Well, I got up late this morning and I don’t feel the least bit sorry or shamed at my sloth-like behavior this morning. I feel rested–I slept very well, thank you very much–and am up for a lovely day today. Bouchercon is in Nashville this upcoming week, and I am sure I will be terribly envious when I see the posts and pictures that will start appearing on my social media soon. It’s also Southern Decadence that same weekend, an odd confluence of things I really (or used to) enjoy. Years ago that would have been a very difficult choice to make; now, I am not doing either.
Sparky is feeling rambunctious this morning; he just tipped the recycling over and if I look over at the can, all I can see is his tail sticking out amidst the clean, rinsed out plastic bottles now scattered over the floor.
I had a good day yesterday. I got my work-at-home duties done, then ran my errands and tried to get the house back under control. I was also a bit lazy about everything, too. Paul stayed at the office late last night so I rewatched some old movies I love (Star Wars, Body Heat) which were as much fun as ever–although I’ll never understand why Body Heat wasn’t nominated for any Oscars, especially for Kathleen Turner (on the other hand, she was only nominated once, which was a crime and a definite oversight, and the film she was nominated for was not one of her best). That was kind of nice, actually; I may watch another movie this afternoon while Paul is off doing whatever it is he does on Saturdays (trainer, gym, office), something old and classic that I’ve never seen; or maybe some wonderful old noir that I’ve already seen, like The Strange Love of Martha Ivers or In a Lonely Place. Both are marvelous, and both are definitely worth watching again.1
Today I am going to run a box of books over to the library sale, pick up the mail, and stop at the Fresh Market to get a few things for the weekend (fresh meat, gourmet jelly beans to which I am now horribly addicted, maybe some veggies),and then tomorrow I am going to go to the gym in the morning and then spend the rest of the day at home. I’ve decided to make groceries on the way home from work on Monday, and I want to read and clean and maybe even write today (madness, right?). I’ve been thinking about the next Scotty, and may start working on that today. I did make a to-do list that I need to check, and I know I wanted to get some of the boxes down from the tops of the cabinets and maybe even a box out of the attic, go through them, and decide what to do with the contents. I also still have a drawer in the filing cabinet to organize–and the entire cabinet needs to be alphabetized; I used to try to separate files by what their purpose was, but I think I am just going to merge it all into one big alphabetized cabinet and be done with it; it will certainly make finding things easier.
And God knows, making things easier to find for me is a definite plus.
And on that note, I think I’ll head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and since my day plans are so amorphous, I may be back later. It depends on how lazy I am feeling today!
Although thinking about Kathleen Turner has me thinking about rewatching Romancing the Stone, which is one of my favorite movies of the 1980s. ↩︎
If you will recall, I woke up feeling pretty good yesterday and was all amped to get to the office and get to work. As I pulled into my parking spot for the day I got a text message notification: the building had no power. Sigh. Since I was already there, I texted my supervisor that I had arrived and should I wait? (You never can be sure when power will be restored in New Orleans and there are any number of variables involved that you can’t calculate.) Apparently the outage was cause because someone in the Bywater neighborhood took a chain saw to a power pole? #idiot
But the power came back at around nine thirty-ish, so I sat there for two hours waiting, and of course, once you stop moving when you’re feeling ambitious, it’s not easy to kick everything back into gear and get moving again. Sigh. But I did get my work going again, which was great, and then when I got off work I came home for a ZOOM chat with some writer friends that I don’t see enough of as it is. It also struck me yesterday that when Bouchercon comes to New Orleans, I don’t have to register. I live here, and can see my out-of-town friends whenever I want to and just hang out in the hotel lobby. So…my future attendance and registration is going to depend on changes being made to the dinosaur the event is, hopefully dragging it into the twenty-first century or at least make steps to making it a more inclusive place.
Beginning with no more fucking diversity panels–which they are doing again in Nashville.
There are few things that make diverse writers feel welcome at conferences more than putting them on display like fucking zoo animals.
And the code of conduct? I don’t have any confidence that they will respond to any complaints made to them–I’ve seen how they’ve mishandled things in the past–so why on earth would I believe that they’d take a complaint from me about the Very Important Writer who said “faggy” to me face a couple of time and act on it? “Oh, it was in the bar” would be the first response, and you know what? Having a code of conduct is meaningless when you don’t have the balls to enforce it. For the record, going into a hotel bar and having a few drinks doesn’t make a Very Important Author using a homophobic slur to me okay.
Likewise, I had another incredibly uncomfortable experience at Left Coast Crime the one time I went–both racist and homophobic–that sometime I will have to share here. (And yes, I am white–but the woman assumed I wasn’t…it really is a story best told in its entirety at some point. And yes, I’m still shaking my head over it. In-SANE. Almost two years ago to the day, really, and I still can’t wrap my mind around it. I think the reason I haven’t posted about it because I’m not sure how a white man writes about racism he’s experienced? (For the record, I wasn’t offended because she didn’t think I was white, it was about her approach and what followed–including doubling down on the racism and going to town on homophobia– that I still can’t wrap my mind around.)
It was also pouring rain when I came home, so thank heavens I left early for PT…only to get home and think ugh, I am not walking to the gym in this downpour with the streets flooding, so I’ll have to go after work tonight. It shouldn’t be bad, no matter how crowded it may be, because my workout is actually pretty simple and quick and easy. (Not easy, but definitely can be done quickly and I don’t have to really take up a lot of space, is what I meant. I think there’s only one machine I have to use.) The streets were flooding too–I had to drive through some standing water, fortunately not too deep–and guess what? We’re having a thunderstorm right now, but it doesn’t seem as though it’s as bad as last night. I guess I’ll find out on my way to work this morning? Not a very appealing thought, really.
And on that sad note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check back in again later I am sure.
And here we are, on a very hot Saturday July morning in New Orleans, feeling rested and relaxed, which is becoming the norm and I have to say I really quite like it. I think some of it has to do with the lessening of stress and anxiety with the lightening of my over-all schedule; it’s nice not being constantly busy and always feeling guilty (anxious, stressed) about the things undone when I had to call it quits for the day from sheer exhaustion…and then of course that stress/anxiety/guilt made it impossible for me to sleep. I even cut back drastically on my caffeine intake during this period–cutting back to only three cups of coffee (which is probably still too much, really) and only one 16 ounce bottle of Coke per day. It’s helped my sleep some–and I am not willing to up my caffeine intake to find out, either–but I’ve been sleeping so well the last few weeks since I recovered from the trip that I am almost not afraid talking about it will jinx it…but the streak continued again last night. I’m not sure what the difference is–probably the reduction in stress and anxiety.
Finding out that my mother suffered from anxiety was also incredibly helpful. Finally, at age sixty-one, nearly sixty-two (less than a month away), I realize that I, too, suffer from almost crippling anxiety, but never realized it because it’s just my reality, if that makes sense? Everything stems from anxiety: the self-deprecation, the not taking my work as seriously as I should as well as being dismissive of it rather than proud, the issues with public speaking–all of it stems from anxiety. But that’s because it’s always been for me, I just figured, as one would, that it was normal and everything else has the same issues because that’s all I know. The Xanax has helped somewhat with reducing my anxiety or lessening it enough for me to be functional, and now recognizing that it is an actual chemical brain condition that I’ve had most of my life has opened my eyes in many ways, and I am trying to rewire my brain to accept and understand that anxiety causes me to want to self-destruct at times. I wish I had known this about twenty years ago, even forty, but would it have made a difference?
Yesterday wasn’t a bad day, really. I woke up later than usual (same this morning, staying in bed until just past seven thirty like a lazy slattern) and feel very rested. I spent most of the day going over forms doing Quality Assurance as well as did some on-line trainings. Once the work day was over, I repaired to my easy chair with my journal and scribbled notes in it for awhile until Paul got home from the gym. We watched this week’s episodes of Minx (smart adding Elizabeth Perkins to the cast for the second season), The Crowded Room, and Hijack, and moved on to some more Awkwafina is Nora from Queens, which is rapidly becoming one of my favorite half-hour comedies of all time (the queefing episode is a non-stop laugh riot, seriously).
Today I want to spend some more time on a kitchen cleaning project, in which I am cleaning out the drawers and the cabinets in the kitchen. Things tend to accumulate around here, and there are things that get tossed in drawers that I’ll never need, have never needed, and just held on to for some reason unknown to my conscious brain. I also want to work on the kitchen rugs (which never stay in place, ever) and the floors a bit more. I need to purge more books, too, and work on the kitchen. There’s a mess now because I cleaned out some things already and now that stuff is scattered all over the kitchen and I need to either find a place for it all or toss it, I also am going to spend some more time with Megan Abbott’s Beware the Woman over my coffee and perhaps a few more Alfred Hitchcock Presents short stories before I run today’s errands: groceries, mail, library sale to drop off books, and maybe a car wash. The tire pressure light has been on in my car since I drove home from Kentucky, but the heat has been so intense I’m not sure I’ve been able to get an accurate gauge reading of the tire pressure; I’ll probably swing by the gas station before doing any errands to try equalizing the pressure again. I also want to spend some time trying to write today–whether it’s a new book project, a revision of a short story, or even a brand new short story entirely (that Malice anthology deadline is approaching), but I want to get back into writing again, flex and stretch those creative muscles that have been so dormant for so long.
I got the table of contents for another anthology that I am appearing in, School of Hard Knox, edited by the amazing Jeffrey Marks and coming from Crippen & Landau. The author of the Father Knox crime series, back from the Golden Age, had come up with a list of ten rules that should never be broken by a crime/mystery writer; we each chose a rule and wrote a story breaking it. Mine was “no supernatural events or beings”; which was kind of perfect for me. I dug out an old Alabama/Corinth County story that had been moldering in the archives for decades called “The Ditch,” which I revised and rewrote and made much stronger. I was pleased when the story was accepted, and I was even more pleased to be told that the copy editor thought my story was “powerful.” (I’ll write more about the story, and the anthology, when its release date is imminent.) I also got paid for my story “Solace in a Dying Hour,” and cannot wait to get my contributor copies of This Fresh Hell. I don’t know why I get so much satisfaction out of selling and publishing short stories; but subconsciously I think of each sale/publication as another knife into the corpse of that wretched college writing professor who told me I’d never publish. Given how revenge and “I’ll show you” will always drive me to prove someone wrong about me, I’m starting to think that professor may have been a blessing? I’ve certainly proven him wrong with over forty novels, fifty short stories, and over twenty anthologies edited, not to mention countless articles, interviews, book reviews, and essays I’ve published over the years.
Anyway, here is the TOC for School of Hard Knox:
Introduction – Jeffrey Marks Not Another Secret Passage Story – Donna Andrews A Matter of Trust – Frankie Y Bailey THe Dinner Partty – Nikki Dolson The Intruder – Martin Edwards The Ditch – Greg Herren Dichondra – Naomi Hirahara Baby Trap – Toni LP Kelner The Stolen Tent – Richie Narvaez The Rose City Vampire: An Accidental Alchemist Short Story – Gigi Pandian Chin Yong Yun Goes to Church – SJ Rozan The Forlorn Penguin – Daniel Stashower The Island Boy Detective Agency – Marcia Talley Ordeals – Art Taylor Knox Vomica – Peter Lovesey
Look at those names. I am so honored and thrilled to be in an anthology enabling me to share the interior with these amazing, glittering names. More on this anthology as things develop–release date, cover reveal, etc. I’m very excited to be in this book, which will be a strong contender for Best Anthology short lists next year, as well as the stories making Best Short Story shortlists. I’m particularly proud of my story, to be honest. I think my metier in writing is writing about Alabama, to be completely honest. I know I am known as a “New Orleans writer,” and to be sure, my greatest success has come from writing about New Orleans, but I feel more drawn to writing about Alabama now that I am in my sixties. I am sure some of it has to do with losing Mom–somehow, it’s like writing about Alabama keeps me connected to her in some weird, complicated and twisted logic only my brain is capable of making, but it’s true.
I’ve also decided that I am going to submit to the Nashville Bouchercon anthology, even though I am not going. The theme, being Nashville, has to do with music, and its being edited by the incomparable Brendan DuBois, who is a fantastic short story writer and has found enormous success as a co-writer with James Patterson (I also like Brendan; we served on the MWA board together and he’s really a great guy). I would love to be edited and work with Brendan, and I think the story I’m going to write for it is “The Blues Before Dawn,” a period New Orleans story from before the first world war, which I’d been thinking about turning into a Sherlock Holmes in New Orleans story. That might make it stand out from the rest, one never knows. It also could get selected out by the anonymous readers who could be homophobic–it happens, and one can never be sure if your story isn’t good enough or if its homophobia–another joy of being a gay writer of gay stories.
And on that note, I am making another cup of coffee and going to read Megan Abbott for awhile. Have a great Saturday, Constant Reader, and I am sure to be back again later.
Easter Sunday, which I keep forgetting about. Last year the day job changed holidays; we used to get Good Friday off (New Orleans is very Catholic) but they changed it to Juneteenth, which is better. That was how I always knew when Easter was because it was a three day weekend. Now that it’s isn’t, it’s just another religious holiday I don’t give two shits about. Even when I was a child, I wondered, how does the anniversary of the crucifixion and resurrection fall on different dates every year? It’s just another example of the falsity of the bedrock of Christianity, and really was just the Catholic Church absorbing and rebranding pagan spring celebrations and fertility rites–which is where the Easter Bunny and easter eggs come from.
Granted, these Christian fertility celebrations aren’t nearly as weird or frightening as say the ones in Thomas Tryon’s classic Harvest Home (which I need to reread), but still.
Now that I’m thinking about it, has there ever been a horror book or film written/made focused on how creepy Easter can be?
I’m feeling lazy today–not really a surprise, really, is it? I feel lazy every day, and always feel laziest on days when I have to do things I’d rather not do. I have to run out and make groceries at some point–probably this morning, while most everyone is celebrating Easter mass and so forth–and I also have to get to work on ordering my taxes for my accountant, which I keep forgetting to do. I slept really well last night–feel very rested and relaxed this morning–and I managed to get some things done yesterday. I got my desk area cleaned up somewhat; filing and putting things away and so forth. My electronic files are still a horrifying mess, and I don’t think that will change anytime soon because what I really need to do is go through everything, file by file, eliminating duplicates and so forth. Maybe when I have enough time accrued I can take a week long staycation and just work on things around the house like that and the storage attic.
I started reading Margot Douaihy’s debut Scorched Grace, and while I am only a couple of chapters in, I am already in awe of everything about the book. The writing, the characterization, the setting, the way the sentences and paragraphs are rhythmically drawn, like the best poetry–and the voice itself! Oh my God, Sister Holiday’s voice is so refreshingly different, vital, and new. The tone is very hard-boiled; imagine Chandler or Cain writing about a lesbian nun in New Orleans. I cannot wait to spend some more time with it today–even if it does make me feel like I am a rank amateur; truly great writers have that kind of power over me. It’s hypnotic and compulsively readable. The fact that the book opens with arson and a possible murder is even more genius; few things are feared more in New Orleans than fire. This book is a fine addition to the annals of New Orleans crime fiction, which is always exciting when you find a new such author.
We also watched Jordan Peele’s Nope last night, and it was really quite excellent. It was more suspenseful than scary, although that can sometimes be much worse and more intense. Who knew Peele would go from sketch comedy to being one of our best and more creative filmmakers with a strong focus on horror? I’m sure a film critic and/or academic can talk about Nope in a much more intellectual style than me; I don’t look for symbolic meanings in images and so forth. But I think what he was trying to do with Nope was not only to show how dangerous it can be to live isolated from the rest of the world (the vast emptiness was beautifully shot and displayed; the most terrifying thing about the entire movie was that feeling–which reminded me so much of Kansas). I’d like to watch A Knock at the Cabin tonight, or The Pale Blue Eye, or perhaps even both; I guess it depends on how much work I can get done during the day today. I honestly don’t want to do any, but that really isn’t an option.
Yesterday was kind of like that, too–I really didn’t want to do much, so I wasn’t motivated enough to get as much done as I would have liked or had hoped. Part of it was being on social media yesterday morning as I tried to wake-up and get my brain jump-started; people really are horrible on social media, aren’t they? The misogyny, the homophobia, the racism, and the transphobia can be a bit hard to take sometimes (most times, let’s be honest); it fills me with rage, which then triggers adrenaline, and when that passes, I’m tired and in no mood anymore to be productive. Social media is the enemy of all that is good and productive. I have always wondered why and how people have so much time to spend on social media. What isn’t getting done while you’re being a bitch on-line to people you don’t know, will never know, and will probably never interact with again? Who wins in that situation anyway? I know people say there are bot-farms and troll farms, where people in eastern Europe (Romania?) are paid to troll on-line? I can’t imagine that being a great job, although I would imagine any number of people would leap at the chance to be get paid to be an asshole on line; there certainly are plenty of people who’ll do it on a volunteer basis, for sure.
I posted the other day that, in wake of their state’s anti-queer legislation and since the racist conduct of said state legislature was on full display this past week, I had made the personal decision not to go to Nashville Bouchercon in 2024. I didn’t ask anyone to join me in not going; I didn’t proselytize or ask anyone to write to Bouchercon and ask for it to be moved; or anything else: I simply said I had decided that I personally cannot support any event in the state of Tennessee, nor would I feel safe if I did attend. That was it. Period. I don’t think that’s terribly controversial, really. I’ve always believed that it’s up to everyone to make their own personal choices, and the reasons for those choices are none of my fucking business (see how easy it is, evangelicals, to mind your own fucking business?). I also don’t judge people for those choices because I don’t know–or want to know, or need to know–the reasons they made them. Everyone is on their own path, and my path often veers away from the paths of others; I don’t want or need or owe anyone an explanation for my choices and decisions. If things change in Tennessee in the meantime I also have the ability to change my mind and attend. But I am not asking anyone to straight-splain to me why I should go, or try to change my mind. It’s kind of insulting and condescending, actually, for anyone straight to try to talk a gay man into attending a conference (or anything, really) when they have already stated they’ve thought about it and decided not to go because they may not feel safe. I am a sixty-one year old adult gay man. I think I have enough life experience to make my own decisions, and I don’t need anyone to tell me my thought and decision-making processes–thoroughly grounded in my life experience–are wrong.
Fuck. All. The. Way. Off.
I was also thinking a lot about my writing future yesterday, so the whole day wasn’t a total waste of not-writing. I’ve had an idea for a New Orleans crime novel for quite some time, but always thought it had to be told from the point of view of, well, Venus Casanova, and I didn’t think I had the right to write from the point of view of a Black female police detective. Well, maybe not the right, but the experience and emotional intelligence to tell it properly. But yesterday that story popped into my head again, and I realized I could tell it from Blaine’s point of view, her partner, who would and could have his own doubts about Venus and her personal stakes in the case. I even took it further and thought maybe Venus could bring the case to Blaine after she’s retired; because of her personal relationship with the victim’s family, and then my mind started spinning round and round and following the paths branching out from this re-centering of the point of view, which definitely seems workable. And I’ve always liked my character of Blaine, wanting to delve more deeply into who he is and his own history and path.
And on that note, I am going to read some more Scorched Grace in my chair until it’s time to go make groceries this morning. Have a lovely Easter if you celebrate, and if you don’t, have a lovely Sunday.
And now Saturday comes sliding into my life like a long-lost friend. Hello, Saturday! So glad to see you back and in such good spirits! Yay for Saturday!
Yesterday was an odd one. I did my work-at-home stuff, whilst doing picking up and random acts of cleaning and organizing whenever I needed to get up from the computer. We also went to Costco–it was crowded, but I am always amazed at how swift, polite, and efficient their employees are–got the mail and picked up a prescription. Today is the Crescent City Classic 10k, and I don’t know what streets are open or closed, so today is going to be my “don’t leave the house” day and I will make groceries tomorrow. There’s more of that to do around here today as well; but at least the laundry is caught up and it should be somewhat easier to organize, clean and file after the work I did yesterday. We finished watching Unstable on Netflix, the show starring Rob Lowe and his son John Owen Lowe, who I think created the show and may be the showrunner? It’s gotten some terrible reviews (I just looked because I couldn’t remember if it was Owen John or John Owen) but we liked it. It’s not anything serious–it’s just a workplace comedy with the added dynamic of father/son–but it has its funny moments and the cast is likable (I kept thinking, how does Rob Lowe still look so fucking amazing? And how is he still so likable?); it was a pleasant entertainment that didn’t aspire to be anything more than that.
Today I imagine Paul will be out all afternoon–trainer and then he likes to ride the bike for an hour or so after–so I will be home alone today, which is good. I want to start reading Scorched Grace–I don’t know why I have had so much trouble lately picking up a book and reading–and I also have to start the revision of Mississippi River Mischief this weekend, primarily by reading it again and seeing just how bad it is. (I suspect it’s pretty bad, actually) But it’s okay, as long as I remained focused I’ll be okay. I managed to get all of my day job work caught up yesterday (yay!), so my primary get caught up thing is this Scotty manuscript, which I think I can get finished by the end of the month if I’m lucky. I also have to work on my taxes at some point this weekend (ugh; that may be a job for tomorrow morning before I make groceries…yes, that actually makes the most sense) and ugh ugh ugh. (I also got caught up on Real Housewives Ultimate Girls’ Trip, which…the less said the better.)
Wow, my coffee is really tasting good this morning.
I slept really well last night (woke up at six yet again though) and feel marvelously rested and relaxed this morning. Scooter cuddled with me last night when I went to bed again, which was lovely (he wants attention even as I type this) and I am going to go sit in my easy chair when I finish this and read so. he can sleep in my lap (until I need to get up for more coffee). I also want to use the back roller on my back (not the same as a massage, but close enough) and stretch this morning. I think a regular daily stretching routine will do me some good–and of course, I need to use the back roller more regularly as well. Maybe even add some push-ups and crunches after a week, even. Who knows? The world is my oyster, as it were.
I made the decision to not go to Nashville Bouchercon yesterday. Tennessee is, sadly, a hate state, which they have shown abundantly this past week. They are, simply stated, Christofascists, homophobes, and racists, and I have no desire to go spend my money any place where the government thinks I am not worthy of my rights as an American citizen. Unless that dramatically changes–it won’t; there’s no one more stubborn than a Southern white supremacist who feels aggrieved–I won’t be going. I love Bouchercon, and I also know it’s not the local committee’s fault, or even the national board’s, that they picked such a backward place to have the event (and to be fair to them, when this location was picked Tennessee hadn’t gone down the path of state fascism they are having such a lovely time on now), and I also know that they can’t cancel or move it as contracts and so forth have already been signed and it would essentially be like starting over; I know it’s too late for that as well. I do feel slightly hypocritical about not going to Nashville when the event is coming to New Orleans the next year; as I have said before, our next gubernatorial election could easily set us on the same path as Florida, Texas, and Tennessee; my city always is defiant in those instances. I am sure Nashville is more progressive than their state legislature, just as New Orleans is more progressive than Louisiana’s legislature (a very low bar indeed). These kinds of things are tough, you know? From a moral and ethical standpoint, it’s not always easy to know what the right thing to do is, and as someone who is married to a conference organizer, I know how hard that job is and how so many things–like a state legislature–is beyond your control.
I have to say the recent “backlash” against Anheuser-Busch, over their relationship was a trans influencer, is fucking hilarious because the boycotters (has-beens like Kid Rock and Travis Tritt) have apparently never noticed that Anheuser-Busch has been queer-friendly and sponsoring queer events like Pride sicne at least the early 1990s, if not sooner. Even funnier are the tweets and social media posts about how “the company is about to find out how wrong they are to piss off the majority of their customers”–um, they are an international multi-billion dollar corporation who employ a lot of really smart people, and if you think they hadn’t researched and come to the conclusion that they will gain more customers by being inclusive than they will lose–and they don’t care about the ones they lose, than you’re an even bigger fool than previously thought. Anheuser-Busch, in fact, stepped up when Colorado went full-bore homophobic and the Coors family was outed for supporting homophobic legislation. This triggered a nation-wide queer-led boycott of Coors that lasted for ten years, and did the company irreparable harm. Budweiser, in fact, because the beer of choice for queers at that time, and I would be willing to be that outside of Colorado it would be incredibly difficult to find a queer bar with Coors on tap. I myself haven’t had a Coors since then, and even though the company backtracked and is fully supportive of the queer community now…I still will ask for a Bud Lite rather than a Coors Light when I’m in a bar and wanting something on tap. Major corporations who’ve been supportive and triggered a conservative backlash always chooses the queers, because most people oppose oppression and prefer fairness. How many times has the religious right come for Disney only to be soundly and humiliatingly defeated in their attempts to bring down the Mouse? (Ask Ron DeSantis how easy it is to defeat Disney.) The fact that Travis Tritt says he is going to put it in his rider that venues he plays cannot serve AB products is hilarious and going to backfire; the venues have contracts in place. The Superdome (not that Tritt would ever play there as he is incapable of filling it) has a contract with their beer supplier and they can’t just book an act and sign a one-event contract for another beer supplier so they just won’t book the act.
What’s even funnier is watching the right-wing snowflakes so butt-hurt about inclusion proudly switching to other beers…which all run Pride promotions and have gone out of their way to pursue queer dollars. Miller Lite, Coors, Michelob, Corona–good luck finding a beer that doesn’t.
Also, the Tennessee ordinance that prohibits men from performing for an audience in make-up? You do realize you just banned all theater. Even musicians–like Travis Tritt–wear stage make-up when they perform. But of course they’re never going to arrest the good ole boys, or stop a high production of Oklahoma! in its tracks (oh no! Teenagers being groomed to wear make-up!). Because the purpose of these laws is to target an already marginalized population because it makes bigots uncomfortable.
Your comfort level isn’t our fucking problem.
And on that note, I am heading back into the spice mines.
Queer and Loathing in America 