Tag: Nolan Wells

Love Song

Saturday morning and I have really lost the plot on what day it is. I kept thinking it was Saturday all day yesterday, which was annoying. And as much as I was wanting to have another day off yesterday (planning on working more today and tomorrow), I actually started writing my next chapter of the WIP, and even worked some on my newsletter drafts, which is becoming more and more fun the more I do of them. Obviously, we didn’t go see the movie because I was writing and had gotten settled into that “in my sweats and I’m in my chair working on my laptop” mode, and so I thought it was better to go ahead and do what work I could while doing my chores. I wound up writing about 1500 words on the new chapter, which was a pleasant and unexpected surprise. Whether they are any good or not is another story, but I am taking the win. I also stayed up later than usual, doing the laundry, and Sparky tried to get me up early again but settled in for cuddles when I didn’t get up.

I watched some more documentaries about the Pacific War again yesterday, which is technically research for the book–since my main character served in the South Pacific during the war. It also occurred to me yesterday that I should watch South Pacific again–I watched it when I was a kid, and never revisited, but thought it might be interesting from a sociological and research point of view; how did they depict sailors with no access to women? It’s been so long I don’t remember much of the movie, or the book either for that matter (Tales of the South Pacific was my entry point for James A. Michener’s work) so one of these weekend mornings when I don’t have much else to do along the lines of reading or chores I could put it on. I liked musicals a lot when I was a kid–I remember seeing The Sound of Music and Camelot on the big screen–but kind of got away from them as a teenager and the post-teen years…the fact that not many were made might have had a lot to do with it. Anyway, it couldn’t hurt, right? And if I can consider something as a kind of sideways research, it doesn’t feel like I’m just wasting my time…see, what you saw right there is an anxiety coping mechanism: I’d feel guilty and anxious for not being productive, so I needed a rationale for it that made sense to my brain.

And while we didn’t go see the movie yesterday after all–and probably won’t this weekend either–we are going to Costco tomorrow.

I watched more of The Burbs yesterday, and when Paul came down from his work-at-home duties, we caught up on both The Shards and Reacher. This most recent episode of The Shards was probably one of the best ones so far, but it’s still Ryan Murphy so there’s kind of a glitzy veneer over it all and character motivations don’t seem to be important (they never are to Murphy)…and almost all of the characters are unlikable, because I at least never feel any sympathy for any of them–and kind of enjoy their failures…I am not sure that’s the primary intent here, but that’s my reaction to it. It’s addicting, though, like so many things are that are nothing more than empty calories, like cotton candy or soda.

I was actually kind of glad we didn’t go to the movie yesterday because around the time we would have left, some amazing thunderstorms rolled into the metro area. The band of bad weather lasted for about six or seven hours, too–with street flooding uptown and there was also HAIL uptown, big chunks of ice hurtling down from the sky. We didn’t have any here at the Lost Apartment, thank the Lord, and it sure would have sucked to bring Costco home during a thunderstorm. Yikes.

Some rather interesting news broke yesterday regarding the Karmelo Anthony case, and a better picture of what happened that day is starting to emerge. When I first heard the news, my first thought was “self-defense” and my second was “they are going to roast and railroad this kid” and I was right about that, too. (Just like when Nolan Wells went missing and my reaction was “he’s dead and those white kids did something, they may not have killed him but they certainly didn’t act like innocent people who didn’t know anything” and as more facts come out…)

Because inevitably it will always turn out to be some kind of bullshit white shenanigans. And that kid Karmelo Anthony killed sounds to me like he was already well on his way to becoming a full-fledged sociopath. We need to stop treating white kids with kid gloves. Hell, we need to stop centering white people, period.

And on that somber note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I will check in on you again tomorrow morning, okay? Til then!

I’ve never understood the “must shave body and be smooth at all times” mentality. Body hair can be sexy, too—and very masculine.

Till Death Do Us Part

Friday and my days are all fucked up! I kept thinking it was Friday all day yesterday, and even this morning feels like it should be Saturday. Sparky flatly refused to let me sleep late this morning, and was having none of my demurrals. I did sleep well last night, so there is that, and I feel pretty good this morning. I really didn’t do much of anything yesterday. I ran an errand, did a chore or two, but mostly just sat in my chair with Sparky in my lap watching documentaries about World War II battles in the Pacific, which have never felt got the proper attention, even during the war; our basic history classes focused mostly on Hitler and the Nazis and the war in Europe. (I’ve always thought an espionage novel set in Egypt during the second World War would be fun and interesting–Africa also gets short shrift in basic histories.) We got pizza from That’s Amore for dinner last night, and watched a new episode of The Shards, which is interesting but very strange. We also watched an episode of Reacher, and yes, the scene where they have to explain onlyfans to him was absolutely hilarious. Alan Ritchson is just so perfect as Reacher it’s almost scary.

And every time I watch an episode I think, when and if this show ends he could lost some bulk and play Travis McGee. I do think those books might be too sexist and dated to be adapted now, but you never know. I do remember them fondly.

SO my birthday was lovely. I got tons of messages and wishes all over social media, and didn’t try to keep up with them all after a certain point. I’ll take some time today to go through everything and say thanks to everyone. But I was aware of all of them, so give me some time to get caught up. Thanks for making a bitter old queen feel so beloved! We are going to see Spider-Man this afternoon in Harahan, and we’re stopping at Costco on the way back home. (I need to make a list.) Today is mostly going to be about seeing the movie and Costco, so most of the rest of the day will be for chores and reading. OH! I also sent out a newsletter yesterday; you can read it by clicking here. So, I did do some things yesterday, but for the most part I took it easy, as I will today, too.

The Penn State cocaine ring has been interesting while sort of amusing at the same time. When I first saw the headline, I thought my money’s on Delta Upsilon and Sigma Chi–with Kappa Sigma and Deke coming in as strong possibilities. So, when I turned out to be right about which fraternities it was, it amused me. It also answered a question I’d been pondering for awhile: are the current Greek systems still mired in cocaine use like they were in the 1980s? I wrote a noir story about college sorority girls in “This Town,” which explored hedonism and fallout from partying at fraternity houses, wrapped up in a lovely Mardi Gras/Fat Tuesday package. I’d been wanting to write a novella about Chanse investigating his old fraternity at LSU for a suspicious death; the cocaine ring would be a nice addition to that story (it’s called “Once a Tiger”)…which means following the story (as I’ve been following the suspicious deaths stories of Noah Presgrove and Nolan Wells) and taking notes.

And on that note, I’m going to head into the spice mines and get some of these chores handled. Have a lovely Friday, everyone, and I will be back tomorrow morning.

The Sipsey River as it winds through the Bankhead Forest in Alabama.

One Love

Tuesday and we somehow managed to survive Monday, did we not? It was weird for me, because I now have to go into the office later now that I am the only person working in the clinic (don’t ask), because I have to stay until five now; my other person would have taken the last client so I could get out earlier. I now have to rearrange my life to comply with the ability to stay later, but it’s not the end of the world and there are always worse things; there are always worse things possible.

I finally sent out my newsletter on Jordan Harper’s A Violent Masterpiece, which you can read by clicking the title there. It’s a most excellent book, written brilliantly and the story etches itself into your brain with acid as you read…it’s about terrible people doing terrible things and the people who help them get away with it. You know, like Hollywood itself and well, the rest of the world, too…which is a nice segue into the next paragraph.

I saw a news report Sunday about a missing eighteen-year-old Black community college football player named Nolan Wells. He’d gone on a boat trip with friends from Ocean Springs to Horn Island, one of the Alabama-Mississippi barrier islands along the coast. The picture that was shown of young Nolan showed him with three white kids about his age…and as soon as I saw that picture, my right eyebrow arched upward, my eyes narrowed and my head tilted. My initial reaction was to be very skeptical of the story being told by “his friends”–they couldn’t find him, thought he’d left with someone else (but didn’t take his cell phone…sure, Klan) and it wasn’t until later that his parents began worrying about him when he didn’t come home. I hoped I was wrong, that he had gotten off the island with someone else and forgot his phone, which happens, and he’d turn up.

Well, they found Nolan Wells’ body yesterday out there on Horn Island, which opens up a whole lot of questions and his so-called friends are looking mighty suspicious, if you ask me. Horn Island is, at best, a barrier island and at worst, a sandbar slightly above sea level with few trees, no houses or anything, really, besides sea oats, grass and white sand. I will be following this story–just as I still am following the Noah Presgrove case over in Oklahoma. Both stories involve mysterious deaths of athletic young men, and a group of people that weren’t their friends. Of course, there’s a racial component as well in Nolan’s case–and his “friends” have all lawyered up. I’ve not checked the story again yet this morning, but it saddens me that a bright young life has been silenced, and because it’s Ocean Springs, Mississippi, nothing will be done about his death. Apparently, one of his “friends” has a mom who is a local judge and another is connected to local law enforcement, so there’s no telling what these young sociopaths have already gotten away with.

And no, I am not giving spoiled young white boys the benefit of the doubt. They are very dangerous in groups.

And the World Cup dream has died for the USMNT, in what was an apparently horribly embarrassing loss to Belgium last night. I knew that once the Baron Harkonnen smeared himself all over it, they were going to lose; everything the Harkonnens touch dies. I do think it’s hilarious that evangelicals–who would be reading the augurs against Biden or Harris or Obama had they the same track record of destroying everything–aren’t seeing God’s hand in any of this–especially the horror that was Saturday on the national mall.

Sigh. But good for Belgium, and now I can pull for Norway and Erling Haalang completely guilt-free, at least. I love the big Viking!

We finished watching Sugar last night, highly recommend, and we’re going to start season 2 tonight. We also watched an episode of a documentary series The American Experiment, which again is about the lead up to the Revolutionary War and the war itself. I did do some work on the book yesterday, but I also worked on a newsletter to send out later this week, if I’ve not already overdone it with the newsletters over the holiday weekend. Three was probably a bit excessive…although I am writing a counterpoint to that disgusting homophobic op-ed from a self-loathing Christian queen; bitch, you don’t speak for any of us, quisling, and how very fucking dare you? I think that’s a theme I can work with in my Julia Sugarbaker mode.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Taco Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I will be back on mid-week Wednesday morning. Till then!

The image displays the magnificent Grand Staircase of the Palais Garnier (Opéra Garnier) in Paris, France. Designed by architect Charles Garnier, this opulent 19th-century Beaux-Arts masterpiece features a sweeping marble double staircase, gilded balconies, and grand chandeliers.