Queer and Loathing in America

I'd Like To Teach the World to Sing

2009-11-16T13:48:43Z

I didn't get nearly as much work done yesterday as I'd intended, which totally sucks.

The work I did get done is pretty good; the problem of course is that I am feeling enormously pressured with the deadline looming. The next few weeks are, frankly, going to be dreadful. In fact, I fear I am due for a stress meltdown.

However, I did go to the gym yesterday and did an upper body workout. It felt great; and I think it's the style of workout I am going to do until the end of the year: upper body twice a week, lower body twice a week, with another day that is just (sob) cardio. And if I can stick to my schedule, I can get all of my work done while working out. How cool is that? The question, of course, is can I stick to the schedule without going all lazy, as I am wont to do. But once I post this, I am going to jump in the shower and pack everything I need for a long ugly day at the office, and then I am going to get back to work on the book before I head into the office. Part of the reason I didn't get as much done yesterday as I had wanted to was because I got stuck; now I think I know what I need to do to get past being stuck, which is a mile ahead of where I was yesterday.

I finished Dead Low Tide last night, and started another John D. MacDonald, Area of Suspicion. I also got a shitload more books for the award I am judging, which means i am really going to have to seriously crack down on that as well. Overloaded much, Gregalicious? I do admit, I get a lot more done the more pressure and work I have resting on my shoulders, but that doesn't mean it's any less stressful for me.

The one nice thing about going back to the gym yesterday was a mental thing. When I don't have time, or am injured, and can't work out regularly, I get into this mental state that all of my work at the gym since 1994 is gone. I feel like I've gained fat-weight, my muscles have shrunken and gone soft, and so forth. I have already mentioned the horror of my jeans getting tighter on me; I tried on the awesome new shirt I bought in Atlanta and let's just say it didn't look flattering; if anything, it highlighted every flaw. (Needless to say, it isn't going to be worn publicly for a while.) But after I worked out, I showered at the gym and looked at myself in the mirrors in the lockerroom. It really must be mental. After just one workout, I felt like I was back where I was last summer before the shoulder injury resurfaced; my muscles looked all hard and bulgy and defined the way I remembered from last summer. Silly, I know: one's body cannot make a huge resurrection after one workout. But, as I said, I am very aware the whole thing is simply mental, and as insane and delusional as that may sound, having your mind see your body looking better is a huge boost toward making yourself get back into the gym on a regular basis. And hopefully, that confidence boost will carry over into the writing.

One can dream, at any rate.

Okay, off to get the day started.

Bust a Move

2009-11-15T15:04:52Z

I have big plans for today, most of which involve editing and rewriting. I also am going to the gym (I have to train Jean at 11; then am staying to beat the crap out of myself; it feels like years since I've worked out) and there's a Saints game today as well (GEAUX SAINTS!) but rather than watching I am going to put my headphones on, tune it out, and write write write. I am in the homestretch, and still am confident that Vieux Carre Voodoo will be turned in on time. An old man can dream, can he not?

I did finish reading The Drowning Pool last night, and have moved on to Dead Low Tide by John D. MacDonald, as my "Dueling MacDonalds" reading adventure goes on. Alas, I think that's it for the Ross Macdonalds I have on hand, but am thinking I might add him to my eBay searches so I can pick up some nice used copies. Thanks, Ross and John D., for all the inspiration you've given me for this new book.

I also have a lot of icky things to do this week (get my 09 expenses caught up; redo my 06 taxes for the amended return, clean the kitchen floor, get the laundry caught up, take a gazillion shirts and pants to the dry cleaner) and while I don't want to really do any of them (tedium, tedium, tedium) if I do get this all done, I can focus more clearly on finishing the book and getting back into a workout groove. In all honesty, all of my size 31 waist jeans are getting a little snugger than I would like (goddamned love handles, anyway) and so I need to start watching my diet, doing cardio, and making sure I take the time to thoroughly stretch. A sign that I am taking this seriously? I manscaped (something I absolutely loathe doing) yesterday so I could get a better idea of the state of my upper body. It wasn't as bad as I thought (the state of my upper body I mean; the manscaping was as loathsome as always), but there's still work that needs to be seriously done. Sigh. I hate cardio.

All right, I need to get cracking on the writing. But before I go, here are some scenes from the Politics Are Murder Tour:

The display at Outwrite (yes, I am on top of Kathy Griffin; the only time that'll happen):

Wouldn't be Atlanta unless there was a Peachtree Street:

For Becks, the Margaret Mitchell house at the corner of Peachtree and 10th:

For la Puterbaugh, my bathroom at the suite:

For G Thang, a building that looks kind of like a penis (note the beautiful blue sky):

For Lindsay, because she loves patterns (this is in the lobby of the condo building):

Not wanting rHonda to feel left out:

Or Meestair Teem (for some reason, the esthetics of this wall lamp made me think of him):

Or Lisa, for that matter (methinks she'd like eating here as much as I did):

And of course, 'postrophe (cuz we all know he'd be going to this exhibit more than once):

And of course, the delightful staff at Outwrite:

I will probably do a post later with the San Francisco pictures, and then put everything up on ye olde Facebook at some point as well.

Eyes Without a Face

2009-11-14T14:48:53Z

I slept well last night, and alas, came downstairs to bright sunlight coming through the windows, exposing how filthy they are. Sigh, maybe I can take an hour tomorrow and clean them. It's been awhile; I've really slacked on the chores around the Lost Apartment this year. Right now, the living room is completely cluttered; several boxes of books to judge for this award arrived while I was gone--at least forty more to add to the fifty already on-hand I have to find the time to read. Ah, well, I've made some progress on that--I've already read about forty.

Sigh.

I did finish reading The Doomsters by Ross Macdonald last night before watching another disc of Wire in the Blood, and started reading Macdonald's The Drowning Pool. As I said, while reading these books I've been getting a lot of inspiration for Scotty; not that I am ripping Macdonald off, but I always find when you read a really good writer's work, it inspires you with your own. Scotty is very much not influenced by any noir writers, but noir writers do a lot of things well--atmosphere, description, characterization--that can certainly inspire. And by the way, thanks Christopher Rice; I'd never read Ross Macdonald until I was on a panel with Chris many years ago and he mentioned Macdonald as one of his influences and favorites; so out of curiosity I picked up one and was hooked.

I have to go into the office this afternoon; I hope to get some more serious work done on Scotty this weekend so that Aunt Julie can get her pages on Monday. She's in, methinks, for a bit of a shock.

Mwa-ha-ha-ha.

I am also toying with some ideas for the plot of the next Chanse; thanks, Carrie Prejean! Has everyone else been enjoying watching her desperate bid for attention and to extend her fifteen minutes blowing up in her face these past weeks? It's happening a lot faster for her than it did for Anita Bryant, but it's just as effective. And I know, I shouldn't revel in the downfall and disgrace of another human being; she is entitled to her opinion and so forth,; but the truth is, she tried to make herself a 'name' in this country by oppressing her fellow citizens and promoting an agenda based in hate, bigotry and ignorance...but as she is finding out, that's a double-edged sword. To quote Mommie Dearest, "the sword cuts both ways." And I haven't discovered any 'defenses' of her after the revelation of the solo sex tape--which wasn't 'really a sex tape since there was only one person in it.' Hmmm. So masturbation isn't sex--kind of like how President Clinton didn't think a blowjob was sex, right? Such a role model. I know if I had a teenaged daughter, I'd be perfectly fine with her taping herself nude and pleasuring herself and sending it to her boyfriend. Maybe the wind blew her hand into her crotch, like the wind exposed her breasts in those pictures (while leaving her hair in place)?

You should have stuck to only being interviewed on Fox, dear. Lesson learned?

Somehow, I doubt it.

Okay, time to head back to the spice mines.