Tag: Pulitzer Prize

Killin’ Time

And work-at-home Friday has rolled around again, and I have a lot to do. Nothing I am going to give myself stress over by any chance–nothing is worth stress, especially now that my anxiety is medicated and under control–but I feel pretty good this morning.

Sparky let me sleep a little later this morning, which was lovely. I didn’t sleep great–I woke up a lot, and was often in that halfway asleep halfway awake state. But I do feel good, so it must have been better sleep than I had thought. I need to make a plan for the weekend. I only have two days in the office next week, so am hopeful, very hopeful, that I will utilize that time well. I have a meeting this morning and a lot of Admin work to get done today, before I can return to the comfort of my easy chair and finish reading the Cain novel and a Shirley Jackson short story I saw mentioned on social media the other day. It’s also sunny and bright outside, with a potential high of sixty. It’s also going to keep getting warmer every day until we hit 80 on (sigh) Christmas. Yes, we’ll be running the air conditioning on Christmas. It is interesting, though, isn’t it, how we’ve all been trained to think of Christmas as cold with snow and ice….if the Jesus story is true, it don’t snow much in Israel, so that was a “tradition” that was added much later by Christians. Why shouldn’t it be warm on Christmas?

We started watching season two of Percy Jackson and the Olympians, based on the Rick Riordan series, and it’s very well done. The cast has also grown a bit since the first season, and look like high school kids now; the first season they looked like tweens. I also want to start some of the other shows that have been released that we’ve not started yet–like the Emma Thompson crime show (love her), or various other crime shows that have been uploaded to streaming services. I also want to start my holiday rewatch of The Mummy movies, to go with my essays on Egypt and the deep fascination I’ve had with the ancient civilization since I was a little boy–and the wonderful novels that fed it over the years. It’s also how I discovered the Amelia Peabody series by the magnificent Elizabeth Peters–I always picked up and examined books set in Egypt whenever I visited a bookstore. I was also a little disappointed that neither Nancy Drew nor the Hardy Boys ever visited Egypt or solved a mystery there. As you may have noticed, before December got underway I was alternating the traditional hot guy images for the blog with Egyptian scenes, and will probably go back to that after the new year and Twelfth Night, adding in Greek and Roman images before moving on, at some point, and then Mayan and scenes from European history.

Oh, and we have another episode of Heated Rivalry dropping tonight–I thought they came out on Wednesdays? Must have been wrong–and I also have to figure out the weekend and how I intend to have it play out; what errands to run, what groceries I need, etc. I know there are football games tomorrow, but don’t care terribly much about any of them, honestly, other than Tulane, my favorite long-shot team to make it to the finals. Indiana-Tulane would be amazing, wouldn’t it? Who would have ever thought either team would be in the play-offs, and I can assure two years ago had anyone predicted Indiana would be the number one seed, they would have been laughed at, or placed in a psychiatric hospital for observation.

The Vanity Fair fallout continues, and I was highly amused to see that their subscriptions spiked on the day they released the article and images on-line. I also love how the photographer (whom I hadn’t heard of before) doubled down with his responses to the criticism from the Right who claimed foul. Hey, no one made Karolyin’ Leavitt get the lip injection so close to the shoot, and you know they all thought the images would be filtered and photoshopped and airbrushed to make them look pretty and powerful and impressive…only to be shown exactly how they are: small, petty, cruel, and utterly banal. That close-up of Leavitt deserves a Pulitzer Prize.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. I know I’ve not been very interesting lately, but hopefully I’ll get more interesting as this dreadful year comes to a close, with no guarantee that next year will be better. Have a lovely Friday before Christmas, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow.

I really need to write a Christmas story about muscle-daddy Santa.

Blame It On Your Heart

It’s Pay the Bills Wednesday again! Huzzah? HUZZAH! Christmas Eve is a week from today (gulp). I guess that means I am not going to do Christmas cards this year. At least I got them out of the cabinet, right? Maybe next year. It was bitterly cold yesterday morning, and again wore a sweater and layers, so it wasn’t horrible. I was very productive at the office yesterday, was granted the day after Christmas off so I have a five day weekend next week, which will be lovely and relaxing. I also managed to get a lot of chores done around the house while catching up on the news and relaxing a bit. But the sink is empty and the laundry is folded; and tonight on the way home I’ll go all the way uptown and get the mail. There should also be a new episode of The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City waiting for me to watch when I get home from that expedition, and there’s really no need to make groceries tonight; there’s plenty of things at home for me to make for dinner, should I need to.

I spent a good portion of free time yesterday laughing uproariously at the new issue of Vanity Fair and its glorious feature on the White House staff. I had let my subscription lapse because I no longer wanted the clutter of a print copy I would never get around to even paging through, or pay for an on-line subscription when I would never read more than one article every few months? Celebrity culture bores me for the most part, and the notion they considered putting Mrs. Canks on their cover didn’t exactly endear the magazine to me (yes, I know the staff rebelled against the new owner’s suggestion to do so, but I also figured it was just a matter of time until everyone was fired and the value of the magazine devalued and devolved) or make me want to subscribe again; but this? The photographs alone are works of art; framed and shot and angled and lit to show precisely how small and insignificant these monsters are; banal and ugly and boring and utterly devoid of class or taste. Madam “Press Secretary” may never recover from that brutal extreme close-up exposing the lines and enormous pores and the lip filler injection marks. The photographer deserves a Pulitzer Prize, and future generations will study these images–un-retouched, unfiltered–to try to make sense of this period of history. That is a futility destined for failure, for one cannot make sense of the insensible.

And you know they were all puffed up and excited to be in Vanity Fair‘s cover story, thinking about how cool and bad-ass they are…only to expose how ill-qualified they are to be in the positions they are in.

So yes, I might be subscribing again–but only for web access. I just don’t need more clutter. Texas Monthly remains my only magazine subscription, and I love that magazine so much (I do get 64 Parishes, the Louisiana Endowment for the Humanities magazine, but for some reason I don’t consider that a magazine subscription. Can’t explain it, that’s just how it is–and you should consider getting both) I can’t see myself giving up the physical copy any time soon. But yes, the more I pare down the less I want to bring in–which, given my need to always be surrounded by stacks and shelves of books, is kind of a win on that score. I don’t buy many books, at least certainly not on the scale that I used to. I think there is a sense of finality in realizing the reality that I may never read every book I have in the house before exiting this world, and that has made a significant difference…not that I think about dying all the time or even frequently; I think I am just more aware of the time limitations and the sands running out slowly in the hourglass of my life

It was so lovely to come down to an organized kitchen, with an empty sink, clear counters, and the rugs in their right place. I slept very well last night, too. It stayed cold through my drive home from work, but this morning its in the mid-fifties so no need for any layering today; I can brave the outside dressed normally. It’s supposed to rain a bit today, but we are getting a lot over the weekend, and it’s bringing warm weather behind it. The forecast is eighty for Christmas. Eighty.

Madness, indeed!

And on that note, Constant Reader, I am heading into the spice mines. May your Wednesday be marvelous and filled with joy, Constant Reader, and I will be back toorrow morning.

Listen to the Band

Good morning and happy Saturday everywhere and to everyone! I slept really great last night, and had a pretty decent day overall for a work-at-home Friday. I got my work done, and then went to the doctor. I’m healthy; good blood pressure, heart rate, all of the vitals were perfectly fine. I was also proud of myself; I had done some of my own research into my insurance, found the answers we both needed to get a prescription of mine potentially approved, and had a nice visit with him. I really like him; he seems to be genuinely concerned about my health and welfare–always a plus to not feel like another person to check off the list for the day–and he’s very personable. I highly encourage those of you not happy with your medical care to find a new one. It makes all the difference in the world.

I need to remember to always advocate for myself, and doing all that research also made me feel like I was vested in my health. I highly recommend it. Ask questions. Get second opinions. And remember you might have other options. There’s no rule that says you can’t fire your doctor if you don’t think they are listening to you or taking you seriously; maybe if enough patients dump them they might wonder what they are doing wrong?

Things you realize when you’re in your sixties. Oy.

Sigh.

But today is going to be a lazy one around here. I have some chores to do, and I’d like to get some reading done. Maybe I’ll try writing, or editing, or something this afternoon. I don’t know, I guess we can see how everything goes. I did end up making a to-do list yesterday for the weekend, and I can slowly make my way down that list today (nothing on it requires writing or editing or revising) before making a new one for next week after the weekend is finished. I did write in my journal last night while we were watching the Olympics, and I can also do some more of that this weekend, too. I think I am going to read some more of Mary Oliver’s poetry; I ordered Jericho Brown’s Pulitzer Prize winning collection yesterday, too. I was thinking last night about how I’ve been marveling about my free time and how I should be making more of an attempt to utilize the free time; I think I may start trying to learn Italian again through Duolingo–but maybe instead I’ll try to get my German back? I mean, hidden deep within the recesses of my mind lies my memories of taking and learning it when I was a teenager. Paul and I have also talked about a German vacation; so being able to fumble my way through German interactions is better than not even trying.

I think the locals enjoy it when I try rather than not–in Mexico the phrase I speak all the time is “No hablo español soy un estúpido americano”. They always smile and laugh and are very kind and helpful.

I do feel good this morning.

I think I’m starting to get a handle back on my life again after dog-paddling for about eight years. I do worry sometimes, when that occurs to me, that it’s like post-Katrina, where I’d have a good couple of days and think it was all over, only to discover that it wasn’t. But I do think I am more clear-headed now than I have been, and I don’t feel like I have that gauze over my brain that makes me not see everything as clearly as I should. Sometimes I get into my head too much, and overthink things. That’s from the anxiety–and despite the change in medications, I still will do that from time to time before recognizing what is causing it–depression, PTSD, anxiety, whatever–but it’s also not as frequent as before and it’s so much milder than it used to be that I’ll happily take it and deal with it now. I am sure you are tired of me saying this, but this medication change has so dramatically improved my quality of life that I will say it again: you have to advocate for yourself with your doctor. Had I done this ten or twelve years ago–no regrets, Greg, no regrets. I am grateful we figured this out, and that’s the name of that tune.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again later, no doubt.

The adorable British diving team, with out multi-Olympic medalist Tom Daley

Take a Bow

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment and I slept well–I wanted to stay in bed for another few hours, but got up anyway and am now sitting in my kitchen remembering that there was a time change and it’s actually later than I thought. Sigh. So I didn’t get up early after all, did I? I hate Daylight Savings Time and wish we could do away with it once and for all; didn’t Congress take this up last year or something, and didn’t it look like this pointless time change was going to be a thing of the past, or was that merely a fever dream brought on by the pandemic or something?

Yesterday wound up being a wasted day for me. I had some things to do yesterday morning that had to be done–some emails I’d been putting off because I knew they would be triggering, and I was right. I’m still not certain the most important one was worded correctly or the right thing to say at all, but when I finally finished it–it took me several hours to compose it and myself–I was emotionally drained and in a grief spiral, so I decided to spend some time with Scooter sleeping in my lap to make me feel better. I wound up actually drained and exhausted and fatigued, so I simply stayed there. Paul didn’t go into the office yesterday (he is going today) and we finally spent some time together last night, getting caught up on Servant (which is really phenomenal; Lauren Ambrose doesn’t get near the credit as an actress that she should; there’s a scene in the second to last episode–the series finale is this Friday–that can be Ms. Ambrose’s Emmy reel; the scene where her husband and brother finally come clean with the secret they’ve been keeping from her since the first episode is a master class in acting, and it’s all done with her facial expressions, and it’s a tour-de-force), and then the first episode of Outer Banks. We were both getting sleepy, so we put on a true crime documentary series (Two Shallow Graves, which is quite interesting; we figured if we fell asleep it would be okay because we could rewatch it if necessary without necessarily spoiling anything) and finally repaired to bed (later) than I thought it was (stupid time change), which is already throwing me off this morning.

I am still digesting Cheryl A. Head’s marvelous Time’s Undoing, which I finished yesterday morning and greatly enjoyed. I was hoping to spend some time with my next read this morning….but I’ve already lost an hour. Maybe instead of reading this morning, I’ll finish this and get cleaned up and write for a few hours before curling up with a good book later on this afternoon. Paul is going to see his trainer this morning and then to the office, so he’ll be out of my hair for most of the day so I should be able to get a lot of editing and so forth done, as well as some planning for future writing. There’s also always cleaning and filing to get done; yesterday after the depression set in was pretty much a wasted day. But I’m not going to beat myself up over the lost day; it is what it is and nothing I can do now can ever change that, so I am going to be kind to myself and recognize that, while still disappointing, there’s a significant difference between deciding to be lazy and blow off the entire day as opposed to being so overwhelmed that you can’t do anything. (This being kind to myself thing I am trying this year is such an outlook change that it’s not reflexive and I always have to process myself into it; maybe at some point it will become reflexive and…yeah, I don’t see it becoming reflexive any time soon)

Oh, yes, and the Oscars are on tonight. My interest in awards shows has declined as I’ve gotten older; sometimes I wonder if my gradual growing antipathy for awards shows I used to look forward to when I was younger has anything to do with my own eligibility for awards since getting published? Don’t get me wrong; I don’t object to awards by any means, but they also aren’t why I do what I do. It’s always nice to be recognized, especially by your peers and especially when you’ve always felt like an outsider rather than a peer. But while winning an Oscar (or even being nominated) can change a film industry member’s career for the better, do book awards make a difference to someone’s career if they aren’t the National Book Award or the Pulitzer Prize? I do think it’s important to recognize excellence in the field, but awards are just as subjective as anything else, and when an award is decided by a panel of judges..well, a different panel of judges might not come up with the exact same shortlist and winner, either. It isn’t like you can campaign to win an Edgar–but there are awards for mystery novels that you can campaign for, and the campaigning always makes me uncomfortable. In the beginning, I hated asking people for votes and wouldn’t do it. Then I started adding my eligible stuff to Gabriel Valjan’s awards-eligibility lists, which he compiles every year for every award as their nominations period open up.

Last year was the first time I actually made a little announcement on social media that hey, Bury Me in Shadows is eligible for the Anthony for Best PBO because there wasn’t a children’s/young adult category on the ballot. A second ballot was sent out at the almost last-minute because they’d inadvertently left that category off the ballot, so…figuring I didn’t have a prayer at a Best PBO nomination, I asked people to write me in on their ballot for y/a. IMAGINE my shock to wind up nominated in both categories (I lost both, PBO to Jess Lourey and Y/A to Alan Orloff; it’s lovely to lose to friends because you can be happy for them rather than disappointed at losing–losing to someone you don’t like or respect is an entirely different situation); so this year I figured I had nothing to lose by asking for votes–and wound up nominated for a Lefty for A Streetcar Named Murder and an Agatha for #shedeservedit, so go figure, you know?

Another reason I stopped caring or watching the Oscars is because they’ve become so predictable in every category in every year that there are no fun surprises, or if there are any, they are so few and far-between that watching become tedious (although one delightful surprise was Olivia Colman’s win for The Favourite a few years ago); but there doesn’t seem to be a clear cut winner in every category this year, even though I will go out on a limb and predict Oscars for Brendan Fraser (everyone loves a comeback story), Michelle Yeoh, Ke Huy Quan (another comeback story), and Jamie Lee Curtis. The two actresses will not only be rewarded for their work in the film but also for lengthy, glorious careers that have never been recognized before; while the two men are feel-good comeback stories. I’ve not seen Everything Everywhere All At Once, but I do think it’s trending to win everything. (If I had to chose, Barry Keoghan probably deserves an award for The Banshees of Inisherin; to me his was the strongest performance in a film I really disliked.)

And on that note, I am going to get another cup of coffee and head into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll check back in with you later.