Tag: MAGA

Is There Life After Love?

Tuesday morning and can you believe it’s been a week since the national bloodbath? I am sure they are going to finish licking their wounds and start their next tantrum/breakdown/whatever they do to cope when they realize they are not the majority they love to think they are. The weather here has definitely changed, and this is absolutely my favorite time of year in New Orleans. I don’t like getting up in the dark or getting home after dark, but it’s nice to enjoy being outside again. I slept really well yesterday, which was great. I had a good day at work, and felt pretty good when I left the office for home. I am in the final vestiges of this cold or whatever it was, so that’s also kind of nice. I did some chores when I got home, and it was lovely coming down to a clean apartment. It’s lovely to not feel sick anymore…I made a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner, chilled with Sparky, and did a little bit of reading and some free form scribbling in my journal. I even managed to get through some of my emails yesterday, and maybe can get the inbox cleared out once and for all. It’s hard to imagine that ever happening, but one can but dream, you know?

Lauren Boebert officially lost her House seat yesterday, and she can join her old buddies Matt Gaetz and Marjorie Taylor Green over in the “irrelevant loser” pile. We, of course, are still waiting on results from Alaska and Mississippi, but soon enough those races will also be over and the rout of MAGA will be complete. I know I’ve lost track, but are there still any Tea Party/MAGA people really left in Congress anymore? I wonder how they’ll rebrand racism and white supremacy and Christian Nationalism for the next go round? They never go away, you know; evil conservatism is like a hydra.

I continued my rewatch of Friday the 13th the Series with the second episode of the first season, “The Poison Pen,” which is one of the sillier and more campy episodes. This time around, a monk known as the Oracle of Death writes prophecies about death down with a quill pen and they come true. (Of course, it never occurs to anyone that his pen is cursed and writing down people’s deaths with it essentially kills them.) The monastery is housed on valuable real estate downtown, and a construction syndicate is offering them a lot of money for their property–which is part of the scheming going on behind the scenes in the cloister. In order to get the pen, the three go undercover in the monastery to retrieve the object before more people die, and Mickey has to bind herself and pretend to be a man. (Hence the campy aspects of the episode.) The effects are cheap and silly to modern eyes, but probably weren’t as bad when the show originally aired; the wildest part is the homicidal, independently flying guillotine blade. But it was fun, and I think I already remember episode three of this season, “Cupid’s Bow,” which if I am remembering correctly, winds up in a fraternity house…which was even funnier than the cheap effects or Mickey in drag moments of episode 2.

We did finish Black Doves on Sunday night; it really is a fun show. I love the lesbian assassins–they remind me of my Ninja Lesbians in my Scotty series, Ben Whishaw is also fantastic as always, he needs to be in more things, and of course, Sarah Lancashire is a queen. I’m not sure how they’ll do another season, but I certainly hope they do and they know how how to do it properly rather than put something terrible together to cash-in on the excellence of the first two seasons.

I also sent out a newsletter, which you can read by clicking here. I talk about my short story “The Sound of Snow Falling”, which is in the newly released anthology Unloaded Volume 3. compiled and edited by Eric Beetner. Huzzah!

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines for the morning. Have a marvelous Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I will be back again bright and early for my midweek blog tomorrow. Until then–thanks for stopping by yet again!

This image perfectly illustrates why early settlers and the indigenous people thought the marshes, wetlands, and swamps were full of supernatural creatures in Louisiana.

The Space Between

Friday and I have a meeting this morning, so it is not, after all, a work-at-home Friday completely; I am ust going in for the meeting before I come home to do some work. Sparky also has to go to the vet this afternoon, so he can’t eat this morning, which isn’t going very well. (It’ll be worse when I get home from the office. “What do you MEAN no breakfast? What do you mean you left and came back and it’s not dinner time?” Sigh. He’s whimpering under my desk right now, and I get it totally; I hate not being able to eat something when I am hungry and it’s my usual time to eat. Sigh.

I’m still basking in the afterglow from Tuesday, just waiting for the Democrats to officially win Mississippi and Alaska now, and even if the fascists hold those two seats, it won’t matter1. Soon, the Republicans and Fox are going to pretend they were never MAGA and will try to distance themselves from this entire anti-American movement, and this cannot happen this time. We allowed them to move on from January 6th, which should have ended the entire thing. There’s also no doubt that the Democrats, particularly if led by Schumer and Jeffries, can easily fumble this opportunity. But all the right-wingers who might run in 2028 are uncharismatic and not very well-liked across the board; they’d be better off getting a governor from a red state that no one has ever heard of–much like the Democrats brought in an outsider after Watergate, which is how we got Jimmy Carter. But…they never really do the smart thing, do they? Either side? I’ll never forgive the DNC for not helping Louisiana, Florida or Mississippi flip; which all three could have done easily. Both Louisiana and Florida were a point or less from understanding the assignment.

Howard Dean should have never been let go from party leadership after the massive blue shift in 2008. The way the national party has abandoned the South since then has been positively shameful; is it any wonder there’s voter apathy down here when the national party has basically said, “oh, well, you’re on your own, we can’t win there.” Scott Colom’s winning campaign, as well as the close ones Angie Nixon and Jamie Davis ran, beg to differ. This absolute failure of party leadership should end with every leader stepping aside for fresh blood; the people do not want the same-old, same-old. I don’t trust either Schumer or Jeffries, in all honesty. I’d love to be proved wrong, but…I sincerely doubt that will happen.

Bliss.

I am planning on enjoying this through the weekend, for the record; Monday I’ll come down from my cloud and face the world again. But, for now, I’m going to enjoy knowing that Russell Brand is going to jail; the Tate Brothers will never see freedom again, and the country is bouncing back. This is what I’ve been waiting for ever since the golden escalator, and it is beyond time for it to have happened. The cybertruck is also dead, this morning, and and the AI bubble is bursting.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. May your Friday be as marvelous as you are, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back in the morning.

The Byzantine horses, stolen from Constantinople by the Venetians during the 4th Crusade, when they sacked the capital of the last vertige of the Roman Empire.

  1. There are so many delightful karma stories, too–Cindy Hyde-Smith, aka as a Scooby Doo villain, had blocked Scott Colom’s appointment as an appellate court justice, so now he is taking her seat in the Senate. Now she can focus on attending lynchings and cross-burnings while brewing up some ‘shine back in her rancid holler. ↩︎

To Turn You On

Thursday and not my last day in the office for the week; I have a meeting tomorrow morning and I am also going to put some hours in at the office once it is over. Sparky is going to the vet tomorrow afternoon, too–huzzah for trimming his nails–but I plan to spend the weekend getting caught up on overdue chores. I didn’t get much done yesterday, as I was tired from staying up too late watching the glorious election returns on Tuesday night, only to wake up to even better news yesterday morning. So, yesterday I spent the day joy-scrolling and replying to MAGA tears with one of those photos of a lovely MAGA couple in their Fuck Your Feelings shirts. Because yes, I am petty and yes, these people need to be fucking trolled off the Internet. That’s me–my drag name would be Petty Davis.

Apparently the “fuck your feelings” people are *checks notes* having a lot of feelings this morning. Who knew MAGA tears were even more delicious than liberal ones? Me, I did, I knew, it was me.

I was worn out yesterday–not just from staying up later than I should have, but from the emotional release. It’s been ten fucking years of existential dread, like an albatross around my neck, and I feel like a weight has been lifted…this feels like 2006, Obama’s election, and Biden’s win times 100. I am sure they are all frantically pointing fingers at each other and tossing around a lot of blame, particularly at the Heritage Foundation and the Federalist Society (sewer princess Meghan McCain is already backpedaling away from MAGA at light speed, for one example), and it may take awhile before the new obstructionist battle plan is in place for them all to parrot without thinking, so this brief respite has been marvelous–as is their complete meltdown. I always thought Fox and others of that ilk were craven manipulators and liars who didn’t believe anything they said; but in the last couple of days I’m starting to think some of them might have actually drank the Flavor-Ade1, too–to which I can only say good, I hope it’s excruciatingly painful for you.

No more pretending about the majority of Americans being MAGA. No more pretending these hateful and destructive policies either work or are popular. No more crowd size boasts.

Finally, the God-Emperor has no clothes.

And I am glad he is still alive. I want him to go on living, alone, lonely and hated and his ego destroyed, knowing he was a complete and utter failure at his entire life. But he got his wish: he will probably be one of the most famous and studied presidents in US History…just not the way he wanted.

Your grave will be a urinal, sir. I hope I live long enough to use it as such.

I don’t think I am going to get a lot done this week, honestly. While I do feel like I am finally breathing fresh air again, I am emotionally drained and exhausted–yet need to rest to be ready to get back to work on the next Louisiana election cycle–I believe we can kick Klandry out of the governor’s mansion, and I think we can ditch the bitch Attorney General as well. FAFO, Louisiana MAGA. And there are so many great games on Saturday, I have to break my routine and come to the office tomorrow, so that day is already messed up for me anyway. I did make some groceries on the way home last night, and have an errand or two on the way home tonight. I did make some progress on the disaster area that is the apartment, and while I am sure I’ll be too tired to do much of anything once I get home this evening, I am going to try to do some things. Sparky also has to go to the vet for his annual check-up and razor-blade trim, and of course it’s bed linen day. I think I am probably just going to make my own way this weekend, and re-center and recalibrate Sunday morning.

One last thing: COME ON MISSISSIPPI!

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and isn’t it marvelous knowing we aren’t waking up to another new fresher hell every morning? Woo-hoo! And see you tomorrow morning!

  1. One of my biggest factual irritations is “drinking the Kool-Ade.” Jones was too cheap and used Flavor-Ade to save a couple of cents per package. I think that detail is both important and telling. ↩︎

Avalon

Well, well, well, what a morning in the United States this is! All day yesterday I was tense, in spite of the medications, and coudn’t really focus on anything beyond doing my job. I ran an errand on the way home from work–my injection had arrived–and once I was home, I walked over to the school to do my civic duty, and walked home, satisfied that I had participated. By the time I turned the television on, Jon Ossoff’s reelection had already been called–quite decisively–and once again, I became mesmerized by the process of the returns coming in. The Democrats had retaken both houses of Congress before I went to bed, and the landslide the polls had been promising and I didn’t get my hopes up over was coming true. The country decisively beat down fascism at the ballot box, and I am cautiously hopeful this morning that this is indeed the end of MAGA–Democrats winning in Kansas? South Carolina? Iowa? Maybe Mississippi and Maine, too? I’m going to enjoy this for a few days before fretting some more. What a night, right? SO many frights finally gone from Congress–and while the evil and corrupt Julia Letlow did win in Louisiana, it was close enough to throw a scare into Louisiana MAGA–and maybe if THE FUCKING NATIONAL PARTY HAD INVESTED IN LOUISIANA WE COULD HAVE WON HERE, TOO.

They write the South off so completely, every fucking time. Southern Democrats don’t turn out because they don’t have a reason to–and what a fucking smiting this could have been. But again, I am just going to enjoy this for a few days before settling down again. I actually have hopes we can throw Kennedy out the next time around, and Klandry might not get a second term. STAND FAST LOUISIANA.

And somehow, it’s Wednesday-pay-the-bills-day again, and maybe now we can have a respite from elections and campaigns? 2028 is going to be a fucking nightmare, too. Can we block another fucking MAGA president? I don’t see any MAGA with any kind of charisma anywhere, so maybe they’ll nominate another Dole or Romney. Ted Cruz will probably try again–although there’s also a very strong chance he won’t get reelected, either.

It’s nice to be hopeful about the country again, rather than dreading getting on-line every morning.

Whomever decided to get Jude Bellingham to do Calvin Klein underwear ads needs a raise and a promotion. I enjoyed him during the World Cup, thought he was charismatic and attractive, but damn, that man is a work of art. May I also recommend perhaps some gymnasts and divers while we’re at it? Calvin Klein really missed out back in the day not having Greg Louganis model for them.

Data centers also went down to defeat all over the country; even my old county, Lyon, voted against one that was going to be near Emporia. I also can’t get over Kansas electing a Democrat! And yes, I am trying to figure out how to use the data centers and the spaceport and everything crammed into a Scotty novel.

Why are people shocked that Kate Gosselin is a monster? I have never been interested in the lives of the overly fertile, in all honesty, and always look at these parents with a raised eyebrow and a bit of a curled lip. The Gosselins, while not as horrific as the Duggar perverts, were pretty fucking awful. I never watched a single episode of either show, but alas, have been trapped into seeing clips on commercials or on video discussing how fucking weird they all are. My primary takeaway from the Gosselins was that Kate was a hateful, mean-spirited bitch who couldn’t say anything nice unless she was getting a check for it. I kept wondering when her husband would get some self-esteem and walk away from that harpy–and nothing I’ve learned about her in the times since she first forced onto my radar without my consent has changed that original opinion. She’s a monster who should have never had children, never should have married, and most definitely shouldn’t have had a reality show…it always seemed to me like she saw her kids as her meal ticket, which is repugnant.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and pamper yourselves. We deserve it after the hellscape of the last ten years! And I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow morning, okay? See you then!

This image shows the historic old general store and railway stop in Lettsworth, Louisiana, located along Louisiana Highway 1 near the railroad tracks, which also features a historical marker dedicated to blues legend George “Buddy” Guy, who was born in the community on July 30, 1936

I Deserve It

It’s very difficult to market books about social issues. How do you promote something like that without looking like you’re trying to cash in on a tragedy, or some horrific real world incident? I don’t urge people to read Murder in the Rue Chartres every time a hurricane threatens Louisiana/New Orleans, nor do I ever try to piggyback promotion of the book which talks about the Upstairs Fire with the tragedy’s anniversary, or any time the fire comes up on social media. I don’t like the idea of capitalizing on tragedy for capitalism. It makes me uncomfortable, and while I don’t judge people for doing that, it doesn’t sit right with me.

Yesterday, I wrote and sent out a newsletter inspired by the breaking news about the mishandled Cornell gang-rape situation. Rape is something I have always felt strongly about–against, for the record–because it’s such a bodily violation. Having something shoved inside you without your consent–it sends a shudder through my body and turns my stomach whenever I think about it. So, I talked about the book I wrote about a similar situation happening in a fictional Midwestern town with a strong high school sports culture. My intent wasn’t to promote the book, which would be a shitty thing to do; the intent was to call more attention to the fact this isn’t something new; the book is OLD. I started writing it in 2015, after Steubenville and Marysville. Almost immediately after I hit post and share, I saw someone on social media bitching about people using this Cornell gang-rape (call it by its real name) to promote their “shitty book1s.” I knew that was a risk I was running by talking about my book in the context of why I wrote it (I had started writing the essay originally after the on-line Rape Academy expose by CNN), but after I blocked her, I shrugged. If she wants to assign that kind of blame to an essay I wrote about rape culture through the context of a novel I wrote about it and why, so be it. Go ahead and put me on your “no-read” list; I’ll put you on my “blocked as a bitch” list. See how that works?

Congratulations on your purity, ma’am.

Although I guess hit dogs do holler. The reason I reacted so strongly was because I was concerned people would think that was what I was doing, and anxiety medication aside, I somehow still feel a need to justify that newsletter. The woman probably wasn’t even talking about me–she just popped up, unasked for, on one of my feeds. It’s a free country and she’s welcome to express herself however she wants to–but I am not required to see, read or interact with her on any level.

And frankly, if people are looking for more information on how bad the sexual assault horrors are–well, authors might be thinking hey, you may want to read this for my research. I researched the fuck out of this over the many years I spent working on my book, but I would also direct people to Jon Krakauer’s Missoula, which examines the relationship between college athletics and sweeping rapes under the rug to protect players. LSU has had these problems over the years–it’s part of the package of why Les Miles was fired as football coach (although the cover-ups were okay as long as the team was winning at the national level), and there’s a rapist on campus today who is on the football team.

But all of this did make me think more about the marketing aspect of publishing, and how I’ve never been good at doing it.

I generally don’t talk about my books with an air to selling them to people; I don’t, as I made clear in my essay, selling books is generally the last thing I think about when it comes to my books. (Nothing bugs me more than when someone says “sell me your book!”) I don’t know how to talk about them in ways that will sell them; a manager I had in my twenties told me “you could sell ice to Eskimoes2” but that was just me being me, you know? I know I’m supposed to use every tool at my disposal to market myself and my books but that isn’t something I’ve ever been comfortable doing; to me, it’s cringe. I always think nobody cares and so I talk about my work and my writing in ways that I find interesting. I can’t write something if I’m not interested in it, and that usually isn’t an issue; I can almost always find something interesting (to me, at any rate) in most subjects…but I never, ever set out to write a blog or a newsletter with the thought this will sell me some books.

My mind isn’t wired that way. I guess other people’s must be? But I also don’t see the issue with writing about a societal problem through the lens of having researched the topic and being moved to write a novel to share these stories with people. I didn’t say buy this book, but rather I wrote this book and this is why I did, and the lifelong education on the subject that led me to write it, to try to make sense of something that is completely alien to me.3

I also wasn’t raised to “sing out Louise”4. Being raised to be modest and not accept compliments hasn’t been easy for me to process out of my brain/psyche, but I am getting better about it. But if you always downplay your achievements and successes, why would anyone else play them up? I also had that terrible anxiety-driven “pick me” bullshit going on, too; there’s nothing wrong with tooting your own horn so long as you don’t make it your entire personality, as so many seem to do. There’s a happy medium in there where I can live and exist, and I hope that someday I’ll be able to find that place where I can feel comfortable. One can hope, at any rate, right?

There was definitely a clown show on Capital Hill yesterday, and good ole Cornpone Kennedy had his stupid ass in it up to his neck. MAGA is such a joke; they are so not serious, but they are just as dangerous as a manic three year old on a massive sugar high who got into his parents’ gun cabinet. Thank God they are all so stupid and inept and incompetent; it’s like we got the Hogan’s Heroes brand of fascists here. Imagine if they were as smart as they are evil.

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

This photo, from the aftermath of the California fires, never ceases to amaze me.
  1. Anyone dismissing any group of books as “shitty” is always going to get my ire up. ↩︎
  2. Is that offensive now? If so, my apologies, but it’s a direct quote. ↩︎
  3. It did occur to me while I was writing the essay that the reason women have always felt comfortable around me is they somehow sense I’m not interested. ↩︎
  4. A friend of mine says this Gypsy quote all the time, and there is something to it. If you don’t talk well about yourself, who will? ↩︎

To Have and Not to Hold

Friday work at home day blog and here I am in the Lost Apartment, sipping coffee in between the windows. Sparky’s sleeping in a puddle at my feet and I am very excited for the day and the weekend. There are some excellent games to watch on Saturday (GEAUX TIGERS!), and of course, tonight there’s a new episode of Traitors: New Blood, which I can’t wait to see. After bingeing so many seasons, it really is torturous having to wait a week for a new episode. Heavy sigh, but that’s okay, really. Bingeing has really changed how I watch television, hasn’t it? We had started the new season of The Gentleman on Netflix last week, but despite the appeal of one Theo James (Christ, there should be a law against being that pretty), I didn’t get into the season 2 premiere, and haven’t exactly been itching to get back to it for some reason. I was thinking I might go back and watch the earlier seasons of The White Lotus so I’m not mindlessly scrolling through Youtube videos. It’s not only addictive, but it’s time consuming.

I worked more diligently on the short story last night, and almost have my new first draft finished (even though I am using the same title, the same story but with a different perspective, which I think is working). I am pretty pleased with it; it’s a very strong draft I should be able to get finished later today. It’s amazing how much I enjoy writing, but my process has changed–as I have changed–and it takes me longer to write than it used to. I used to be able to average about three thousand1 per writing day when working on a book; short stories are a different animal, but I don’t remember it taking me this long to complete a first draft of a short story; it’s a do-over of one I finished years ago but couldn’t place anywhere, so I tore it all apart and put it back together completely differently. I personally think it works better now, but I won’t be surprised if the anthology I am writing it for doesn’t accept it. Not that it isn’t good, but it’s not the kind of crime story people usually are looking for when compiling an anthology of them.

When Paul got home last night, we finished watching a documentary called A Killer Story, which is wild; true crime documentaries are absolutely terrifying to watch, especially when you see how easily a prosecutor can convict someone entirely on a theory with little to no evidence to corroborate their theory of the crime. Documentaries, though, can easily be manipulated to convince the viewer of their point of view, something I’ve noticed before. (One of Americans’ biggest fears is wrongful imprisonment, along with not being believed; being wrongly accused of murder and put on trial is definitely terrifying.)

I slept pretty well last night, even if Sparky got me up before seven. I’m a bit physically tired this morning–the Achilles tendons again–but I know once I get cleaned up I’ll feel more recharged. I have a meeting this morning, after which I am going to go run some errands. It being 9/25, the Krewe of Dolly is having a second line in the Quarter today for our departed Queen, Dolly Parton. If I could walk that far, I might have gone down to participate; it’s the kind of fun thing New Orleans loves to do at the drop of a hat. I also saw last night that Jamie Davis has come within four points of beating Julia Letlow, the Harkonnen and janky governor endorsed corrupt piece of MAGA shit, and Louisiana is getting fed up with all of this bullshit. Turnout will be key in Louisiana; if the Bill Cassidy supporters who are still pissed over the MAGA turn on him don’t vote, or vote for Davis…we could have our first Democratic senator from Louisiana in over twelve years. The data centers in north Louisiana and the spaceport on the coast and all the NDA’s everyone involved signed (Letlow owns stock in both companies) so the sweetheart deals Janky Jeff gave them will never be exposed has even Louisiana voters, notoriously blasé about political corruption, aren’t happy about how blatant this all is…it’s so blatant it’s insulting. And the way Janky Jeff keeps fucking with the LSU athletic department isn’t good, either.

I am cautiously optimistic about the midterms, but know there’s going to be some fuckery involved.

And on that note, I am going to have some breakfast and take a shower before starting my work day. I’ll run errands this morning after our meeting, and then come home from that to sit in my chair and go over paperwork this afternoon. The coffee is starting to kick in, too. So, on that note, tis off to mine spice with me, and will return again tomorrow morning. Have the loveliest of Fridays, Constant Reader!

Ah, the beauty of youth. But they just look like pretty children to me.
  1. On the other hand, last night I managed over two thousand words, which wasn’t bad.
    ↩︎

Nothing Really Matters

LSU lost last night to Mississippi, and wow–the world didn’t end. It was disappointing, to be sure, but I don’t go on the emotional roller coaster that I used to, and that’s a much better way to be a football fan, methinks. No need to foam at the mouth or jupup and down or scream at the television. There weren’t many surprise outcomes yesterday, other than Kentucky beating Texas A&M, right after the Aggie crowd cheered Pete Hegseth, and why was he even there in the first place? Remember, the UT fans booed and embarrassed Ted Cruz, and won. Everything they touch dies, seriously. Alabama needed a hot minute before pulling away from Florida State, the Georgia-Arkansas game was so bad I couldn’t watch, and it sounds like Florida-Auburn came down to the wire, maybe being even the best game of the weekend. (I also didn’t know before that Lane Kiffin had played at Fresno State, either.) The Saints game with Baltimore is on at eleven this morning, and I’ll probably turn it on while do other things; I did a lot of cleaning yesterday while Paul was out, which was nice and very overdue.

I really do like this being old meaning you have less fucks to give about shit. No one told me about this side-effect of getting older…maybe I’ve finally become wiser? Nah, not likely. Just don’t really have any extra energy lying around that I can waste on things that really doesn’t matter anymore, or things I can’t control. (I always tried not stressing out about things I can’t control, but before medication, that wasn’t the way my brain was wired.) Hence, not being angry or super-disappointed about LSU losing last night. I’m still going to watch games every weekend; part of the fun of being a football fan is seeing how the season plays out–which is the more graceful and adult way to approach the season.

I did manage to reread The Stepford Wives yesterday, while taking breaks from cleaning and game-watching during the earlier games of the day. I had just revisited the book and wrote about it last year on this blog; I may write about it on the newsletter today, I don’t know. But there are other points to be made about the book and films, and I can go in more depth in the newsletter than I could with this blog. Ira Levin was absolutely one of the greats, and what he was able to do in his novels with so few words was a gift from the gods. I hate that I am unable to focus enough to read something new; I am going to try again this morning with The Shards. I also want to reread The Miracle at St. Bruno’s as a way in to talk about the Tudors and all the reading about them I used to do, and of course, Mary Stewart’s The Ivy Tree is also sitting there in my Kindle.

I also watched this week’s Real Housewives of Orange County, which keeps limping along and somehow escaping cancellation. The new season of The Traitors has also already dropped its first episode, and hey announced the cast for the next season of celebrity Traitors for the US, and it includes Bianca del Rio! That news more than makes up for them casting MAGA skank and Charlie Kirk worshipper Kristen Chenowith, who is probably trying to rebuild her image after she revealed her true skank self last year. I’d want to be a traitor in that season just to make her the first murder.

And on that note, I am going to get more coffee and repair to the easy chair for a bit, so I can wake up a bit more and do some reading. I also hope to write today, too, so we’ll see how all that goes, won’t we? I will, however, see you again tomorrow morning bright and early before I head to the office. Till then, have a marvelous Sunday however you spend it.

This is what we call in Louisiana an allée–a straight unpaved pathway through. matching trees or shrubs. It’s a very fun word that I want to use more.

Take a Bow

Thursday morning and I got up before my alarm, wide awake and feeling rested. Weird, right? On a THURSDAY last day in the office for the week morning? Madness. Sparky is also being super-affectionate this morning. He keeps wanting to sit on my shoulders, so he can head-butt me and purr up there while I walk around doing things. I don’t mind, I just don’t know why he is some mornings and some mornings he isn’t. Of course it doesn’t make sense because cat, but I can’t help but try to make sense of it, because I ain’t right in the head, you know?

Last night wasn’t bad. I headed uptown to pick up the mail (my copy of The Miracle at St. Bruno’s that I got from ebay, more on that later) and swung by the grocery store to make a few bags. I came home, Sparky needed a lap, and that was the end of that. I watched news and examined my new book–a paperback in pristine condition, like I picked it up off the rack at Zayre like I did my original copy–and watched the news—along with any number of videos ripping Ed Sheeran1 and Robert Kraft new assholes. Paul brought a pizza home for dinner, which was lovely, and we watched LSU-The Difference on ESPN, a documentary series they are filming for this season (think ESPN isn’t all in on LSU? I don’t they are doing one for every top team in the country, and there wasn’t a guarantee LSU would be any good this year, and really, still can’t be sure how good they are anyway at this point). I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home and put everything away, but…I slept very well for the first time this week, and it felt marvelous. I think we’re going to Costco tomorrow after work, too. Huzzah!

I’ve fallen down a wormhole of Internet research thanks to a Facebook friend who shared a post about a “ghost ship” that can be seen under the right conditions on the Tombigbee River in southwest Alabama, the Eliza Battle. The ship was a classic steamboat of the era (which I will always associate–steamboats, that is–with Mark Twain), transporting cotton bales and passengers when a fire broke out in the cotton and the entire ship went up in flames before sinking. I like the idea of a ghost steamboat (I am also partial to steamboats, maybe I should write about that sometime), which could make an interesting story. I love these old folk tales of Southern states, and feel like some of them could be used to write novels or short stories; I’ve been trying to write one about the legend of Freniere and the 1915 Hurricane, which wiped the town out, for years now. Learning Alabama and Louisiana history, legends, and lore is ever so much fun, too!

Has the entire world gone mad? After the Pink meltdown, the Ed Sheeran disaster, and Arch Manning proving he has no home training, I pretty much thought we were done with ignorant celebrity bullshit, but Sarah Paulson decided to say hold my beer and gave an incredibly tone-deaf white woman interview, in which she expressed disappointment that her Black male costars on The People v. O. J. Simpson got movie offers and she didn’t–she was trying to make the point that it’s more difficult for women to get parts in movies because those roles are few and far between for women, whereas male-centered movies are a dime a dozen. It was tone-deaf to make the comparison with two Black actors, who face an entirely but equally horrifying different kind of fight–yes, they are men, but they aren’t white men. And she left out the most obvious reasons producers don’t think about her when they’re casting–girl, you’re an out and proud lesbian. Hollywood is not only misogynist and racist, but it’s also incredibly homophobic. It’s getting better, but there are still an endless amount of problems in that “liberal” community.

Speaking of homophobia, I kind of love that congressional candidate Chris Gallant did, in his pre-politician life, posed in BDSM gear and there are also pictures of him on Fire Island in his underwear. YAWN. He’s running for a House seat on Long Island, is an openly gay former Marine and firefighter…and the only thing his MAGA opponent can come up with is him posing for some sexy pictures that exposed nothing prurient and was in the past…newsflash: most gay men, have sexy photos of themselves, in bathing suits at the very least, and more have nudes than a straight person might realize. I also love that he’s being defiant and refusing to be shamed out of the race. Pictures in BDSM gear doesn’t mean you’re into BDSM, and if you are, who the fuck cares? ANd seriously, the party of MAGA and the buffoon they worship has some fucking nerve trying to morality police anyone. Yo, you’re party leader is a pedophile rapist psychopath. Why don’t you start policing him? Anyway, I donated a little to his campaign.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely, lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning on work-at-home Friday!

  1. I’ve taken to calling him “Gingerdoodle.” ↩︎

Swim

Wednesday morning and we’re making our way through the week nicely, I think. Today is going to be very busy in the clinic, and so I am expecting to be very tired when I get home tonight. That’s fine, the weekend looms, as well as my work-at-home day on Friday. I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home, but then I had to make a bed for Sparky out of my lap while I caught up on the news. What a wild day yesterday was, in unimportant news in the overall scheme of things. The whole Ed Sheeran1 torching his career2 wasn’t on my bingo card for 2026, but then again, neither was Arch Manning being a misogynist asshole about Holly Rowe either (he did apologize, both publicly and privately, but…I guess I’ll just chalk that whole mess up to he was smart enough to apologize, even if it reeked of a PR team). Bottom line–grabbing your ankles and bending over for a morally corrupt billionaire doesn’t fly in these times. The country is angry, angry about everything and rightfully so; but…I also don’t have a lot of sympathy (any, really) for the people who gleefully voted for all of this but are so penitent now (not penitent enough to abandon the Republican Party, though) and upset that they aren’t being treated like the “innocent victims” they claim to be–and he “lied” isn’t a defense. I heard him very clearly, and I saw the signs and shirts at the rallies and heard the chants.

If I knew, there’s no reason why you didn’t–because you literally cannot concede, even now, that you based your vote on your own bigotry. Given into, and following, evil isn’t a mistake and you were a very willing participant. We all saw it. You just chose not to, because it felt good to strike a blow for white supremacy, economic disaster, and another forever war. Oh, excuse me, it felt good to strike back against social justice progress and stick it to those libs, right? You voted to hurt queer people and did so with a great big smile on your face…well, this liberal faggot feels nothing for you. Finally, at long last, people are sick to fucking death of your bullshit and you’re finally feeling those consequences you wanted for everyone that you don’t like…and I’m supposed to now feel sorry for you?3 I didn’t vote for you to lose your family’s generational farm and wealth, why should my tax dollars bail your stupid asses out? I’d rather student loan debt be retired than another bailout for MAGA farmers and ranchers.

Life’s hard, bitches. Pull yourselves up by the bootstraps. FREEDOM! Maybe cut back on some of your streaming services, or make coffee at home instead of going to Starbucks. And avocado toast, I hear, is really expensive so don’t waste money on fripperies. Economize. Where’s that American “can do” mentality? Work harder! Maybe do some ride-sharing work, or delivery for an app. There’s all kinds of ways you can make some money to supplement your farm/ranch, isn’t there? You don’t need any of that socialist bail out money, do you? No, you thought “he fucked us but bailed us out with welfare the last time, so he’ll take care of us always”–ha ha ha ha ha.

Fools.

As I mentioned, creating a lap for Sparky last night kept from doing much of anything except watching the news, as I can’t use my laptop with a cat in my lap–and oh, the dirty looks I get whenever I even slightly shift while he’s asleep! Plus, it’s so lovely to come home from work and get affection from a cat. On the way home tonight I have to run some errands, and it’s also supposed to rain today. So, who knows what kind of place I’ll be in tonight when I finally trudge up the stairs and enter the Lost Apartment, having survived another day in the mad jungle. Oh, and my latest newsletter went out this morning; click here to read my takes on Flipper.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Hope your Wednesday is charming, lovely, and happy, Constant Reader, and I will be back bright and early tomorrow morning.

I’ve always loved this image, taken out my bay windows during a thunderstorm around noon on a Sunday a few years ago. It has a real creepy Gothic feel to it.
  1. One can’t help but be amused that Sheeran’s statement, primarily focused on him being “responsible” to the other artists on his tour–resulted in them all quitting. That did make me laugh. When I read his statement, all I could think was, dude, this is going to blow up in your face, and I was right. Regardless where you come down in your opinions and thoughts about Gaza and Palestine, the principle here–suppressing of political speech for an artist–should concern you, and it’s partly why Sheeran is being dragged for filth so intensely. ↩︎
  2. By the way, the billionaire who caused all this is the one at whose wedding he performed at, and has called “super sweet” before…yes, those are words often used to describe billionaires. Yes, Ed, you sacrificed your public image for a “super sweet” billionaire suppressing free speech. I’d delete you off my Spotify, but guess what? I don’t listen to your hackneyed pablum music. Way to be a free speech warrior and stand up for your fellow artists….god knows, we certainly can’t expect the half-billionaire cosplaying as Irish (cultural appropriation, especially when he has no clue how the Irish feel about oppression) to stand on principle. ↩︎
  3. Also, did you mask during COVID? Did you get your vaccines? Because as a public health worker, there’s yet another reason for me to completely despise you, your ancestors, and your descendants. Consider it a generational curse. ↩︎

Words

Thursday morning, and another good night of sleep was had! I feel very rested and good for a morning this late in the week. I have a lot to do today at the office, which should help the time pass, and I may stop and make groceries on my way home this evening. I did feel good when I got home yesterday, and so did some chores before giving Sparky a place to sleep for a bit while I watched the news. I know everyone thinks the midterms are going to change things…but my deeply cynical self fears the country has already fallen and there is going to be chaos and violence. I always hope I’m wrong, but I’ve been Cassandra so many times before; so many things I foresaw decades ago have come to fruition.

In good news, piece of shit transphobe Seth Moulton lost his senate primary challenge to Ed Markey, and oh, look! A so-called progressive trashed trans people and wanted to throw them under the bus! “I’m sorry if my words hurt you.” The if is the same thing as a “but” in my opinion and implies he only insulted and offended some trans people. No, bitch, most of us queers support our trans siblings and throwing them away like garbage shows you’d do the same to others if you thought it politically expedient. All that work, your entire career–sabotaged and savaged because you finally showed us who you are and we believed you. Fuck off, and good luck getting elected again in Massachusetts. Any Democrat who throws the trans community under the bus is MAGA but wearing a mask (hello, John Fetterman!), and needs to be thrown under that same bus so they can see how it feels. I suspect they won’t like it–they usually don’t. See: MAGA regrets on TikTok. Like the cattlemen their precious God-Emperor just fucked over. They thought they were hurting other people, and if it affected them, well, he bailed them out with a welfare check last time, didn’t he? It ain’t happening this time, and now they are begging the people they voted to hurt to help them out. My favorite response? Turns out you can’t own both the libs and your farm. NOW you want us to care? You get upset when you ask you who you voted for? I periodically wonder about all the people I cut out of my life for being amoral; are they still proud and gleeful?

I also finished a newsletter and sent it out yesterday, which you can read by clicking here! I watched The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas again1, this time through a more modern lens, to honor Dolly’s passing, and I talked about the movie in the newsletter. I am also working on one to send out on Saturday, and yes, it’s about college football and yes, mostly about LSU. I generally don’t pay a lot of attention to all the rumblings and talk before games actually start–nobody really knows anything about anything yet, it’s way too early in the season–but I did see some stuff about Lane Kiffin and LSU pissing everyone off again; something to do with signing players who had signed NFL contracts but never played or were cut before the season? I don’t know and I don’t care to know, frankly. The whole paying players but they’re not pro is very weird to me, and opened the lid to Pandora’s Box; it also seems weird to say you can’t pay for college and get paid if you signed but never were paid in the NFL? The NCAA is clearly not capable of managing this new system, if you want my unasked for opinion, but there’s naught to do but sit back and see how everything plays out. But I will say–the amorality at the state government level seems to be seeping into the LSU athletic department. This recent thing with Kim Mulkey is despicable–and the rehired basketball coach for the men was fired for cheating the last time he was at LSU. I guess we are entering LSU’s villain era.

Apparently, Gloria Steinem died, which isn’t a surprise as much as it is startling, I guess. She’s been around forever, and she helped change the world for women. Reviled and hated by conservatives for daring to suggest that women aren’t from another planet but actually capable human beings, she just went on telling truths that conservatives didn’t want to hear. I read some of her work back in the late 90s/early aughts when I was trying to undo my male-centering upbringing. It was revelatory; the systemic abuse and control over women the patriarchy encoded into our society is so deeply rooted that it’s shocking when you start seeing the world through a feminist lens. I recommend reading Steinem for any man who wants to unpack his internalized misogyny; it’s certainly an excellent place to start. Personal growth doesn’t end when you graduate high school.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I will be back here at some point tomorrow morning.

I’ve always loved the shine of a sweaty torso—but long sweaty hair always looks greasy.
  1. It’s been a really long time; probably decades. ↩︎