Today’s title is one of my all-time favorite songs, by the Chicks (remember them? Pre-MAGA canceled them for opposing the Iraq War–and shock! It turned out the Chicks were right all along). It was also the song that gave me the idea for my short story “Unsent,” which is one of my personal favorites of my own stories.
Two days past eighteen, he was waiting for the bus in his army greens…
It always makes me choke up a bit, and their harmonies are just angelic on this song. Natalie Maines is one of the best singers of my lifetime, bar none.
Well, yesterday was a nice day. The chili I made on Sunday (and I thought was kind of bland) actually turned out to be much better on the second day, who knew? That was a pleasant surprise for me yesterday, which was a very good day overall. I got a lot done at the office, am caught up on almost everything, and came home. I unloaded the dishwasher and folded the clothes, and straightened up the kitchen. I also did some filing, which was cool. I am wide awake this morning, too, having only hit snooze once. Unusual, and Sparky was thrilled that he didn’t have to wait the usual cycle of snooze before I got up. I’ve been feeling better every day, which is awesome. I’m going to have lab work done on Friday morning this week, too, and I need to get my Christmas cards done at some point (if I am actually going to shock everyone by sending cards this year). I did start marking things off on my to-do list, too, which was pretty awesome, frankly. Yay, me!
We are still getting warm weather this week, but it’s been moved to the weekend; Friday and Saturday it will be in the 70s, which will be a very good time for me to start taking walks again. I am serious about getting back into better physical condition (now that everything else seems to be finally clearing up), and as I mentioned before, I am thinking about starting back up at the gym again after Carnival. I don’t care about losing weight or building muscle or anything aesthetic-related; I am more concerned about building up my strength and stamina again. It’s so nice to feel good and not tired anymore, you know?
Or maybe I’m finally becoming a morning person? Perish the thought! But, it’s not a bad thing. It is very rare when I sleep in past eight here–gone are the days of sleeping till noon–but the rest I am getting now is much better than the last fourteen years or so. I also spent some time last night thinking about my new book project and am rather excited about it, to be perfectly honest. It’s been a hot minute since I started a new book project and wasn’t exhausted, sick, or recovering from something–I think the last one was Royal Street Reveillon, honestly–and so am kind of excited to see how this one goes, you know? There’s also an anthology I’d like to submit to, and the deadline is December 31st. It’s nice to feel excited about writing again, you know? (I’m also conveniently forgetting how hard writing actually is…) I also have some newsletters to finish, which should be fun, too. I have another couple of series of essays I want to do (along with the ones talking about masculinity and religion); Egypt and history and of course, juvenile series. This having a newsletter is a lot more fun than I ever thought it would be, you know?
Tonight after work I’ll head uptown to get the mail, and when I get home I need to do the dishes and reload the dishwasher. I may even vacuum tonight (madness) so this weekend won’t be so bad about keeping up with chores and cleaning. I’ll probably do some reading as well as my new project continues percolating in my head. I also need to answer some emails and need to get started on an editing project.
And on that cheery note, I am heading into the spice mines for now. Have a great Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning, I promise.
Sunday morning and all is quiet in the Lost Apartment. Sparky’s been fed and I am almost finished with my first cup of coffee, and it’s about time to put bread in the toaster. Sparky let me sleep later than usual this morning, which was nice, and now I am down here in the workspace waking up to face a new day and week. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning, and then of course I am heading to Alabama Wednesday afternoon (this trip has strangely snuck up on me) to see Dad for a few days before returning back here on Saturday. Paul has his trainer this afternoon, so he won’t be home, so I should be able to get chores done while I am restlessly watching LSU play today for the College World Series championship.
The Tigers did win last night (hence a shot at winning the whole thing today) over Coastal Carolina 1-0; ending the Chanticleers’ 26 game winning streak. It was, as pitchers’ duels and close games always are, intense and nerve-wracking. The Tigers scored their lone run in the first inning, and made that lead hold through all nine innings behind pitcher Kade Anderson, who played the entire game and threw the last pitch of the game. I had seen Coastal Carolina’s team’s press conference, where they mocked and dragged LSU–which is an incredibly cocky and ignorant thing to do; that’s the sort of thing that motivates your opponents to whip your ass and last night, that’s what happened. I hope it’s all over this afternoon, frankly–but if there needs to be an intense and nerve-wracking third game Monday night, I’ll be watching, GEAUX TIGERS!
I did some work yesterday, and hopefully will get some more done today. The house is a mess–I ran errands and had groceries delivered–and so I need to put everything away and I also need to do some things, like make watermelon gazpacho, and clean out the refrigerator and pick up the rugs and so forth. I also need to do some filing to clear up the clutter around my workspace; and I don’t have to go anywhere today, which should make things a lot easier around here to get done. I also spent some time with my y/a reread, Sing Me a Death Song (Jay Bennett was truly a great and under-appreciated writer), and started The Crying Child by Barbara Michaels. I’m hoping to get further into Summerhouse today as well–but that kind of depends on how much writing I am able to get done this morning before the game (I should write before the game, because I can always read during the game) and how much cleaning I am able to do this morning to set the apartment to rights. I kind of was a bit on the lazy side yesterday, in all honesty, and let things slide a bit because I was busy relaxing.
And apparently we are now involved in yet another Middle Eastern conflict. Jesus fucking Christ, how do we as a nation never learn from our mistakes? Weren’t all the LIES we were told in 2003 about Iraq bad enough? Yes, I am old enough to remember that, and all the other bullshit the Right pushed through Congress (the PATRIOT Act needs to be repealed, and clearly Homeland Security needs to be abolished) as a result of 9/11, using fear and intimidation tactics to silence any opposition. Remember the Chicks? Whenever someone on the Right bemoans “cancel culture,” I do like to remind them they invented it–and the Chicks were fucking right; have we ever as a nation collectively apologized to them? But at least the mask is completely off; the last election was all about racism and misogyny. THANK GOD we didn’t elect the biracial woman, right? Miss me with your MAGA regrets–and I hope all your sons are lining up to enlist.
I love that we have money for a war but no money for Medicaid and Medicare. Choices.
Yesterday afternoon, I watched two documentaries while doing other things, and yes, I rewatched Surviving Ohio State, which deserves its own entry (and paying more attention made me realize how much worse everything was there than I thought, even after a scattered initial watch) and one called Southern Fried Lies, about criminality in a small Arkansas town (it kind of reminded me, at the end, of Mildred Pierce), which was also kind of nuts and crazy. I do recommend it–those small, rural town tales always make me smugly thing of all the odes to idyllic small town life, and how it’s so much better than urban life…sure, Jan, sure. (I always think what fucking small town are you talking about?) I have an idea for a murder story in a small town of less than a thousand people, and yes, that small town is in Kansas. (I have a lot of Kansas and Alabama stories to write; funny how I write so little about Houston and Fresno and Tampa.)
And on that note, I think I am going to head into the spice mines for the day. Have a lovely Sunday (we’re in yet another heat advisory), and I’ll be back tomorrow morning before I see my doctor.
Baryshnikov. Don’t really need to add anything, do I?
Saturday morning and I slept late; Sparky didn’t seem to mind and let me stay in bed until hunger overtook him and he became insistent that I get up and feed him. I slept deeply and well, and today of course we are going to have really bad weather from about noon till six pm, with potential tornados, and we are also going to have high winds all day. I need to run get some things I forgot at the grocery store yesterday–so I will clearly need to get that done before noon, methinks. Yesterday was pleasant, I did my remote work, ran some errands, and did some chores around the house. I started reading Moonraker again (hesitant to call it a reread since I remember absolutely nothing about the book), and have some thoughts already about it (definitely written and published in the mid-1950s originally). We caught up on our shows, watched LSU Gymnastics, and watched the new Kate Hudson show on Netflix, Running Point, which we are really enjoying. It’s very well-cast and a lot more interesting than I expected it to be; I’m not interested in basketball, but I found myself enjoying it and even laughing out loud. I got my chores done yesterday, too. Woo-hoo!
I also spent most of yesterday in a rage about the latest Democratic betrayal of their voting base, led by Chuck Schumer (who needs to step aside for someone younger and more in touch) and nine other Democratic quislings who ended their careers yesterday by agreeing to let DOGE gut everything to keep the government open to “not cause pain”–although the fucking bill they signed off will most definitely cause pain to people who are never in a million years going to vote for this iteration of the Democratic Party. I actually went on-line after Schumer and The Asinine Nine pissed in all of our faces to change my voter registration from Democratic to independent. Not another dime to the Party, any of its election committees for the House or the Senate, or to anything other than an individual candidate1. I am sick to death of these “norms and institutional preservationists” who are not only not meeting the moment but actively working to make things so much worse for everyone and hoping we’ll forget this abject betrayal. And with all due respect, I would have never thought there would be a Senate leader of the party who’d make Harry Reid look like a fighter. Well done, Chuck Schumer, and fuck you from now to eternity. I will donate to your primary opponent, just as I will for the other nine Judases who betrayed their base but want our money and loyalty.
You can die in a fucking fire, Democratic Party, and congratulations about making this deeply unpopular bill your fucking mess. You bought it, you own it, fucking trash, and as long as I live I will never let you forget it.
And we’re here because the Chicks had more courage than you in 2003 to begin with.
But I also was thinking that maybe I shouldn’t talk about politics and our continued slide into full-bore authoritarianism (thanks again, Chuck! You’re as shitty as your wretched cousin Amy) because why contribute to the growing sense of dread and fear as the world burns? I have this bad habit of thinking I have nothing to add to any kind of discourse, and this is a holdover from my horrific college experiences–everything witty and wise has already been said before, and what do I know? I know enough to know I don’t know enough, but why does that make my opinions any less valid than someone else’s? Sure, I’ve not read all of the academic papers on crime fiction, politics, history, or queer literature. I also worry that my conclusions or discoveries about things I’m interested in aren’t terribly original and have already been stated many times before (and better) with someone more grounded in art and science and history. But that doesn’t mean what I think and feel and conclude isn’t valid. I’m always going to think I am under-read on any given subject, you know? And I also don’t read as quickly as I used to, either. But again, I need to stop NOT taking myself so lightly. And if I post something and someone has a different opinion, that doesn’t make mine invalid, either–and this is a growth experience, something I can use to expand my knowledge.
I also managed to finally make it past a particular level in my Duolingo German lessons. That particular challenge took me a week to finally complete, and I still got some things wrong. It was mostly typos and article gender agreement2 which was frustrating, but I finally defeated that level yesterday and conquered the next this morning, so maybe my German will get back on track.
And on that note, I am going to run to the store and pick up the things I need before the storms begin. Have a great Saturday and I will check back with you again later, okay?
But those individuals I’ve donated to–Fetterman, Synema, etc–turned around nd stabbed us all in the back as well. So maybe no more donations, period. ↩︎
Every noun in German is gendered, and there’s a version of “the” for every noun’s gender; male, female, it. ↩︎
Tuesday and somehow the power’s still on and life continues in this hideous new reality when the horrible news comes and just… keeps on coming to the point that my shoulders slump every morning when I get up and sign into my computer, wondering what the hell happened while I was asleep. (This morning it was the news that the Gail Benson and the New Orleans Saints advised the Archdiocese on PR during the most recent child-rape1 . It was bad enough when Drew Brees worked with a homophobic organization to violate the separation of church and state in Louisiana, but helping the Archdiocese look better in their horrific cover up? Seriously, Mrs. Benson? I mean, most Saints fans won’t care, but I am terribly disappointed in her.)
Speaking of the Archdiocese, Catholics also gave me a good laugh yesterday on social media. You see, the Super Bowl committee worked with some local group to do projection art on St. Louis Cathedral and the the museums on other sides. It’s very cool, and changes the looks of the buildings completely. People have been sharing pictures and videos of the light show changes…so of course here come some ignorant Catholics claiming it was “sacrilege” and “how very dare they do this to a Catholic cathedral”! (You know, all caps, lots of exclamation points, bad grammar and spelling errors and specious logic.) You mean the historic landmark of the city that the Archdiocese thinks the city and its citizens should pay for upkeep and renovations and repairs? How is it sacrilege to beam imagery on the outside? And don’t think for one second the Archdiocese didn’t ask for money for this. If you’re mad at anyone, be mad at your church leadership for selling indulgences like a Medici pope.
And try being mad at the administration manipulating the stock market so he and his buddies can buy low.
Speaking of idiots, some (white) people were big mad Beyonce won some Grammys for country music, big mad, and spewing their bile on social media because of course they (butt hurt white people) are the great arbiters of what is and what isn’t great music rather than the members of the national organization of recording arts and sciences. One, awards are lovely things bHow dare this big international superstar and living legend DARE to perform and win awards for country music? If you think that sounds about white, you’d be right. (You really can never go wrong assuming it’s bigotry when it comes to white people because it almost always is) First of all, no one owns country music or gets to decide what it is or isn’t. Music evolves. Country music was originally “country and western” as a category at the Grammys, but it was the western aspect of country music that had the hats and boots and so forth, not country. So country singers and fans thinking they “own” cowboys, boots, and hats is a bald-faced lie and makes them poseurs and pretenders, too. How many of your stars grew up on a ranch or actually worked with cattle? If they didn’t but wear hats and boots, that’s drag. A costume. Nothing more and certainly not authenticity. When I was a kid in Kansas guys who wore hats and boots but didn’t work with cattle were called “goat-ropers” (I don’t know why, but it wasn’t a term of affection). I also seem to remember the term dime-store cowboy as derogatory. It was so anathema that I would never wear a cowboy hat or boots to this very day–and I have always had the kind of legs that boots show off nicely, too. Jason Aldean is a goat-roper, for example. I grew up listening to C&W when I was a kid, and if you’re going to say Cowboy Carter isn’t “authentic country”…I got some bad news for you about a lot of the today’s racist country stars. I walked away from country after 9/11 and what that industry did to the Chicks (THAT was cancel culture, for the record, and THEY WERE RIGHT.) when the genre turned into the “Amurika” music genre. You were wrong about the wars, you were wrong about Bush, and you’re wrong again now, country fans.
You really don’t deserve to enjoy music at all.
The day job situation is still up in the air (thanks again, MAGA voting trash) but it’s going to be a day by day and week by week thing. Yay! I think I may need stronger anxiety medication. Heavy heaving sigh. We’re not sure, obviously, what the future holds but my day job is funded by the federal government through the CDC, so yes, ever since I woke up the morning after the election I’ve been able to add worry about my job still existing to the every day drama of life and all the other existential dread from everything else the administration is inflicting on us. Yay! Woo-hoo!
Maybe I should start drinking again.
I did get to work on the book a bit yesterday. It was painful and excruciating to pull those words out of me–only about three or four hundred, so a pathetic effort–last evening, and I am hoping that won’t be the case today. Sigh. And so, without any further ado I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back at some point.
Screenshot
I believe in calling things what they are. Priests raped children. Period. Got a problem with that? Take it up with the Archbishop and the Pope. ↩︎
Here we are on a cold Sunday morning and I hope everyone is doing as well as they can this morning. I went to bed early and slept well–I really do think adding another to the pile of blankets, and its additional weight, is making a difference. Today I have to do some reading and some writing, go to the gym and make groceries. I feel rested and awake this morning, so as I slurp down my coffee and wake up while Sparky wants my lap in the easy chair I have to admit I feel pretty good this morning. Maybe I shouldn’t let myself sleep so late on Saturdays? I don’t know, but the coffee is hitting the spot and I do feel more rested than I did yesterday, so your guess is as good as mine. It’s kind of gray outside this morning, and it’s forty degrees–yikes–but it’ll get warmer later once the sun is higher in the sky.
We watched LSU Gymnastics compete against three of the best teams in the country yesterday, and with half of their usual competitors out with an injury, they only came in second by three tenths of a point; and Haleigh Bryant can make that difference up all by herself, not to mention the other two powerhouses who sat this meet out–which bodes well for the rest of the season. It’s so cool knowing they are the defending national champions! We also watched some of the Australian Open last night, and I went to bed early. I also managed to get some chores done around here, and overall, it was a pretty good day. I don’t think I even went outside yesterday, to be honest–which is always a good day for me.
I spent some time yesterday morning with Ode to Billy Joe, and while Raucher is a very good writer, he doesn’t really know how to write for teenagers, I think. Just because the story is set in the early 1950s and people were more innocent (?) back then in theory, it’s almost like reading something from a past civilization, and in some ways it kind of is. Raucher tries very hard not to condescend to rural Southerners, but there is a touch of that “zoo animal” thing to the story, if that makes any sense? It doesn’t quite seem real, and Bobbie Lee, the female lead, seems so child-like it’s hard to believe she’s supposed to be fourteen, and “receiving callers”–did Southern girls still say that in the 1950’s? It’s like something from The Glass Menagerie, and I don’t know if that archaic social phrase was in use, if at all. But there’s definitely more depth to the book than there was to the movie, and I think I’m going to end up enjoying the book more than I did the movie–despite the beautiful presence of Robby Benson and his amazing blue eyes and surprisingly deep voice.
Thinking of Ode to Billy Joe being a historical now made me realize that my own 70s book is kind of an artifact of another time, too. Researching and remembering things from that time of my life is always a bit of a surprise; things that had been locked away in a corner of my brain coming back to the front of the memory banks. Television shows and commercials, the looming Bicentennial (which was, at the time, shockingly commercialized; although the Tricentennial–which I won’t make it to, but hopefully the country will–will be even worse), the gas shortages and economic fears, the ever-present threat of nuclear war and annihilation, the never-ending conflicts in the Middle East, and the massive clean-up of the country’s air, water and litter. Top Forty radio was a weird mishmash of all kinds of music, from the bubblegum of the Osmonds to the Rolling Stones, Queen, and the Who to horrible novelty songs that were incredibly popular and were overplayed to death to the point I never want to hear any of them ever again, and everyone watched American Bandstand on Saturdays to hear music and see the latest dance moves. I am really looking forward to writing it. I also have two short stories to complete sooner rather than later, and of course as always I have too much to do in too little time–but I can make it work.
I’ve also, since the election, been thinking about how to resist the new regime and the inherent hatreds, cruelties, and horrors that are coming with them. Our only hope as a country depends on the Republican-controlled Senate (well, Republicans plus the bootlicking traitor John Fetterman) actually standing up for the Constitution, and looking for a spine on the Right is as fruitless as a snipe hunt. I am not getting involved with the Democratic Party, because it feels like I’ve been throwing my time, money and energy on them while they just roll over and play dead since the 1990s; and nowadays seems to be no different. Here’s the thing about our system; the only difference between the two parties since World War II has primarily been on domestic and interior policy; the foreign policy has always been the same, and a lot of bad things have been done by our government in the name of “national security” and our endless thirst for oil. This changed a bit under the MAGA monarchy the last time around–turning our backs on traditional allies while cozying up to Russia, North Korea, and China (Ivanka needs her trademarks!). I also love how the MAGAts are so quick to whine and complain against the forever wars they fully supported, and does anyone else remember their toxic patriotism on the eves of the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq? How questioning the invasion decisions was basically treason and not supporting the military and pissing on the graves of the 9/11 dead? Because I sure the fuck do, and I also remember how the Right created cancel culture for the Dixie Chicks, as country music began to swing from being about the working class and resisting the rich? It’s also amusing to me that they complain about “forever wars” without remembering that the same people they are supporting today are the exact same people who lied to them and whipped them up into a disgusting “patriotic” frenzy?
I spent some time this weekend thinking about writing as activism, and that it used to be just that; my very existence and my career are made political by evangelicals and others of their ilk, and I had no say in that at all. Would I prefer to be left alone to live my life and make my own decisions without government interference? Absolutely. Is that ever going to happen? Not as long as trash and liars and false prophets continue to abuse the faith and the faithful for money, power, and control. How can anyone actually be a Christian and believe that the Prosperity Gospel of wolves in sheep’s clothing like Joel Osteen and other con artists of his ilk? Sinclair Lewis exposed all of this horror with Elmer Gantry, which is still as current as it was when first published in the early 20th century. Maybe Elmer Gantry, along with All the King’s Men, should be required reading in high school–but high schoolers won’t care anymore now than they did when I was one. (Also, back to the 1970s–there wasn’t an expectation that everyone would go to college, either. Only five kids from my graduating class went to college, I think, I could be off by one or two, out of forty-eight.) I’ve not thought of my writing as a way to make political statements–or at least I haven’t in a long time, at any rate, but someone pointed out to me several years ago (or longer, who knows anymore?) that my work was a lot more important than I’ve ever thought or believed; I did document what gay life was like in New Orleans before Hurricane Katrina changed everything. I also documented life in New Orleans in general, before , during and after a hurricane. I’ve written about gay con artists and corrupt hateful politicians and the far right and evangelicals and race and homophobia and misogyny. I often explore something that I find interesting in my books so I can learn more about the topic I am writing about as well as process my own complicated feelings about sensitive subjects. I even wrote a throuple into the Scotty series long before that ever became a subject for conversation in the community. It’s weird to think that my first two novels were released before Lawrence overturned sodomy laws nationally. My sex-life was against the law until I was forty-two. Forty fucking two.
I was filling out the pre-production form for Hurricane Season Hustle Friday, and I went to Amazon to look at the page for Mississippi River Mischief to see if information I needed was there–it wasn’t–but I also noticed I have forty-seven reviews and an average ranking of four and a half stars, which was kind of a surprise, albeit a pleasant one. That meant that overall there had to be more five star reviews than any other kind, else the average wouldn’t be over four, you know? This was a very pleasant surprise, in all honesty; I never look at Amazon pages for my books and especially never at the reviews; likewise, I will never go wading in the fetid swamp that is Goodreads. Who needs that aggravation? But as I said, it was a pleasant surprise, one that almost tempted me to look at the others, but I resisted the urge. I am more emotionally stable now than I’ve ever been in my life before, but why borrow trouble? And sure, it could be another ego boost but it could also be a blow.
And the last thing I need right now is something to rock my already shaky foundations.
California continues to burn, and people continue to expose how dark and twisted their souls and psyches are. It’s beginning to sound like most of these fires were started as arson–which would definitely count as a terrorist attack on Los Angeles, in my opinion; if Luigi shooting that fucking piece of shit counts as terrorism, burning down billions of dollars of property and destroying people’s lives as well as killing some of them definitely is an act if terror. Please don’t be a dick about the fires on-line, people. I’ve lived through a different kind of “act of God” that basically destroyed my city and generational wealth with it. Angelenos are still in shock and are going to be for a long time. This is a serious trauma, and believe me when I say a lot of Angelenos are going to be medicated for years to come. I’m still not entirely sure I’ve gotten over Katrina, in all honesty. So, for God’s sake, show some empathy and compassion for their suffering. Playing the blame game or bringing politics into this is fucking bullshit, so can you not do that? There’s no place in this country that is safe from an unexpected natural disaster.
And trust me, when it happens to you–you will hate those people. I’ve never forgiven any of them, including Chicago Bears fans. I had hoped that disgusting child rapist Dennis Hastert would die in prison, but he remains proof that only the good die young. Henry Kissinger and Anita Bryant is more evidence of that as well.
So, think before you post or comment. I hate Florida and Texas and their politics, but I also worry about them and try to do what I can whenever a hurricane devastates them.
And if you’re feeling smug and judgy–I’m looking at you in particular, Louisiana MAGA racists, remember that when a hurricane comes crashing through your home town.
And on that note, I am going to my chair to read my book for a bit before I get to work. I worked on the book yesterday and it went very well; I am feeling good about writing again and think I am going to be able to hit my stride again sometime soon. Huzzah! Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll talk to you again later at some point.
Ah, it’s Monday and I am up early, swilling coffee and getting ready to face down a very short, and most likely slow, week in the office. Paul is leaving tomorrow for a week, so tomorrow I’ll come home to a quiet, empty house. It’ll be weird, of course,1 but I am going to try to keep busy. I do have a lot of homework2 to get done this week, and hopefully Sparky won’t be near as needy as he always is when it’s just the two of us. Sparky has, at long last, starting sleeping in the bed with us, always in a kitty donut down by my feet, which is very relaxing. He’s been there the last several mornings when I wake up, which is nice. He’s also started cuddling and sleeping with Paul on the couch–like Scooter, Sparky takes turns with our laps when we’re watching television; unlike Scooter, Sparky starts with Paul for a while before curling up in mine for the rest of the evening. It only took just over a year, but we finally have the cuddle bug we wanted. He still only purrs when he’s riding my shoulders, draped around my neck–but he’s getting cuddlier, and there’s more head-butting by the day.
I had a very relaxing day yesterday, but didn’t get nearly as much done as I wanted to–like always. Still reeling from the power of The Reformatory3, I started reading Lavender House by Lev AC Rosen. I am absolutely loving it. I love the voice, I love the main character, I love the writing, and so I know I am going to really love this book–and once I get going, it will be unputdownable. Yay! And there’s two more in this series, too, which is very exciting–not to mention all his other works, in y/a and romance. Paul spent most of the day working upstairs, and leaving me on my own with Sparky for most of the day. I finished my entry on The Reformatory, and worked on some writing, mostly thinking and taking notes. I’m glad this is a short work week, and am looking forward to some lovely down time here by myself. I made progress on the apartment this past weekend, and will probably get some more progress made over this coming long weekend4.
I need to make a to-do list, and to get better organized, but I made progress. I have a manuscript to edit, some short stories to read and judge for Saints and Sinners, and my own writing to work on around here. Sparky will be needy the whole time, and I am going to watch the new season of Heartstopper, before diving into Sex and the City. I’ve also found some movies to watch over the weekend, too–or in the evenings when I get home from work tomorrow and Wednesday. I’ve also got my Housewives shows, and there’s always some cleaning to be done somewhere–not to mention more pruning of the books and the storage attic.
While I was driving around doing my errands Saturday I started listening to Orville Peck’s music on Spotify, and I love it! I have yet to hear a song of his that isn’t a bop, so I saved several of his albums to my library and am going to start listening to him more regularly in the car. I’ve always liked all kinds of genres of music; there just really hasn’t been any country outside of Dolly in a while that I’ve been interested in. I also kind of hate how country music has been taken over by the Right and MAGA–I’ve never forgiven country music for what it did to the Chicks, and they were RIGHT–so I try not to listen to much of the newer stuff. Country music used to be about outlaws and fighting the man holding down the working class, instead of being a bunch of appeasers and collaborators.
They’d shun and cancel Johnny Cash today for being woke. How fucking sad is that?
They must really hate Orville Peck for being openly gay–even though they really embraced Li’l Nas X when he was doing country music back in the day…until he came out and switched genres.
I don’t know what to think about what’s coming, but it’s pretty sad that the only thing standing between us and authoritarianism are the courts, Senate Republicans, and the administration’s utter incompetence. Paul and I have made up our minds to enjoy ourselves as much as possible between now and the transfer of power; who knows what’s coming after that? These are dark times indeed, and a lot of damage can be done by utter incompetence and a program of complete and utter unfettered cruelty. I think the biggest shock for me of the election is that self-absorption and unbridled hatred of anything not straight, white and cishet was actually embraced by the country.
Then again, this is a country that wasn’t able to legislate or vote slavery out of existence, and it took a war. The appeasement of slave-owning Americans from 1787 through 1865 will always be a stain on this nation’s history, and by not dealing with any of it, or systemic racial oppression, by not facing the truth in all its brutal ugliness, we’ve never been able to progress as a racially diverse nation or move on from it. (I always love when Americans take the moral high road when talking to or about other countries; like we have any room to talk about oppressing citizens and human rights violations? Bitch, please.)
Sigh. And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I may be back later. One never knows!
I’ll never understand how someone can take up so much space, and how much bigger and emptier it seems when he isn’t there. ↩︎
Which might be one of my favorite novels of all time, period, regardless of genre. ↩︎
I am planning on simply cleaning the bathrooms on Thursday morning, and having a very lazy day doing little to nothing other than reading and binge-watching television series; I’ll push myself the other three days. I can also do things at night this week once Paul departs tomorrow morning. ↩︎
Ugh, I have to make an unscheduled stop on the West Bank this morning to get my car serviced. I’d hoped to make it to next weekend (it was on that to-do list), but the little wrench light came on yesterday and I need to get the oil changed now. There’s other servicing it’s going to need to, but it’s going to have to wait. I had hoped to get some stuff done around here this morning instead of sitting in the waiting room of my car dealership, but it’s a good time for me to read some more of The Reformatory, which is superb, but is also challenging to me–and you really do need to read books that make you uncomfortable. Tananarive Due doesn’t let up, never takes her foot off the neck of white supremacy, and she shouldn’t, either. No one should, and because of the sobering realities of that time period, I know this book isn’t going to give me the kind of ending I want for these characters that I love–I’ve read enough of the facts about places like Raiford to know the kids at this fictional version will not make it out of there alive.
I’ve been avoiding the news successfully. The really funny thing about the legacy media is they still don’t get it. They rubbed their hands with glee and breathlessly reported every MAGA insult, lie or slander as actual news and actively worked to undermine and demoralize the Blue vote for ratings, but can’t seem to wrap their minds around the reality that they betrayed their country for clicks and viewers by rubbing Blue voters’ faces in lie after lie after lie. It’s in their best interests, you see, to give MAGA every last bit of oxygen they possibly could because it’s always driven their ratings up. They shivved Biden by playing into MAGA lies about his cognitive function and his abilities to do the job, even as he single-handedly overhauled the country and brought it back from the abyss that yes, MAGA once again parked it on the edge of, teetering–just like 2008. They brooked no opposition to the Afghan and Iraq eternal wars, even as most Americans knew the war hawks were lying like dogs to send our young people over there to die for really no reason. We were told we didn’t support the troops by opposing the war (the conservatives learned their lesson from Vietnam, didn’t they?), and opposing the war was spitting on the graves of the 9/11 victims. The Chicks’ career was completely canceled and never recovered (which is why I am always “miss me with your bitching about the cancel culture YOU invented”). They drove the economy into the ditch, and the housing crash of the later Bush II years was actually a result of Reagan economic policies, but let’s deify that senile old fuck, shall we?
As Winston Churchill once famously said, “You can always count on the Americans to do the right thing–after they’ve tried everything else.”
But…I don’t have to give the legacy media my money, my attention or my clicks. I will continue to support independent journalism, but in cowering before his attacks, the legacy media turned itself into exactly what he said they are–fake news–and have utterly failed the country at their Constitutionally-appointed mandate to critique and criticize any and everyone who puts the nation at risk. Just like I’m not giving my money and my time to books by unproven allies anymore. There are some straight men whose books I will continue to read–but that already very short list has become much, much shorter. I am a little annoyed about having to go over to the West Bank this morning, because I had planned on pruning books by people I will never read–hey they got my money already–and taking them to the library sale this morning, but I now have the week to weed out those offending books and get them off my shelves and my stacks before they infect the others with passive homophobia.
As I said yesterday, I’ve made some people uncomfortable this past week, and the old Greg might have held back…but I don’t care anymore. For queer people, this is what we have to deal with on a daily basis from practically everyone. People think I was joking over the years when I’d say things like “I am 100% team extinction event”. I wasn’t. People think I’m funny for some reason I’ve never completely understood, but I’ve leaned into it as protective coloring for most of my life–as long as people were laughing they weren’t hating–and people often think I am being funny when I am dead serious. Maybe it’s my delivery, maybe it’s the incredibly expressive face (I can always maintain a calm, cool exterior when someone is homophobic in front of me, but that was a survival instinct I picked up in public school; don’t react, don’t let then see how wounded you arebecause that’s what they want–so deny them their fun as much as possible, but other than that, I can’t hide how I’m feeling), but yes, people think I’m funny. Younger kids have always been drawn to me most of my life, and I do think it’s the face; I can make my meme face to them and they always giggle and laugh; I also don’t really know how to talk to kids so I just talk to them the way I do with everyone else–and they respond to that. I am never comfortable around people’s children because you never know when someone is going to decide that I’m a danger to their kids, as some women I know seem to think I’m a pedophile groomer because aren’t all queer men?
Ever been called a groomer or a pedophile or both by someone you know? It’s happened to me more than once. And then the people saying it are shocked that I’ve cut them off completely, which is even more astonishing to me. Um, you called me a child rapist. (Always straight white women, of course. Of course because you are even worse than your men because you should know better. Can we stop making excuses for conservative women? Melania is exactly where she wants to be; she is no victim. Do you make excuses for Eva Braun, too? Eva Peron? Imelda Marcos? Nancy Reagan?)
And you think that’s forgivable? I hope you enjoy every horror of our new administration because you deserve it.
I’m also kind of amused at how people also seem to think we don’t have interior lives, too–and are also writers. You just blithely assume that I am what I present to you, too–like I’m not recording every insult, every slight, and every last belittling remark? I’m a writer who used to work for an airline, where you were fucked if you didn’t document every little fucking thing. I started keeping a journal when I was a kid, where I recorded all my hopes and dreams as well as all my hatred and bad wishes to the 99% of kids who were bullies, or were complicit. I always carry a notebook with me, and I started using blank journals when I worked for the airline. I kept everything in my journals–phone numbers, to-do lists, airline computer shortcuts that don’t come up very often, and often between flights I would sit at an empty gate with a cup of coffee and write–in Continental Airlines green ink–in my journals what was going on in my life. I see offensive shit on line? Screen cap, for the “Receipts” folder. I keep every email filed away in my archive and can locate it with a simple email search. I’ve bookmarked offensive essays, blog posts, and websites, and I’ve also recorded those website addresses in a “bigot spreadsheet.”1
You’re not the only ones who put on a mask. It might do you some good to reflect on that thought, too–we all have brains, we all have ears, and we all have memories and cognitive thinking capabilities, and we have a lot more practice in protective coloring than you ever will. Does that make you uncomfortable? Good.
And I don’t care if things ever change for me. As I said, I am done with conferences and things like that. But I’m going to be watching, and listening. You come for my queer colleagues, you have to come through me–and you have no idea what a monster I can be when it comes to protecting people I care about. I’m used to being treated like dirt. But you come for this new generation of queer crime writers, or the ones that have come since I entered this hellhole of a white supremacist community?
Just remember, I’m watching.
And no one ever sees me coming.
yes, if you’re wondering if I’ve kept a shitty email you sent me, yes I do have it in case I need it–like when you want something from me. I never send said email back with a note for why on earth would you want my help/advice/etc when you’ve made it abundantly clear what you think of me? I just read it again before deleting your latest email. I am not required to respond to you, nor are you entitled to my time or effort. ↩︎
Wednesday and we’ve made it to the middle of the week again, well done, Constant Reader! I was beginning to wonder. Yesterday was a bit odd. I slept well the night before, but I didn’t sleep through the night; I woke up several times during the night but managed to fall back asleep. I felt a bit spacy and out of it yesterday as a result, but still managed to stay focused and get through my workday without falling behind, ran some errands on the way home, and did some chores. The weather has also been weird lately; gray and cloudy, but hot and humid at the same time. It looks like it should be cold outside, but it’s not; you walk outside and the humidity slaps you across the face. Guess it’s time to start leaving my sweatshirt/jacket at the office every day instead of wearing it to and fro.
And yes, it’s affecting my sinuses and some of my moods, and I think it made me tired last night, too. I tried to write for a bit before giving up; that part of my brain wasn’t working yesterday, which was more than a little bit frustrating. But I also have to remember that I am still technically recovering from the surgery; my arm might be healed now but I am still not completely recovered. I slept well last night, though, so hopefully I won’t be basically sleepwalking through the day the way I did yesterday.
I’ve been listening to Beyonce’s new album, Cowboy Carter, in the car and I have to say, it’s really quite good. I know the racist section of country music fans (significant in number) are hating on it and calling it aggressive, not country, etc. I hate to break it to you, but no one gatekeeps any creative field, particularly in music. If Cardi B wants to record a country album, no one can stop her. And this has been an issue with country music and its fanbase for a very long time. My dad always hated that old Barbara Mandrell song “I Was Country (When Country Wasn’t Cool)” because it basically pissed all over people discovering country for the first time–and with her variety show and so forth, Mandrell was a pop/country hybrid herself, following in the shoes of Dolly Parton, who crossed over in the mid to late 1970’s. There was a lot of pushback against “not country” artists who were recording music that was being played on country music stations and bought by country fans–look up “Charlie Rich John Denver country music” on Youtube sometime; Charlie Rich went off on John Denver for not being country enough while presenting him with a country music award. (Olivia Newton-John also crossed over, starting in country before moving over to pop.) New artists and new approaches to country music keep the genre alive and fresh. I’ve seen people trying to quantify this Beyonce album as “well, it’s her version of country” and other things like that…but that’s why I am listening to it in the car; giving me the sense that I am listening to the radio, and if I didn’t know it was Beyonce…I probably wouldn’t have ever guessed. Yes, when you know its her you easily can recognize the vocal range and style, but it’s a terrific album I am enjoying…and I’ve never forgiven country music as an industry for what they did to the Chicks.
You know, when the right invented cancel culture? Yes, they were the ones who let that genie out of the bottle they constantly decry these days…until they decide they need to cancel someone else.
I did do some research via the google machine last night to get some information I may need for the revisions of the two stories I’ve written thus far this year. Both stories are going to have significant revisions, but they are also going to be much better stories than they were in their original drafts. I also know where to go next with the book, which is excellent news. I am going to need to rework the beginning again, but that’s fine and inevitable to deeper you get into drafts, anyway.
We are still enjoying Apples Never Fall, and what a horrific and dysfunctional family we have on display! One thing that really isn’t working for me on the show (when I think about it later; when watching I get caught up in it all) is how calm they all seem; their wife/mother is either missing or dead, and no one seems to be all that disturbed or upset by it. Again, who wants to watch hysteria for episodes on end, but I guess they’re all in denial and a little bit of shock, which is also understandable.
All right, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later–one can never be entirely sure.
Queer and Loathing in America 