Tag: MAGA

Think of Me

Monday morning and here we go again, climbing back onto the carousel of yet another work week. I feel good this morning, even if the weekend felt truncated with dealing with the car and being exhausted all day Saturday (and rather listless). My supervisor will only be in today before she leaves for an Ryan White funding conference, and I have to renew my CPR license on Thursday afternoon. I’m also having dinner with a friend on Wednesday, so there’s a lot on my agenda this week to keep track of; it’s so easy to forget things these days. Here’s hoping for a better week!

Okay, let me tell you the deal with my car.

I took it in early Friday morning to get the oil changed, the tires rotated and to have the a/c checked out. The good news is we know why it isn’t blowing cold air; the bulkhead had shifted somehow, and where it is at, it pierced the hose the connects the freon to the a/c, so it drained. However, they can’t replace the hose without having the bulkhead fixed or replaced; because it would just happened again. It took them all day to finally give up on the body shop and send me an Uber to get the car. This freaked me out, of course, and while I didn’t have a mental reaction thanks to my medications, I had the physical reaction of adrenaline spike, heart rate increase, etc., which was probably why I was so tired and exhausted Saturday. I also looked the “bulkhead” up on line–I was thinking about bulkheads, like on ships–and the part, if it needs to be replaced, isn’t even two hundred dollars, so any concerns about potential affordability were alleviated. I just have to deal with the heat and no a/c until I can get it to a body shop this coming Friday, and then back to the dealership on Saturday to get the hose and freon taken care of.

Cars are exhausting, aren’t they?

I have to say, the schadenfreude of watching the inevitable immolation of Jeannine Pirro’s life and career over this past weekend has been nothing more than chef’s kiss, no notes. The hilarity of seeing the minions, again and again, forgetting they don’t have immunity from illegal orders and watching the scorpion sting them repeatedly will never get old to me, never. The hubris of this bootlicking pointlessly arrogant piece of shit was due to bring her down eventually, and it’s almost as enjoyable as the downfall of that miserable pig Pam Bondi and her burn book. May they all endure humiliations galore. And I mean all of them.

Remember: “I was just following orders” isn’t a defense in court.

Have fun with your civil liability, Judge Boxowine, and you should be charged with malicious prosecution and abuse of the courts. Hopefully, he’ll die without giving your skank ass a pardon. Then again, you publicly called him a liar, so no pardon for you. I am sure being disbarred is also in your future.

Good.

I worked on the book some. I was struggling with chapter four, which made it hard to get back to–ugh, it’s work and it’s hard–but yesterday I felt good (and brave) enough to look at it again…and what I had been struggling to do? It was because I was trying too hard and basically sketched out, in less than four hundred words, what was going to happen in the first fifteen hundred to two thousand of the chapter, so I went to work. It’s nice not having a deadline to stress me out, but at the same time it also allows me to step away from it for a bit without worrying too much about losing/wasting time. I hope to get this chapter out of the way tonight when I get home–I have to make groceries, too, on the way–and run the dishwasher tonight while I sleep. I also got some reading in, which was amazing. I love lazy Sundays when I can just get things done.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Enjoy your Monday as much as you can, and I will be back here tomorrow morning bright and early.

This abandoned country house kind of reminds me of my maternal grandmother’s home, which is now abandoned and crumbling and overgrown like this. She had a front porch, though.

Love Without Words

Saturday, August 1, and coniglio! Coniglio!

Let’s see if that works; it did for Trixie Belden in The Mystery of the Emeralds.

It’s Saturday morning in the Lost Apartment. Sparky got me up before seven this morning–His Majesty was HUNGRY–and I decided to get up and feed him. Once I was out of the bed, I decided to get cleaned up and get going on my day. Yesterday sucked–I won’t go into the details, but suffice it to say the a/c in my car still isn’t working and I need to take it to another place first because some “body work” needs to be done, and it really doesn’t sound cheap–but I am shaking it off today. I’ve never had to spend much money on this car since buying it and it’s been about ten years. So, let it go, I can’t do anything about it until Monday, anyway, and why let that spoil my weekend when I have free time, I still feel good, and tomorrow we’re going to go see the new Spider-Man movie. So, lots to look forward to, and today I am going to try to get some stuff done around here. I need to order groceries for delivery (too hot to drive there and back), and I need to get the house back under control again. It’s not that bad, but the last couple of days I’ve let things slide a bit. I did read some of my book yesterday, and it’s really fantastic. We caught this week’s Sugar, and I think tonight we’ll dive into The Vampire Lestat.

I also have those Emily Wilson translations to dip into, as well. And a newsletter to get out, but them not going out consistently has been an issue from the first, and I do suspect the only person I am actually disappointing with any of this is me, you know? But they are fun to write, and while I do forget things I wanted to say in them from time to time, and I don’t proof them as thoroughly as I should before they go out, but I am also not going to get anxious or stressed about them. Paul is going to work with his trainer today and then is going to ride the bike at the gym, so I should have the entire afternoon to myself for downtime, reading and writing and more cleaning. Why is there always more cleaning to do? Heavy heaving sigh. I did decide to treat myself to a long birthday weekend this month, so I have my birthday and the Friday after to accept that I am officially elderly. It doesn’t bother me (much); it’s more shocking to me that I made it this far, with so much stacked against me. Making it to 65 as a gay man in this country was no small accomplishment, but honestly? Pure damn luck. I made it through the HIV pandemic without getting infected–miracle of miracles, especially when it seemed so damned unlikely any of us would make it through with anything other than PTSD and guilt. (The guilt has always been tough for me to deal with–why me? Why did so many wonderful and talented and brilliant people die? And yes, I’ve been thinking about this since the circus the other day with Dr. Fauci, whose true crime to conservatives is that he helped stop gay men from dying.)

Maybe I do see homophobia everywhere, but you know what? That’s what it almost always is–enough times that it’s not a surprise when that does turn out to be the case.

It also pleases me to no end to see Tom Holland and Zendaya starring in the two biggest movies of the summer. I’ve always liked her, and of course, his lip-sync to Rihanna made me a life long fan of our short king. He is also one of the rare examples of a child star who grew up into a successful and always working adult actor/star.

I was also amused to see the Department of Justice and that pig Jeannine Pirro had to drop charges against “reflecting pool vandals” when it turned out to be a result of shoddy installation on a (surprise!) a no-bid contract for one of the Harkonnens’ friends? Everything the Baron said about the reflecting pool was a lie (as everyone with a brain and one working eye could see), and his minions jumped in line–against all reason, against all sanity, and above all else, against the Constitution–to snap to his insane logic and mentality and excuses. His supporters should never be allowed in public again without being shamed for the bootlicking quislings they are. (I laugh every time they call him “Daddy”–showing they are all fucking betas and will roll over, ass end up in the air ready for his penetration) Karoline Leavitt and Jeannine Pirro will go on to jobs at Fox, next to Sophie “Maga Skipper” (Barbie would never) Cunningham.

And when this is finally all over? Watch the centrist Dems try to close the book and “move on.” We saw this after the Bush Crime Syndicate left office in 2009, and way back when the Republicans sold out southern Blacks for political power. (They haven’t changed from what they became under Grant.)

What this country has allowed itself to become makes me appreciate that I am old, and I do not ever wish I were younger. Ever. And I wouldn’t go back in time even if I could.

And on that note, I am going to get some more coffee and take my book over to my easy chair. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow morning.

I’ve always loved stained glass. I played with it as a hobby in my twenties, but could never ever dream of doing something so artistic.

Everything

Thursday and my last day in the office for the week. I have to take the car over to the dealership across the river tomorrow morning, but hope to have a nice productive day once I get home from that. I intend to stay inside the cool house as much as possible. I feel rested and good this morning–my Achilles tendons are making their presence known again, but nothing unbearable, just noticeable. I slept really well last night, which is nice, and the heat is breaking at last; now we’re just in a heat advisory, rather than an extreme heat watch. I parked my car in the garage at work yesterday, so the drive home was bearable yesterday. I picked up the mail, got my copy of All Aboard for Murder by Ellen Byron, and made a little groceries. I did do some chores last night–cleaned out the sink and ran the dishwasher overnight–and did some picking up. We watched another episode of Ride or Die, which we are loving, and I went to bed. And it looks like we may get some rain this weekend, which would be marvelous; there’s nothing like New Orleans after a cooling summer downpour.

Something occurred yesterday on Facebook that hasn’t happened in quite a while; someone from one of my past eras (thanks, Taylor, for that name) appeared on my feed extolling ignorant MAGA talking points about Dr. Fauci and his testimony yesterday and of course, the people in his life were all there replying (viciously) in agreement in his comments. While I was tempted to ask, did you go back to school and get either a medical or epidemiology degree I chose instead to block him. It was also a reminder that over the years I’ve accepted friend requests from people out of a previous era mostly out of curiosity, more than anything else. I’ve also accepted friend requests from strangers since I started an account there during the Bush administration (yikes). Sometimes I get requests from names that sound familiar and I can’t place either the name or the face, so I don’t know how I know them or just that they have a familiar-sounding name. The person yesterday popped up on my feed out of nowhere, and was one of those I know I know you but don’t remember much about you which usually is an indication that, well, you’re not someone that made a deep impression on me nor do I care about you or your opinions. I saw the post, blocked the person, and then–because it hadn’t happened in so long–I posted about it blocking MAGA’s from my past. (Is anyone surprised that guys from my fraternity support an adjudicated rapist? And yes, that means exactly what you think it means.) Anyway, someone replied to my post with “Add me to the list” which was both annoying–you lazy MAGA fuck, you won’t block me?–and hilarious at the same time. Dude, I have no fucking idea who you are. Your name sounds familiar but that’s it, and do you honestly think I care what a rando MAGA piece of shit thinks? The arrogance! Like it’s some great pleasure for me to be friends with you on social media when I don’t even know who you are? For the record, MAGA is a cult with a plank for homophobia. Every single time you vote, you vote to have my rights as an American stripped away. And you think we should be friends? Fuck all the way off, and then fuck off some more.

And my wall isn’t an airport–no need to announce your departure. Have the life you voted for. I mean that with all of my heart.

For the record, the tolerant left is another Fox News lie. My tolerance went away during the HIV/AIDS pandemic–remember? “It’s killing all the right people”? If you’re looking for tolerance of your abhorrent beliefs that also mean you consider me less than human, you’re knocking on the wrong door, boo. Look for the house with the swastikas MAGA signs.

Recently, someone promoting his business, natch,did a light show on the Lalaurie mansion–without permission from either the owners or the Vieux Carre Commission. It was in incredibly poor taste–I’ve always thought it being a tourist attraction was exploitative, given the house’s horrific history, and what Delphine LaLaurie did to enslaved people shouldn’t be a folk legend told in whispers and intended to give a cheap thrill. People were tortured, maimed, and murdered there; the amount of suffering is unimaginable, and surely its in poor taste and exploitative to market that horrific past. If any piece of ground in this city is haunted, surely that lot would be it. I have always wanted to write about the Lalaurie House, but I wouldn’t want to do it in an exploitative kind of way, which I am not sure is even possible. Over a decade ago, a friend who is a horror writer suggested I should do a short story collection called Monsters of New Orleans; how could such a book be possible without including Delphine the demon? Maybe someday.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow before (or after) my trip to the West Bank.

Ben Pierce also does excellent Louisiana photography, and I love this shot of a foot bridge in the Atchafalaya Swamp–very evocative, and an excellent writing prop

Read My Lips

Thursday, and my last day in the office this week; huzzah! I am kind of looking forward to a work-at-home Friday; I’ve not had one in quite a while. I went to Alabama one Friday, followed by the 4th, followed by a mandatory in person staff meeting, and of course last week was Staff Development Day. I don’t have to get up to the alarm tomorrow, nor do I have to rush around getting ready for the day. Instead I can have my coffee and breakfast, catch up on news, and post a new entry here before checking in for the day. I have a lot of quality assurance to get done for our site visit next week, but I pretty much have my day job under control now; I’ve finally come up with an efficient system that will always have me caught up on some part of the job, which is lovely. I honestly don’t know why I didn’t come up with this system before, frankly.

The weather wasn’t much of anything yesterday, really. The heat advisory was called off in the morning around eleven, and sure, there was some wind of mild concern (but not consequence) and the rain was more of a misty thing once that started in the afternoon; not the kind of insane flooding downpours we usually get; there was no thunder or lightning, which was very strange; we rarely get that kind of a rain. I was a bit on the tired side when I gor home, but I did some chores before being Sparky’s cuddle cushion for a few hours. We watched another episode of Cross, which is definitely holding our interest, but I am really looking forward to the Hannah Waddingham/Octavia Butler action/adventure show that just dropped. And we still haven’t watched the latest seasons of Bridgerton or Stranger Things.

And yet we’re always trying to find something to watch. Sigh. For All Mankind looks interesting, too.

Apparently, George Zimmermann is homeless and has all kinds of mental issues–including PTSD. All these years later, and he still wants to play victim. Aw, maybe you shouldn’t have murdered a teenager that you also stalked first, you racist piece of shit. You got your MAGA fifteen minutes, and now they have abandoned you, like they always do. Kyle Rittenhouse, this is your future, and I love that for you. (The fact that every single one of them thinks they’ll be the exception whose life won’t be destroyed in the end really needs to be studied.)

Our anniversary was Monday and we both forgot! I blame the world’s madness and all the national media terror reporting on tropical storm Bertha (if you want good and not “the world is ending!” hurricane news, your best bet are the local news in New Orleans, Mobile, and Pensacola; Houston also does an excellent job). I told Paul last night and we had a good chuckle. I remembered because I realized yesterday that I’ll be turning sixty-five in less than a month, followed by fuck, our anniversary is a month before my birthday and WE BOTH FORGOT. But as I have said about birthdays and Christmas numerous times before, neither one of us care very much about things like that–and now that both our mothers are dead, both of those holidays mean even less than they did when they were alive, so it’s no surprise that once we reached the thirty-first anniversary we’d not care and completely forget about it. I mean, every day with Paul is marvelous, and I appreciate what we have every day, so we don’t really need to commemorate when it started. I know people think it’s weird, but we are both so alike when it comes to most things that it’s hard for me to ever argue against the whole soul mate relationship theories.

I did feel a bit drained when I got home from work yesterday, probably the subconscious reacting to all the doom watching yesterday. I feel good this morning, but will probably feel tired this afternoon. I am going to run uptown after work to get the mail and do a minor grocery stop (or have it delivered, hmmm) so I can just stay home all weekend. I am hoping to get back on my writing horse tonight and this weekend, too, so we’ll see how it all goes.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Have a great Thursday, Constant Reader, and I will be back in the morning. Till then!

Fight It Out

Friday morning and the office is closed for the holiday today, so no work-at-home chores for me today. Sparky let me sleep a little later this morning and I definitely didn’t want to get up this morning, either. I feel a bit worn down today, and a bit foggy, but I’ll be fine once I shower. I was able to leave work early yesterday and run a few errands on the way home (my medication arrived in the mail; had to get another prescription; and pick up my dry cleaning) but I did feel a bit wrung out when I got home. I did some chores (laundry, dishes) and we started watching Margo’s Got Money Problems but didn’t really care much for it, and thus gave up on it. I want to read a bit this morning and do some cleaning around here, and hopefully get some writing done as well. I want to work on newsletters today, too–I have my entry about A Violent Masterpiece to share, and I also want to write about the weirdness of this holiday weekend. They haven’t issued a heat advisory for us yet, but it’s still possible. It currently “feels like” 104 and it’s not even nine yet. There’s a possibility of thunderstorms this afternoon, too. I may have some things delivered today, to get it out of the way so I don’t have to go outside other than to take out trash. That sounds like a lovely plan to me.

It’s hard for me to believe and wrap my mind around the idea that the Bicentennial was fifty years ago; the summer I turned fifteen and was about to start my junior year of high school, starting over again in Kansas, where I stuck out like a sore thumb the moment I crossed the threshold. This is the summer I turn sixty-five, and the country is in a very different mood this time around. Apparently, Ba’al is planning to give an epically long speech tomorrow at the Great American State Embarrassment, and is threatening to go as long as he possibly can to prove that he did. No incumbent president has ever died on July 4th, but at the very least his make-up is going to run–and no telling what will happen to his rat’s nest. However, President Zachary Taylor went to a lengthy celebration of the 4th on a very hot humid day, ate some cold milk and cucumbers to cool down, and got sick and died a few days later.

Dare I dream?

Essence is also this weekend here in New Orleans, and I hope that it’s back to its best form; there were a lot of complaints and some scandals in recent years. Louisiana racists hate Essence Festival (just as they hate Bayou Classic weekend, another Black event), and were pretty gleeful about its possible demise the last couple of years (there are also Quarter businesses that close both weekends, but they’re not racist, wink wink),so here’s hoping its back to form this year and rebuilds back bigger and better than ever before.

The battle between New Orleans and Louisiana rages on, with a grand jury here indicting our criminalistic conservative skank Attorney General for, among other things, abuse of power. Our lovely governor has promised to “pardon her instantly” for any convictions she may get in New Orleans…(that MAGA love and respect for the law and the Constitution on full display here, may they both burn in their own hells for all eternity)…yet conservatives called Huey Long a dictator…when Huey never pulled any of this kind of shit on his own, and he and his candidates always won in landslides. At least the day to day people loved Huey because he fought the 1% to benefit the people–which our modern day demagoguery can’t be bothered with.

I’ve been listening to some old favorites lately in the car as I drive to and from work and around town–albums by Fleetwood Mac, Stevie Nicks, and Pat Benatar from my youth and most of them still hold up today and could be hits. Some of Stevie’s 1980s albums are very much of their time, vastly over-produced like the most excessive Bonnie Tyler hits of the period, unfortunately; I’d love to hear them remade with a more timeless production style.

And on that note, I am going to get cleaned up and head into the spice mines for the day. I need to do some chores, and I need to get the kitchen and my workspace back under control. I hope you have a lovely Holiday Eve, Constant Reader, and I hope to see you again here tomorrow morning on the nation’s birthday. Until then, Constant Reader!

Red Vision

Thursday, last day of work this week and I get to leave at two thirty. Huzzah! Holiday Weekend Eve, I suppose this is. I slept well and feel rested this morning, which is good. We’re slow in the clinic today and the way my hours worked out, I get to leave around three this afternoon, too–which is also pretty cool and a lovely way to segue into the holiday weekend. Huzzah! I was able to come home directly from the office yesterday, too, and managed to empty the dishwasher to get a leg up on the chores I’ll need to do this weekend. I did manage to get a newsletter out yesterday, which you can read by clicking here. It’s about my reread of Margot Douaihy’s Blessed Water (relisten?) on my trip last weekend, and I really need to finish reading Lev Rosen’s Rough Pages, which I started listening to on the drive back and got to Chapter Eight before getting home and turning off the car. I feel pretty good this morning, which is nice. I know we’re slow today in the clinic, and I definitely need to do a lot of paperwork today–I’m behind again, and our site visit will be coming up soon, either next week or the one after–so I have plenty to keep me occupied at the office today, which is fine with me. I get to leave around two, so the day is going to fly past. I don’t think we’re in a heat advisory today (I’ve not seen anything on line or on my phone so far1) and according to the “forecast,” we’re getting some thunderstorms this afternoon right around when I will be leaving, so that’s great. Since I am leaving so early today, I am thinking about running some errands so I won’t have to do anything tomorrow–but on the other hand, I could just have some things delivered, which is easier still.

Something to think about, at any rate.

Last night we watched this week’s Maximum Pleasure Guaranteed, which I don’t see anyone talking much about, which is a shame. It’s really good and I am enjoying it. After that, we caught up on the news but I was falling asleep in my chair so I went to bed shortly after nine and slept deeply and well, only getting up once in the middle of the night before going back to a very sound sleep. I’ve not been very productive this week, but that was because last weekend’s truncation was mentally fatiguing, I guess. I’ve not had much creative thought this week, and I need to get back into the saddle again, I think. Reading tonight and possibly trying to write too should be helpful, and tomorrow I think I will try to be as productive as I can be so I can use Saturday as a holiday and just rest and watch movies and read. I have another newsletter I need to get out tomorrow, and another one to write this weekend (or when I finish Rough Pages). I also want to write one for the holiday, and talk about the difference between the Bicentennial and this 250th disgrace we are witnessing as taxpayer money disappears into a massive grift, like everything MAGA touches. If you can’t capitalize on the stupidity of your cult, why bother having one?

I also need to be even kinder to myself. Of course I am going to be drained emotionally and mentally when I come back from visiting my mother’s grave!

Oy. The depth and totality of my utter and complete obliviousness is really astounding at times.

I saw a debut author had apparently lost their mind on social media and starting doxxing–and encouraging her followers to go after some book club that didn’t like her book. Way to end your career as it’s just getting started. Yes, when you’re new that sort of thing absolutely stings and hurts, and it makes you worry if people will read the review and not read your book. It doesn’t matter in the long run–how many one-stars has James Patterson or Dan Brown gotten? And how has it slowed them down? The answer is not at all. You can’t embrace good reviews while being upset by bad ones, and nothing is a faster trip down the lane of complete and utter insanity than letting reviews get under your skin. I know I used to when I was new, and maybe one will sting when I come across it, but I don’t comment, I don’t bring attention to it, and I dismiss it and don’t even think about it again. I remember one bad review for my first book., and I use it as an example because the end result of that review was me making Scotty being even gayer than I had originally planned…you think Chanse is a stereotype? I”ll show you a fucking stereotype!

And interestingly enough, Scotty–the biggest gay stereotyped character ever written by a gay crime writer–has never been called one by a reviewer.

This is why I no longer read reviews, and have never ventured into the shark-infested waters of Goodreads.

The on-going war between New Orleans and Baton Rouge continues. It’s interesting living under the state’s version of racist homophobic MAGA fascism. I also believe our pos shit Attorney General (who may appear under a slightly different name in the next Scotty book) should be stripped of her law degree because she refuses to abide by either the state or federal constitution and consistently thinks she somehow has the right to tell New Orleans what it can or cannot do; our state Supreme Court all has their head up the Governor’s flat crusty unwashed ass, too and SCOTUS? Not much better.

Sigh. Happy upcoming 4th of July weekend to you, too. And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader and hang in there; resist resist resist. I’ll be here again tomorrow morning, without fail.

I love this drone shot of canoers on a bayou in the Atchafalaya Swamp. Ben Pierce is a great Louisiana landscape photographer; check out his website. I always get his calendars. I would love to write about the Atchafalaya swamp someday and its Cajun history.
  1. I stand corrected; we are in a heat advisory until (or if) the rains come. ↩︎

Le Bel Age

So, pay the bills Wednesday has somehow rolled around again, and how? Your guess is as good as mine. It’s also the first of July (rabbit, rabbit!), with a three day weekend on the horizon and we’re over halfway there (oh-oh, living on a prayer). It’s also the nation’s 250th anniversary of independence (or declaring us to be independent of the British Empire), which, of course, has been completely fumbled by the idiots y’all voted into office in 2024. I am old enough to remember the Bicentennial, and it was lavish and elaborate and lengthy. The entire country went Bicentennial. Everything was “Bicentennial this and that or this or that”–commemorative glasses, stamps, coins, flags, posters…Bicentennial Minutes, which were one minute history lessons during commercial breaks, were also impossible to escape (as a History buff, I loved them) and “Spirit of ’76” was everywhere you looked and the country went nuts celebrating itself.

This time? Not so much.

Although we should be grateful the corrupt SCOTUS didn’t overturn the 14th Amendment, that doesn’t mean birthright citizenship is safe. (I do like the thought of lil Marco having his citizenship stripped, along with Ted Cruz.) So glad people listened to Susan Sarandon in 2000 and 2016. Imagine a supreme court with justices appointed by Gore and Obama, and then wonder where we’d be at right now if so many people hadn’t been so stupid four times this century. It’s also kind of amusing to see Democratic Socialists primarying–and defeating–incumbent centrist Democrats who’ve sat by and allowed this to happen. Too busy listening to their donors and billionaires and corporations to give much of a shit while Republicans unraveled the social safety net and helped rape the country. Will they follow their base, or will they continue telling us to “vote blue no matter who”…until they don’t like the blue candidate for being too far to the left. Under a more fighting and aggressive style of leadership, the Democratic Party could end the Republicans once and for all this year and again in 2028; but no, they’d rather be bribed to work for corporatists. Right, Chuck and Hakeem?

Apparently, we need to purge our party as well of these MAGA-lite corporatists. Begone, corrupt beasts! Get thee behind us, Satans!

I slept well again last night. I ran uptown to make groceries (every time I set foot in a grocery store it’s about $80; so glad those prices came down Day One!) and pick up the mail before coming home. Yesterday didn’t feel as miserably hot because the sun wasn’t out–we had a merciful cloud cover all day–and even this morning, when I took the recycling out, I thought oh this isn’t so bad today!

Reader, it was eighty-nine degrees outside. Clearly, I am acclimating to this summer.

But it’s nice to not be physically tired, you know, especially after a trip and eleven hours in the car driving. Oddly it’s more about my brain fatigue more than anything else; those batteries need some more charging, I think–but there’s a marvelous three day weekend on the horizon and I should be able to get some rest and do some things. Tonight I am heading home after work–and I get to leave the office early tomorrow, too, on Holiday Weekend Eve. I did work a bit on the newsletter last night–writing up some thoughts on Blessed Water, and I also want to finish the one on A Violent Masterpiece, which I should have posted about already. I also can’t remember where I was with everything before the trip, so I am trying to get my act together. I also have to pay the bills, too. Heavy heaving sigh. And I think I want to do a newsletter on the 4th, to talk about the Bicentennial and the failure of imagination handling this notable anniversary of our independence…and really, it’s no surprise no one feels like celebrating this country the way we did in 1976.

I do want to finish Rough Pages and move on to my next read. I also need a reread and a nonfiction read, too; I am leaning towards Sarah Weinman’s Without Consent (her writings are always worth reading; and I kind of want to revisit The Real Lolita, too, given that pedophilia is the right-wing aim now), because I actually remember the Ridout case and the moves toward exposing rape and how the victims are inevitably punished more than the perpetrator, like it’s not a big deal….I always want to say to rape apologists, “Bet you wouldn’t feel the same way if someone forcibly penetrated you anally while holding a knife to your throat, now would you?”

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

We’ve been watching Monarch: Legacy of Monsters, and we are totally on the monsters’ team. All the personal melodrama surrounding the characters, with its weird shifts in time and ages of the characters, isn’t terribly compelling or interesting…but the monsters are fucking amazing. Visually, it’s a stunning production, and that’s really all I’ve been looking for this week at night. I think we’re going to binge The Vampire Lestat for the holiday weekend, which I am looking forward to–Sam Reid does such an excellent job as Lestat it’s not even funny. I also really like Interview with the Vampire and all the changes to update were wonderful. Too bad they shit the bed on the Mayfair Witches, which could have been an incredible series instead of a huge disappointment. How could write Michael out of it? How?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in again tomorrow on Holiday Weekend Eve. Till then!

Fitness model and influencer Chris Salvatore

Take It Any Way You Want It

And here it is Saturday in the Lost Apartment and as far as I can tell, all is well–at least for now. WE did get some rain last night–leftovers from Arthur, best I can tell–but the sun is shining and bright this morning, but everything outside is glistening and wet. I overslept big time this morning, which isn’t a big deal–I must have needed the rest, and Sparky was a cuddlebug, too, which made getting up even harder. I don’t think I am going to leave the house the rest of the weekend, unless I make a quick run to the Rouses in the CBD. I do feel rested and good this morning, which is a very good thing. I am going to try to do some reading and writing today around picking up and organizing; I got the dishes and laundry taken care of yesterday. The kitchen looks good, and really, picking up and doing the floors is all I have to do, other than organize, for housework.

I wasn’t fatigued yesterday so much as I was low-energy, so I did a lot of relaxing around the chores. I watched a lot of videos ofWorld Cup tourists enjoying the US for the first time, while hating the fact that MAGA is making compilation videos of how “great” America is after the Europeans have been “lied to by their leftist media” about America. Question for the closeted MAGA influencers making this “gotcha” videos: what do you think Europeans thought of the videos from January 6th? And actually, isn’t this proof that America is already great? But then again, logical thought processes aren’t exactly MAGA’s forté, are they? We also watched most of America’s Sweethearts, with one left to go, and I don’t think I enjoyed this season as much. This is the first of their three seasons that filmed after the earlier seasons truly started airing and becoming globally popular–and that they are all too aware of how they are coming across to the audience and the cameras. Judy and Kelly aren’t the same as they once were, and seem to be a lot more concerned about coming across as mothering and nurturing and supportive, instead of the relentless bitches who know what they want when they see it and aren’t settling for anything less. Loving but tough isn’t, sadly, as fun to watch; they were kind of endearing in their relentless drive to preserve and expand their brand; the Netflix show was a smart move for them, but I think they weren’t expecting a significantly larger audience than they used to get on TNN. There’s also something to be said about the Madonna/whore dichotomy on display here, too, but I will leave that to the feminist scholars to deconstruct and examine. Today, we’ll finish the cheerleaders’ show, get caught up with Cape Fear and Maximum Pleasure Guaranteed, and probably start the new Harlan show on Netflix.

I was pleased to see the US men’s team defeated Australia in Seattle yesterday, and yes I am actually thoroughly enjoying all the fans from other countries living their best lives. I love the Norwegian rowing chant, and watching the international fans all dance and sing and cheer and do their traditional chants has been absolutely delightful. I don’t remember the World Cup from 1994, the last time it was here, but that was also pre-Internet and social media. (I also love watching Europeans talk about why so many of us don’t have passports–“Because you never have to leave to experience a different culture, landscape, weather!” I love that the diversity of each state from one another fascinates them. I also watched a group of English guys driving from Dallas to Nashville; one mentioned it was a longer drive from the top of Scotland to the bottom of England) I’ve also enjoyed the hell out of Freddya78’s voyage through the US and reactions to everything he sees. I do have to confess, though, my favorite of all the fan reactions is the cute Italian guy thrilled to death by free refills on soda, or his shock at the size of a Whataburger medium cup. The tourists were originally joking about the “FIFA 15,” like the “freshmen 15” in college, only they’ve now upgraded it to the “Fifa 50.” I also love how the American culture they are enjoying so much is the stuff we take for granted and don’t give a second thought to–I only eat fast food, as a general rule, when I am on the road or as a “I don’t feel like making lunch” thing. I never go to a Chili’s or the Cheesecake Factory or any place like that; I live in New Orleans and I like to actually cook, but it does my heart no amount of good seeing them loving their stay here so much.

Also, loved the joy in New York when the Knicks won. These things always remind me of the year the Saints won the Super Bowl, and what an amazing time in New Orleans that was. We need more joy in this country, seriously.

And on that note, tis time for me to head into the spice mines. I am going to take my coffee and read for a bit before I take a shower, and hopefully will spend some time on my work space and the kitchen today as well. May you have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I will be back tomorrow morning.

O Mighty Isis! Relief at Karnak

Little Paradise

Tuesday morning and so far, so good. I had no problem getting up and going to work yesterday morning, and I made some groceries on the way home last night. Today I am leaving early from the office to go record Susan Larson’s show for local NPR (YAY! Love Susan!) and later on I am seeing my gastroenterologist for the yearly follow up on the ulcerative colitis, which is why I had so many labs to get drawn over the last few weeks. I don’t think I’ll have to see him again for six months or so; who knows? I guess we’ll see how it goes.

Yesterday wasn’t bad, by any means. I am mostly caught up on my work–always a lovely feeling at the day job–and I got some emails answered; emails always beget emails, alas. I correspond regularly with two friends and my dad, so it’s not like I have a lot to answer anymore these days. (I remember waking up to over 300 new emails in my inbox; something I do not miss the remotest bit.) Now I think back to how busy I used to be and think, I didn’t need to ever be that busy, and it’s true. I didn’t. No regrets though, I worked very hard but I also had a lot of fun. I couldn’t possibly ever be that busy again; maybe, I don’t know, but I also don’t want to find out, either. I like getting up and going to work, not dreading checking my emails, I like writing my blog and my newsletter (it’s right here, if you’re so inclined; it’s about the International Male Catalogue), I like running my errands, and I like having time to rest and recharge whenever I need to. It’s kind of nice, actually. And the primary issue I’ve had with the day job this decade is being tired in the mornings and being exhausted by the end of the day…which doesn’t really seem to be a problem anymore. Physically and mentally I feel better than I have in years; it’s almost like I’d forgotten how that felt.

It had been a hot minute, for real.

After getting home last night, Paul and I watched some more of The Boroughs, after which we watched videos of President Harkonnen1 getting royally booed in New York at the Knicks game–good. The Boroughs is interesting; something different I’ve not seen in horror media before. I like that the cast is all mostly older, and it’s focused on a retirement community–the one from HELL. We’ll finish that tonight after I get home from everything and all the running around I have to do today. Heavy sigh. I need to have some things delivered tonight, too. I really need to get more organized, always a struggle under the best of times and the best of situations. I have a sink full of dishes I need to get into the dishwasher tonight, and of course, the floors always need attention. So does the refrigerator, frankly. I definitely need to just do chores when I get home from my appointment today before I do anything else; definitely something that I need to get done. I also looked over some of the writing I got done over the weekend and simply couldn’t be more pleased, frankly. I really like the work I am doing now, and I don’t know that I’ve ever said or felt that way before?

Thank you, medication.

Apparently, the Mormons are learning what I could have told them all along–Republicans and evangelicals are not your friends no matter how much money you give them or how many times you vote for them. The Catholics are next, of course–although the fact MAGA demands they put their faith in Lord Harkonnen rather than the Pope should have tipped them off. I always knew they were cosplay Christians, but even I didn’t expect them to embrace apostasy and blasphemy so publicly. Where’s the Inquisition when you need it?

Seriously.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a fabulous Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I will check back in with you tomorrow.

It just ain’t the rural south unless there’s a car from the 1950‘s rusting in a field. I actually wrote a short story about one a million years ago; I wonder where that is? They make great story prompts.
  1. A Dune reference, for those who didn’t catch it. Baron Harkonnen is the revolting villain of Dune. ↩︎

Never Wanna Leave You

Thursday morning coming in strong, how are you doing? Yesterday was kind of drab and overcast and rainy, which was terrific–you know I love me some rain–and a huge relief after how thick and awful the humidity was when I left for the office yesterday morning. That also explains the sinus attack I had when I got up–I had to take a Claritin-D, it was so bad–but I could tell by the time I got to the office it was going to rain. I didn’t get any “flood watch” texts or emails, so it wasn’t too bad. We’re supposed to get a lot more rain today and tomorrow, with it clearing up a bit on the weekend. It’s rained a lot here this late spring, and I can’t remember the last time we had such a wet May and June. I love it, of course–I really do want it to rain all day Friday so after I finish my work-at-home chores I can read under a blanket while it storms outside. I did some chores last night when I got home from work, and felt pretty good. Paul and I watched some television–we started Sweetpea, which is delightfully wicked and twisted in a deliciously macabre kind of way–and then it was time for bed.

I feel good this morning, and I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home yesterday, which was most definitely a good thing. I think not only am I getting close to being back to what would be considered normal, health-wise, again for the first time in years but maybe I’m finally getting used to getting up at six in the morning every day, which would be lovely. It’s lovely not to feel tired when I am working with a client, it’s lovely to think oh, I have the energy to get some things done tonight on the way home from work, but i also have to get used to the idea that just because Paul is on the couch watching television doesn’t mean I have to join him, but it’s lovely to have time together just watching our shows or finding new ones. I hate when I am a Festival widow, because there’s nothing I enjoy more than just hanging out with Paul and Sparky while relaxing. (If it’s raining outside? Chef’s kiss! We are getting a lot of rain lately; I’m starting to see social media posts about locals being tired of the rain, so…)

I did write a newsletter that is scheduled to go out today for Pride Month; about the missing queer bookstores and how much I used to love them, and how good they were to me as an author. This was actually inspired by seeing a post on Tampa Bay LGBT History’s Facebook page about Tomes and Treasures, mentioning the guy who owned it, whom I actually met at the store (it was the first gay bookstore I ever entered) and how that store opened up my life to the vastness that was gay fiction and non-fiction, as well as all the other colors of the rainbow). As I am someone who has always learned best by reading (which is why I always sucked at math), books helped me get a better understanding of our history, how much of that is hidden in plain sight (I mean, I knew when reading history books that while they didn’t come right out and say is “oh, this king preferred men”–I knew what the truth of Edward II, Henri III, Frederick the Great, Philippe d’Orleans, and others really was), it was pretty safe to assume any king or emperor or great lord who had male favorites (Henri III’s were called “the mignons”) was actually a queen.

After Tuesday’s elections, I saw one of those “leftist influencers,” (whom I’ve never trusted; for one, he’s a nepo-baby and comes from money) who always gave me a homophobic vibe, dropped the mask entirely, claiming California voters gave into the “homo-fascist agenda” and several other unspeakably vile things–demeaning and degrading an already vilified minority group really isn’t the way to go for a straight white cisgender nepo-baby. It doesn’t take long for their masks to drop, does it? How is this any different from gay men like Keith Edwards who are racists and carrying water for white supremacy and misogyny? (You’re GAY, Keith, they will turn on you once you’ve sold everyone else out.) Well, you can miss me with all of your stans’ excuses and homophobia, Mr. Nepo-Baby. Fuck you. I’m waiting for the girls you date-raped while in your fraternity to come forward–and you know they are there because he’s clearly a pig with a massive ego.

Oh, and Mr. Nepo Baby? You’re not that hot, babe. Bet you’ve got some super-sexy back hair, too.

This is also why I get so angry when I see anyone on the left ready and willing to throw trans people under the bus; because it wasn’t that long ago that the left was willing to throw us ALL under the bus–gay, lesbian, bi, trans etc.

The fact that no one calls it out, ever, is even more sickening and disgusting.

And Nepo-Baby bottom-feeder said this shit during PRIDE MONTH.

Miss me with your excuses and explanations. There is no way that saying “homo-fascist” under ANY circumstance isn’t homophobic.

And I believe people when they show me who they are. Hence my lack of empathy, pity or sympathy for anyone MAGA, or voted MAGA while claiming not to be. You pissed all over my rights to own the libs. Fuck you now, and fuck you forever.

Homophobia will always be unforgivable. I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire in front of me; I’d look for things to stoke the fire.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. May your Thursday be awesome and your month homophobia free. I’ll be back tomorrow, see you then!

I would love to go to Carnival in Venice and wear one of these amazing costumes.