Sioux says:

24NOV08

WOW! WE'RE FAMOUS! Apparently, with Subjugation’s release last month, not only have we gotten a few ‘fans’ (which is still a term that feels weird to me, lol) we’ve also apparently got a stalker too! Man. I thought that stalkers only came with worldwide fame or something like that. I mean, we just put a book out, for Crissakes! Its not like we’re fabulously wealthy or anything. We don’t live in Hollywood, or the freaking French Riviera. We’re just two writers who put out a book. And now here’s this individual who’s locked her sights on JT, for some twisted reason. This alone was enough to piss me off, but it seems that things aren’t sick or twisted enough for her, so she’s involved a children’s foundation that both JT and I sit on the board of directors for in her weird little world. Which involves me. I have a history of not giving this type of sicko the time of day, (yes, sadly this isn’t the first time we’ve had to deal with the obviously mentally ill) and normally I’d find her and tell her to up her freaking medication, but not this time. THIS time, I’m going to let the proper authorities take care of you, Nut Bag. They’ve already been contacted, and we’ve begun the process of taking care of this. Its one thing to go after one of us. Its another completely to drag innocent bystanders and a foundation that exists for the sole purpose of helping disabled children into a bizarre and sick fantasy world out of some need to feel better about yourself. It will not be tolerated. 93 Sioux

18NOV08

Its about bloody time that I started blogging, don’t you think? I mean, JT has, as usual, started things first, so I guess its my turn, huh? After a particularly frustrating day, I got an instant message from JT last night that completely made everything happy. ‘Subjugation’ is on some heavy hitting websites!!! I still can’t believe it. I mean, its JT’s baby, but I helped, so for me, this is as huge as it is for the Auteur! So, naturally, I shared my happiness with those closest to me. And immediately went back downhill in mood. NOT the reaction I wanted. But oh well. Such is life, right? I woke up this morning with purpose and vision. We’re working hard on ‘Racing The Devil - The Hollywood Tom Harmsen Story’ (the title may change, who knows?) and Life is good. As well as working on this one, I’m still fighting the characters in Night Walker to get them on the page and make them sing. It’s been a hard road, but they’re finally coming into line. One day at a time. 93 Sioux

JT Says:

2.24.09

Les Bontemps One thing I love about living in Louisiana is Mardi Gras. Growing up and going to school in the north, I had the joy of riding a sled down the hill in front of Shertluff Cottage (Hebrew House, back then) on snow days, before they put in a hedge so kids can't do that anymore. We'd start off on the porch with a sled, bump our way down the steps, woosh down the sloping hill and end up crashing down the bank of the frozen, shallow Plum Creek. Sometimes the sled made it all the way to the creek, sometimes not. It was giddy fun, and ridiculously dangerous. That was back in the days when kids went out to play and didn't go home until the first streetlights came on. Parents of today would be horrified not to account for every minute of their childrens' day that way. But somehow, we pulled through. I knew how heartwarming it was to see the first flowers of spring and the pleasure of watching the leaves turn in the autumn. I didn't know what I was missing out on during the last week of February. Or the first week of March. Whenever Mardi Gras falls. When I moved down here from Ohio, I had never seen a King Cake. Didn't even know what one was. The first time my taller half brought one home, I was tickled and delighted to see the green, yellow and purple sprinkles on top, and grinned at the story of the little plastic baby doll. You see, inside each King Cake, there's a tiny pink plastic baby. Whoever gets the piece with the baby in it has to bring the next King Cake. What fun! Mardi Gras isn't just the booze-soaked parades, the way it looks on tv shows. Anybody who thinks so has never lived down here. They've never seen how people warm up to each other in the weeks warming up to it. Everybody smiles and waves anyway, because they either know you or they've met you at some point or another. Maybe standing in line at the store, where nobody's in such a rush as they are in other parts of the world, or maybe your kids went to school with their kids. Either way, you know everybody you meet. But when it's time for Mardi Gras, smiles get a little wider and hands go up to wave a little quicker. You hear Bayou bluegrass coming from people's open doorways and you start picking out a spot along the parade route to set up. I'm not talking about the big parades in New Orleans, where throngs of strangers get as drunk as possible and look for excuses to get naked or get in fights. I'm talking about the small town daytime parades that wander down main street starting at noon. People gather along the street much earlier in the day, and started getting ready for it at least a day or two before. There was cooking to do and beer to put on ice. Lawn chairs to dust off and the car to pack up. Walk up and down the street and you'll see food like nowhere else in the world. Huge pots of home cooked gumbo that's probably been cooking since the night before, the kind you won't find in any restaurant, and you'll never forget if you're ever lucky to have it. There's sausage and dirty rice, Jambalaya, red beans and rice, and all the beer a person could ask for. Not for sale, mind you. We're not talking about vendors, we're talking about a PARTY. By the time the parade starts, everybody's got a full belly, a full glass and not a care in the world. There's always something special about a parade, but Mardi Gras parades are something else. The floats are colorful, and you know everybody on them, either by association or by relation. And you haven't lived until you've caught a fist full of flying beads with your face. Sincerely. I've gotten quite good at snagging a string of beads out of midair with outstretched fingers, but I still get pelted now and then. My taller half, who was born and bred down here, took a rather large string of beads to the face that was hurled by a ten year old that will most certainly grow up to pitch for Major League Baseball. A suspicious soul might think I popped him one, but everybody we know was there and saw the beads bounce off his face. They'll be picking beads up out of the ditches for weeks, if all of them ever get picked up at all. It wouldn't surprise me a bit if archaeologists a thousand years from now dig up this area and wonder just what the hell those were for. But for now, the leftovers are tucked away in the fridge and the floats are packed away. There's nothing left to do but prepare to deal with the unrelenting heat of the summer and deal with day to day life as usual. Is it next year yet?