also going on, so we may not be going to the movie after all–but we are definitely watching Superman next weekend.
Heavy heaving sigh.
And of course, there’s no telling what Chantal is doing to South Carolina as I type this.
And it’s only July–who knows what this hurricane season is going to bring with it? I’m confident Louisiana’s two MAGA senators will fight for us if the state gets hit this year…yeah, right. I doubt either would be able to stop licking boots long enough to do anything for Louisiana; they certainly haven’t done a fucking thing since their first day in the Senate.
It’s depressing to think about it, isn’t it? Ah, well.
It is what it is.
Well, I probably should finish this and get back to work around here. I’d like to get some writing done this morning before moving to my chair to read. There’s so much to work on, so much cleaning and chores to do, more coffee to drink, more breakfast to eat (I’m starving this morning for some reason), and always, always–there’s always something else to do, isn’t there? I need to empty the dishwasher, wipe down the kitchen counters and do some more filing and organizing…so I should head into the spice mines and get to work. So, have a lovely Sunday, and I’ll be back in the morning, most likely.
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 had something go a little viral (in a very small way) on Threads; New Year’s morning when I saw, after what happened here, that garbage “humans” were blaming “the border”1 for it (um, well actually it was an American military vet, bitch) and posted MTG needs to keep New Orleans out of her hellmouth and at last count, I was at well over a thousand likes and an equally insane amount of reposts–and no “libt@rd” replies for me to block, either. Now, imagine had I put that on Twitter (fuck you now and forever, Elmo, I will always deadname your shitty app). Would I have escaped being swarmed by right wing trolls? Probably not, which was one of the many reasons that helped me break the addiction to Twitter and delete my account. Sometimes I miss interacting with people there (Jericho Brown, for one, and other friends, too), but I do not miss the toxicity and the really bad takes from trashy trolls and bots.
The energy around town yesterday was very off. Of course we all talked about the incident all day at work–the clients, too–and the vibe that’s always there, even when you’re not paying attention, just didn’t feel right. I saw a lot of social media posts yesterday that were love notes to New Orleans, and the love notes far far outnumbered the disgusting bottom-feeding ones (see MTG reference above). And reading those, I started remembering back over the years. Not just the years I’ve been so blessed to live here, but the ones going back to the day when Bienville came up Bayou St. John from Lake Pontchartrain to the island surrounded by swamp alongside the Mississippi River. New Orleans has had this kind of horror before; the biggest mass death event for gay men until Pulse was the Upstairs Lounge Fire in the early 1970s. Hundreds and thousands died during fever season. There was bubonic plague during the Wilson administration, and a massive hurricane a few years later that wiped out entire communities. New Orleans has always understood that death is a part of life, and no one knows when Death will come for you–so live every day like it’s your last; squeeze every bit of joy and pleasure and happiness out of life you can because it can all go away tomorrow, chér. And I remembered back to that time I came here for my birthday in 1994, and an entire new world and life opened up in front of my eyes as I got out of the cab at the corner of Bourbon and St. Ann–and I’ve said before, the city whispered in my ear come live here and I will make your dreams come true.
I love my city, and it will do what it does best. It will mourn its dead and raise money for survivors and celebrate the lives of those lost in this horrific act, the way we always do. New Orleans will not stop being what it is or who we are. We held Carnival after Hurricane Katrina and it was marvelous, absolutely fucking marvelous, and exactly what we needed when we needed it the most. New Orleans will always celebrate being alive, and that’s really part of the charm of this city; not only do we welcome everyone we encourage and celebrate difference, and find joy in finding community all together. What will Carnival be like after this? Joyous but cautious, I would imagine; but as always, Carnival puts everyone into a great mood and we celebrate that we’re still here.
I was tired yesterday–didn’t rest enough I guess after returning to the gym, which I am hoping to do again later on today–so I didn’t get as much writing as I would have liked to get done; I did take Chapter One to over five thousand words from slightly more than three thousand; not bad for a working week. I am hoping to get through the rest of the original chapters this weekend (no college football, nor do I have as much to do as I usually do on a weekend, either, which is absolutely 1000% awesome. The drive home was an exercise in Security Theater; cops and police cars everywhere, and they’d closed off the CBD around the Superdome completely, which was a nightmare as the CBD is the area closest to the interstate–how many people get home from work–so maneuvering around stupid drivers and closed streets and blocked lanes was quite the adventure in irritation and frustration.
Sigh.
Also: I am sick and tired of white racists saying “it’s not safe!!!!” about New Orleans when what you really mean is “too many Blacks live there.” This usually goes along with some pious weeping about how much they used to love New Orleans back when it was safer…newsflash, K-K-Karen: New Orleans is as safe as it ever has been. When you were a child, your parents never talked to you about crime, but when precisely was New Orleans this paragon of safety? New Orleans was always a major port–and major ports aren’t exactly known for decorous behavior and peace and quiet. Was it safer when the Mafia ran the Quarter? When the Upstairs Lounge burned with over thirty people inside? When prostitution was legal in Storyville, or when New Orleans was the liquor capital of North America during Prohibition? Crime has always been rampant here, and this vile racist pretense that before desegregation New Orleans set the standard for law-abiding American cities? Hardly. Just admit your parents or grandparents didn’t want the kids in your family to go to school with Black kids and be done with it, okay?
I feel pretty confident that twink-in-barely-more-than-a-thong will trigger the puritans.
I wonder how long before this post gets flagged by social media puritans as “adult content?” Yesterday’s post was flagged as porn by the cosplaying Puritans at Threads–a man in his underwear is pornography; bare female breasts or some woman with an enormous ass in only a thong proliferate everywhere. Seriously–fuck all of the way off, censors–and think about the message you are actually sending women with your selective application of “oops, this is porn! Shame on you!” to shots of men in swimsuits or underwear, but okaying degrading and demeaning pictures of women every fucking day.
But…Facebook began as a way to rank and score girls who wouldn’t fuck Zuckerberg by a hotness scale, so here we are.
It’s a work at home Friday for me today, and we’re going to Costco later, after I finish my work at home duties. The house is in better shape than usual (thank you, day off on Wednesday and cleaning), so there isn’t as much housework to get done this weekend. My muscles are tight this morning, so I am going to have to do some stretching, and then head back to the gym tomorrow. I also learned something else about myself yesterday–I always rush through my workouts and get extremely frustrated if I have to wait on a machine. When I went the other day, I took my time. I moved through the exercises relatively quickly, but I did them all slowly, didn’t allow myself to get frustrated, and didn’t try to rush through it. And again, I realized I was so focused for so long on using my time effectively and efficiently and trying to do everything as quickly as I can that…it was much easier to get annoyed and frustrated and cut the workout short or something like that. This time, taking my time and actually feeling the muscles work instead of going through so fast that I don’t notice any burn until I am finished isn’t the best way to exercise. I also don’t have the anxiety anymore, so I also don’t feel like I need to get through everything as fast as I can because I don’t have as much to do as I used to. But the good news is my shoulder and arm do not feel any more sore or fatigued than anywhere else; in fact, it actually feels better than it has in a while.
Louder, for those in the back: clearly I should have continued exercising after I was done with Physical Therapy. But…I wasn’t in a good place for the most part last year, so it is what it is and I can’t change that now so move forward and remember. And also remember how good it felt to go to the gym and exercise in the first place.
I also started writing a synopsis of The Summer of Lost Boys last night, too–which felt good and was kind of fun to do. I also need to work on some short stories this weekend, run a few errands, and do some picking up around here. I want to write some today after work, and I think I’m pretty much done with the college football play-offs. There’s no one left that I care about watching; in fact, not a fan of any of the final four, to be honest. LSU already played their bowl game2 and so…who cares? It’s Gymnastics season now, and LSU is the defending national champions, so that’s very cool.
We’re watching Cross, which we’re enjoying; we also finished Hysteria! earlier this week, and it was a lot of fun.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a terrific Friday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later today; one can never be certain.
They still are blaming illegal immigrants despite the fact the killer was born and raised here and was a veteran of our military! They are quite literally the fucking worst humans ever born. The next four years are just going to be a shit show. ↩︎
They did win, by the way, beating Baylor 44-31. ↩︎
It was chilly yesterday morning when I left the Lost Apartment for the office; I actually thought about going back in for a light jacket, but decided eventually to simply tough it out because I suspected (correctly) that the once the day got going it would get hot out. I was tired yesterday–fatigued, more than anything else–but the day was relatively calm at the office which was a lovely respite from the shit show of the earlier days of the week at the office; yesterday, however, we had several amusing intercom system mishaps. A code was called seven times…for a floor we don’t have. Another time the intercom system got turned on and a conversation between three women was broadcast through the entire building. Needless to say, our entire department was in hysterics.
Kind of a silly day around the office really.
But I was very tired when I got off work again yesterday, which comes mostly from stress at at the office. Yesterday was much better than the previous days, but those two days kind of wore me down for the entire week. I did manage to work on a short story I want to revise and submit to an anthology next week, and once I did go to bed, I slept extremely well and feel rested this morning, which is awesome. I don’t think today at work will be terribly stressful, but you never know. I haven’t yet checked the news about Milton and what’s happened to Florida overnight–mainly because I’m almost afraid to; just as I’m a bit worried to check the hurricane center for new developments occurring. The season doesn’t officially end until December 1 (!!!) and there have been years where we’ve had hurricanes through November. Yay.
After my brain finally became too tired to do anything last night, I just spent the rest of the evening before going to be watching hurricane coverage. I lived in Tampa for about four years or so, back in the 90s before cell phones and before everyone had the Internet; a simpler time if you will. I’ve only been back once, and I could hardly recognize it from when I lived there before (I did fly into the airport two other times, one for Bouchercon in St. Petersburg and the other when we went to that tennis resort just north of the city), it’s changed so much. That’s partly why I don’t write about Tampa; I have fictional places in Florida I write about because it’s how I remember things. I should probably go back to Tampa once more to research how the city is laid out and other things, get a feel for it–or I could just keep writing about fictional cities that are based on real places. Muscles is a Florida book, should I ever finish it, and there are several other ideas I have for Florida books. Will I ever have the time or opportunity to write them? I still delude myself that this I will.
I am glad, however, that bad as it was–Milton wasn’t as bad as he could have been. But I am sure those who’ve lost their homes probably aren’t feeling grateful for anything this morning other than being still alive. Trust me, I know the feeling. It’s sometimes hard to believe that Katrina was over nineteen years ago. I don’t know what we do if we dealt with another one of those here; we’re both kind of old to go through the rebuilding thing again, so we maintain a sense of denial about Louisiana’s hurricane vulnerability. I also kind of feel in some way–the superstitions left over from the primordial ooze brain deep inside–that writing about a hurricane hitting New Orleans will cause one, because I am just THAT powerful. There was a lot of that after Katrina in the first few days, until I realized how incredibly narcissistic that is. Yes, Greg, your city was destroyed because you were writing about a hurricane at the time; everyone else is at your mercy. Talk about a God complex.
And tomorrow I’ll be working at home before I leave for Alabama. I may stop by the office on my way out of town; but we shall see. And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a great Thursday, everyone, and I shall chat with you tomorrow morning.
Hurricane mornings are always weird and a bit off-putting. It looks right now like we’ll be getting close to a direct hit later today. Yesterday it looked like the eye would come through around seven tonight; it may be later than that now. It started raining yesterday afternoon, but it wasn’t difficult getting home because there was very little traffic and very little standing water. I was able to fill the tank on the way home (just in case), and I was able to get a loaf of bread when I stopped at CVS, needing something else so I thought I’d look, and lo and behold, they had bread! Ida was bigger than this and more powerful, but the thing about hurricanes is every one is different and so is their impact. The summer before Katrina, for example, Hurricane Dennis (a category 1) came ashore before Tropical Storm Cindy, which did more damage and knocked power out for half the city, while Dennis was a big nothing despite being a stronger storm. Go figure.
We’re in a lull, where everything is quiet and peaceful and even the rain has stopped. There are a couple of things outside that I need to secure this morning. The office did close today, so we’re all working at home for a few hours; I may take the day off, frankly. I overslept this morning because I stayed up watching the debate last night, which was far better than I ever could have dreamed, with the Vice-President demonstrating why I have been a fan for over a decade. Then social media exploded with the perfectly timed Taylor Swift endorsement, and all in all, it wasn’t a very good night for the Republicans. Thoughts and prayers.
I am choosing, however, to see the positive side of this disruption (even at their best, tropical weather like this is always an interruption of day to day life). I am writing a book set during a Category 1 hurricane, so it’s almost like I spoke this into being, but I am now remembering how they actually work when you don’t evacuate, and so that is enormously helpful; I want the book to take place over the course of a hurricane–from the outer bands to the final bands, and I wasn’t really sure how they work because my memories inevitable block this sort of thing out. But I do have the timeframe now that I need (thank you for something, Francine), and I just need to make notes throughout the day on conditions and how it looks outside and what the wind and torrential rain sounds like. So, turning this into a positive is how I am looking at it. Doesn’t mean I am looking forward to it or anything like that, but at least make use of it. Everything in life is material for a writer, after all.
So, I am going to try to do things around here today. I decided to use paid time off today and not have to do any work stuff–there is some, but I just am not up for it, really. And so I am most likely going to focus on picking things up and getting organized, maybe going through another Scotty volume for information for the Bible (my biggest fear is catching discrepancies and mistakes in the overall series), and going back into what is already done and adding corrections–names and so forth that I couldn’t remember. I had forgotten that I’d already named one of Scotty’s Mom’s siblings, and that he was her only brother. It’s really odd how amorphous Scotty’s family is outside of the immediate family, isn’t it? We don’t really know a whole lot about either side of the family, although we did explore the Bradleys a bit in Who Dat Whodunnit.
Despite the imminent threat of potential destruction, I’m still feeling good about writing still, which is awesome.
It’s also Pay-the-Bills Day, which feels superfluous, but needs to be done today for sure in case we lose power.
And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close so I can eat something and get cleaned up and get my day going. It’s getting dark again outside, so another band will be here soon. Have a great day wherever you are–and oh yes, heavy thoughts about today too because it’s 9/11. A hurricane on 9/11. Sheesh.
Sunday morning and Sparky let me sleep super late–I didn’t get up until after nine thirty–which kind of wasted more of the morning than I would prefer. I am going to make groceries today, so one of the things I really need to do is clean out the cabinets and the refrigerator. Yesterday I worked on the book for a while, worked on the filing for a while, and threw out a shit ton more files. I have one more filing cabinet drawer to do today, and should probably work on the book some more today. Yesterday was also very relaxing, and I spent most of the day from when Paul got up until bedtime hanging with him. We watched a series called Citadel from Amazon Prime, which was so twisty–I lost track of all the surprises as I was trying to keep track as the story became more and more complicated and twisted. We binged it all, then moved onto to Dark Heart, a BBC crime show which we are also enjoying. We’ll probably finish that today and perhaps watch a movie as well. For now, though, the plan is to work on files and my desk area before running to the grocery store before coming home to write and clean and so forth.
The excitement never stops.
But again, some of the files I stumbled over yesterday will help with some of my Pride posts, too–essays I’ve clearly been thinking about for a very long time, as there were files to be discovered about some of the subjects I am covering in them. I’ve obviously been pondering these longer entries/essays for quite some time now. So, I’ll need to actually combine those files before writing the essays, and there’s one in particular that I really want to get to before the turn of the month. (I cannot believe it’s nearly July already.) But time goes by like sands in the hourglass…LOL.
I am enjoying my coffee this morning, which is as always delightful. I love when it tastes good–some days it’s just coffee and other days it tastes amazing; I think it has to do with my mood, honestly–but I am also out of coffee cake and Jimmy Dean sandwiches so the only option for breakfast this morning is cold cereal, which is fine. I really do need to make that grocery run today, don’t I? This weekend has been lovely so far, I have to say, and I don’t have to go in tomorrow, which makes it feel more charmed, I have to say.
I was also reminded of projects that fit and start. I also found the secondary file for Hurricane Party Hustle, which reminded me that I’d started writing that Scotty book twice already. I wrote it as a proposal to turn in with Mardi Gras Mambo in August 2005, and then tried to start it again at some time during the aftermath of Katrina. I have yet to find that original, pre-Katrina idea, but part of what I am doing with this current version that I am planning is to use the pre-Katrina idea–it can work now, especially by using Katrina and her aftermath to make the story deeper and more complex, plus it will give me an opportunity to explore how it affected my characters, almost twenty years after the fact. I guess the idea, the smart idea, would be to write it and release in in August 2025, twenty years after Katrina in reality but only fourteen years in the chronology of Scotty’s life. I am also a little worried about revisiting the title and the original story because it’s so tied to Katrina in my mind, which is hubris and more than a little narcissistic. Nothing I do in the grand scheme of things is so important that my sins would bring a hurricane down on the city–and that’s not how anything works, any way.
The living room is starting to look better, and so is the kitchen. I am very pleased with myself this weekend, I have to say. It’s nice to have focus and energy and drive and to be feeling good and relieved about everything again. It’s nice, but it’s also one of those things that throughout my life I was worried about expressing or experiencing, since something bad happening is always inevitable. But now that I am older and properly medicated, I can see that I shouldn’t let the inevitable bad thing weigh on me. I should enjoy the times between bad things, and should appreciate those times all the more, so that’s the positive mindset I am slipping myself back into.
It’s not the bad things in your life that define you, but the key is how you react to them.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. No worries, I will definitely be back later with a Pride post, but have a lovely Sunday and I’ll be back to entertain you at some point later.
Work at home Friday, my last PT appointment, and the opening reception of Saints and Sinners is tonight. Woo-hoo! I also revised and edited and rewrote chapter two of the book, and started writing a new short story and did some more research on that elusive book I hope to write in the second half of the year if I stay motivated and on track.
I had dinner with friends last night after work, too. We ate at Besame, on South Rampart on the uptown side of Canal. It’s a fusion place, I think Peruvian? I had fish (Mahi-Mahi, pan seared) and grits. The fish was in this amazing green chile sauce that was insanely delicious, and the grits were a variation I’d never had before, but also were quite delicious. It really is amazing how good the food in New Orleans is, which I always forget–like I always forget how stunningly beautiful it is here, and how lucky I am to have gotten to live here for a third of my life, almost half, really; I was thirty-four when we moved here and I’ll be sixty-three this year. I also woke up to a fabulous thunderstorm, and I also have PT this morning–my very last session. I’ll miss the people at PhysioFit; it really was a terrific experience and they are all so friendly, helpful, and nice. It could have been so much worse…
It’s so lovely being creative again–I really was getting worried that it was gone for good. This was one of the longest fallow periods I’ve had since after Hurricane Katrina, really, and I think I will always be worried about the creativity drying up at some point; but it has always come back before so I should probably not worry about it. I’m also not used to having long fallow periods; usually it will only last about a month and then I just kick myself in the ass and get into gear again. I am hoping to get a lot of writing caught up on this weekend. I’ll be dipping in and out of S&S all weekend; not really needing to be down there until the afternoons, so I have my mornings to write before heading to the Quarter, and I am actually excited about that. I’ve also taken Monday off, to recover from the weekend and write some more.
Oh! The most important thing about last night was the night was clear after dinner. I’d taken a Lyft to the restaurant because it was raining, and I was going to take one home, too–but I decided to walk, and when I got tired or ran out of steam, would summon a driver then. Constant Reader, not only did I never run out of steam or get tired, I am not exhausted this morning, either–so I really think I may have snapped back into normalcy (for me) again. I did sleep super well after getting that writing finished (I started before leaving for dinner), and today after PT and work-at-home duties, I’m hoping to get some writing done before I head down for the opening reception at the BK (Beauregard-Keyes) House, which is beautiful; I always like going to events there. It’s across the street from the Ursulines Convent, and there’s a lovely view of it from the front porch of the BK House.
And on that note, I am going to get cleaned up for PT and head on out. Have a lovely Friday and–I may be back later. You never know.
Queer and Loathing in America 