Tag: Lafayette

Every Day is Halloween

Happy Halloween!

A hungry kitty has me up before dawn on this eve of All Hallows, and he is definitely needing more attention as I sit here swilling coffee; he keeps attacking me wanting to play, and doesn’t understand how sharp his Freddie Krueger claws are. I have work to do today, and lots of errands as well. Sparky needs to go to the vet for his annual shots and check-up (and his nails trimmed; we really need to learn how to do this ourselves, as it would stop a lot of bloodshed around here), and Paul needs to get his new phone set up. There’s also mail and some groceries and some other odds and ends to do either today or tomorrow. I feel very rested this morning, which is nice–and a good head start on the weekend, frankly; usually it takes me till Sunday to feel rested and not tired anymore.

I’m enjoying this fall weather (probably won’t take long for me to be over it, though) so far; but it’s nice not to be drenched in sweat as soon as I go outside the front door, or to have my car be as hot as the Sahara after sitting in the sun all day. The heat can be so draining and exhausting; just thinking about next summer makes me shudder a little bit inside. But the weather is another cost of living in New Orleans, that we all willingly pay (along with those nightmarish summer Entergy bills) while wondering how people survived here before electricity and climate control. Back when everyone wore a ridiculous amount of clothing and no electricity, how did they smell? (I often think about how rank the city must have been back in the day, when the gutters were deep for waste and water run off, in all that heat and humidity…yikes, indeed. I can’t get past that whenever I start thinking about writing about the past here…)

I also have thoughts about our janky governor turning himself into a mini-Mussolini, like the MAGA piece of shit he is, but I’ll save that for football Saturday since it’s LSU-related. Suffice it to say, he’s started down a path that could prove consequential for the state’s biggest priority–LSU sports–which would be received here in the state about as well as the worst of Jindal’s crimes as governor. On the other hand, if this winds up making him politically radioactive, it may be worth it. The funniest thing about it is he didn’t even go to LSU. Janky Jeff went to ULL and Loyola here in New Orleans–the same Loyola that rejected Turning Point’s request to be a recognized club. Jesuits aren’t having your MAGA bullshit, Janky Jeff! He also wants to put up a Charlie Kirk statue on LSU’s campus. Make sure you walk all the potential football recruits past that statue, and how is Charlie Kirk1 getting a statue on campus before Joe Burrow or Jayden Daniels? Janky Jeff’s priorities aren’t in the best interests of the flagship university…

I didn’t do a whole lot when I got home from work other than cuddle with Sparky and catch up on the news. I did work on the chores some; I need to do more of that this morning before taking Sparky to the vet; the apartment has looked worse before on Friday mornings, and there’s lots of filing to get done. I also want to finish my final Halloween Horror Month newsletter, since today is the last day for that, but I may just get that done over the weekend. I’ve already made this weekend inclusive for the Halloween weekend, so I don’t even need to rationalize anything! Win-win.

And on that note, I am going to get cleaned up and get to work. Have a lovely Halloween, everyone!

Bad Bunny!
  1. And why not put up statues of Rush Limbaugh and David Duke while you are at it, Janky? ↩︎

Glory Glory Hallelujah

One of the things I’ve always lamented is the shortage of Black Louisiana crime writers.

There have been Black characters who were the main characters in Louisiana crime series, but they were always written by white people and while I did enjoy some of the books, I always felt a little uncomfortable with reading them. Can a white person really do a Black main character in a Louisiana crime series justice? I am sure if I went back and reread them now I’d find them more problematic than I did in the first place.

So, when my friend Ellen Byron recommended that I should read Danielle Arseneaux’ debut novel, Glory Be, I couldn’t wait to get a copy and read it.

And I am so grateful that I did, because it’s an absolute joy.

Glory Broussard was tired of waiting. She figured this barista was new, and she would know since she was a regular at CC’s Coffee House. With each drink order, he nodded and flipped through the pages of a thick manual, going back and forth between the espresso machine and the book.

It didn’t help that he was grinning like a goddamn fool at that white woman. She was wearing a pink ribbed tank top, and as far as Glory could tell, no bra. Her jean shorts were so scant that you could see the bottom curve of her ass. Glory had seen enough of this recently at the Acadiana Mall to know it was not an accident but a trend, and a disgraceful one at that. Wet hair crept down to her waist, making her look like a creature that had crawled out of the Atchafalaya Swamp.

Glory edges up to the counter, closely behind the braless woman. “Excuse me,” she said to the barista. “Are you the only one working behind the counter? Y’all should be better staffed for the after-church crowd.”

“I’m not sure. I’m new here.”

“Clearly.” She wiped the sweat from her forehead, a useless gesture in Louisiana this time of year.

What made this even more exciting to me was the book wasn’t set in New Orleans–as so many inevitably are–but in Lafayette, which was also refreshing. Lafayette is a more Cajun city than New Orleans, and is the heart of what we call Acadiana here. I really like Lafayette; I went up there with some friends who were touring Louisiana and had a great time and some truly great food. It’s also a gorgeous little city, too, with lots of charm and its own Carnival, and very different than New Orleans.

The above is the opening sequence in which Arsenault introduces us to Glory Broussard, a deftly drawn, deeply complex character who worked as the produce manager at a grocery store for years until she got custody of her ex’s betting book in the divorce and took over for him, spending every Sunday after church at CC’s and taking bets. Glory is prickly and proud, and never takes any slight lightly. By the end of the first chapter her best friend, a nun she grew up with named Sister Amity Gay, has committed suicide. Glory doesn’t believe it for a minute and is furious when the police write it off as a suicide, even though she is certain Amity would have never committed suicide…so she decides to take it upon herself to investigate for them.

The investigation itself is worthy enough for reading, but the way the book is structured, the way Arsenault slowly plays out her cards letting us get to know Glory better by revealing why she is the way she is at the opening of the book truly kicks into gear where her lawyer daughter Delphine shows up, ostensibly to help her fight the condemnation of her house the city is processing because of complaints–and by showing the house through Delphine’s eyes, as well as her mother, gives us an entirely new perspective on Glory herself, as she also recruits Delphine to help her look into Amity’s death…and oddly enough, there are any number of motives for someone to want Amity out of the way–including the corruption behind a new petrochemical plant’s approval that Amity is fighting–as well as a connection to the drug kingpin of Acadiana.

I loved getting to know Glory, I loved seeing her take charge of her own life again after several years of depression, and the pages simply flew past. Arsenault has an amazing gift for a turn of phrase, all of them purely Louisiana, and a masterful authorial voice.

I can’t wait to read the next one.

Break It To Me Gently

It’s cold this morning in the Lost Apartment, and I didn’t want to get out of bed. The new meds are marvelous for sleeping–I can’t remember the last time I went to bed and was so damned comfortable and relaxed that it was a real struggle to force myself up out of the depths of Morpheus and into the world of the living again. I only have to go into the office twice this week–tomorrow I have PT first, which means waking up even earlier–but there’s another three-day weekend on the horizon and I really like the idea of all the rest and relaxation I’ll be able to get this weekend.

I did manage to get the apartment back into some semblance of order yesterday, with Sparky being absolutely zero help in that regard. He’s a bit rambunctious, to say the least, and still has that Big Kitten Energy thing going for him. The neighbors dropped off some toys for him for Christmas, and these were the first toys he’s actually shown any interest in for longer than a few moments. We watched some more War of the Worlds last night, which is a really interesting take on the old H. G. Wells novel; I don’t really remember the book anymore, which I read as a teen. I know the 1950’s version of the story was shown to me in elementary school; it terrified me and gave me nightmares for weeks. In retrospect, with all the fuss about education and all the right-wing bullshit attempts to take down and out public education, why the hell were elementary school children shown War of the Worlds in our classroom?

I couldn’t decide what to read next yesterday as I worked on the apartment, so I still haven’t started my next book. I’d intended to just read cozies for the rest of the year, but I am rethinking that, and thinking I need to mix it up more. I have a first novel by a Lafayette writer, who is a Black woman–I know, right? A Louisiana crime novel by a Black woman? I’ve been waiting for this forever–now if only we could find a gay Black crime writer in New Orleans….the book is Glory Be by Danielle Arsenault, and it comes highly recommended…and I’ve not read an “Own Voices” book in a while, which is entirely on me. Outside of James Lee Burke, there aren’t many crime writers who write about Louisiana but not New Orleans, and the book is highly recommended by a couple of friends, so I am really looking forward to breaking into it tonight or this weekend. I do have to run by the post office on my way home, and there are definitely chores that need doing around the house, so I’m pretty sure that’s how my evening will go. I also have PT at seven tomorrow, so I’ll be getting up early, too. Yay.

I’ve also been thinking about goals for the new year, and what I need to do in order to achieve those goals, and come up with a plan. I’m trying to remember what my favorite reads and watches of the year were–I did read a lot, somehow–and think about a writting schedule for the year. I’d like to do another Scotty book this year, a short story collection, and maybe something with those damned novellas-in-progress that I never seem to be able to finish. I definitely want to be better organized in the new year, and hopefully getting into that position before the new year rolls around, too. Maybe I can get all these “drafts” finished and posted at some point as well; wouldn’t that be nice?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Not a great Wednesday blog–I’ve really not been doing a great job with these entries, lately, have I? Ah, well, maybe tomorrow’s will be better. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and will check in with you again later.

Cries and Whispers

And just like that it is Saturday again. Another good night of sleep–I did wake a few times, but had little to no difficulty in falling back to sleep, which was lovely–and I feel relatively well-rested this morning. Yesterday was, of course, a work-at-home Friday, and I had to take a bit of a break to go to the West Bank to get the car serviced; it was perhaps a bit overdue on the oil change, and I also learned something new about my car–it doesn’t really desperately need an oil change until the orange wrench lights up on the dashboard, or once a year, whichever comes first. I’ve had the car for nearly four years or so at this point, and since I have slightly less than 17,000 miles on it in that amount of time–hence the answer about the oil change. I’m still, obviously, unused to having a car produced so recently; all the old rules about oil changes and service and everything else stemming from having an ancient car no longer applies. It’s quite lovely, actually, but I am still not used to it, frankly.

I also love my car dealership–they are always so professional, courteous, and friendly. I have never had a single bad experience with them, and should the day come that I would replace my car, obviously I would go there and buy the new car from them. As much as I resent that car payment depleting my checking account every month–and the insurance payment–I really do love my car and am very pleased with it. It runs like a dream, I love that my phone syncs with the car stereo via bluetooth so I can make hands-free calls when I drive if I so choose–I generally choose not to, but there have been times I’ve been in the car and gotten a call. needed to take, and I prefer the hands-free method, frankly. I also grabbed lunch at Sonic since I was over there already–I always do this, and it had been a while since I’d had Sonic (there’s also a Five Guys on Manhattan Boulevard now; but I wanted tater tots so Sonic was the obvious choice), and then settled in for an afternoon of condom packing and watching movies.

Yesterday I was talking about 80’s Neo-noir, triggered by a rewatch of the terrific Angel Heart, and so as I scrolled through the watch-lists I’ve made on various streaming services (some of them really need to be cut out, quite frankly) I came across The Big Easy on Prime. This is a film that is almost universally reviled in New Orleans; I’ve not watched it since we moved here, but it also, like Angel Heart, piqued an interest in New Orleans I had always had, so it also played a small part in my eventually winding up living here, so it always has a special place in my heart for that very reason. I also thought it might be interesting to rewatch it after living here for nearly three decades, and to see it from the perspective of a local (I will always be a local, an important distinction from a native here). It wasn’t long into the film before I started laughing and cringing, to be honest, but it’s also a fun movie to watch because, as with anything filmed here, you start trying to pick out the various locations where it was shot. It also had some very weird geography for New Orleans, as does every movie filmed and set here.

But the movie is not completely terrible. When I originally saw it, in the theater, I had an enormous crush on Dennis Quaid–insane grin and all–because of that extraordinary body he had as a young man, and he also had charisma and charm on screen. Having him play a Cajun cop in New Orleans wasn’t perhaps the best casting choice; but given the way the role was written and the screenplay itself, he wasn’t bad–he did the best he could with what he was given to work with. It’s another one of those movies that assumes New Orleans is a Cajun city, which it is not; there are Cajuns in the city, yes of course, but they aren’t the dominant demographic nor do you here Cajun accents everywhere you go; I’d say I don’t think I’ve ever heard a Cajun accent, or Cajun language, used here. (One of my former co-workers was from Lafayette, in the heart of Acadiana, and he would talk Cajun to me sometimes; I always enjoyed it. The Cajuns are, frankly, fascinating to me, and I would love to study their culture and history more) The film also portrayed the New Orleans police department in a non-too-flattering light; almost all of the cops are corrupt in some casual way, whether it’s actually the drug trade or taking kickbacks from the “widows and orphans” fund, including detective Remy McSwain; the police department is practically a family business for the McSwains. Ellen Barkin, with her own style of unique beauty and sexiness, plays a new ADA in the city, Ann Osborn, and her job is primarily to investigate corruption in the police department–she was brought in by the Feds. Again, the role was written in a horribly sexist way; Ann is smart and capable and hard-working–why else would the Feds bring her in, particularly when the corruption is so deeply embedded that it’s such an accepted part of the police culture that no one even thinks twice about it? And yet Remy is so hot and charming and sexy, she struggles between her ethics and her knowing he’s corrupt and basically turns into an idiot in his presence at all times–clumsy, bumping into things, dropping things–and of course, she only wears her glasses when she’s working. Eventually she brings him around to recognizing that he’s one of the bad guys, and they combine forces–and have steamy sex scenes–to close the case they are both investigating, an apparent drug war between rival gangs which may not be real, just made to look real. The city looks beautiful–there are so few places in this country that look so astonishingly beautiful on film (hence the draw for me) and the story itself is a pretty decent one. But they managed to get so much wrong about New Orleans–beginning with the fact no one here calls it that, or “N’awlins.” I can certainly see why the film is so loathed here. It was adapted into a television series that began airing when Paul and I first moved here, and if the movie’s depiction was bad, the television show’s was even worse. We hate-watched it until it got so bad it wasn’t even campy anymore; the series was up on Prime for awhile, and I rewatched the first episode but had to turn it off after ten minutes because I couldn’t take how terrible it actually was.

I also started reading a short story by Patti Abbott yesterday, from the Lawrence Block anthology From Sea to Stormy Sea while I was waiting for them to finish servicing my car, and I intend to finish reading that story today–it’s amazing to me how quick and efficient the service at my dealership is–and I will probably read some more stories in that anthology over the course of the weekend. I have a lot of work to get done–so much work–and I really need to start working on the book as well. Time is slipping away fairly quickly, which means February will be incredibly stressful for me if I don’t get my shit together, but at least there are no parades to have to plan around this year.

And now to the spice mines with me. Have a lovely weekend, Constant Reader.