Tag: Sparky

One Step Away

And here we are on a Saturday morning in the Lost Apartment and all is very well. Yesterday was rather nice, overall. I felt rested and got my work done, ran the Costco errand (and yes, it rather wore me out) and then back home to finish the laundry and rest and relax and cool off. I do feel pretty good this morning, too.

I finally got the idea for the next Scotty book yesterday–as always, I had all these disparate threads I couldn’t see how to bring together, and it all coalesced for me yesterday. Pirates and pirate treasure? The murder of a former friend turned homophobic racist piece of shit? Halloween? Yes, yes, it all came to me yesterday, but now I have to do the necessary research to do it properly. I already have some of it on hand, of course, and this is one of those instances where the history doesn’t have to be 100% accurate, either; one of the problems with New Orleans history is that so much of it is lore and legend arising out of gossip and oral history, with all the problems inherent in said researches. I also need to organize my short story writing, based on submission calls I want to answer; energy will be the key to getting all this done, and now it’s absolutely one hundred percent about being lazy and not forcing myelf to do it when I don’t feel like doing anything other than sitting in my easy mindlessly scrolling through Youtube clips on the news, history, sports…I can get lost in there for hours.

It didn’t seem terribly hot, until I got into the car yesterday. I thought I might melt before the air conditioning began blowing blessedly cold air. Costco was actually rather fun and I didn’t feel in the least bit tired or grumpy–and hadn’t really eaten since breakfast, so the chance of hanger was also highly probable, but no. They had no boxes and Paul was ordering a new pair of glasses, so I loaded everything into the back of the car, and was very hot (I brought insulated bags for the frozen/refrigerated things, which also made them easier to carry into the house.) There was parking in front of the house (huzzah!), but bringing everything in was exhausting and sweat-inducing and yes, was feeling rather nasty by the time I’d put things into the fridge and could collapse for a moment in my chair–which was seen as an invitation by Sparky to curl up in my lap, and of course I couldn’t make a sleeping, comfortable, safe-feeling cat wake up from such a deep slumber. I just let myself accept that I needed rest, and a purring, sleeping cat is just the trick, you know? How do people without cats do without that marvelously restful experience? It’s a bit beyond me, and I don’t intend to ever find out. I spent the evening watching the news and old football clips of LSU (trying to get my excitement for the new season to start amping up until Labor Day weekend) before catching an episode of Sugar before going to bed. I slept marvelously well and even slept a little later than usual this morning. I need to order some groceries to be delivered later on, and we got the mail yesterday so that can wait again until Monday. It’s beginning to look like I won’t need to go outside very much this weekend, and that is a very good thing, as we are back to the dog days of this summer and it’s going to be miserable from now until September.

I’m hoping to have a good day today, one way or the other. Once this is posted I am heading to my easy chair to read for a bit (while putting on a replay of an old LSU game for background noise), and I also want to reread what I have written thus far on an essay for the newsletter as well as Chlorine, so I can get back to writing them both and hopefully finish the essay by the end of the weekend. The ongoing chores (dishes, laundry) are already done, so I can do some chores that I all-too-frequently never manage to get around to. Or not; the day can also be played by ear all day, too, and so who knows what it holds?

I guess Andrew Tate is on solitary but somehow has access to the Internet to post about being in prison? Aw, sucks to be him. Get used to it, buddy, and I don’t think you’re going to do well in general population, but sure, demand it. I’m sure there are any number of young convicts who will be interested in your theories about alpha males. Have fun with that, rapist.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines with my book and another cup of coffee. Have a simply marvelous Saturday, Constant Reader, and I will be back again tomorrow morning.

Carlos Alcaraz for Vanity Fair

I Feel So Free

It’s Tuesday morning, with a tropical storm out there and heading this way. Eek! It seems to be moving slow, with potential landfall tomorrow in the afternoon some time…which will be fun since I will be at work and will have to figure out how to get home in a downpour, but hey, you never know. Best thing will be to take I-10 to the I-90 exchange and get off at St. Charles. Ah, well, don’t have to worry about that until tomorrow, so why borrow trouble today? Besides, New Orleans/tropical weather forecasts are often wrong; it could be cloudless and sunny while Bertha works her wiles along the coast before coming in. We’re in both a heat advisory and a tropical storm watch at the same time; how New Orleans in July is that? I also slept really well last night–I was tired when I got home from running my errands, for some reason. Tonight I am going to stop on my way home to pick up a few things, but it’s on my way home and thus not a big deal or detour.

I’ve viewed The Odyssey with a skeptical eye since it was announced and previews/clips/still photos started showing up everywhere. As I mentioned before, I always thought Odysseus was kind of a dick, as were the rest of the Greeks; despite knowing the outcome of the Trojan War and what happened to Odysseus on his way home, I always was on Troy’s side. (case in point: Achilles the great warrior. Um, it’s easy to be a brave killing machine when your skin all over your body is invulnerable like Superman. How are you a hero when you literally can’t be killed or injured? Make it make sense, Homer!) However, over the past few days I’ve seen some discussion on the film that makes it seem more interesting to me; I’m not going to see it in a theater (no way am I sitting anywhere for three hours), and had always planned on streaming it. I was going to watch more out of a sense of obligation, really, but it sounds like Nolan’s take on the story is different…it never occurred to me to ever link Troy and the Sea Peoples and the Bronze Age collapse together, and I have to say I am now interested in reading Emily Wilson’s translations of Homer and Virgil. I read the three epics when I was in junior high, and may have been too young to absorb, understand, and interpret. (The Achilles/Patroclus relationship fascinated me; even though the myth was so cleaned up for kids…somehow, I knew.)

I’ve always wanted to write about the Trojan War but was confused by so much. If Troy was a major city and in control of trade routes, where was their fleet? Their merchant ships? Their port? I have this image in my head of an old man, seated by a fire, telling the story of Prince Ganymede of Troy, one of Priam’s bastards, but very close to my favorite Trojan, Cassandra.

I hate my brain sometimes.

Yesterday wasn’t a bad day, but mother of God, it was hot. It was 103 when I got into the car after work, and yes, it felt every degree of it. I listened to the new Madonna album on the way uptown yesterday as the a/c in the car finally began blowing cold, deliciously cold, and got the mail. I also stopped and made groceries (still no Creole tomatoes) and yes, bringing everything into the house from the car was exhausting and sweat-inducing to the point that I needed to sit in my chair once everything was put away. I watched the news–the World Cup trophy presentation thing made me laugh, cruelly, and almost as hard as I laughed at the booing. Bravo, Spain! Bravo! How pathetic and pitiable was that display of childish self-centering? “My trophy! Cameras on ME! I’m the best boy!” I mean, I totally get why his parents didn’t love him (who could?), but I also don’t see why we have to be the ones to suffer from his lifelong trauma of Not Being The Best Boy. The first hints of rain from Bertha aren’t supposed to (last time I checked, anyway) get here until tonight, once I am safely home from work and have a purring kitty in my lap while I write and I catch up on the news. I did the dishes this morning and will turn on the dishwasher once I am on my way out the door. It’ll be nice to come home to a cleaned up kitchen without a sink full of dirty dishes and dirty dishes and assorted debris all over my counters.

Sigh.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Hope you have a great day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

Professional wrestler and Greek god-like Finn Baelor

Lift ‘Em on Up

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment, and I did stay in bed later this morning on purpose because it imply fet so marvelous. I had a small replacement fan delivered yesterday afternoon, and it ran all night and I didn’t wake up once, instead going into an incredibly deep and restful sleep for nearly ten hours! Yesterday was kind of a nice, low energy day around here. Paul is back to working with his trainer and going to the gym again, and so he was gone most of the afternoon. I slept later yesterday, and had a bit of a sleep hangover; I was back to feeling rested and not tired, but my batteries were a bit low. I ordered some things to have delivered, and picked up and organized whenever Sparky wasn’t insistent on my lap for hugs and cuddles and naps, which was also nice. Relaxing is always important for both physical and mental health, and my stamina is getting better. I did get a fan delivered yesterday, to make sure I had both the breeze and noise while sleeping last night. I didn’t read any of my book, but I read some of my work in progress, which counts, doesn’t it? I think this morning I’ll read some of the book I’m reading, which I am enjoying. It’s nice to wake up feeling rested and good.

I’m also late with the newsletters, which I am blaming on being “off” all week. I did do some writing this past week, but not much, and I am definitely behind on everything I am working on. It’s a shame that the response I am writing to that little gatekeeping shit who wrote that op-ed for the New York Slimes recently, trying to restrict the community to those he feels “truly belong” as opposed to, how did he say it? Straight kids trying to be cool? I was very angry when I started writing it, but am glad I waited and let it sit, so I can be very cold and factual as I dismantle his bigoted (and hardly Christian) argument.

Honestly, I had no interest in seeing The Odyssey , and it had nothing to do with it being “woke.” (Which didn’t seem to hurt its opening weekend ticket sales). It’s more along the lines that I’ve always thought Odysseus was kind of a dick; Greek “heroes” aren’t really heroic in the modern sense (the Hero’s Journey is the protagonist’s journey, just like romance originally meant something different than it does now, as did mystery); which always confused me when I was fascinated by the Trojan War (I’ve always wanted to write about Troy) and Greek mythology. Heracles was most certainly not a hero in the sense that the modern American definition thinks of as heroic–and while some of his monstrous behavior could be excused away as acts of the gods, not all of them were because of Hera or some other Olympian with a grudge. (I’ve also wanted to write about Heracles since I was a kid.)

Since I was on low-energy mode yesterday, we did watch Sugar, and a couple of episodes of Monarch: Legacy of Monsters, which really needs to ditch the soapy time travel melodrama of the cast of characters and more on the monsters, which is why we are watching. Godzilla finally has shown up–it’s funny how these same monsters traumatized me as a child, watching Creature Features on the television, giving me bad dreams for weeks after seeing one, and now I love them–which was vastly overdue. The problem with the focus on the melodrama always makes me zone out a bit, which means I miss key things about the monsters by the same team who are also studying the monsters and predicting patterns of behavior and movement–and also where they come from, hence the time travel melodrama. Sugar? No notes. Colin Farrell is fantastic, and the show is well done and well written and extremely clever.

I have to order some things for delivery today or tomorrow; I haven’t decided. I ordered things yesterday so I didn’t have to leave the house, since we were in a d (“feels like 110!”) so I decided going to the gate to get things or out to the trash to dump garbage and the recycling was enough; the sun glaring off my windshield was blinding and I don’t want to think about how hot the car is on the inside. We’re in another heat advisory today, with the ‘feels like’ at about 112, hence ordering for delivery yet again.

The times in which we live, where Taco Bell has replaced the CDC and Waffle House the National Weather Service. Had someone told me this would be my senior years when I was even middle-aged I would have laughed so hard. An anti-vaxxer in charge of public health and food safety? Let’s remember, the agencies that would have worked on these things were gutted by DOGE, Elon, and his ketamine fueled college-age boys? Where are those little shits now? I know they aren’t behind bars where they belong.

There are two tropical messes trying to form in the upper Gulf, just off the coast, and it will of course affect us with some rain and possible flooding from Tuesday through the next weekend. Heavy sigh–but I am looking forward to the thunderstorm.

Pity about the Tates being arrested for raping and trafficking children. Hope they enjoy dying in prison.

And on that cheerful note–I approve of predators being arrested–I am going to get another cup of coffee and head into the living room to read for a bit before getting cleaned up and heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I will be here again tomorrow morning. Till then!

This artwork is “The Tree of Forgiveness” (1881–1882) by English Pre-Raphaelite painter Sir Edward Burne-Jones. The painting depicts a scene from classical mythology, specifically the legend of Phyllis and Demophoön.
It illustrates the moment Phyllis, transformed into an almond tree, emerges from the bark to embrace her lover, Demophoön, who has returned filled with remorse. (If you ask me, he looks terrified and like he’s trying to escape. Maybe that’s the myth?)

Wide Awake in Dreamland

Sunday and wide awake, perhaps not in Dreamland per se, but definitely the Lost Apartment. Yesterday was a lovely day, really. I got up around seven and checked the news, put away the dishes, and pottered around in the morning over my coffee. As it turned out, Paul had plans for nearly the entire day from before noon until the mid evening, leaving me to my own devices for the day. I read some, puttered around a bit, wrote some, put some things on while I rearranged and reorganized during the day while he was gone, and kind of enjoyed the peace and quiet of a little alone time. It’s nice periodically to have a day that is entirely mine to do with as I pleased, you know? It would get old very quickly, I suspect, but as I said, it’s nice every once in a while. The thunderstorm also arrived just before one, too–at least that’s when the sky started darkening and I heard thunder in the distance. It was the proverbial New Orleans gully-washer with flash flooding alerts and so forth. Paul wasn’t home, so Sparky wanted to sleep in my lap all afternoon and I was frankly happy to allow him to; it was very cozy with the chilly damp in the air and the sound of rain pouring out of the sky and rushing along the walk to the lower level of the street. I watched the last two episodes of House of the Dragon, which were quite enthralling. It did pick up in episode two, after all, and these episodes I watched yesterday were very gripping and moved very quickly.

I apparently missed the news about Lindsey Graham’s sudden death yesterday, adnd have not read any of the reporting, just seeing some social media posts about it this morning. Awful as he was, there was a little part of my brain that felt sorry for him. I always felt that the mocking of his questionable sexuality bordered on the homophobic and made me uncomfortable, even as I succumbed to the temptation of the low-hanging fruit on occasion. I guess seeing him triggered my empathy because I would always think, whenever I saw him, how easily his “path” (we don’t know anything for certain, everything is speculation and cruel gossip rooted in the homophobic ideation that you can always tell. Um, tell Rock Hudson and Tab Hunter’s fans back in the day, or Rob Halford. Hell, they didn’t think Freddie Mercury of QUEEN was, so yeah, no you can’t) could have been mine. I often wonder how I, born gay into a rural Southern family steeped in that dominant Southern culture, may have turned out had we not left Alabama when I was two, which is where my place of empathy for Graham comes from–and now that he’s dead and cannot cause any harm to non-white non-straights anymore, I can shake my head with sadness about his wasted life. Even if everyone is reading him wrong and he was just not “masculine” enough1, that’s actually even sadder. He was a horrible person and his congressional voting record and public white supremacy mean the sympathy is more along the lines of a wasted life who could have spent his entire career doing things for his constituents rather than being a MAGA mouthpiece.

He certainly was a Harkonnen beta, and that is unforgivable.

With McConnell also dead (despite the pretense and this whole Weekend at Bernie’s bullshit they’ve been pulling with his brain-dead corpse–if he didn’t die before they took him out of his home, they sure were not in a hurry for someone found unresponsive in their home. These things come in threes–dare we to hope? As someone I admire greatly once wrote–dare we have the audacity of hope? This could be the best American summer in quite a while. Although in this shitty timeline, Anne Widdecombe probably counted as the other vile politician death in this glorious triumvirate.

Seriously, live your life so the world isn’t better off when you’ve died.

I slept late this morning and feel good and rested this morning, if a bit hungry. I do have to order some things for delivery and I’ll have to stop on my way home from the office tomorrow to pick up a few things. Today I am hoping to read and write and do some picking up around here. Paul slept on the couch last night (he said it’s easier sometimes for his knee when it hurts) so I can’t catch up on the news, so I will have no choice other than to read and write this morning. We watched a documentary last night on Netflix, Breakdown: 1975, which was a pivotal year culturally–this focused on politics and films, and that in wake of government distrust that permeated the country after all the scandals, how films became more cynical rather than optimistic and good didn’t always win in the end–and the good guy himself was not entirely a good guy either, unless he was an innocent pulled into something beyond both his knowledge and control, like Marathon Man. My Cynical 70s Film Festival that I did during the shutdown really emphasized how gritty and realistic the decade’s “serious” films by the auteur directors that rose in the 1970s were…and how Spielberg and Lucas changed the industry into the summer blockbuster mess it’s been ever since.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. My book is calling to me, and I need to read some other things for research purposes before I dig back into my own book and short stories and essays. Hope you have a lovely Sunday however you choose to spend it, Constant Reader, and I will see you again bright and early at six am again tomorrow!

Sure, whatever you say, there’s absolutely nothing homoerotic about professional wrestling. Uh huh. Nice ass, anyway.
  1. This would make a marvelous introduction to one of my essays about masculinity, wouldn’t it? ↩︎

The Art of Letting Go

Saturday morning, and a top o’ the morning to you, me pretties. Yesterday wasn’t too terrible, actually; I always make such a big deal out of things that aren’t big deals and I really need to break that really bad habit at some point before I die. I got up before the alarm, but hit snooze a couple of times before Sparky realized the alarm was mysteriously going off a fifth day in a row, which meant I’d be getting up soon which means breakfast for the kitty! And wasn’t it sweet of him to try to let me sleep in? I feel good and rested this morning; I was tired and sleepy last night when bed time rolled around, and I slept like a stone (how things that aren’t sentient are supposed to sleep has always mystified me) last night, and woke up relatively early this morning. Once again there’s supposed to be some serious thunderstorms in the late afternoon, which would be lovely and a nice time to curl up and read some more of the book I am currently reading and need to finish.

I was tired, though, when I left the office to run my errands before heading home to finish the chores. They didn’t have Creole tomatoes, which was enormously disappointing; I really wanted one of my grilled cheese sandwiches, which I need to rename because it’s not just a grilled cheese sandwich. I usually will put bacon, guacamole and Creole tomatoes on them, too; they are so amazingly good, and when you use Maldon salt and fresh ground pepper? My word. I’m going to have to go to the store again over this weekend to look for Creole tomatoes, which is the only thing I actually need to get. I was a bit brain dead when I got back home, and then worked on the laundry and other chores. I do feel like this is going to be a productive weekend, and I feel good about that. I really straightened up the books in the living room as a first step to making it look less like a FEMA zone, and also couldn’t find a copy of a book I was looking for, which means I’ll have to buy another copy. Oh well. I did also locate my copies of Dancer from the Dance and Faggots while going through the books, which was a bit of a relief. I can revisit them now, at some point. It’ll be interesting to see them again through a modern lens, remembering the first time I read both and what I thought of them then and how they hold up now. I really need to get back to my reading.

We watched an episode of Sugar and I had the end of an episode of Monarch: Legacy of Monsters (not enough monsters) on while I was straightening and picking things up last night. I also baked potatoe sbecause I didn’t feel like making ravioli or…anything, really. I also kept thinking it was Thursday all afternoon, and being confused by how early it was before remembering oh yes, you put in six hours at the office. Next Friday is Staff Development Day, also mandatory, and also all day. Hurray. Not loving this, honestly. I’ll survive though–at least, I hope so and if I don’t, well, I could use the rest and not aging anymore isn’t a bad thing.

Amazing what anti-anxiety medication can do for a person, isn’t it?

Paul is going to something tonight–he told me, but I forgot; some kind of art show he’s attending with his board president–so they’re having an early dinner first, which will leave me here alone with Sparky for a few hours later on–probably around the time the thunderstorms are predicted to hit the hood. I also want to do some more deep cleaning on the place; I need to move some furniture around, but getting all the shit various cats over the years have knocked behind or underneath them out. (I told you, I have not been as thorough with the housecleaning chores this decade as I used to be, and I wasn’t joking at all!) I also would like to work on a newsletter some more this weekend, maybe even get it sent out later today or tomorrow (I kind of went overboard with them over the holiday weekend and need to space the next ones out some more), and I do want to work on the book and some short stories today, too–we’ll see how it all goes, though, won’t we?

Okay, on that note I am heading into the spice mines. I am going to take my coffee into the living room and watch some news before I get cleaned up and going on this fine day. It looks beautiful outside my windows, and it’s not that humid because the windows aren’t covered in condensation. So, out with the trash and the recycling, too!

See you tomorrow morning!

Il Duomo in Florence from the air. I love Florence.

All Fired Up

Well, it may be Thursday morning, but this is not my last day in the office for the week. We have an in-person department meeting on Friday, so I have to get up and come in. That’s fine, really, I don’t mind putting my time in at the office tomorrow. I won’t have to stay past two, and then I can run some errands on the way home from work and hopefully, get everything I may need so I don’t have to leave again over the weekend and can just stay inside. In the cool. Out of the heat. One of the nice things about doing chores every night and in the morning before I leave for work is that all the cleaning I used to let accumulate in the sink, laundry room and on the counters no longer has to be done first thing on Saturday morning….so I can maybe do some other cleaning that I never get to–like the floors and the stairs. The laundry room shelves need organizing and straightening, too–and I should also go through all the kitchen cabinets and throw away everything that has expired without being used.

And I can also spend some more time writing and reading on the weekends, too.

I slept well last night again, but this morning I hit snooze one more time than usual (to Sparky’s chagrin), but it was more about being comfortable than wanting more sleep. I have the most comfortable bed, and of course my incredibly soft and heavy pile of blankets. It’s supposed to rain again today–it did at the office during the day, but today’s rain is forecast for this late afternoon/earaly evening, which means coming home during a torrential rain (potentially; New Orleans weather forecasts in the summer are completely unreliable), but that’s fine. I don’t even mind having to go into the office tomorrow, either.

Paul didn’t get home until it was too late to watch anything (board meeting), so I did some chores when I got home yesterday before providing a very needy Sparky with a lap/bed for him so he could feel safe and secure again. I did work on the book again yesterday, writing a thousand words and getting a very strong first draft of the first chapter done, which needs a further polish but for now I am content to let it stand as is and move on to finishing a strong draft of chapter two. I’m not writing at my old break-neck pace; I can’t remember the last time I did three thousand words or more in a single day. But that’s also okay; I’m not on any deadline outside of my personal goal of solid first draft by Labor Day, and being able to take my time instead of rushing through a draft is eminently more satisfying, too, and I do think I like this way of writing better. I have more free time than I have had in almost sixteen years, and my body seems to be, if not completely recovered from everything, at least I feel better physically than I have in years. I also like this going into the office a little later every morning thing I’ve been doing this week. I feel more awake and alive and motivated getting there at eight rather than seven thirty, and in the afternoons I don’t feel exhausted…and the days seem to pass much faster than they used to.

The Macavity Award nominations have been released, and was delighted to see three of the short story nominees I have a connection to; Cheryl Head and Christa Faust for their marvelous stories in Crime Ink: Iconic, and from Double Crossing Van Dine, Vaseem Khan’s excellent story “The Devil Himself.” This is the second time one of our contributors from that anthology has been nominated for an award; Barb Goffman earned an Agatha nomination for her story. I am always in good company when I am in an anthology, which is always thrilling for me. Rob Osler also landed a nomination for Best Historical, which is awesome! My friend group is always well represented on awards lists, you know? #ilovemylife.

It’s a good life, isn’t it? 🙂 I also got my copy of the latest in Rob’s series in the mail. Oh, so many excellent books in my TBR pile! I really need to get back to reading seriously. Maybe an hour after work every night? I can read while Sparky dozes, after all. I think maybe unconsciously my mind has closed off answering emails and reading so I can focus entirely on writing fiction? Stranger things have happened in my fevered, chemically imbalanced brain.

And on that note, y’all, I am ending this entry and heading into the spice mines. Have yourself a merry little Thursday, Constant Reader, and no worries–I’ll be here again tomorrow morning. Till then!

Much as I love New Orleans, I love Venetian carnival costumes the most.

7 Rooms of Gloom

It’s actually quite easy to succumb to gloom, actually; the gloom affects our moods and can make us feel either blue or down or depressed from the lack of sunlight. The sun is out there this morning, but the rain from last night and the humidity have covered my windows in condensation so I can’t see out them that well. It rained yesterday while I was at work, and I came home in a break in the storm. Raindrops started hitting my windshield as I turned off St. Charles, and I managed to make it into the house before the big bold of lightning lit up the sky and the thunder that followed shook the house. And then came the gully-washing rain. I did some chores when I got home–laundry and dishes–and came down to a relatively picked up and not-messy (I won’t say clean) kitchen this morning, which is a nice feeling. Sparky certainly likes being able to get up on the counters when they’re clear. It’s nice not being completely exhausted when I get home from work, and as long as I don’t succumb to Sparky’s need for a lap (he definitely needed one last night. Paul went to the office so he was alone at home all afternoon for the first time in about four days, so he was experiencing some abandonment issues) I can get things done so I don’t have to spend an entire day cleaning the kitchen. If I don’t have a sink full of dirty dishes and cluttered counter space by the weekend, I can do a quick touch up and then work on something else that needs cleaning and organizing….and maybe I can finally get this apartment back into the kind of shape it needs to be in for me to be okay with.

I also have worked out a new system at work to be more efficient with my time and easier to stay caught up on things, which is very pleasing since we are now working the clinic short-handed for the foreseeable future. Very cool! I love making my job more efficient. I am feeling good again this week; last week felt like my batteries were on accessory, but feel like I got full recharged up over the weekend. Getting up in the morning is no longer an ordeal, and my mind is clearer when I leave the house so I am not kind of half sleep-walking through the mornings anymore. I do think a lot of this has to do with me writing again, even if the fiction just comes in dribs and drabs these days…the important thing is that I am making progress and I am very pleased with the work. I’m not going to have much of anything published this year–I have a short story in an anthology coming out this fall, but other than that I ain’t got a thing….and at the rate I am going I may have nothing again next year. Nose, attach thyself to grindstone.

Paul got home in time last night for us to finish season one of Sugar and start season two. This show is such a unique take on the hardboiled private eye trope that I enjoy every twist and turn and surprise that comes along. I went to bed fairly early and slept well–the rain, the rain–and had no trouble getting up this morning. I am not as energetic as I was on Monday, for sure, but I am not groggy-tired and wishing I didn’t have to go into the office…and now that the caffeine is hitting my bloodstream that little grogginess is clearing and I can feel my body beginning to wake up. We’re not going to be terribly busy today, so I should be able to get some more administrative stuff done around the clients.

The predictable implosion of the Graham Platner senatorial campaign over the last weekend and past few days has been pretty impressive, frankly. I never said anything publicly about Platner (or James Tallarico, either, for that matter) because I don’t trust them. For me, the homophobia put all my antennae on alert but…I also knew the “progressives” would swarm me and call me everything under the sun for not being on board with our latest iteration of the “working class blue collar straight man” savior they always try to foist on us, because no one is really interested in what we queers (if that bothers you—my use of queer, that has some crusty white gay male asses twisted–go the fuck away) or any of the “minorities” welcomed into the big tent–unless we want to run for office or actually rise to an actual position of power, in which case we “don’t have a chance” and we need to “step aside for someone (white straight cisgender male) who can win.” You see, I decided to listen to those wonderful gay commentators Bowen Yang and Matt Rogers earlier this year and not donate to campaigns with candidates I don’t think are “electable”–Platner was at the top of my list once the Nazi tattoo came out–and the usual “no responsibility white man” response of “I didn’t know what it was!” Um, in which case, you are too fucking stupid to serve in the Senate. But hey, it’s also interesting to me when the blue bros go all in on a straight white man with serious issues because…straight white man. They also never acknowledge their mistakes. I get the same spidey-sense tingle with Tallarico, too, sorry/not sorry…the same nagging instinct I had with Sinema and Fetterman…and I didn’t listen, to my bitter and everlasting disappointment.

I’m not ignoring that instinct anymore. I hope I’m wrong about Tallarico, but I’m not giving him a cent. Any money I donate this midterm cycle is here in Louisiana. We have a chance to beat MAGA Julia Letlow, the homophobic racist piece of shit Incompetent and Incontinent Baron Harkonnen endorsed (he calls her Yulia every now and again, but hey, Jake Tapper, write a book about Biden, quisling), and that’s what I want to focus on. Interesting how this race is on no one’s radar in the progressive world…oh, yes, that’s right. Jamie Davis is Black and thus unelectable.

Funny how that works.

And can someone take Stephen King’s phone away from him before he does even more irreparable harm to his reputation and legacy? Bad enough he’s a friend and supporter of the Chatelaine of Castle TERF–which was when my opinion began turning from admiration and fandom to I beg your pardon? Um, “they’re all rapists” isn’t the selling point you seem to think it is, sir.

The Boy With the Nazi Tattoo is doing no favors to anyone. Typical. And now he’s making demands before he drops out? Sounds about straight white man.

I’m not going to comment about the mysterious death on Horn Island over the weekend. Yes, I am very interested in the case and yes, I have theories, and yes, I don’t trust any of those other kids and especially not their parents who didn’t raise them right (you never leave someone you brought behind without making sure they have a way home, my mother drilled that inti my head as a child and she would always ask when picking me up if we’d taken someone with us). Period. But I want to be respectful to the young man’s family; it’s hard enough dealing with this kind of sudden and unexpected loss that shouldn’t have happened and then having to deal with speculation all over the internet? And the horrible things the racists are spewing? I am a crime fiction writer, not a journalist or a true crime writer, and I don’t know anything about what happened other than it stinks like three day old fish baking in the hot Louisiana sun. I also don’t trust the local law enforcement or the state of Mississippi to investigate thoroughly–this is the kind of thing that happens all too often. (Can’t imagine why that Black kid they sent to prison for life for stabbing that white kid at that track meet felt endangered.) I will follow the case, but I won’t speculate about outcomes or what happened. (I cannot say enough how much I do not trust those white kids or believe their story, at least what’s been reported.)

Sigh. We will never beat the allegations, white people.

And on that note I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader.

Hot male bodies that haven’t removed all their body hair are unusual to see and thus sexy as fuck.

Big Life

Sunday and the morning after the holiday; all is well and peaceful this morning in the Lost Apartment. I had stuff delivered yesterday, so I didn’t have to leave the house (I am getting a bit spoiled by all this delivery service, but it’s wonderful and I am not going to stop using it). I ordered everything in the morning and it was here by twelve! Ah, modern convenience. Something good that came out of the pandemic that future generations will thank us for. Who knew that horrible time had a positive impact in some ways? It made for a lovely start to the day, really. Sparky wanted me up early yesterday and rather than resisting his entreaties, I got up and started my day, which was cool. I did some filing and organizing, and I also finished and published a holiday newsletter yesterday, about the 4th of July and remembering back to the bicentennial in 1976, which was very different from what we saw yesterday and what we saw in the time leading up to yesterday. Everything he touches dies, doesn’t it?

Going outside to get the deliveries or take out trash/recycling wasn’t terrible. I may be acclimating to this summer, which might not be a terrible thing. Oh, I’ll still bitch and moan and whine and sweat and feel the humidity sucking my soul out of my body like always, but…you do get used to it. You’re aware of it, of course, there’s no escaping any of that unless you’re inside the blessed cool, but your subconscious is aware that it’s not going to kill you even if it feels as though it might.

I wasn’t able to read any yesterday morning, alas. By the time I got everything ordered and delivered, and had done some of my chores it was past noon. Paul was up and watching Wimbledon, so I broke out the laptop and did some writing on it in the living room, which was nice. There was some good energy in the apartment yesterday. I felt really good and content. I also have some things to order for delivery today, too, which I also hope to take care of this morning. I polished a newsletter that has been sitting in my drafts since late May and will probably get it sent out tomorrow morning (I’ve done two in two days already this weekend, and I am aware it could quite easily be overkill). I also started two more, about more serious subjects, that I hope to get done this month. I need to finish Lev’s book so I can write about that, too. There’s literally no end, is there? There’s also the Half Man one I need to write…where’s my to-do notebook?

I also wrote about a thousand or so words of fiction yesterday, which felt good and was absolutely marvelous. We finished The Big Conn and hey, at least he felt remorse and bad for the victims, which is more than SSA did. WE started watching Sugar which we are loving Colin Farrell yum, love the stylizations and the occasional dips into classic Hollywood, and really like the character, too. Colin Farrell is perfect for this Ross Macdonald/Raymond Chander-style detective show; why has someone not tried filming a Lew Archer with him in it? You know what else I’d like to see? Alexander Skarsgaard playing Travis McGee. We also watched some of Wimbledon yesterday, and probably will watch some more of it this afternoon.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Until then!


The Golden Band from Tigerland prepares to perform “Pregame” on the field. It’s the one with THE four notes that bring every fan to their feet.

Sex as a Weapon

And so the nation turns 250 years old today.

Yes, it’s today: the 250th anniversary of the first signatures on the Declaration of Independence after the states’ delegates ratified it–the birth of our freedom from the British Empire’s Parliament and its King–and while the country as United States was not born until the ratification of the Constitution in 1787 and the first elected officials taking office in 1789, we consider this the birthdate of our nation. We don’t even recognize Constitution Day, which is the true national founding document. As an inquisitive minded child, I wondered about this a lot when I was a child…but it’s Independence Day, not Founders’ Day, I guess. It’s kind of sad how this, an actual landmark anniversary, has turned into such a national embarrassment, but that’s what you get when you hire someone whose only success is hosting a rigged reality show. I mean, he bankrupted a casino. Multiple times. Ah, well.

Yesterday was kind of lovely. I was up early, and got started on chores. Paul had appointments today, so Sparky and I kind of hung out and watched some news (hence the hilarity of the failed State Fair, Fox News’ pretense that everything was going just fine with massive crowds of people, but the failure of the fair has stopped all the algae talk at any rate). Paul went to Please U to get us shrimp po-boys for lunch (I’ve not had one in almost ten years, I think), and they were marvelous. I had some things delivered, and we binged a Kaley Cuoco thriller series, Vanished, which was kind of fun1. Her post Big Bang Theory career has been interesting, hasn’t it? We also started watching The Big Conn, about a criminal conspiracy to defraud Social Security (to the tune of over half a billion dollars), and the people that SSA chose to punish were the recipients2, not the people who actually actively pursued the fraud–the doctor, lawyer and judge who were in cahoots with each other–which is about par for the course in this country: punish the poor instead of the real criminals. And of course, there were two women in the system flagging it all, documenting everything and trying to get someone to pay attention to them–and they wound up punished more than the actual criminals (but the last episode must be about the trial of the one who didn’t take a plea). I’m trying to decide if I need to have anything delivered today, too. I didn’t read, but I brainstormed a short story that’s been sitting in my head for a couple of years and think it might be a good story, if and when I finish it.

I’m up early this morning–Sparky was hungry and wasn’t about to let me sleep late, the sweet little boy. I feel good this morning, too, like yesterday as a day of rest was a very smart decision. I regret not reading yesterday, but I can remedy that this morning, too. I can also get some chores and picking up done, if I stay focused and on top of everything. I did do all the bed linen yesterday, so the bedding felt comfortable and clean and warm last night when I slid beneath the pile of blankets. Sigh. I do love that feeling, you know. I also want to send out a holiday newsletter (more of a newsletter about the holiday) today, which would mean probably writing it this morning, too. I also need to do some filing and organizing, too–like always. But all I need to do is put my head down and stay focused and everything will fall into place. I’m glad I’m up early this morning so I can get a leg up on things–but the temptation to simply collapse into my easy chair is very strong this morning.

I can always justify doing nothing by rationalizing everyone else gets the holiday off, don’t they?

Well, yes, of course, they do–but they also don’t have a writing career on top of their day jobs, do they?

Sigh. I can always spot the flaw in every rationalization I make.

Ah, there’s the caffeine, kicking in at long last. Huzzah!

As I have mentioned before, one of my favorite things lately has been World Cup tourists discovering the abundance we take for granted and enjoying our freedom of choice–as well as the natural beauty and splendor of the continent. We do take our country for granted, don’t we? Sometimes we need an outside opinion of how the US appears to outsiders to remember and appreciate what we have here. That doesn’t mean we don’t have serious problems as a country and culture and society that need to be worked on and overcome so we can finally achieve the ideals the nation was founded upon–but we definitely need to stop looking back and thinking the past was better than the present. It’s also funny how conservatives–the original xenophobes–use those posts from visitors to demean and diminish the Left when we weren’t the ones shouting to the world that America isn’t great anymore.

And on that cheery note, I am going to get some breakfast before I go read for a bit. Have a lovely holiday Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

Friendly reminder: it’s against the Flag Code to wear the American flag as clothing. There’s no rule against it being used as a prop.
  1. The big twist at the end was absolutely perfect. ↩︎
  2. For all the whining about Medicaid and Medicare fraud, the truth is the ones committing said fraud are doctors, hospitals, and pharmacies, not the patient. But we only talk about the patient. Isn’t that right, Senator Rick Scott of Florida? ↩︎

I Want Out

I slept in a bit this morning because I don’t have to leave until this afternoon for Alabama. It’s a short trip; I’ll drive home on Saturday morning, hopefully feeling refreshed and reinvigorated and inspired. Spending time in the home place always inspires me somehow, makes me itch to get back to my keyboard or scribble in my journal. I’m going to listen to Margot Douaihy’s Blessed Water in the car as a reread so I’ll be primed for the third Sister Holiday novel. I am also taking Lev Rosen’s Rough Pages to read before bed both nights.

This has been an interesting week. I wasn’t terribly tired much after work, and I really didn’t have any trouble getting up all week, either–other than not wanting to get out of the bed’s warmth and comfort–but I even got up before the alarm all three days I had to get up. I stayed in bed longer this morning, but not to sleep–Sparky was being a sweet little purring cuddlebug, and who wants to leave that? Not I, said the deliriously happy cat dad. Sparky purrs a lot more than we think he does, because his purr motor is quiet; you can only hear it if he is sitting on you, or you can feel him purring when you pet/snuggle him. He really is a sweetheart, and very loving. He’s not fully a lap cat, like Scooter was. Sparky is more like Skittle, our first cat. Loving and sweet, but only on his terms.

I ran errands after work yesterday on my way home, picking up the mail and making groceries, but not much (it was still insanely expensive), came home and chilled out for a bit with Sparky while I caught up on the news. Paul came home and we watched more Citadel, which is very interesting and complicated and moves very fast, before retiring to bed for the evening. I feel pretty good this morning, too, rested and relaxed and centered, and it feels terrific, you know? I think I am finally recovered from everything, and I’d forgotten that it was possible to feel this good ever again.

It doesn’t help when medical professionals smile awkwardly and say, you’re just getting older and every time I heard that, all I could think was if this is how I’m going to feel for the rest of my life, I don’t want this.

Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. Although it hit me yesterday, as I spoke with a co-worker about my retirement plans, that I am casually talking about turning SEVENTY in a little over five years. It was kind of unsettling (freaks me out that Dad’s in his eighties, really) for a moment, but then I was like and so fucking what? Sure, it’s daunting; I don’t know what sixty-four is supposed to feel like, but now that I am back to (or almost at) 100% again, it actually doesn’t feel that bad. I don’t feel like I’ve wasted time–although I have, months if not years’ worth of wasted time–because I’ve also learned to know the rhythms of my body and my mind over the years, and when I do waste time it’s because of being tired in some way, either mental, emotional, or physical, and the down time is necessary for recharging.

Making peace with myself, and finally finding my own peace of mind, was actually kind of worth this entire miserable decade so far, actually. As awful as it was to lose Mom, I may not have known I had generalized anxiety disorder and sought help for it had she not passed. (I’d take the anxiety back though, for her to still be with Dad.)

So, some Kpop artist (Mark Lee) whom I’d never heard of decided to wear a Confederate flag shirt–definitely trying to break into the white American racist market, and when all hell broke loose, his record company tried to run some cover claiming it was a “vintage” shirt and no one involved with the photo shoot “knew”? Oh, fuck right off. That’ll play with the racists who would see it as a symbolic dog whistle–“hey, look, Cletus, I know he’s ASIAN but he hates the n-words too!” I don’t know if they actually knew how many flies were buzzing around this horseshit they dropped, but their “apology” was actually he’s just a cute young dumb boy, he didn’t know any better! He’s not from the US! He’s Canadian, he sure as fuck has seen that flag and knew exactly what it meant. It was a deliberate choice, and no one is going to convince me to infantilize a twenty-six year old man. Fuck him, fuck his record company, fuck his fans, and fuck anyone who supports the racist piece of shit. And if any of those excuses are true? Then he’s too fucking stupid to live a public life and deserves everything coming to him still.

Don’t even get me started on so-called “girl dad” Jimmy Fallon for platforming a rapist. He is also trash, and always has been, and he is worse than Jay Leno, which I didn’t think possible.

As for the San Francisco Bitchboys, they continue to pour gasoline on the flames. Hope you don’t need a new taxpayer funded stadium anytime soon! I always have tried to root for the San Francisco major league teams because it’s our community’s capital, but no more. I will buy a black candle, carve GIANTS into it, and light it every baseball season–just doing my small part to curse their future. May their streak of no World Series wins last as long as the Cubs’ streak. I hate to break it to you bitches, but the queers never forgive or forget. So fucking disgusting, and even more disgusting is their fucking cowardice and backtracking and whining about being called bigots. Well the truth fucking hurts, and you know, adultery made the top ten. Were they all virgins when they married? Have they been faithful to wives? If you want to talk sin, bitches, let’s fucking talk sin. How about taking the Lord’s name in vain? (Also a top ten sin.) What did Jesus say about performative faith? You’re not only shitty people but you are shitty Christians. Do you go to church every Sunday, despite games? Do you find churches when you’re on the road? Don’t fucking stand up there and judge sin unless you want your own counted. Judgment is God’s and God’s alone, you heretical blasphemers. Your faith is weak and performative, and I don’t have to accept or respect your hypocrisy. Have fun doing the backstroke when you get to hell, pigs, and I hope your careers all circle the toilet, and may the team always be more mediocre than it is now.

You’re losing because you have issues in your lockerroom, and these fucks are doing the dividing. Enjoy your new status as the MAGA Giants…which were abominations in your precious Bible, the children of angels mating with human women, the accursed nephilim. But then, I doubt any of these slack-jawed inbreds have read the Bible because it’s not written for children.

And on that note, I am really looking forward for this brief interlude this weekend. And on that note, I should probably start getting my shit together to head out today. I doubt I’ll be back here until Sunday, sorry! Til then!

I will never understand why some people don’t find gingers attractive. Look at this wrestler!