Tag: reading

Lookin’ for Love

Sunday! It started raining last evening before I went to bed, and it lasted through this morning. I slept well and stayed in bed for another hour after I woke up because it was so nice and comfortable and because, well, because I could. I can’t tomorrow, after all. I feel rested and good this morning, too. I think the reading went well, and the panel…well, I’ve done a better job moderating before, but my panelists were amazing–Karis Walsh, MJ Williamz, and Marie Incontrera. Their new books sound amazing; Marie is actually a debut author with a romance set in the world of Manhattan theater, which sounds like a absolute winner. I enjoyed talking with them, at any rate, and hope the viewers enjoyed listening to us. I think I rambled a lot, like I always do, forgetting its about the panelists and not the moderater. I hate when I do that, you know.

LSU came within a tiger’s whisker of winning the national championships in gymnastics, and they didn’t have the best meet, either. Kailin Chio got a 10 on vault (the only one of the competition) and I was very proud of the young ladies. Congratulations to Oklahoma for winning again, and to Minnesota and Florida for making the finals. LSU didn’t make it past the semi-finals last year, but they had a great season this year and rebounding to finish second nationally this year was a great season. Brava, ladies!

I didn’t read much yesterday, sadly, but plan to rectify that a bit this morning. I am ordering groceries for delivery, and I am going to make my “famous” meatballs (the recipe that was in the Mystery Writers of America Cookbook, but has evolved and is much better than it was then) in the slow cooker for dinner and lunches this week. I have a panel this afternoon which I am not moderating for the Bold Strokes Bookathon, which is about reading reviews (I don’t) and if reviews have anything to offer the reader (no, they don’t). I do have the interview questions from the moderator, which I may use to explore the topic more on my own for the newsletter (I love doing self-interviews when someone else thinks up the questions). I do want to do some reading today, and I would also like to write some. I think I’m itching to get back to work on fiction, and I know that once I start, the dam will break and a torrent of words will come flowing out of me. At least, I hope that will be the case.

I also opened up the new version of Chapter One of Chlorine that I had started a while back, when I realized my revisions had not truly improved it and I was losing the character’s voice and truth and desires. The original idea was a young actor-on-the-make, willing to do whatever he needed to do to keep his career alive and progressing, despite being a closet case for obvious reasons. The 1950s were a very paranoid era in Hollywood–all the Commie-hunts, the Hays Code, a connected and queer underground beneath the glittering surface, the threat of television to film attendance–and I also came up with a better stage name for him: Wade Rivers, which fits into that whole Adonis Factory machine Henry Willson drove–Rock Hudson, Tab Hunter, Troy Donahue, Guy Madison–that I am fictionalizing. I have to say, there may have been only about seven hundred words or so that I wrote on this new version, but it really is good, he typed modestly.

I’m a much better writer than I have ever given myself credit for. It’s also nice to be able to recognize that–and my long career–without feeling the need to belittle myself or make some caveats.

I also want to get a newsletter finished and completed and sent out today.

And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close and head into the spice mines. I also want to get some cleaning done today, too. Cleaning, reading and writing on a cloudy, rainy Sunday; does like ever get any better than this? Have an awesome rest of your day, and I will check back in tomorrow morning before I head into the office.

Not sure I’d stop, but I’d be tempted.

He Stopped Loving Her Today

And here we are on a Saturday morning and I am up early again. I went to bed early last night, too, which was nice–I was a bit tired after this week’s Hacks and The Boys. I feel very good this morning, too. I have some ZOOM things to do for the Bold Strokes Book-a-thon; a reading at three and moderating a panel tonight at seven, and another panel tomorrow at six pm my time. The national gymnastics finals are today at three, so I’ll be watching on my iPad during the reading–with no offense intended at all for the other readers; I’ve been waiting to watch this since last year, and I’ll be listening to the readers, not the meet.

Yesterday was lovely. I got my work-at-home chores done, cleaned some, did laundry all day, and had a nice relaxing day at home, which was super-nice. I spent the early evening ater Paul got home catching up on the news, and ordered a pizza from Reginelli’s–which is another example of how small a town New Orleans can be. When I served on jury duty for that civil case all those years ago, the plaintiff was a Reginelli, and that case inspired Murder in the Irish Channel, a Chanse novel I am particularly proud of, and what our friend Susan would order for our Game of Thrones nights at her home. I also managed to get a late newsletter out, discussing Cheryl A. Head’s marvelous short story “Finding Jimmy Baldwin,” which you can read right here. I am going to try to get another one out tomorrow, to be back on the twice weekly schedule, but we shall see how that goes. I have some errands to run today, too, before settling in for the reading and the panel and the gymnastics. I should also probably pick up and do some more cleaning, too. I am going to try to get some reading done this morning, too…Listen for the Whisperer‘s second chapter, and back to the novel I’ve been trying to get into for several weeks now, with no disrespect intended for the author or the book itself; it’s me, not the book. I think reading the short stories might have helped kick the reading gene back into gear; although I suppose we shall see this morning, won’t we?

And of course, later this month I am going to both Alabama and Florida, which means an audiobook to listen to and write about, so huzzah for that. The audiobooks actually make me look forward to going on long drives again, and of course, I am now anxiety-free so I don’t get tense and tired while driving , which always resulted in me being exhausted; I wasn’t tired at all the last time I drove to Kentucky, which is my benchmark for long drives. Obviously, given a choice I wouldn’t take all these drives, but I make the best of them, and listening to books definitely has made them much more bearable. I’m not sure exactly what I am going to listen to on this drive; I do have some interesting books downloaded already on my phone.

Nothing about that rape academy website (or whatever it was; I was far too disgusted by what it was for and about so didn’t dig into the news reports deeply) surprised me, other than I thought the number of visits (or hits, or whatever the term is for that) was shockingly low at sixty-two million, frankly; I would have assumed it was one out of every two or three men–but then again, not everyone had heard of that website, so it would have been significantly higher otherwise. As everyone says, maybe not all men but always a man, which is accurate. The men are clearly not okay, and haven’t been in a while, but as long as they continue subscribing to the notion that women are merely sperm depositories whose sole function is running the house and squirting out fetuses, they will continue to be. I’ve always been grateful not to be a straight man, because that privilege comes at too great a cost for me. The whole manosphere thing has always been hilarious to me; who thinks Joe Rogan is a fucking role model? How sad and pathetic is that? That man-child Braden Peters (talk about generic white-boy names!) is clearly mentally unwell and his parents clearly failed him. (You can’t start injecting testosterone at fourteen without parental consent, can you? There were places in his life where his parents should have parented better, but he also bears some responsibility for how broken he is; overdosing on crystal meth is a warning sign he clearly isn’t capable of reading.) How can anyone look at Theo Von, Joe Rogan, Andrew Schulz, and other grifters of their ilk, and think, that’s what I want to be like.

Shudder.

So many podcasts and their podcasters are the dregs of humanity. But when you’re selling something people want to buy–your inability to get laid isn’t your fault–you’ll always make money.

And their mentality that gay men are somehow lesser than them because we’re not into the bullshit they are is laughable. None of them would get laid if they were gay men; no gay men would ever find them attractive–especially when you know they don’t clean their ass properly because “that’s some gay hit, man.” No fucking thanks. That any woman would ever want to fuck any of their unhygienic selves–I mean, I can smell Theo Von through the screen, you know? He also used to work out at my old gym once in a while; it was weird seeing him when he was nothing more than that douche from Road Rules trying to start a comedy career. And no, even when he was younger and in much better shape–he was still completely unfuckable, to me at any rate. Trust me, bros, you ain’t got nothing to fear from us queers, okay?

So, no, the straight men aren’t okay. Thank God my straight male friends aren’t anything like them–but they wouldn’t be my friends if they were. I don’t assume all straight men are homophobic sexist pricks until proven otherwise…but they often prove themselves lacking in that area without any prompting or assistance from me. I’ve been wanting to tackle the topic of “boys will be boys” and “locker room talk” as one of my masculinity essays, but haven’t really found my way into it–the US Men’s Olympic Hockey team made me think of it, along with the Access Hollywood tape we all listened to back in 2016–and trying to find my way into the subject. The rape academy shit may be the key to the opening paragraph, plus the fact that I’ve spent a lot of time in locker rooms throughout my lie, or in male-only spaces, and have heard it myself.

I also never excused it.

Sigh.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines and getting some breakfast. Have a great Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

Statue of Ramses II at night with the crescent moon

Wide Open Spaces

Sunday morning and I am still feeling disoriented. I kept thinking yesterday was Friday, and that today would be Saturday. I have an errand to run and some groceries to have delivered. I stayed up late finishing the laundry–it was launder the bed linens day, postponed from Friday, which also helped with the day mind-fuckery–but slept very well and slept in. The kitchen looks much better than it did yesterday morning, but it still needs some work. After Paul got up, we just had a lazy day hanging out and watching television. It was indeed a gorgeous day out there yesterday and it looks like today is going to be just as lovely. I may take a walk later just to revel in the day and get some exercise. Maybe I’ll stretch today too–can’t hurt, right? I’m starting to feel the itch to become more physically active, since I am not nearly as tired all the time the way I used to be. It’s so lovely not to be tired, Constant Reader, you have no idea!

I can also tell my injection is due next Monday.

I was thinking–I did do a lot of that yesterday–about my recent newsletter essay about gender roles and my not fitting in as a child as a boy who didn’t conform to my assigned gender role (which meant I was gender-nonconforming) and that really, it was the late 1970’s/early 1980s when those rigid roles began to loosen slightly. I’m enjoying all this introspection and self-discovery journey I’ve been on for the past few years (beginning with Mom’s death), which also makes me realize how long I avoided examining myself and my life. I thought I did a lot of navel-gazing before, but it was always pretty shallow and never went very deep, ever; often, I think, because there were things about myself I preferred not to know, or to confront. But I’m more interested now in accepting patterns of behavior that I now understand were driven by the anxiety, which is now under control.

I also spent some more time paging through Jackson Square Jazz and kind of enjoying it, because it also is reminding me of writing the book and the research that went into it, particularly the Cabildo Fire, which was a real event that I wrote into the book as a pivotal moment for the plot and I got to write about some New Orleans history that may or may not have ever been talked about in fiction. (I also remember being rather taken aback when someone told me the pre-Katrina Scotty books were also important historically because they documented what gay Quarter life was like before everything changed; Jean Redmann did the same for the lesbian side.) I am in the thinking stages of the eleventh (!!!) Scotty right now, too–I know the plot elements I want to hit–and I am also thinking about getting back into the in-progress manuscript I am trying to focus my energies on (rereading Christa’s story from Crime Ink: Iconic got me back into that mindset again, even as I realized I couldn’t tell my story as well as they told theirs); I need to immerse myself into that world again as I reconfigure my main character, who I was softening a bit. No, the main character, Greg, needs to be on the make, as they used to say back then, using his looks and his body to advance himself in Hollywood, while painting a dark picture of what being queer in Hollywood used to mean.

And so, on that note, I think I am going to bring this to a close and go have some breakfast before settling into my easy chair to read; I think I am going to reread Listen for the Whisperer by Phyllis A. Whitney and try to get further into my first-time reading book. I also need to do the floors and clean up the workspace a bit this morning. Have a great Sunday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow on work-at-home Monday. Till then!

The beauty of Yosemite

Every Which Way But Loose

Happy Easter to all who celebrate, and a happy Sunday to those who do not. We do not celebrate Easter, but we do recognize the Easter Bunny and candy because who doesn’t? My favorite parts of “Christian holidays” are inevitably always the parts appropriated from pagan holidays. Funny how that works, isn’t it? It’s also raining, and I slept in later than I’d hoped to. Sparky eventually got impatient waiting for me to get up and scratched my face near my left eye, and while I easily and happily could have slept longer, I am glad I got up. I feel rested, which is very nice, and relaxed. I didn’t really do a whole lot yesterday; I ran my errands and got home in the early afternoon and basically chilled for the rest of the day while Paul was at his office and the gym. He got home in time to watch LSU Gymnastics to win the regional final. They didn’t have a great meet, but still almost broke 198.00–which is incredible. After that we started watching Something Very Bad Is Going to Happen, but the first episode was just weird and odd and un-involving, so we moved on to season three of The Night Agent, which is a very fun action packed high energy international intrigue thriller. Gabriel Basso, who plays the lead, is very sexy, too.

While Paul was out, I watched a couple more episodes of season 4 of The Traitors. I am really going to enjoy writing about the show, but I definitely have to outline the essay so I don’t forget to talk about something I find interesting. Yesterday’s watch reminded me of how The Traitors somehow pulls off something I wouldn’t have thought possible–redeeming people I have disliked in other media. I was resistant to watching this particular season (which was still airing when we started watching) because I hated both Lisa Rinna and Candiace Dillard from their time on Real Housewives; but I really enjoyed them of The Traitors. Same with Colton Underwood; I didn’t love how he came out after his time on The Bachelor and it seemed like the powers-that-be thought they could make him–a very pretty blue-eyed blond white man–into THE Gay Celebrity, especially given his problematic past. I actually wound up liking him on this show, and maybe I should go back to his reality series about coming out and “learning to be gay”; I’ve been wanting to watch through some gay-base reality shows I’ve watched and how terrible they inevitably are (Drag Race being the sole exception). I’m also, while rewatching, remembering how Alabama Rob charmed us all–and seeing the seeds of Rob and Maura’s bond (it literally goes back to episode one) being planted makes her loyalty to him at the end make more sense; she really wasn’t his “dicktim.” (That’s another interesting thing about rewatching; you pick up on things you didn’t notice the first time through.)

After getting the mail, I swung by the Fresh Market on my way home, which I usually don’t mind as far as grocery stores are concerned. It’s slightly more expensive, but it’s never crowded and the customers aren’t nearly as annoying as the ones at Whole Foods (I get highly annoyed every time I shop there, which I why I don’t). But it seemed like all the entitled rich old white people somehow got an alert that they needed to go to the Fresh Market and show their whole asses. I was quite relieved when I put my bags in the car and skedaddled away from that portal to hell. I never do a big shop when I go there–the slightly more expensive thing–but I love their meat counter (lots of fresh meat options there) and they also sell Jelly Belly jelly beans there by weight. I love me some Jelly Belly jelly beans, but I stopped eating them when I got sick last year and haven’t bought any since. I snacked a bit on them last night and yes, I still love them. I just cannot overdo it with them because the goal here is to lose weight.

I also mailed some books yesterday. I still have two more copies to send out, and one to drop off Uptown, but I also did very little around the house yesterday because I was being a bit on the lazy side and relaxing. I’m going to try to do some cleaning today–at least get everything picked up and put away–and I am also going to try to do some reading this morning. I also want to try to get a newsletter out today, and I know which one I am going to try to get taken care of; I want to talk about Christa Faust’s Derringer Award nominated short story “Hollywood Prometheus” from Crime Ink: Icons. (I did find a way into my essays series about masculinity yesterday, too, but I want to think about that introductory prologue essay and let it marinate in my brain for a few days.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines and clean up this mess of a kitchen and work space. I also have to balance my checkbook–always a joy–and do some other thankless tasks so I am not behind on anything anymore. Heavy heaving sigh. It’s also supposed to get cold later today, too. Woo-hoo!

Sexy fitness model and BGEast wrestler Rio Garza

If You Were My Love

Well, we survived Monday, did we not? It wasn’t a bad day, really. I was tired by the time I got home rom running errands, and allowed myself to get pulled into the vortex of the comfy easy chair and the purring kitty who needs a lap. The news was as grim as ever, and now we have ICE at our airport (and many others) supposedly to “help” TSA…but that’s not what I am seeing happening all over the country. Not flying ever again is looking better and better all of the time, amirite? I am slowly getting caught up on all the news I missed while I had gone dark, and it’s the same sort of shit-show it was before I left for Alabama last Thursday. The lies being told by the administration about Iran go on and reported breathlessly by the lame-stream media1 without any question–you know, the same media that betrayed us all over Iraq and clearly learned not a fucking thing from that dereliction of duty, but rather seemed to race each other to the bottom to become even more sycophantic, anti-democracy, right-slanted garbage than Fox and Newsmax.

Sigh. Don’t we deserve better?

I always thought so, at any rate.

I feel good this morning. I slept well, my mind is clear, and my Achilles tendons still ache a bit; I didn’t ice them last night so will have to tonight. I also got my Saints and Sinners schedule so if you want to find me there, here you go:

Sunday, March 29, 2026

11:30 AM—12:45 PM—Literary Discussion 
TURNING THE SCREWS

One of the best experiences for a reader is to get so caught up in a novel that they have a physical reaction–dilated pupils, increased heart rate, and an inability to put the book down until the final page. Whether the dramatic tension comes from an internal, psychological source or from exterior forces, authors are masters at turning the screws and torturing their audience by creating unbearable suspense. Join us for a lively discussion on tricks of the trade and ways to keep people on tenterhooks until they can think of nothing else!

Panelists: Christopher Castellani, Greg Herren, J.M. Redmann, and Audrey Wilson

Moderator: Salem West

Hotel Monteleone, Lobby Level, Royal B

2:30—3:45 PM—Reading Series

SAINTS AND SINNERS: WRITERS READ

Sponsored by the John Burton Harter Foundation

Take the rare opportunity to hear authors in their own voice. This highlighted Festival event has authors share their vivid imaginations with their new creations, or revisiting a past work that holds special meaning. Please join us in welcoming: Rob Byrnes, Laurinda D. Brown, Drew Banks, Andrew Faye, Greg Herren, Thomas Mallon, Steve Majors, and J.M. Redmann for this year’s mix of established and exciting new writers.

Hotel Monteleone, Lobby Level, Royal D

I’ll probably turn up at the opening reception and the anthology launch on Saturday, and will stick around for the closing on Sunday before heading home. I’ve taken Monday off as a recovery day (and here’s hoping neither Paul nor I get hospitalized afterwards this year). I did start watching New Zealand’s The Traitors last night–I love how different yet the same they are from country to country–and I am thinking about watching this new Paul Theroux documentary about the toxicity of the “manosphere”…which counts as research for my lengthy essay series on masculinity and my perceptions and relationship to it. I have to pick up the mail again tonight after work–my next dose of my injection is being delivered today–and then it’s back home and possibly some chores before I either read or catch up on the news. I’ve selected my next read, but I don’t want to name it yet because I am having so much trouble with reading these days and I don’t want to give the impression that the book isn’t involving; the fault does not lie with the books but with me. We shall see how it goes, won’t we? I also need to go through my to-do list to remember what all I need to get done.

The memory is the first to go.

I’m also still playing around with the ideas for a new Scotty, which is now titled French Quarter Follies, which I cannot believe I’ve not used yet (madness). I hope to get back to doing some writing and targeted creativity this week…but haven’t I been saying that already for months? Author, heal thyself.

And on that turgid note, I will now proceed to clock-in at the spice mines for the day. Enjoy your Tuesday, Constant Reader–and may it ever be a Taco Tuesday.

  1. We are in dark times indeed when I use a phrase coined by moronic hockey mom and overall hatefully ignorant piece of shit Sarah Palin, but here we are. ↩︎

Rose Garden

Good morning! I’m feeling good this morning after a lovely evening of sleep and an even lovelier day of doing very little. I must confess I did feel a bit on the guilty side last evening when I went up the stairs and slid under the covers; but the way I feel this morning makes me think that it was a very good thing that I took a rest day, really. Paul also took a rest day–he wore himself out with a couple of all nighters–and so things were quiet and calm around here all day. I had intended to only sit for a moment and ice my ankles, but Sparky curled up into my lap and I put on season 2 of The Traitors, Paul came downstairs and got under the blankets on the couch…and that’s primarily what I did yesterday: binge-watched The Traitors all the way through the reunion. I have figured out how they keep us hooked and watching–all those cliffhangers and twists and turns–because every time the credits roll I have to see what happened. Paul’s been calling me an addict all week, but yesterday he was the one with the “We have to see who they killed” or “start the next one so we find out if the recruit said yes” and finally I said, “yes, but I’m the addict” and we had a marvelous laugh. We finished up the second season around eleven thirty, but “had to start the third” to see who was in the cast.

I don’t think I’ve been this involved in a show in quite some time? Certainly not a reality show, in any case. We also want to watch the Tyra documentary on Netflix because we used to marathon America’s Next Top Model when they would do marathons on some network–I want to say Bravo but I know that’s wrong–Bravo was our go-to for marathons of The West Wing and Law and Order back in the day. We gradually stopped watching–some of the stuff they did on the show made me uncomfortable, honestly–so I am interested in watching. I knew the show had to be a train wreck behind the scenes, because well, Tyra Banks, and I’d also like to watch the one about The Biggest Loser–a show I never watched because (blech) Jillian Michaels (vomit), plus I worked in fitness for nearly ten years, so I knew, just from the commercials, that it wasn’t good for the contestants and no one seemed to be concerned about their safety, physical and mental. I’ve also never watched any of the romance ones (although I loved the fictional show unReal) because it just seemed…I don’t know, absurd; at first they seemed cringy to me–“who wants to go on television to find a life partner?”–but there’s an audience for them apparently. (Also, I found out it incredibly insensitive and insulting that “marriage equality” was undermining the sanctity of marriage while straight people not only mocked marriage with these shows but made it blatantly obvious how little the actual undermining of the sanctity of marriage truly bothered anyone; it was just the usual homophobic trash with a cross up their ass…and that’s not even mentioning adultery and divorce…)

Sigh. The hypocrisy of the straights never ceases to surprise me.

I did spend some time yesterday cleaning the boxes of books off the top of the cabinets. I have two more to go; it was difficult with the Achilles tendons tightness to climb up and down the ladder, but I also cleared off the top shelf in the pantry for this contents of these boxes. The kitchen is a mess–a bad one, at that–so I am going to spend some time on that this morning when I finish this. I would like to read and do some writing, too, but I am also not going to beat myself to death if I don’t. I feel good this morning but I do need to ice the ankles again today, so I am not entirely sure I won’t get sucked into the comfort of my easy chair and purring kitty sleeping in my lap with the remote control right there on the side table. I did get a lot of the laundry done–there’s very little left going into the week–and I would like to get the pantry/laundry room into some sort of tidy order. Ah, dreams are lovely things, aren’t they?

But in taking the boxes down I also found some books that reminded me of how my childhood interest in history took off–the juvenile histories of Genevieve Foster, “parallel histories” is how she described them, which is kind of what A Distant Mirror by Barbara Tuchman is, so yes, there must be a blog essay about these books and how they inevitably got me incredibly interested in history and how it is all connected (also how it constantly repeats). I paged through some of them while bingeing The Traitors yesterday–I bought copies after Katrina, probably in an attempt to reconnect with my personal history, which I did a lot of in those years–and memories came flooding back; and I also remembered a lot of the contents of those books, too. The first one I read–and I checked them out of the library at Eli Whitney Elementary regularly–was George Washington and His World…and I loved the concept of all that historical information being given to give context to that time and that world. So, my wanting to write that kind of history of the sixteenth century was probably already wired into my brain before reading A Distant Mirror, and probably partly why I loved it so much. I also pruned books out of the bookcases and some of the boxes, which is more progress on the house. Next weekend, I’ll drop some boxes of books at the library sale and will also probably drop off beads at ArcGNO.

And on that note, I’m going to get more coffee and make some breakfast. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning! See you then!

A terrific shot by Linda Minutola, who does great work! Best place to get a burger grilled under a hubcap!

Blue Eyes

Its the morning of Ash Wednesday and I am up at my normal time, trying to get back to normal and back into my normal day-to-day life now that Carnival is over for another year. The city is probably still in ruins, because there’s only so much they can clean up overnight, you know? The trees of St. Charles are dripping with beads and crepe paper and, of course, toilet paper from racist Tucks, er, Sucks1. I am so tired of the insidious nature of racism in incredibly stupid and small-minded white people. I can’t imagine how exhausted racialized communities feel. The closest thing I can think of would be how tired I am of homophobia and homophobes.

You haters are fucking tedious, you know? Get a fucking life already.

Readjusting back to normality after Deep Gras is always tricky. It’s Fat Tuesday that always winds up throwing me off–I am always aware that it’s Monday during Lundi Gras, but it felt like Sunday yesterday and I keep thinking today is Monday, and it’s not. That will take some mental adjusting, as will that tomorrow is my last day in the office again. But I feel very rested this morning, too. I spent a. great deal of time yesterday icing my ankles, so the Achilles tendons aren’t very tender this morning, but I am sure that will change as the day gets longer. I’ll ice them again tonight, of course, and I have some errands to do after work on the way home, too. I made potato leek soup in the slow cooker yesterday–it was sublime, probably the best I’ve ever made, and I added shallots this time, too–and that was quite lovely for dinner. I did chores and picked up a lot around the house, but never got around to the floors, which I hope to get to this weekend. I also managed to read some, which was very lovely, and I had a very strong burst of creativity yesterday that resulted in me making significant headway on an essay for the newsletter after sending a promotional one out over the course of the lengthy weekend, while getting an idea for another one–and I thought I was finished with the promotional Scotty newsletters; so that is a very good thing.

I also need to pack up more beads to donate to ArcGNO this weekend, and should also probably drop off a box of books at the library sale. I made some other reorganization decisions about the apartment this weekend, too–I need to clear out a shelf in the pantry so I can take some boxes down from the tops of the cabinets–and I really need to get the floors done. The house always looks so much better when I’ve done the floors, and maybe this weekend I can get the workspace windows cleaned, depending on the weather; I’ve not bothered to look ahead just yet. If it rains or is too cold, the windows can certainly wait.

While I did things yesterday, I was bingeing Celebrity Traitors from the UK, and even with a majority of the cast being people I had NO idea who they were, it was an excellent cast and an even more enjoyable game. I primarily wanted to see how the game ends, since I’ve never seen a season finale, and now that I know, I am pretty pleased, as I was afraid the way they wrap it all up might be a let down, but it’s not. And there was someone I’d actually met and had dinner/drinks with years and years ago in the cast! Yes, I am going to humblebrag, but the British actress Celia Imrie and I have mutual friends in common–and I had dinner with her and our mutual friend when they came through New Orleans a while back, which was marvelous. Naturally, I was rooting for her, but she was one of the last murder victims, alas. Stephen Fry was also on, and he was the first person I’ve seen note how badly the game is stacked in favor of the Traitors; I also observed to Paul “they really shouldn’t feel bad for banishing people who aren’t Traitors; the Faithful outnumber the Traitors by a 19 to 3 ratio, so of course they are going to banish incorrectly more often than not. I suspect I would be terrible at this game unless I was a Traitor.

If you’re a politics junkie2 and love watching MAGA eating themselves, pay attention to the Louisiana Republican primary for Senator Bill Cassidy (the pro-life OB-GYN who looks like a Muppet gone wrong) for some hilarity. Cassidy, as you may remember, committed the egregious sin of voting for Trump’s impeachment after January 6–hoping the person with no long-term memory would forget that six years later. About a month or so ago, Orange Foolius handpicked congresswoman Julia Letlow to endorse for the race. I’m not entirely certain she’d even announced? Cassidy’s dark money PACs are now going after Letlow, tying her to DEI and Nancy Pelosi and President Biden as a “dangerous liberal” (it took me a while to type that while laughing hysterically); does OF still have pull in Louisiana now? After a couple of weeks of silence, Letlow has finally released her own attack ads on Cassidy and seriously, this primary race can easily be called A Confederacy of Dunces.

I was sorry to hear that both Jesse Jackson and Robert Duvall died over Deep Gras. Both contributed significantly to society in their own ways, and giants cannot be replaced. I mean, look at this iteration of the current Democratic Party–where are all the great Democrats I grew up watching legislate? I mean, even the Kennedy in the forefront of public policy today is a very poor imitation of his father and uncles, pissing and shitting all over the family name. I also find it interesting that Hunter Biden was targeted and hounded for having addiction issues, while MAGA celebrates the brain worm guy who had addiction issues and clearly has something wrong with him.

After finishing reading The Secret of Hangman’s Inn, I started writing a newsletter essay about the Ken Holt series and this book in general, with a particular look at the series’ homo-eroticism–based on my recent reread of the book itself. The series, expertly written by Sam and Beryl Epstein under the name Bruce Campbell, is very much of it’s time–and you could easily see how things had changed since they were written. I remember there was a clue in one book that had to do with the cotter pin holding automobile tires on–they don’t have those anymore–and of course, no television, no automatic transmissions on cars, having to depend on phone calls and being home to take them, newspapers and syndicates with journalistic ethics, and so on. But this particular reread made me realize something about the juvenile series that I hadn’t ever caught on to before–and that will also be a strong piece of the newsletter essay.

I also decided yesterday what my next Scotty book will be and when it will be set. I wanted to jump ahead–the most recent, this new one, is set in August of 2019, and I am going to skip ahead to Mardi Gras 2022, when the parades rolled again after the canceled parade season of 2021–and I even know what it’s going to be about. Huzzah!

So yes, I had a very productive and good day yesterday. I feel rested, my right Achilles tendon has a bit of a twinge but the left feels good, and I feel rested and relaxed and motivated to get things done. And as always, we’ll see how long this feeling lasts. I am going to head into the spice mines now, and hope to have a great day post-Carnival.

Have a great Ash Wednesday if you “celebrate”, and if you don’t, have a lovely Wednesday–the rest of the work week is the downhill slide into the weekend, which will be here before I know it or am ready for it!

American swimmer Caeleb Dressel is an Olympic champion. And has pretty blue eyes.

Photographed at the University of Florida in Gainesville. Mandatory Credit: Robert Deutsch-USA TODAY ORG XMIT: USATODAY-451287 [Via MerlinFTP Drop]
  1. I saw yesterday that the racist assholes who hung black dolls by the neck with beads from their float have been kicked out of Tucks. Good. They also should be named and shamed, but I doubt that will happen. ↩︎
  2. This is an example of a time when I really miss Victoria. ↩︎

Escape from Berlin

It’s Lundi Gras morning, with my favorite parade–Orpheus1–rolling tonight, and I have two more days before returning to work. I am enjoying this little mini-vacation very much. My Achilles tendons are still a bit sore, so after I get home from the errands I have to run this morning, I am in for the day until Orpheus arrives tonight–unless it rains. It looks a bit gloomy outside the windows, if I am being totally honest. It does happen–and it’s been a hot minute since it’s rained, you know? I slept really well the last two nights, and I feel pretty good. I think another easy day of reading and hanging out around the house while doing some chores sounds lovely. I also spent most of yesterday off-line, and that was marvelous. I like that I am spending less and less time on social media. The world is burning, and doomscrolling isn’t much help with that, you know?

We made art during HIV/AIDS, didn’t we?

I did wake up early yesterday after a lovely night’s sleep, and had a pretty good day around the house. I emptied the dishwasher and ran it again, did some straightening up and organizing around here, and had the pairs figure skating short program on the television while I finished reading The Secret of Hangman’s Inn, and started reading another old series book, The Egyptian Cat Mystery, a Rick Brant science adventure. (Rick Brant is another one of my favorites.) I am going to try to read some of the Eli Cranor today, with some more of the Brant, too. I think I may also start Sarah Weinman’s Without Consent as well. I think going forward I will stick with the three–a new fiction read, a reread, and a nonfiction–going forward is my reading plan. I do need to start reading voraciously again; I miss it. I also need to write about Hangman’s Inn. I also managed to send out another promotional newsletter about Hurricane Season Hustle, which you can read by clicking here.

If the weather does hold and my ankles feel okay, I may take a walk later today to get some pictures of the bead trees blooming and all the debris along the sidewalk and in the trees. I feel rested, and Sparky was very cuddly this morning under my warm pile of blankets in the bed. I want to do some writing today, but I may not; it depends on how I feel when I get home from the errands.

We binged more of season four of The Traitors, and I love everything about this show. I cannot believe none of y’all told me I needed to watch this show. I mean, it checks ALL my boxes–murders, pettiness, camp, a castle, robes with cowls, lanterns and torches and executioners! Alan Cumming is having the best time camping it up as the host–and there are some iconic lines on this show; currently my favorite is “snatched tighter than a housewife’s jawline.” And there are three previous seasons to catch up on! It’s all so deliciously Gothic, which I love. We have one more episode from this season before we are caught up, and we’ll probably watch that either tonight or tomorrow; I’m sure Paul has to work, and I know he has his trainer today, too. I should be able to get some reading and writing done today, and today I can finish the floors–which I’ve put off all weekend.

The emails can wait until Wednesday, seriously.

And on that note, I am going to go get cleaned up so I can run my errands. Have a lovely Lundi Gras Monday wherever you may be, Constant Reader, and I will be back tomorrow for Fat Tuesday.

Two Kinds of Love

Muses Thursday! Happy shoe day to you, and you, and you! There are three parades tonight down the Avenue–Chaos followed by Babylon followed by Muses–and we will see if we can keep our 16 year streak of getting at least one shoe. I’ll probably be a bit tired by the time Muses gets to the corner–I am leaving the office early again today–so I can ice my ankles and hips before the parades, and rest and relax. There’s no figure skating to watch today for the Olympics (more on that later) so I can get some things done today and maybe be productive (maybe not); we’ll see how things shake out. I slept really well, which is always a plus, and my legs aren’t very tired, the Achilles tendons are still making their complaints known, if not as urgently as before. I also need to organize both the refrigerator and the freezer, because it’s out of control after going to Costco and making groceries.

Yesterday turned out to be a very good day. The weather was lovely, and we had some slight sprinkles of rain throughout the day, so the air was cool and damp. I left the office early (parade street closings; will be leaving even earlier today) and made groceries on the way home. There wasn’t much traffic on the way home, so the slalom course on St. Charles was much more fun to navigate (why people slow down to five miles per hour to drive around the barriers is a mystery to me; when no one is in front of you, you can go through it at about 20 mph and it’s like a Grand Prix) than usual and then I was home. I did a lot of chores, watched the disgraceful judging of the ice dance, and did even more chores. I was so pissed at the ice dancing (more on that later) I didn’t even want to finish watching Glitter and Gold, which I will probably never finish–but I can also always skip over the #metoo team parts, can’t I?

I saw an ad yesterday for a touring musical coming to the Saenger (I think)–an adaptation of The Great Gatsby. Seriously, who asked for this? It just seems to me that the story isn’t strong enough to carry a musical, nor can I think (I don’t think in terms of music or songs, sadly) of any potential songs that could be added to enhance and improve on the story.

I have now read The Great Gatsby at least four times throughout my life, and to this day I don’t understand why everyone loves it so much; I’ve never understood it, and my antipathy to this so-called Great American Novel goes all the way back to being forced to read it for a Lit class when I was a sophomore in high school. That class was responsible for me always feeling out of step with the Literary Academy and its holy gods and saints. (I was also introduced to Hemingway in that class, and I’ve never read any other Hemingway because I hated both A Farewell to Arms and The Old Man and the Sea–the sharks! The sharks!) It always puzzled me, but I hated being forced to read something because reading, for me, was always a joyous experience. Having to read something for a grade was an entirely different matter. The first books I was assigned to read were in junior high. I didn’t mind Sterling North’s Rascal, about a pet raccoon, but absolutely loathed The Adventures of Tom Sawyer with the white hot passion of a dozen burning suns. As someone who was just a few years older than Tom at the time of the story–I don’t remember how old he was; I’ve pretty much blocked out all my memories of the book I hated it so much–I didn’t think he was amusing or funny; I thought he was an asshole, someone I wouldn’t want to know, and would probably grow up to be an asshole. It was such an unpleasant experience that I developed an antipathy to Twain (I also hated the story about the jumping frogs) that kept me from reading him until my late twenties, when I decided to give him another try–and enjoyed his other work tremendously. There was an essay he wrote about becoming a steamboat pilot on the river, included in Life on the Mississippi, that has always stuck with me; I may have had to read it in high school or college, but I loved the essay so much that it did lead me back to reading Twain.

I went back to The Great Gatsby three more times over the course of my life and I hated it every single time I read it. I kept thinking, what am I missing here? These people are all awful and terrible; was that the point? They weren’t even interesting. I even read other Fitzgerald novels, and failed to see the genius every time. If forced to pick a favorite, I would say This Side of Paradise, if pressed–and I wouldn’t give it another read, either. Rebecca is a much more interesting take on the awful people of the upper class. Hell, Saltburn was a better take; so was Dynasty, for that matter.

And Fitzgerald has nothing on the Real Housewives.

Ironically, a writing teacher recommended I read Faulkner, As I Lay Dying to be exact, and that led me to Sanctuary and Light in August and The Sound and the Fury; and of course, I love “A Rose for Emily” because it was such a perfect capture of small rural Southern town dynamics. Every Southern town had a Miss Emily, didn’t they?

Hilariously, I’ve always considered myself to be dramatically under-educated in classic literature, but as I was thinking about this last night I realized that isn’t the case; I am self-educated in classic literature, and that always subconsciously fueled an insecurity about myself as a writer and as a reader because I did so poorly in college…and I need to get it through my head and into my subconscious that college failed me, not the other way around. I also need to get out of my own way with ambitions and goals and bury self-deprecation once and for all.

I am not going to talk about the figure skating judging farce from yesterday because I am still bitter and angry about the rewarding of the “#metoo” couple from France. Figure skating still has a lot of issues, and this was an incredibly glaring example. I will discuss this when I am more calm about it and can be rational and logical (the French team currently is “Abuser and the Rape Apologist” in my head). There was also some farcical bordering on insane judging in the team event, too. How did Ilia Malinin place second in the short? #madness.

And on that note, I am going to forget about Olympic medal-fixing for now and focus on tonight’s shoe. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I will be back tomorrow with a report on Muses…if I am not too tired to go out tonight.

Whole Lotta Trouble

Tuesday in the Lost Apartment, and a lovely day was had by all yesterday. Today is MY PUBLICATION DATE FOR HURRICANE SEASON HUSTLE!!! Woo-hoo! Honestly, sometimes I thought that book would be the death of me, my writing career, or both. (It’s a lengthy story I’ve bored you with many times already, Constant Reader, and won’t again.) But now it’s out and I get to be happy for a little while before the reviews start coming in.

And no, I don’t read the reviews. Anywhere. I don’t mind bad reviews as long as they are thoughtfully critical; give me something I can use to improve my writing, thank you. But I have no patience for people who just want to score points off authors–or use their reviews to avenge themselves for some perceived slight, and that has happened to me more than once. It’s one of those things I never forget, you know? I remember my editor sending me a bad review copy with a post-it note attached with the words this one reeks with the stench of failed author–something I’ve kept in mind ever since. One of the reasons I don’t review books negatively or to score points off someone I dislike is because who has the fucking time? There are better uses of my time, and I’d rather not write something negative as an author, especially about another author, no matter how awful they are (I do always make an exception for Stephenie Meyer, though. She deserves far worse). If I genuinely hate a book that much I usually don’t finish it, and why talk about it? I’d rather uplift other authors and talk about books I loved, you know? Doesn’t that make more sense? I love books, I love to read, and I appreciate the work any author puts into writing a book.

At the very least, it’s a big commitment of time and work–and it isn’t easy for anyone.

I felt pretty good yesterday. My Achilles tendons felt sore by the end of the shift again, so I iced them when I got home (as well as other places that were sore and achy) and woke up this morning feeling pretty good physically, for a change. I hope it lasts! Yesterday was lovely, temperature wise, and I ran errands on my way home–mail, prescription, made groceries–and tonight we are going to Costco after I get off work, which I assume means I will be terribly tired when I get home and put everything away. Oh, well. I don’t work full days the rest of the week, as tomorrow night the parades start up again and I have to leave work early. Friday I work at home, Monday I took off, and Tuesday of course is a holiday. Tomorrow is also a “pay the bills Wednesday,” too. All kinds of things going on around here, right? I even managed to work on my short story yesterday and got another hundred words down. The writing is still very slow going, but something is better than nothing, or so I’ve always believed. Besides, it’s Carnival and it’s hard to do anything during the parade season, even on the days when there are no parades because scheduling life around the parades is exhausting in and of itself. I’m hoping after tonight there won’t be any need to make groceries unless I run out of something–hopefully nothing I can’t get by walking to the corner Walgreens, since the car won’t move from Thursday afternoon till Monday morning, if not later. I don’t know if I will go out for parades on Wednesday night, but I definitely will go out for Muses on Thursday night. I love me some Muses. I may be out on Friday night, too, for d’Etat and everything else, but for sure I will be out for Iris this Saturday and Orpheus on Monday night. Bacchus is always a zoo, and so I’ll most likely skip that one.

Parade planning!

I think we’re finally going to get rid of all the beads in the house and utilize Paul’s toy chest for blankets and pillows or something. I love catching throws, but it’s all just stuff to add to the already heavily cluttered apartment. I am very proud of the fact that we’ve been clearing stuff out in the last six months, but we’ve barely scratched the surface–but it’s already looking neater and tidier. Huzzah! Maybe this will turn out to be the year that I clean out the attic! Woo-hoo! Stranger things have happened, after all.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I will be back in the morning!

Uncaught beads end up as parade debris!