Tag: treason

Maybe Love Will Change Your Mind

Work at home Friday, with the sun up and bright and the sky is clear and blue–almost cerulean, if you like–and I feel pretty good. I was very tired when I got home from work yesterday afternoon, and despite my best intentions I didn’t get anything done last night other than providing a lap for Sparky and finishing season one of The Traitors UK. Are you tired of my latest obsession yet? Paul isn’t quite as obsessed as I am, of course, and he finds my passion for the show a little amusing. But what can I say? It’s an absolutely delightful escape from the world and its assorted horrors; and it makes me happy and helps me relax. And we need to find joy in the world when there is so much trying to tear us all down and make us miserable. Joy feels like resistance, nourishing my soul so I can face the horrors of each and every day, and the more joy we find, the less likely the bastards are to win.

I think there was some excellent news with the removal of Kristi Noem (aptly namedKristi Lynn Arnold Noem (KLAN) from Homeland Security after all the taxpayer funded waste so she can, among other things, fuck Corey Lewandowski in the air to her heart’s content. Remember draining the swamp? How quaint that old demagogue slogan sounds now, doesn’t it? Almost like America First. And yet people still support this criminal gang that are looting the country and driving the national debt through the roof and up into the sky–it’s orbiting Pluto now, and about to break free and head for Sirius. I love how Democrats are the people who supposedly waste our tax dollars, while their God-emperor just steals from us with both hands. She’s being replaced by Markwayne Mullin, who sounds like a character from Green Acres, or a villain from an old Burt Reynolds caper movie. He’s another short man with a Napoleon complex (see Greg Bovino, Dan Bongino, Joe Rogan, etc.) who thinks he’s a lot tougher than he actually is–mainly because being short everyone else has to punch down to hit him. What nonsensical shit he’ll get up to–he’s as bad, if not worse, than Secretary KLAN–she’s just stupid and useless; I think he is stupid and evil–and God forbid, sees this as his ticket to higher office. Although Oklahoma could do the funniest thing and elect a Democrat to replace him…won’t happen; Oklahoma is too far gone into their hatred and bigotry and self-righteous white victimhood to send such a message to Washington; his replacement in the Senate will most likely be even worse.

I’ve also been loving the Reich-wing excuses and justifications for this insane and illegal war in the Middle East that we’ve started; I think my favorite was “we’ve been at war with Iran for forty-seven years!” Then why was the Reagan administration selling them arms to fund the Contras in Nicaragua, because that was definitely aid and comfort to the enemy and Oliver North should have been executed? See how easy that was? They are lying to us about everything, and I can’t imagine with our bases being hit how we’ve not had more casualties than what they’ve admitted to–you know, the “suckers and losers” he has referenced numerous times in the past.

I am also kind of angry about some other things–namely, the Texas Democrat need to vote for anyone other than the qualified and definitely battle-tested Black woman for the “new great white hope” from Texas (anyone remember Beto, or whatever his name was? Whatever happened to him?), who also doesn’t believe in Medicare for all and has anyone really dug into his reproductive freedom stance, or queer rights? No offense, but after being betrayed by the faux-progressive campaign stances of grifting trash like Kyrsten Sinema or John Fetterman, forgive me if I don’t climb right up on that train–and neither do Black Texas voters. His surrogates were not above using racism and misogyny to smear and slander Ms. Crockett, and his campaign did nothing–and no one on our side of the aisle should ever be okay with that kind of bullshit, especially one led by a Christian. I also saw some horrific racism on-line yesterday from white Texas gays–we’re never beating the allegations, guys, until you examine your fucking privilege–which led to a lot of blocking. Being marginalized doesn’t give you carte blanche to oppress other marginalized people. You can’t keep going to the Black community–especially Black women–for money, volunteers and votes when you consistently reward their hard work with racism, and of course the pro-genocide slander was right there for racists to use–and then “we need to rally behind the candidate!” Without the Black community, no Democrat will hold national office ever again. So maybe, white Democrats, take a moment and think about who you are driving away from the polls. If Black Texans don’t turn out in November, that seat stays MAGA. So, the Talarico people need to start making amends for their bullshit, stat. Hilarious how the same people who couldn’t bring themselves to vote for Jasmine Crockett were cheering her congressional takedown of KLAN the very day they couldn’t bring their anti-Black asses to vote for her the day before. “We love you! Way to go! But we’re not going to send you back to Congress, sorry!”

Seriously, and the racist white gays? You’re an embarrassment and a disgrace. It even looks like you’d vote against your own rights rather than vote for a Black candidate, and then you wonder why the Black community doesn’t trust or support us? Get the FUCK out of here. The Republicans didn’t want her on the ticket. SO what the fuck does that tell you, you stupid fucking assholes.

I was also alerted to a lovely Youtube review of Hurricane Season Hustle yesterday by Google alerts. Check it out!

Gorgeous Max Parker from last summer’s Netflix hit, Boots, which was cancelled because the Pentagon was pouty about gays in the military, the snowflakes.

Midnight Ride

TIGERS WIN!

It was a great day of college football, and the day was capped off by LSU’s 20-10 win over Florida in Death Valley. The game was very tense, and turned into a defensive struggle the Tigers won. LSU’s offense looked a bit sluggish, but the defense was sharp despite losing two starting linebackers early in the game. Georgia-Tennessee was probably the best game of the day, a back and forth struggle with numerous lead changes in the fourth quarter until Georgia turned on the Georgia switch and won in overtime. After the LSU game, we watched the exciting finish of Notre Dame-Texas A&M (way to go, Aggies!), before going up to bed. I slept well, but do feel a bit laggard this morning. Hopefully, taking a shower and getting cleaned up in a moment will wake me completely. The Saints game is on at twelve, so I’ll just have it on while I’m cleaning and working today. Tulane also won yesterday, beating Duke, which is also cool; first time since 1998 both LSU and Tulane are both 3-0 to start the season. I still am not completely convinced LSU should be ranked third in the country, but as I watched yesterday I realized I don’t care much about the rankings, which really are nothing other than opinions, and often biased ones at that. I also don’t care about the play-off race, either, or who gets into it. I think I’m just watching for good games, really, nowadays, more than anything else. Of course I want LSU to win it all, but…no big deal if they don’t, either.

I did order groceries to be delivered yesterday, so I didn’t have to do anything outside of the house other than take out trash and light the grill (and cook). I’m going to have to walk over to Walgreens at some point (ugh) but other than that and taking out some recycling, I don’t have to go outside much today, either. It really is sad how much I tend towards being a housebound hermit.

It was really nice to shut the rest of the world out yesterday and focus on something besides the collapse of the country. I don’t think the Right’s attempt to turn Charlie Kirk into a martyr is going to work–and his “poor wife” is just as horrible as, if not worse, than the deceased. It’s always amazing to me the way people will always try to make victims out of conservative women, i.e. “poor Melania” or “poor Widow Kirk” etc., when they are exactly where they want to be and no one is forcing them to stay. They are completely on board with their husbands’ bigotry and hate, and reinforce it. They will even turn on their own men if they have second thoughts1. (I really do need to read They Were Her Property.) Tananarive Due also explores this sentiment somewhat in her brilliant The Reformatory also touched on this…and maybe it needs to be the focus of a book where I can explore it all.

I will also add that I am sick and tired of fucking straight white bitches who use my community to bolster (and build) their careers only to stab us all in the back. That’s so fucking despicable. I was never a fan of Kristin Chenowith before, (or Selma Blair, for that matter) and the fact this living troll doll (put a bone in her hair and see what she looks like) is perfectly willing to piss on the community makes me glad I never saw the appeal, frankly. The “pick me” theater gays will undoubtedly continue to worship her (I’ve seen them defending her, but her continued silence speaks more than volumes–i.e. she doesn’t feel the need to explain herself to her queer fans, so in other words…we can all go fuck ourselves. Prove me wrong), but there are also gay Republicans. I turned my back on Donna Summer in the 1980s; you think I’ll forgive this bitch for her opportunism? Here’s hoping she gets a pie in her face on her next opening night. She deserves worse.

Oh, dear, I wonder if this is going to get me on a list? Funny how the Right’s crackdown of free speech in the wake of Mr. Free Speech’s shooting goes against everything he (and they) supposedly believe in. And don’t even get me started on the waste of taxpayer money trying to canonize him since his death. They have a new Ashli Babbitt, don’t they? His-and-hers traitors to worship?

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

Sigh, Florence.
  1. Which was my primary takeaway from Gone with the Wind, by the way. ↩︎

As Tears Go By

Tuesday morning up before the sun blog in which yes, I have to go back to the office. It kind of feels like I’ve not been into the office in like forever, but it’s a new year for an old Gregalicious.

Yesterday was a wild day. I finished the book yesterday morning and turned it in (yay!) and then repaired to my easy chair to watch the LSU bowl game. The game was something, with LSU prevailing 63-7 over Purdue; LSU made Purdue look like a lower division team, and was up 35-0 at half-time, so it wasn’t terribly exciting to watch…but it was also airing at the same time as the Cotton Bowl, where Tulane was playing USC. I didn’t have very high hopes for Tulane, but I was paying attention to the score. As the LSU game wound down, USC was up 45-30 with less than five minutes left to go in the game, so I just kept watching the LSU post-game commentary and trophy presentation and finally switched over to see the end of the Tulane game, only to see there was like 20 seconds left in the game, Tulane had just moved the ball to a first down inside the ten yard line, and the score was now 45-39. They were reviewing the previous play for targeting, which was not called, and the game started again. There was a missed pass on first down, a caught pass rule incomplete on second down…which was reviewed and called a touchdown. Tulane then kicked the extra point to win, 46-45, in a massive upset for the ages and probably the biggest win in almost eighty years for their football program. ROLL WAVE! I still can’t believe Tulane beat a team that just barely missed the play-offs and could have played for the national title. And with the Saints also winning on Sunday over the Eagles, it was quite a weekend for football fans in southeastern Louisiana.

We gave up on Treason because we just weren’t all that interested in watching, and started Sherwood, a Britbox show, which seems interesting but we both kept falling asleep–tired, more than anything else–which I wasn’t entirely sure I was following, mainly because I kept dozing off. But it did look good, and it has a great cast, and so we’re going to stick with it for a while, at any rate. Today is also the day where my clinic job changes a bit; where we’re taking appointments every half hour (like pre-pandemic times) instead of every hour. I am not entirely sure how that is going to work, but today’s the day where we find out. Ah, yes, the joys of trial and error and finding the bugs and flaws in the system. I also have to catch up on my emails, which I let completely slide over the last four or five days while I finished writing the book. I have to say email, while incredibly convenient in many ways, has also sort of become the bane of my existence. I spend so much time on email, and sometimes email causes me great anxiety and stress. I’ve not had my inbox emptied in at least three years (!) and I am hoping that by the end of January that won’t be the case anymore. A goal for the new year is to keep my emails under control. We’ll see how that goes, won’t we?

I am not having any issues using “2023” as the date, but on the other hand I didn’t with “2022” until about October when all of a sudden “2022” didn’t look right.

But I am most pleased to have turned the book in. It still needs work, of course, but I need some time away from it so I can see it more clearly. I am also aware already of things that need to be done to make it better–the pacing in the first half is very off, the second half reads insanely fast–and there needs to be other tweaks and touches done for it. Taking January away from it is a good thing–by the time I start reading it again to edit the final edition in February I won’t remember most of it and that distance is sometimes absolutely necessary; it certainly helped with other manuscripts in the past few years. The deadline thing continues to be problematic and stressful for me; maybe the key is to go back to completing a first draft before asking for a contract in the future as I don’t ever want to be as stressed out as I was this past December, but right around Christmas the stress and anxiety snapped in my head and this weird calm descended on me. I didn’t even have to make myself work on the book these last few weeks, either; I just sat down and wrote three thousand words a pop (six over this last weekend) and before I knew it, there it was; finished.

And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. We’re having heavy weather today–rain, humidity, potential flooding and tornadoes–so going home this afternoon should be a really good time. Have a lovely third day of the new year, Constant Reader, and I will check back in with you tomorrow.

Paint It Black

So how is the new year going for you thus far, Constant Reader? I am on holiday for today, finishing the book hopefully this morning before the LSU game so I can watch it in peace with no worries–or so my attention won’t be divided between finishing it and watching the game. I also ordered groceries to be picked up later this afternoon as well. I made my quota again yesterday, and realized, as I moved into the living room with my journal to relax for the rest of the day, that I have written a ridiculous amount lately, and that it not only felt good but still does feel good. I don’t feel exhausted, despite all the writing and all of the other pressures, the way I usually do when I get to the end. I also feel good about the book, too–it needs some more work, but I am getting it in today with the full knowledge and expectation of necessary edits and revisions. But even as it is, it’s pretty decent, and I am pleased with it. I always put so much pressure on myself, and always doubt myself, and am always so terrified that I am not going to ever be able to get back into a writing groove and the creativity is going to dry up–or the desire to do it will go away once and for all. But I don’t think that’s reality. I think that’s more of that self-defeating self-doubt fear of success and unwillingness to feel pride neurosis I’ve really got to get past at some point before I die, and I do this to myself every time I write anything, really. Maybe it’s a part of my process, which is an absolutely terrifying thought–although that would be a great answer for the next time I’m asked about my process (which really doesn’t happen as often as one might think); “my process is to convince myself that I can no longer write, if I ever knew how really in the first place, and that the well has finally run dry and it’s all over and I am going to have to figure out something else to do with the rest of my life, and then once I’ve had an almost complete mental breakdown I will emerge yet again like a phoenix from the ashes of that meltdown and calmly sit down and blast out over thirty thousand words in slightly more than a week.”

Because that is literally how I write a book. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.

And why I squirm when asked about my process in interviews and on panels.

I slept in this morning and it felt marvelous. I feel rested and recharged, and ready to dig into the final chapter of the book as well s the epilogue. And after a few cups of coffee this morning I am going to go in. I’d love to be finished before the LSU game starts, but I think that’s at eleven and thus highly unlikely. I did do my six thousand words yesterday is just under four hours, so who knows? Maybe it is possible for me to bang out this chapter in an hour or so; one never really knows how well it’s going to go and how quickly the words will come out from my fingers flying across the keyboard; I know I used to write first drafts of short stories of about five thousand words in about two hours or so back in the day when I was younger, had more energy, and more time to think things through before sitting down to write. I often write everything out in my head before I sit down at the keyboard, so really the first draft gets written in my head, the second draft is me typing it all out and correcting things, the third draft is usually the fix the errors draft, and the fourth is the polish of language. Then comes editorial revisions and copy edits and all of that fun stuff. So, that’s my process. Sometimes I don’t even think about it before I sit down and start typing–which is the fiction-writing equivalent of spirit writing, where it just all starts coming out of me as I am typing it and I have no idea where any of it is coming from. You can see why it worries me that at some point the well will run dry? When you don’t know where the stories are coming from, it’s very easy to fear that they’ll stop coming at some point. It’s almost like magic, in a way.

We started watching Treason on Netflix last night, which was interesting. We also got caught up on Three Pines and Welcome to Chippendales (which they are really dragging out for far too long, and last night’s episode Juliette Lewis was so fucking annoying and homophobic I wanted to literally reach into the television screen and just slap the snot out of her; there’s nothing more annoying than a straight woman who doesn’t take a gay relationship seriously because it’s not, to a heteronormative, a “real” relationship; I’ve had this experience numerous times in my real life and yes, it’s a fucking anger trigger for me, as you can obviously tell) before watching Treason, which is interesting but again, it’s one of those annoying super-dad stories where Dad will put world security (or whatever) at risk for the sake of his own child. I hate those stories, so I am not entirely sure we’ll continue. It’s a clever premise (without the child-at-risk stakes) whereas a Russian spy has been helping a British MI6 agent rise through the ranks by giving him intel–the objective being to get him into a leadership position so they can coerce him into being a double-agent for them. That was interesting. The problem was some other group decides to kidnap his daughter–so of course, everything is up in the air–national security, safety of the general population, etc.–because he loves his daughter so much fuck everything else in the world because nothing else matters. I fucking hate Super-Dad stories–because in these cases Super-Dad always risks everything in the world–including, in some cases, the safety of a group of people dependent on him (this was when Stephen King’s Cell lost me; because of course everyone in the group went along with putting themselves at risk of death to help save Super-Dad’s child because that child is more important than ALL of them)…because it also paints an unrealistic picture of fathers who are present and good fathers. For me, the struggle to do what is best for the group rather than potentially sacrificing them all for the selfish goal of saving one’s own child would make a more interesting story. It also always amazes me in these stories that no one ever questions these decisions and go along with them. I know I can be a cold-hearted bitch but I am also very pragmatic. In an end-of-the-world situation like Cell, it simply doesn’t make sense for everyone to put their lives at risk for this man’s child. You have to put your own interests aside in order to be a good leader sometimes. Those are the kinds of sacrifices I’m interested in reading…the slow realization that you, a cisgender straight white man, aren’t the fucking center of the universe and must sacrifice for the benefit of all. That’s leadership.

Can you tell how sick I am of the Superdad fantasy? LOL.

I also spent some time reading A Walk on the Wild Side yesterday, which I am beginning to enjoy a bit more–the main character has finally reached New Orleans, and while some of the geography seems off–there are times when I can’t really quite figure out where they are or how they are getting around–but we’re finally getting to the part with the prostitutes and the bordello, which is really what I was reading it for (the first hundred pages are set-up for the reader to get to know the main character, Dove Linkhorn, and how he came to set out for New Orleans from Texas in the first place; which easily could have been condensed down to a couple of paragraphs, really; the book could have started with him climbing onto the freight train to escape his miserable life in Texas, and as the train rolled through the night flashbacked to all the first hundred pages which could easily be condensed to a few paragraphs/pages–but it’s mid-twentieth century straight white male MFA literary fiction, of course). I like reading about past New Orleans, and yes, reading this does make me think about writing more historical crime novels centered in New Orleans.

And on that note, I am going to open my word document and start plugging away at the finish of this. Have a lovely second day of the new year, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you either later or tomorrow.

Girl at Home

So here it is Friday at last, and the first full week of 2021 is coming, mercifully, to a close. It has been a rollercoaster of a week (2020, perhaps, giving us one last taste of her horrors? I certainly hope it wasn’t 2021 laughing and saying, “hold my beer, bitches.”) It has been an emotionally and intellectually exhausting week, a rollercoaster ride of highs and lows and horrors, and one that I am frankly not in the least bit sorry to come to its inevitable end–kind of like 2020.

I also don’t believe the domestic terrorism threat is over, but then I inevitably start from a place of complete distrust to begin with when it comes to my fellow Americans, particularly those who historically come from a place of hate for anyone slightly different and have always been intolerant of anyone and everything that doesn’t conform to their small, incredibly narrow worldview.

Or, to be more succinct, you really can’t fix trash.

I am working from home again today, which is kind of nice. I did so yesterday as well–was able to watch a great, if problematic, movie yesterday–and have a lot to do around my job. Dishes, laundry, bed linens…all need to be taken care of today, and of course there are always more condoms to pack. This weekend I am going to have to make groceries–despite saying farewell forever to Rouse’s, as the co-owner of the company and the former HR director proudly posted pictures of themselves at the anti-democratic treasonous insurrection the other day, so the Rouse family will never see another cent from this household–and so now, with Breaux Mart on Magazine’s owner also outing himself as a traitor who supports treason against the democracy, I will be exploring other grocery options–the Winn-Dixie on Tchoupitoulas, the Fresh Market on St. Charles, the Robert’s at Elysian Fields and St. Claude–and there are others as well. It’s truly sad–I was a loyal Rouse’s customer ever since they came to New Orleans, and I was happy to support a local, Louisiana led company–but sorry, the very thought that any money I worked hard for and paid taxes on going to support the traitorous actions of the company co-owner makes me sick to my stomach. So, I will never pass through their doors again. I don’t know how many other New Orleanians agree with me, but as the city went 84% for Biden and we are probably the biggest market the company is in–yeah, dramatic miscalculation on the traitor’s part, but then if he were truly intelligent, he wouldn’t be a traitor and would see through the con man he’s been throwing money at since at least 2015. Eat a bag of dicks, you treasonous trash.

And the next person who tells me we need to reach out to Trump supporters will get a wad of spittle in their face. The United States does not negotiate with terrorists, period. Ted Cruz and Josh Hawley? Good luck washing this stench off, because the phantom odor will follow your treasonous asses for the rest of your lives and you will never be president, ever, no matter how much you backpedal now. The picture of Hawley holding up a fist in solidarity with traitors and criminals against the state will never ever go away–at least not as long as there is breath in my body.

I need to get to work on writing this weekend, which has been pretty much impossible since the terrorist attack on the Capitol. But I read a wonderful Facebook post yesterday by the amazing Donna Andrews, whose books I love and is also one of my favorite people of all time, about getting back to her writing after 9/11, on 9/12, to be precise, and she was right. As artists, we have to create, even as the world burns around us; and while I dislike calling myself an “artist” (I’ve always seen that as pretentious), in this instance I will allow it without protest; and crime writers in particular have a duty to continue examining society and its problems through the lens of our characters, our voices, and and our work. Hopefully tonight, when I am home from the gym and have finished my work for the day, I am going to be able to sit down and work on my story for the MWA anthology, the blog post I promised to write, and start reading the manuscript for #shedeservedit, so I can get some work done on it this weekend. Things have also been piling up in my email inbox, and I need to get organized if I have any hope of staying on top of everything I need to get done. At least I made my doctor’s appointment for next week, so I can get going on a goal for the year–taking better care of myself and taking full advantage of my insurance.

The film I watched yesterday was L. A. Confidential, and what a great film it was indeed. Set in 1950’s Los Angeles, and based on the novel by MWA Grand Master James Ellroy, it’s a dark story of ambition and murder and corruption within the Los Angeles Police Department of the time–so in a way it counts as research for Chlorine-a time where cops could easily get swayed by the press; when beating confessions out of suspects and planting evidence were de regeur for a day’s work; and the prevalence of racism in an entirely white police force was the norm, not the exception. (And really, given the last few years, can anyone really assert that they are different now?) The performances were excellent, although it was hard to watch Kevin Spacey without thinking rapist–and the irony that the other two stars of the film (Russell Crowe and Guy Pearce) got their start in queer-centered films, playing gay men (The Sum of Us for Crowe and The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert for Pearce) going on to play incredibly butch, ambitious tough guy cops is rather sublime. had it not been released in the same year as Titanic it probably would have been a big winner at the Oscars. I wasn’t expecting to like it as much as I did, to be honest. I’ve never been a huge fan of Ellroy–too much casual homophobia and racism in his work–but I have always wanted to try him again (I’ve only read Clandestine, which I do want to read again) because I do appreciate his unique writing style and the depth and density of layers in his novels. (another thing I want to do this weekend is actually read for pleasure; it’s been a hot minute)

And on that note, I am heading back into the spice mines. Have a lovely weekend, Constant Reader–you and I truly deserve one.