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Lawyers, Guns, And Money

“Dad, get me out of here!”

Love Warren Zevon.

Dealing with the Big D, trying to act like everything’s OK, when all I really want to do is go back to bed and sleep forever. Going on since early May. Being up and about is like slogging through mud.

Of course, one reason for going to bed is it’s about 80-85 degrees in here and the air conditioner, which is in perfectly good working order, is sitting on the floor. In my room, the air is going full blast. Long story about someone trying to do me a favor last January or so, which is much appreciated, but it’s summer, now.

Writing is like pulling teeth. A few sentences here, a few there. But a few is better than none, right?

One piece of encouraging news. At Balticon, over the Memorial Day weekend, a local bookstore contacted me and is interested in stocking my books. Waiting now with bated breath.

Too tired to write any more. Going to bed. It’s cooler, anyway.

Ciao.

All Shot Up

Vaccinated now.

The first shot gave me a nasty headache that didn’t start until I was flying down I-97. You know, those ones that make you squint because you’re light sensitive.

The second shot. Day of, I feel kinda weird when I leave the vax site, but hey, it’ll be ok. Just get home. Flying down I-97, I start feeling weirder and weirder, and finally, I feel like I’m drunk. Or stoned. But not a good drunk or stoned. Sick drunk or stoned. I had to concentrate to stay in my lane to keep from drifting out. Consciously tell myself I had to use my turn signal. Depth perception not quite lost, but I had to change lanes at one point and couldn’t tell how close the car behind me was. So floored it, and hoped they weren’t going faster than me. Then a cop starts tailgating, for no reason I can see. Maybe because I have a black Tahoe. Cops tailed me all the time because Black driver, black SUV = drug dealer. But that was in 1999, when the truck was new. In 2021, it’s a battered, rusting hulk (runs great, though). Anyway, I’m praying he’s just fucking with me. Turns out he was. So, I get home, stumble in the front door, and stumble upstairs to bed.

Next day, Death comes for a nice visit.

He left about 10 this morning. Relief.

Now, of course, the day job rears its ugly head. Have to submit my article… Continue reading

You Know What’s Scary?

A guy you can’t see with needles and tiny, sharp, scissors messin’ around with your eye.

And your eye is open.

All you can see is the blinding surgical lamp and these dancing metal points.

That’s some Marathon Man shit.

Oh, yeah–and if he tells you “little pinch” just before injecting the anesthetic? HE’S LYING.

Third time I’ve had to go through this. Before that, it was a soldering iron. Once, he didn’t give me enough numb juice, AND I FELT IT. Thankyuhjeebus this time was the last.

Except it ain’t over.

Oh, no. The universe don’t play dat with ol’ Roxy.

Don’t know what’s coming next. Sending me off to another dude. He’d better not tell me “little pinch” ’cause I’mma call his ass out.

Getting old sucks. If I’d known it was going to be like this, I’d have swallowed those damned pills a long time ago.

Ciao.

That Virtual Con

A week or so ago, I mentioned I was participating in a virtual con.

Pros and cons? Mostly cons, but I think it might just be this particular con. If I’m not mistaken, this was the first con the sponsor has run, so of course, there are going to be glitches. One of those glitches–and a very annoying one–was that vendors weren’t on the list to access the site early so we could set up our booth. Our group leader somehow managed to get in because she set everything up by the time the convention started. Although we had a zoom tour of the con like a week or so before, the set-up wasn’t exactly user-friendly. I was mostly confused. But it worked in the end, and we were all in our places with bright, shiny faces on Day One.

The con’s big rule was this is a safe place, and no harassing or trash talking–people, groups of people–whatever. Anybody reported doing these things was going to kicked out of the con, no ifs ands or buts. Okay, fine.

We didn’t have a Day Two. The con was held on a platform (can’t remember the name) that when I signed in, insisted I have my webcam and mic on. Okay, fine. I’m not sure how this worked, but we found out that attendees didn’t have to have their cams and mics on, and if they didn’t, they were invisible. Completely invisible. So a few of us were in the booth,… Continue reading

The Weight Of The World

Atlas.

That’s who I’m feeling like right now. The only time he got a break was when Hercules offered to take his place so Atlas could go see his daughters. Ol’ Herc was a great guy.

I don’t have daughters.

It’s good and bad. The good part is I can now honestly say The Moreva of Astoreth has been critically acclaimed. Six out of 7 critical reviews, all stellar. I’ve entered it into can’t remember how many contests in the past month. Doesn’t matter. I’m not keeping track of anything. If I win something, they’ll let me know. Audio book still underway. I’ll be getting a solid chunk of change in the next month or so stemming from the bankruptcy–a company I had an outstanding loan with continued to debit my bank account after the petition was filed last April. All that money, almost a year’s worth, is coming back to me. What it means is that I’ll be able to afford the audio book’s sticker price as well as get some damned much needed stuff fixed around my house. Like the plumbing. Especially the plumbing.

Now the hard stuff. Ageing parents. Being locked out of family communications. The latest is that I learned my mother has mild dementia through an offhand comment my father made about the lawyer who’s setting up the trust. I knew there was an issue–nobody goes to see a neurologist for fun. But that was over a year ago, and when I asked about it,… Continue reading

Happy Birthday! Fuckin’ Not!

My phone’s been pinging like a pinball machine. Friends on Facebook or text messaging to wish me a happy birthday.

I’m not responding.

Fuck that noise.

I do not want to be 60 years old (I want to be dead, but that’s another story). I want to be younger. Much younger. Like 45 years younger. It’s not about eternal youth, shit like that. It’s about life choices. Every year, every day, I’m reminded I should have taken the left fork, the road less traveled. I took the right instead, the superhighway that rushed me to exactly the place where I didn’t want to be.

When I was a teen, I remember telling myself and others that I didn’t want to work however many years at a job I hate until retirement. And that’s exactly what I’ve done. It’s funny–not long ago, someone told me I’ve had a good career. Brought me up short. I thought, “career? What career? I’ve had different jobs. I don’t have a career.” Then I realized. I’ve been doing this shit for longer than some people have been alive. And I’ve hated almost every minute of it. Almost, because there were fun times, times I enjoyed, but those were few. Mostly, I wished I was anywhere but here.

So here I am, nearing the end of my “career.” Every day, I wake up with the feeling I’ve wasted my life. Wasted it doing shit I don’t want to do, and not what I wanted to do.… Continue reading

Gag Order

This blog is about to get boring.

Got a company-wide email last week about the death of George Floyd and the protests. We were cautioned that regardless of our personal feelings, we should not express them on social media, not even on our personal accounts. That goes for blogs, too. To maintain credibility, to maintain the magazine’s reputation of non-partisanship, we have to be impartial in our writings. Everywhere.

I’m a journalist. I write a weekly column for the magazine. About taxes. Yep, you read right. Taxes. State taxes, to be precise. What that has to do with my personal political opinions (aside from that I don’t like to pay taxes), I’ve no idea. But the boss man said it, and until I can figure a way to make a living off this author gig, I need my day job.

Muzzled.

So…what do I talk about? My books, yes. Books I’ve read, yes. Cosmology? Have to brush up on it, but sure. Maybe stuff I’ve seen on YouTube. Like, how to build a working car out of Legos.

Meanwhile, here’s a picture of a nice kitty.

Ciao.

It’s All About The Benjamins

Saw an interview with a Dr. Mikowitz today. She’s an immunologist (and something else) and has written a book, “Plague of Corruption,” about how the scientific establishment has been twisted into a money machine, and how those in the machine will do anything to keep it running, and if people die in the process, too bad. Fucking up and covering up. Denying the success of drugs developed in the lab so to find ways to make money off it when it goes public. Mikowitz is an ex-employee of Dr. Anthony Fauci, the man everyone’s looking to as the beacon of light during the crisis. According to Mikowitz, he’s anything but. He’s part of the machine. She related the story of how Fauci tried to force her to hand over material related to a project she was working on (or something like that) and after some back and forth, she was arrested for theft of government property and hauled off to jail. Never charged. No trial. Nothing. Just kept her in prison. And she didn’t steal anything, either.

She also gave some insight about how viruses work. It didn’t come from a bat in some wet market. It was something that escaped from the Wuhan lab, a project that had the full participation of the CDC and the Army. She said she wouldn’t call it “created,” but it’s not “natural.” A combining of several different viruses. If it had been natural, it wouldn’t have spread the way it has so quickly.… Continue reading

Can America Survive COVID-19? Not The Way It’s Going

I read in the news today that Maryland’s Governor Hogan (the state where I live) ordered 500,000 COVID-19 testing kits from South Korea, and had them flown here in secret so FEMA couldn’t intercept them.

It was quite an operation. First, the plane landed at the Thurgood Marshall Baltimore-Washington Airport instead of Dulles Airport in Virginia. Landing at Dulles would have attracted too much attention, and though it’s a big, busy airport, no one inside the Beltway pays much attention to it. That’s because DC dignitaries–Congress and whatnot–always fly out of Dulles.

The plane was unloaded under the watchful eyes of the Maryland National Guard and state troopers. After that, the testing kits were whisked off to a secret location, which will remain secret.

Now, I’m no fan of Governor Hogan, but I have to give him mad props for his handling of this crisis. Like Rudy Giuliani. He’s a seriously nasty, racist sonofabitch, but his handling of New York City when 9/11 happened was jaw-droppingly stellar. He was calm, reassuring, and made no outlandish claims about who was behind it. A real rock. He kept that city together when it was about to lose its damned mind.

But here’s my question. What if FEMA had gotten wind of what was happening and showed up at BWI to claim the shipment? With the National Guard and the state police having been given orders to protect it? What if FEMA had called in the Army to force Maryland to give it… Continue reading

What Dreams May Come

I had the craziest dream this morning (I’ve been up all night).

The dream was narrated by a man “off camera.” I and about 14 or 15 other people were trying to escape from wherever we were in Africa because we wanted to leave before our stay was up. We ran across a dirt yard dressed in what looked like blue paper hospital gowns over white pajamas to a taxi, a van with windows that was probably meant to hold 8, and crammed inside. A woman had her elderly mother or grandmother with her, who was the last to get inside. She sat on my stretched out legs, on my calves, specifically, which were supported by somebody else underneath. The man driving the taxi starts off.

Scene change. We’re on the plane. Six of us sitting in two 4-seat rows facing each other, like you sometimes see on commuter trains. A Japanese man wearing a darkish purple-brown jacket, like a lighter shade of burgundy, sat hunched in the window seat across from me, staring through the glass. The window seat next to me was empty. We take off. Everyone else in my section prepares to go to sleep by covering their heads with huge bath sheets, except me and the Japanese man, who still sits hunched over and staring out the window. The lights dim until there is just enough to see by. I don’t have a towel, but I close my eyes. When I open them a couple of… Continue reading