Tag: Sparky

I Still Miss Someone

Everywhere else it’s just Tuesday! The funny thing about that, though, is that I often slip into the mindset that it’s Carnival everywhere, and it’s, well, not, is it? Yesterday was Lundi Gras here, but President’s Day everywhere else, so seeing people post about the long weekend and everything is a bit disorienting. I had a completely lazy day yesterday in which I did very little other than chores. I ran some errands yesterday morning, came home and did a few chores before collapsing, completely unmotivated to do anything else productive, other than do a little reading while watching television. Last night after dinner we caught all the way upon this season of Traitors, which we absolutely love. (This is an excellent cast, by the way, which also makes a difference.) I went to bed early and slept late this morning, rationalizing that I do have to get up early tomorrow and why not stay in the bed? Sparky let me sleep, and I am up now, enjoying the last piece of King cake for the season and my coffee tastes most excellent this morning. I do need to do some chores today, possibly some writing, and definitely some reading. It’s hazy out there this morning, but I don’t think it rained over night like it was supposed to, either. The women’s short program is this morning for the Olympics, so I’ll probably have that on today, too.

Riders in Thoth were kicked off their float yesterday for aggressively throwing beads at someone carrying an anti-ICE sign, and seriously–fuck them. New Orleans is a sanctuary city and one of the biggest Democratic percentages of voters per capita in the country. You want to be MAGA asshile racists? That’s what Metairie parades are for. Fuck you now and for all eternity. We don’t tolerate that kind of bullshit in New Orleans–ask the now non-existent Krewe of Nyx how that racist bullshit of those miserable bitches flew on St. Charles fucking Avenue. Keep your MAGA asses out in your racist MAGA parishes, fuckers. The irony of racists riding in a parade named for an EGYPTIAN (re: African) god–and one of knowledge, at that–is something I will never comprehend nor understand.

But my brain isn’t smooth enough to be MAGA, so there’s that, too. That’s D’etat and Thoth this year showing racist asses, as well as Tucks. Those krewes need to be punished. Maybe their parade permits for next year should be pulled. Kill it with fire and salt the ground so that shit never happens again. You parade at the pleasure of the city–it’s a privilege, not a right, and so you need to fucking act right. Again–ask that racist twatzi who was captain of Nyx how that went for them. Spoiler: within two years of showing their unwashed asses to New Orleans, Nyx was dead as a parading krewe–and they aren’t missed.

Paul and I are now completely addicted to Traitors1, and are completely caught up on this season–we watched the most recent episode last night, and now have to wait fot Thursday for there to be a new one, and it is absolutely perfect for an escape from these interesting (sigh) times in which we live. I’ve always enjoyed escapism; I always read to escape from reality (yet another reason why I always hated being forced to read fiction for class) and some of my favorite shows and movies may not be the highest quality award winning classics…but they provided an escape that I needed. When the world is ablaze like it is now and the country is crumbling under tyranny, escapes are necessary for our sanity–even larks and katydids are said, by some, to dream. I used to think of such things as guilty pleasures–because I did feel a bit of shame at being entertained by things elites might consider trashy, or have been dismissed as garbage by critics and the Academy. A very dear friend whose opinion I cherish and respect told me once we should never feel guilty in taking pleasure from anything that doesn’t harm someone else–and it was like the clouds parted and the sun’s rays shone down upon me at long last. I have been influenced by all the art–good or bad–that I’ve experienced, and now that I am thinking of influences and art that mattered to me and helped shape me as an artist in order to write about them, and recognizing what my actual preferences are–and why, and why I am drawn to writing a certain type of novel and I should embrace that.

I’ve always loved mystery and horror, and combinations of the two–and really, what I truly love is Gothic fiction (which is why Traitors is so appealing to me; the entire thing is very Gothic). I often admit to writers like John D. Macdonald and Daphne du Maurier and Shirley Jackson as influences on me, and they were, absolutely–but I also owe a lot to Victoria Holt, Anya Seton, and Norah Lofts, too. Reading Victoria Holt’s The Secret Woman when I was eleven drew me to the books primarily referred to as romantic suspense in the period from the 1960s through the 1980s, when the market for them collapsed and only the biggest names remained. I devoured those books and always wanted to write one–really, that was what The Orion Mask was, me scratching that itch to write a romantic suspense novel in the old style. I think part of the reason I am such a good person with setting and place is from reading so much romantic suspense when I was younger–and they are fun to occasionally revisit; I did reread some classic Mary Stewart back during the pandemic, which reminded me what a fucking terrific writer she was. Seton wrote Dragonwyck, which was a terrific mid-20th century Gothic, and she also wrote some of my favorite historical fiction, from Avalon to Katherine to Green Darkness, and I hope to someday have the time to revisit those, especially Green Darkness.

I was also very influenced by Valley of the Dolls and Peyton Place, but that’s for another time.

Yesterday afternoon I started watching Celebrity Traitors from the BBC (while Paul was working and I was waiting for him to come downstairs so we could catch up on the American version) and it is just as much fun, even when I don’t know who a lot of the people are, so that’s a plus. Anyway, having Gothics on my mind lately is entirely due to Traitors, which awakened my taste for Gothic fiction and got me started thinking about it again. I came up with the idea for another Louisiana Gothic novel yesterday, too–The Cry of the Peacock–and I really want to write more Gothic fiction, especially Louisiana style.

And all this racism with parade krewes? Now I am thinking about setting another Scotty during Carnival. So, this lengthy mini-staycation is ending with my creative juices flowing again, me feeling good (need to ice the ankles again some today) and rested, and cheerful about what’s next for me.

I hear the bands passing down at the corner, which means Zulu is here. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be here again tomorrow morning, for an Ash Wednesday blog.

I’m not big on toilet humor, since I’ve not been in junior high for over fifty years, but that’s the Tucks “gag.” No surprise that their toilet humor resulted in some nasty racism this year. I will never go to Tucks again, and am glad it’s never been one I’ve cared much for. Remember Nyx, you stupid racist fucks? Henceforth, I will only refer to them as Sucks.
  1. Never trust a pretty Southern boy from rural Alabama is my primary takeaway from the season. ↩︎

Ooh My Love

Friday morning post-Muses work at home Friday! The streak continues for at least another year, as Paul got a lovely rainbow-hued shoe last night. It was a gorgeous night to be out on the parade route, but alas–I was very tired since I got up at six, and everything kind of ached. I came back inside after the shoe was achieved, but Paul went back out there while I fell asleep in my easy chair. Sparky let me sleep in this morning, and he was curled up into a ball, purring, between my shoulder and my head, which kept me there even longer because who doesn’t want to cuddle with a warm, purring kitty? It was fun being out there on the parade route–I may save my energy for tomorrow’s Iris/Tucks madness and skip out on tonight’s parades–but it was fun watching people and seeing all the fun costumes. I feel good this morning–a bit creaky as always, but rested, which is a vast improvement, you know? I have work to do today and I have a couple of errands to run, but I think I am going to try to read and clean the apartment once my work is done. I still have the bulk paper towels from Costco away, laundry to do, and of course, the floors. I also need to prune the books some while I am at it. The men’s Olympic figure skating final is today, too–so will probably have that on while I do chores around the house.

And maybe I’ll even do some writing today, stranger things have happened, after all. I also want to make potato leek soup this afternoon–and definitely need to organize the refrigerator/freezer. But right now I am sipping my first cup of coffee and have already scarfed down coffee cake, but am still hungry. I wasn’t hungry yesterday and didn’t really do more than snack after I got home from work yesterday. I did do some chores when I got home yesterday afternoon, but it was Thursday and I was tired, so I just kind of chilled and watched the Olympics for a while, before falling down into a news wormhole on Youtube before it was time to head out for the parade. I don’t have to work again (after today) until Ash Wednesday, so hopefully this sort of mini-vacation (I also only have to work three days next week) will help me get rested up and help me get my act together; a Greg at rest tends to stay at rest, so I need to avoid the siren song of my easy chair and Sparky.

Easier said than done, frankly.

But one never knows. I am going to have some things delivered today so I don’t have to go out into the madness and try to find parking and all of that mess–and then I won’t have to leave the house again until Monday, if then–although I should head uptown and get the mail Monday morning and do whatever I need to get done around town that morning since I won’t be able to get out of the neighborhood all day on Mardi Gras.

Okay, had a meeting and ran an errand and now I am back here, resting before I dive back into my work-at-home duties. I feel good, having had enough coffee and had a few things to eat, so my blood sugar went back up again. I don’t feel physically tired, despite running an errand, and I have some soreness still in my Achilles tendons, but I am going to ice them this afternoon while doing my work at home duties. I think that will help me with being out there for Iris tomorrow morning/early afternoon. It’s kind of grayish outside today, but not chilly; we’re supposed to get some rain over the weekend , too; I hope it holds off until after Tucks, at any rate.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, everyone, and I’ll return in the morning again–see if I don’t!

Muses bathtub and rubber duckies!

Ghosts

Sunday morning. It’s yet another incredibly bright and sunny morning, and I slept late yet again this morning. Sparky let me sleep till past eight again this morning, and now I am up–a little bleary-eyed, but awake. I didn’t get a lot (anything) done yesterday, and who knows? I may not be able to today, either. There’s nothing wrong with being tired and taking a day of, as we all know, and my lack of anxiety in general is making it less necessary for me to make excuses for myself, or rationalize doing nothing. I mean, I cooked and everything, doesn’t that count? I broiled some chicken tenders to keep on hand and so I can make jambalaya at some point this week, and I also have the makings for some potato leek soup. I spent some time icing my Achilles tendons, which made them less achy and sore–they are a bit this morning, too, so will be icing them again this morning. My legs are bone-tired this morning too–they were yesterday, but this morning they don’t ache like they did yesterday. I really need to get going on building up my stamina again. As for today, I am not making plans. I have my lengthy to-do list, after all, and I do need to pick up some around here, too. If I read, I read; if I write, I write…but am not terribly worried about anything.

Better living through chemistry is so the way to go, Constant Reader.

I hear Sparky creeping around somewhere–which means he might be in attack/play mode; so I might be attacked at any moment. He really is the most adorable kitty, and it’s cute (if bloody and painful) when he goes into apex predator attack beast mode.

I was exhausted almost the entire day yesterday. I slept late, as I mentioned yesterday morning, but was physically worn down; the combination of walking so much when I am not used to it, plus the end of the week. After I posted yesterday morning, I took my coffee and a piece of king cake into the living room with me, determined to do some reading after I caught up on the latest insanities in the news. It pleased me to no end to see the Olympic crowd at the opening ceremonies cheering for our athletes as they walked into the stadium only to have the cheers turned to boos as Pseudonym and Wife appeared on the Jumbotron. Best get used to it, Vances–this is the rest of your miserable grifting fucking lives. Paul came down early to watch the figure skating with me, and we went from the Olympics to finishing His and Hers (a lot of fun, with a great surprise twist) and then this week’s The Beauty. (I was highly amused to see that Vincent D’onofrio was the “before” for Ashton Kutcher’s character; once the transformation was complete, Paul said, “why didn’t it give him an ass?”) I was very tired, and fell asleep in my chair for a couple of hours in the late afternoon/early evening, and then we watched Twinless, with Dylan O’Brien, which was really good but also very sad.

I am not as exhausted and tired as I was yesterday physically, but I might head out to the corner to watch King Arthur–which has lots of gay riders so I get a lot of stuff thrown at me–later this afternoon, depending on how I feel. I also have to walk over to Walgreens this morning to buy some bread and ice cream and chips or something to snack on; I am going to not worry about my weight until after Mardi Gras. I don’t know how cold it is outside, either–it’s very sunny, though–but I think I am going to ice my legs for awhile before I do anything.

And on that tedious note, I am heading into the living room to read while I ice my ankles. May your Sunday be a fun day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back in the morning before the sun rise.

The Nightmare

Saturday morning and there are a ridiculous amount of parades today out at the corner–Pontchartrain, Freret, Mars, and Choctaw during the day, followed by Sparta and Pygmalion, which is crazy–next Saturday there are only two. Nevertheless, I slept in this morning before an insistent cat demanded I get up and feed His Majesty just after eight, so I tumbled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen to fix myself a cup of coffee. My legs are a bit achy this morning (more on that later), and I am also very physically tired. Mentally I am good–or what passes for it around here again–so I think this morning is going to be a “read in my chair under a blanket while resting” kind of morning. As for the parades today, well, it looks beautiful outside again this morning (yesterday was stunningly beautiful and got up into the 70s; today is supposed to be slightly cooler but yesterday was also not supposed to get that hot–we had to switch the air system from heat (it wasn’t on) to cool last evening; it was 78 degrees upstairs! I also wound up falling asleep in my easy chair, waking up just before midnight to head up to bed. I woke up feeling tired yesterday morning, and after running my chores–and dealing with Carnival traffic all over Uptown–I was done with everything. When Paul got home from the gym, I was like, we can go to Costco Tuesday night after work and he agreed.

I did watch some of the Olympic figure skating yesterday (the crowd booing the Vances at the opening ceremonies needs to be done as a reel so it can be replayed over and over again–it’s not just Americans that hate them, and it’s always lovely for them to be reminded they are pariahs all over the world), which was lovely. The men’s team short program is today, as is the ice dance final. I do love the Olympics, and I am glad that the fans in attendance–at least thus far–are showing respect and love to our athletes while despising our leadership. If only most Americans were capable of that sort of discernment…

I walked to dinner with a friend last night, which is why my legs are achy this morning–they aren’t used to that much exercise and are complaining about it to me today. I got my marvelous ice machine down from the attic yesterday and used it on the Achilles tendons, which helped tremendously. I also changed the inserts in my shoes, so the walking wasn’t as bad as I feared it would be. We met at Pesche, in the CBD on the corner of Julia and Magazine–and walked back up Magazine to Terpsichore before cutting over to Coliseum Square and then home. I had not been to Pesche before–I’ve driven past any number of times–and highly recommend. I had the hushpuppies, an interesting dirty martini with both vodka AND gin in it, with a sprig of dill; called a “Mother of Pearl,” and ground shrimp with noodles, which was insanely delicious–imagine flat noodles covered in a red sauce with shrimp ground up like hamburger in it. I need to figure out how to make that at home, frankly, because it was fucking amazing. I was pretty tired physically by the time I was slipping my key into the gate while a marching band passed at the corner–one of those Carnival season things that always makes me smile. It is inconvenient but I do love parade season and living inside the box. Despite the aggravation of all the traffic and stupidity that went along with it as I drove around, I did kind of get a kick out of seeing people driving around with their Carnival colored ladders in back, or watching people set up their viewing spaces along the Avenue and along Napoleon, too. There really is no resisting Carnival, no matter how much you try, unless you literally leave town for it all.

And this is just the warm-up. Everything kicks into gear this coming Wednesday night.

And on that brief note, I am getting another cup of coffee, a slice of King cake, and heading for my easy chair and the ice machine. Have a marvelous Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

No Spoken Word

Thursday, and Parades’ Eve! The fencing and bleachers are up all along St. Charles Avenue, and last night I got to drive the slalom course they turn the Avenue into ever since the terrorist attack onNew Year’s last year. Tomorrow there are two parades, there are six or seven on Saturday, and I think three on Sunday. This is the warm-up weekend before the big final weekend, so we’ll see how it goes. I have to run a bunch of errands tomorrow, too–once my work-from-home duties are completed. I don’t know how productive I am going to be, either. I don’t know that I have the stamina to be out there as much as I could be, either. We shall see. It’s also in the thirties again this morning–it got up in the seventies yesterday, which was weird–and I could feel the floor getting colder last evening through my house shoes. I think the parade weather is going to be in the fifties/sixties, but sunny. We shall see, and we shall also see if my Achilles tendons can handle it just yet–they still are sore and achy. Note to self: look up what to do with sore Achilles tendons.

I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home last night. I was able to fold laundry, do a load of dishes and put them away, and reload the dishwasher to run tonight when I go to bed. The kitchen is in much better condition than it usually is on Thursday morning, so I am not going to have to spend time over the weekend catching up on all those things. We watched another His and Hers (we’ll probably finish it tonight, as there are only two episodes left. There’s also another episode of The Beauty, which I am hate-watching. Paul doesn’t care about that show anymore, so I’ll probably watch it while I am relaxing into my easy chair and bonding with my Sparky. We still haven’t watched the final season of Stranger Things, or the new season of Bridgerton, either. We’re also in the midst of the final countdown to the festivals, the Olympics are starting, parade season, and AUGH. I need to stop procrastinating, don’t I? MY to-do list keeps growing, but very little ever seems to come off of it–which would have led to a complete breakdown before anxiety medication.

Better living through chemistry is definitely a thing I embrace whole-heartedly.

Neil Gaiman tried to come back to social media in light of the Epstein horrors, and I am not really sure what he was thinking. I believe he was driven off social media yet again, but this led to some serious conversations about other author/predators, which led to me discovering precisely why Marion Zimmer Bradley had been canceled, and I might add, ew. I knew it was something bad but I never paid much attention; I’d never read anything of hers other than The Catch Trap, her gay circus romance between aerialists, which…I had some issues with. I have my original copy of it around here somewhere, because I’d always meant to go back and read it again. Overall, I’d enjoyed it, but there was something terribly off about it to me, that kind of made me uneasy as I read it. I also knew that her Arthurian novels were very popular with women, because she told the story through the point of view of the women; but I loved Mary Stewart’s Arthurian novels so much I didn’t think I would enjoy the Bradley novels–and would always be comparing them unfavorably, and there are lots of other things to read, you know. Now, I’m glad I never did, and a critical reread of The Catch Trap knowing what Bradley and her evil husband were doing to their own children will color it. It also makes some of the stuff that didn’t sit right with me in the book make a lot more sense to me now. Anyway, thank you, Karin Kallmaker, for letting me know.

Okay, I looked up the Achilles tendon stuff and the recommendations are rest, ice, and stretching, which means getting my ice machine down from the attic tonight, and we shall see how that will go.

And on that note, y’all, I think I am going to head into the spice mines. Enjoy your day, Constant Reader, and I will be back tomorrow morning.

So pretty!

Sable on Blond

And now it’s another abominably cold Sunday morning, and its back to the office with me again tomorrow.

Sparky was hungry so I got up around six, staggered downstairs and fed him before heading back up to the warm nest of blankets in my oh-so-comfortable bed. I woke up again at seven, went back to sleep, and when I woke up again, the power was out. I gave Sparky some treats, got my book, and went back up to bed–no power, no need to be out of bed, right? I read a few chapters of The Secret of Hangman’s Inn, a reread of an old Ken Holt mystery for kids1 before the power came back on, and I did have some thoughts–about how danger is real in these series, and yet–but it can wait until I finish. The kitchen is still very cold this morning–I am going to have to get a space heater down from the attic this morning because it is so fucking cold in the kitchen/workspace.

That’s the lengthy explanation of why this is being written and posted so much later in the morning than I usually do–my daily routine was disrupted and I am trying to recalibrate my discombobulation and turn it into something productive. The house is kind of messy; I didn’t really do as much cleaning yesterday because of the cold and used that as my excuse to not do much of anything, really. I was busy watching Youtube videos about Melania and enjoying numerous cruel laughs at her expense. Iy wasn’t the best week for the treasonous MAGA trash, was it? May it continue to get worse and worse by the week, day, hour and minute. As for the “I didn’t vote for this” assholes, yes, you fucking did. Every single one of you is an accomplice before the fact to everything that has happened since 1/20/25. We warned you, over and over, and you laughed in our faces and said fuck your feelings.

Which is exactly how I feel now. Fuck your feelings, You voted for this, stop whining and live with your fucking decision. You want absolution for destroying the country? Drink fucking bleach, or get to work fixing this mess, shut the fuck up unless you’re doing the actual work, and fucking bite your tongue whenever you feel like fucking whining again. They’re coming for Obergefell, just like we all said they would.

Oh, the Melania documentary? I’ll wait for the one from Dateline, thanks.

Apparently we are also in a boil water advisory, because a water main in Uptown–in either Riverbend or the Black Pearl, they didn’t say the neighborhood only the streets, and I am not confident about my neighborhood boundaries anymore, since realtors seem to invent new neighborhoods and change the boundaries on a daily basis. I have plenty of water on hand–thank you, Britta pitchers I always keep full–but in all honesty, I am surprised there weren’t more, given how cold it was, in all honesty. Our infrastructure is all so old and crumbling it’s a wonder the city functions at all.

We started rewatching Judgment at Nuremberg last night–can’t imagine why–after getting caught up on The Night Manager–and I actually went to bed early. All this extra sleep and my daily routine being disrupted has been kind of an interesting departure from normality. I should probably consult my to-do notebook, shouldn’t I, as I head into the spice mines this morning? Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back in the morning again before I head to the spice mines tomorrow.

  1. The Ken Holt series is one of, if not the, best kids’ mystery series. Part of tmy reason for this reread is to write an essay for the newsletter about Ken Holt and why it was such a favorite of mine. ↩︎

Long Way To Go

I slept in a little this morning, until His Majesty King Sparky, Lord of the Lost Apartment, had enough of waiting for his meal and got me up. I feel rested–it really is amazing what a difference waking up naturally (rather than to an alarm) makes. I have to brave the cold today and run some errands, but I intend to get back home and inside as quickly as possible. This morning feels like a read in my chair morning with a blanket draped over me before getting cleaned up and running errands while slurping coffee, which absolutely sounds marvelous. I want to get some writing done today. I had an idea for a short story yesterday for a call for submissions I really would love to do something for, and I would like to get some of that done today or tomorrow. I was also thinking about other stories, and Chlorine, while I worked on the apartment, and also made some notes, which was pretty cool.

Yesterday was a lovely day around here–not so much in the outside world, as ever and always, more on that horror later on–in which I got up, got cleaned up, did my day job duties, and started cleaning and organizing the apartment. I got all the laundry done, a start on the books again, and started organizing the laundry room/pantry shelves. I tried reattaching the exhaust hose to the dryer vent numerous times, but it kept coming loose again, turning the room into a sauna briefly. This is going to call for drastic measures, methinks, like Gorilla tape or something similar. But the shelves in the pantry are starting to look neater and more organized, which is always a plus, you know? And very pleasing to look at, you know? I do still like neatness, organization, and tidiness.

I had the news on while I cleaned and organized and occasionally sat down for a break. I greatly enjoyed all the news about the Bezos bribe documentary, Melania, which might be worth streaming for free for the unintentionally funny parts. (Paul does the best imitation of her opening line from the shitty trailer, here we go again, that is so eerily spot on it creeps me out while making me laugh at the same time.) I doubt that it will become a cult classic for midnight viewing, like Showgirls or The Rocky Horror Picture Show, but you know it’s laughably bad. The review in The Guardian was hilariously brutal; I’ve bookmarked it to go back and read it again whenever I feel down and need a cruel laugh to cheer me back up, and who better to laugh at than the soulless Slovenian concubine? The latest Epstein files drop was particularly horrifying (I don’t think most of us have the creatively evil kind of imagination to even consider how horrible all of it actually is–but all you have to do is look at what this vile regime is doing to simply distract us from it to know that its filled with unimaginable horrors. I’ve always said killing the kids was all a part of it, and that was just scratching the surface; the start of the unspeakably vile horrors on that island and various other places. I mean, they arrested a journalist, kidnapped a head of state, killed Americans and Venezuelans, and bombed Iran (unsuccessfully). It’s big, its huge, and the national security of any number of countries are also involved–and we would see behind the curtains at last to see how the wealthy elites have been enriching themselves at our expense in order to do this kind of shit.

The guillotine is too merciful for these pricks. And I hope Don Lemon sues the fuck out of all of them for violating his civil rights, wrongful arrest, targeted prosecution, and abuse of fucking power.

God, how I hate them all.

I have been thinking about my next short story collection, This Town and Other Stories, and finally got the notebook down with the manuscript and notes to take a look and see what I have for it, and what else would need to be finished to finish the collection, and was very pleased to see that I’ve published and sold enough stories since the last time I thought about it that I do have an entire collection of published stories, and won’t need to do write any new ones for it, except as perhaps a bonus for the readers? But we shall see, won’t we?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines.

Ole Smokey, the Orpheus train float, is one of my favorites.

I Can’t Wait

Work-at-home Friday, and all through the Lost Apartment only Sparky and I are stirring. He’s scarfing down his breakfast as I type, while sipping my coffee. The extreme cold weather forecast has now been extended through Sunday at noon. Heavy sigh. It could at least snow! Somehow, the magic of snow in New Orleans last year made me forget about how cold it was…I still can’t get over how beautiful the city looked buried in snow. I slept really well last night, and feel pretty good this morning. I hope to get a lot done this weekend, but–no big deal if I don’t. I have my biweekly team meeting at ten this morning, and some admin work to get done before I call it a day. I was thinking I might take a break and do some errands, but I may let that slide until tomorrow; I do have to go uptown at some point this weekend, but maybe not today. I’ll see how I feel. I do want to get finished with reading my books this weekend, and I do want to spend some time organizing my writing and figuring out what to do with these short stories and calls for submissions. I also want to prune the books and make progress on my to-do list.

I bought a notebook with Things I need to get done but probably won’t on the cover, and I am using it as a running to-do list. Yes, this is kind of inspired by Donna Andrews1‘ marvelous Meg Langslow characters “notebook-that-tells-me-when-to-breathe,” and I kind of like it. You cross things off but keeping adding to it. I always numbered those lists when I made them, and am still doing that, but need to break the habit because it’ll eventually be in the hundreds, won’t it? How daunting would that be? “I just crossed number 435 off my to-do list!” I mean, yikes.

It’s hard to believe that a week from today the parades start and madness descends upon the city, but it’s a joyous kind of madness. I hate the logistics of life during the season–finding a place to park, having to be strategic about making groceries, having to leave work early, the noise down at the corner when I go to bed early…but I have Lundi Gras off, so that morning I can make a grocery run and get back before the streets close again. I also don’t have the stamina for standing outside for hours yet, so I will probably got a bit worn down again. At least this year I am not going into it full of depredation before finally giving into it–you can’t beat it, after all, so you might as well not resist and just dive-in head first.

And the bead trees of St. Charles will be blooming again soon.

Yesterday was a busy day at the clinic–almost everyone showed up, so I saw quite a few patients–but despite that I was able to stay caught-up on my “at the office” admin work. I came straight home from work, came inside the house and unloaded, fed Sparky, and started working on the laundry and some other chores. By the time Paul got home, I had done quite a bit around here, including organizing files. I do have more chores to get done today–the never-ending cycle of laundry is quite remarkable–but I need to reattach the dryer hose to the vent, which came loose this past week. I can still run the dryer but the heat stays in the room, and…there’s stuff on the pantry shelves that moist heat can wreck, so I need to pull the dryer out and reattach the hose. I just need to take everything off that bottom shelf and remove it temporarily so I can get back there–which is why I’ve not already done it. It’ll also help me with my reorganize the pantry shelves project. Paul got home late, and we watched this week’s The Beauty, which is insane but highly watchable (more on that later) and we also watched some of the Australian Open. The Olympics open that first parade weekend, too. #madness

And on that note, I think I am going to get cleaned up and started on my day. Thanks as always for stopping by, Constant Reader, and I hope you’re safe, snug and warm during this Arctic blast cold spell. I’ll be back in the morning, so see you then!

The bead trees will start blooming one week from today!

Sister Honey

Thursday and my last day in the office for the week, and my last free weekend before parades. It’s so weird to think that parades are starting next weekend. Holy shit, right? But a week from tomorrow is the first night of parades, with Alla and Cleopatra, with six on Saturday and three on Sunday before all the true madness really begins the following week. I hope the weather is nice for the parades this year, since this is the first time in years I’m actually feeling like I can enjoy them this season. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stand at the corner, but I always seem to forget being old and tired when I am out there and the throws are a-flyin’. I also forget about it being damp and cold, too. Paul and I stood out in the rain one night for Orpheus and had the best time. I slept really well and actually woke up around five, to nap on and off until Sparky became determined to get me up for a feeding. Since I did go to the bathroom when I woke up at five, I saw that he was curled up at my feet in the bed–and when I came back, he cuddled up to my calves. Such a sweet, adorable baby…until he started nipping my fingers so I would get up to feed him.

After I ran my errands in the bitter cold on my way home from work, I came home and just collapsed into my easy chair. Sparky curled up in my lap (after being fed, of course) while I caught up on the day’s horrors–er, news–before turning to the final episode of the finale for Real Housewives of Salt Lake City’s reunion. I’m not really sure there’s any point to these reunions/rehashings of the season–it just gives them all a chance to yell at each other all over again, with a noncommittal resolution that’s seems required by that smug expired twinkie Andy Cohen (at some point I will do a newsletter about the Housewives shows).

The amount of virality that continues with Heated Rivalry and its stars continues to astound and amaze me. It does also please me; I’ve become rather entranced with them myself and feel almost paternally protective of them. I watch reels and videos about them and their journey to international stardom. They all have such adorable personalities, and are all so humble about all this sudden success and fame…and it’s just kind of fun to see, you know?1 And who doesn’t love a rags to riches story? It also amazes me how different Connor Storrie is from the character he played–and I don’t just mean the acting. He looks different. Similar, but different. As Ilya, he doesn’t really use his very expressive face the way he does as himself; so much so that he doesn’t seem like the same person. I feel like physical actors don’t get as much credit as they deserve; I always think of that scene in Superman where Christopher Reeve changes from Clark Kent into Superman but only in posture and physically, and it was extraordinary; he never got the credit he deserved for his acting talent.

Yesterday was an odd one, energy-wise. I wasn’t tired, and I ran my errands on the way home, coming straight home tonight with no stops, might have things delivered if I need anything over the weekend. We had a lot of no-shows yesterday–I think I wound up only seeing two or three people total–so I found myself catching up on a lot of other work that doesn’t involve seeing clients. We’re scheduled heavier than yesterday and I am alone in the clinic yet again…and I have some other things I need to get done today around clients. I feel pretty good this morning, though, and like I’ll be able to get everything under control today. Tonight when I get home I have some chores to do once His Majesty has been fed and gotten enough attention, and then I think I’ll probably catch up on the news before watching this week’s The Beauty. We’re also a bit behind on The Night Manager, too. And of course the Australian Open is on, and the Olympics are also coming up…during parade season!

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

  1. I’m still bitter about Boots being canceled. ↩︎

Nothing Ever Changes

Tuesday of our latest arctic blast, but all is comfy and warm inside the Lost Apartment, which is lovely. The dry heat used to bother me–it still bugs Paul–but I’ve adjusted to it and it’s not the worst thing in the world. I mean, we could have to be out protesting in the streets in below zero temperatures (Minnesotans are making me very proud to be American, because fuck this fascist bullshit, now and forever.) I even saw an anthology call for short stories yesterday with the theme American Gestapo and you can bet your ass I am going to write something for that call. I have more than a few things to say about the collapse of American democracy, and a lot of scorn for those who cheer the decline and fall. I, for one, never expected the Reich-wing flip-flop on carrying a gun and gun ownership1, but these are indeed the strangest of times. And now it looks like the siege of Minneapolis might finally be ending; Bovino the Temu SS officer has been fired, and hopefully, that disgusting pile of filth known as Kristi Noem will be thrown under the bus along with him. Was this third government execution of an American citizen a turning point? Maybe, at long last. (So far, they’ve killed a black man–most people don’t know that part; outrage grew over the white woman; and exploded over the white man…as it ever was and is and will be.)

I mean, when you’ve lost the NRA and Greg motherfucking Abbott, it’s really is time for some serious self-reflection, isn’t it?

It’s cold again this morning, but it’s going to warm up a little before the next arctic blast (worse than the first) arrives later this week. We’re talking single digit weather in New Orleans, of all places. It’s going to be a weird weekend. I am going to try to get everything errand-wise finished by Friday, so I can stay indoors from Friday evening to Monday morning. Tis very cold here in my bay windows this morning, but it was pleasant at work yesterday (as opposed to our last cold spell, when the office was freezing). I slept so well last night–that pile of blankets was incredibly warm and comfortable and cozy last night, and I really hated to get out from under them this morning. When I got home from my errands last night (I had also ordered some groceries for delivery, too), I changed into my home-clothes (sweatpants and a hoodie and slippers), and sat down in my chair to read for a bit and watch the news before doing some chores, but Sparky had other ideas. He plopped into my lap and went to sleep…and then I was so comfortable, between him and the blanket, that I really never got back up again, other than for something to drink or snacks. It was entirely too comfortable, really.

Yesterday wasn’t bad at work, either. I wasn’t in the clinic after all, so I spent the day doing Admin stuff and getting caught up on everything–I’m never really very behind on anything anymore, but letting things slide always gets me in trouble. We’re slow this week, too, so I should be able to be all caught up on office work by Thursday when I leave. Huzzah!

I also finished my first promotional newsletter for Hurricane Season Hustle, which you can read right here! I need to do at least another one–the book officially drops on February 10–and I am getting really behind on the newsletters, aren’t I? The goal was once a week, and I’ve strayed very far from that initial ideal/goal over the last couple of years. I have so many started….and I really need to get more done, especially since (as with everything) I keep getting more ideas for them all the time! Heavy heaving sigh. It’s very hard to get things done, though, when I’m cold–but I need to stop giving in to the easy laziness and power through, don’t I?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and stay safe and warm–especially those in Minneapolis and Maine. I’ll be back tomorrow!

  1. Funny how they change their tune on everything, isn’t it? Suddenly the people who need a fucking AK-47 to go get coffee at Starbucks claim if you carry a gun in public the cops or a federal agent can shoot you? But, no, we’re the brainwashed ones… ↩︎