Not for the squeamish

I do still have photos from NYC and maybe even from NOLA that include actual people that I want to get on here. However, something interesting happened when I was in New York. I kept meeting people who read Tim’s and my LiveJournals. Upon hearing that they did, I expected the following questions:

1. How do you guys write together?
2. When’s your next book out?
3. Does Timothy J. Lambert really sleep in the buff?
4. What’s the deal with BBQ Fritos and how can I make Greg Herren send them to me?
5. Should I buy Famous Author Rob Byrnes a drink or donate money for his suite at Betty Ford?

But no. The most frequent question was, “What got you on the raw food kick for your dogs, and tell me more about it.”

Evidence that people love dogs more than reading, eating, and getting info on hot men.

After my dogs died in 2000 and then Margot and Guinness came to us, I stopped buying any commercially prepared dog food except Wysong. We fed them dry and flavored it with Wysong’s canned organs, beef, and chicken. But when I researched foods before I decided on Wysong, I kept finding people who recommended raw diet. There were parts (ha ha) of the raw diet that grossed me out, and I just didn’t think I could do it. I was satisfied with Wysong, and my dogs gave their hearty approval of it, so that was good enough for me.

Then River came along with his many health problems, and Tim researched how diet might exacerbate or eliminate some of those problems. Again, raw diet kept being touted. There were (and are) plenty of people against raw feeding for dogs, but they were usually people who hadn’t tried it. Some vets don’t approve of raw diet. They weren’t educated to use it, and frequently, their nutrition teachers in vet schools came from companies like Science Diet, the food you most often see sold in vet clinics. I’m not anti-Science Diet, and I’m pro-Wysong. But I wanted to get away from all commercial food, because, for example, it bothered me that Guinness scratches so much. She seems to have a problem with yeast that leads to chronic ear infections. Could it be something in her dry food causing the problem?

Those who tried raw diet talked about better breath, better coats, less skin problems, better stools, less allergies, cleaner teeth (healthy teeth are an indicator for a longer lifespan in dogs as well as people, which is why vets now offer to clean your dog’s teeth), less joint problems, less health issues that led to vet visits. Having spent thousands of dollars on three sick dogs, fewer costly vet visits sounded good. My dogs get two checkups a year, and they always will. But if anything could spare us the heartbreak of putting another three dogs to sleep, before the full life expectancy of their breeds and after a range of mystery illnesses, it was worth trying.

It’s a sad fact of life that most of us with a normal lifespan will outlive many dogs and cats who bless our lives with their love and companionship. But if something offers the hope of keeping them with us longer–and in good health during that longer life–it just makes sense. Still, though Tim and I talked about it, we knew it was going to take work, research, time, energy, and commitment, and other things seemed more pressing.

Then the pet food recall and all those animal deaths hit the news. Although none of the foods we used were involved, it seemed the story kept developing, with more disturbing details and more products added. It was the right time to jump. We’re lucky enough to have a raw food supplier in Houston, so I went there first, to get food and advice. (All that information is also available on the Internet.) Now we’re doing it all ourselves. If we ever have to board our dogs, I can see going back to her because she sells raw diet in forms that would make it easier for a vet or a kennel to feed them.

Raw diet is time consuming, I don’t deny that. My time per week probably averages five hours, mostly because I sometimes have a difficult time finding the right food at our grocery stores and making sure it’s from the USA (not China). I’m also stuck begging butchers for help, which always entails explaining things like how uncooked bones will NOT hurt the dogs. Uncooked bones are soft, and it’s fun to see the pleasure in the dogs’ eyes as they crunch on chicken and turkey necks or chunks of catfish with the bones still there. This was the biggest obstacle I had to overcome about feeding raw. I was convinced that my dogs were going to choke or get perforated intestines and die because of bones. I’m still a little iffy about rib bones, but the dogs have had no problem with the smaller bones at all. And we’ve always given large marrow bones to them as a treat. Even after they’ve cleaned them, they like to gnaw on those bones, which is great for their teeth.

Other benefits of raw food, just like I was promised: better breath, whiter teeth, stronger jaws, better weight management, less scratching, shiny coats, better sleep habits, smaller, healthier stools (I regret to say that The Compound Canines have been known, on occasion, to be poop eaters, but with raw diet, that has stopped!). Of course, the benefits I most hope for will only be evident over the long term. The dogs are completely off any dry food now, and getting all raw.

Behind the cut, I’m putting photos with more specific information about what’s working for us. If you can endure pictures of raw stuff, check it out. If you can’t, then all I can say is, yes, Tim does sleep in the buff, and no, I don’t have photos to prove it.

more about the Compound Canines’ raw diet here

The post about eating and sleeping in Manhattan


Hot guy in Chelsea Savoy Hotel room.

When IT HAD TO BE YOU came out in 2001, Jim, Tom, and I rented a NYC apartment for the few days we were there. It was off Sutton Place, and I’ll confess that it was the best place I’ve ever stayed in NYC. It was perfect for having friends with us (James! Kenneth! Steve!), meant we had an actual kitchen at our disposal, and our writing partners Tim and Timmy got to hang out with us there as if we were real residents of Manhattan. It also had antiques, thick white towels in the bathroom, family portraits and art set off by good lighting, and a grand piano.

Mostly, I’m accustomed to Manhattan hotels with cramped rooms, miniature elevators (if available), and tiny bathrooms.

Though some reviewers have said the Chelsea Savoy is a no-frills hotel, I wonder if they’re people who’ve either had someone else (like an employer) pay for more upscale Manhattan hotels for them in the past, or else they haven’t been in many affordable hotel rooms in the city. Because I was dumbfounded, first by the size of the elevator–it was NORMAL!–then by the size of the room (not huge, but by no means cramped), and a real bathroom that could actually be moved around in! I have no complaints with the hotel at all. It was clean and new and quiet, and I’m not a high-maintenance guest in any case, either with housekeeping or the desk staff. So I was satisfied. And according to Tim, I didn’t snore, so I guess he was satisfied, too.

A couple of doors down from the hotel was a deli that I loved because the guys working there were nice and made me smile every time I went in. They also doctored my really hot coffee just the way I like it. Yay, deli men. (Until I started visiting NYC, I didn’t know that there, a “deli” isn’t a restaurant, but what we in the South call a “convenience store,” albeit on a much smaller scale.)

The thing is… as endearing as Chelsea can be, I have to confess that my heart lies north of there, and by that, I mean Hell’s Kitchen. I’ve spent more time there. There are always people on the sidewalks, so I never feel unsafe walking alone, even at midnight. I like everything it’s close to. I like the restaurants and the little bars. Maybe it’s familiarity, maybe it’s that Tim’s love for his old neighborhood influenced me, but Midtown is more comfortable to me.

Still, I took a little morning walk around Chelsea because I knew its quieter residential streets would offer up some prettiness.
click here for prettiness

Live from New Orleans

Have you missed me? The correct answer is a resounding, YES!

Tim and I are not willing to pay our hotel another $20 a day so that we can have wireless, when the City of New Orleans offers it free. However, we haven’t been able to get access from inside the hotel. I’m playing hooky from Saints & Sinners to get ONLINE from CC’s Coffeehouse on the corner of Royal and St. Philip. Because if I’d gone much longer without Internet access and LiveJournal I might have had to be hospitalized. Tim, who’s being more responsible and attending a panel, may bring his laptop and join me later.

As always, I’ve fallen in love with New Orleans. You don’t have to be a big party girl to succumb to the city’s countless charms. But it does help to be staying in a fabulous hotel–well, minus the Internet issue and the post-prom teens who turned Tim into the Terrifying Monster from the Land of I-Want-To-Sleep.

Last night we went to a little soiree in a fabulous apartment with a view, two wonderful hosts, and a small group of GLBT publishing’s finest and funnest. In fact, the evening was so nice that Tim and I didn’t mind that we had to practically crawl on all fours to the door so we wouldn’t pass out when we looked down from the outdoor walkway. There’s something really comforting about having a friend and writing partner with whom one can share neuroses like fear of heights.

I’d like to say the less literal high point of the trip was the grits from the Clover Grill, but I got there too late and had to settle for hash browns. Anyway, it would be a lie, no matter how terrific the grits, because OMG, I’ve met David and Shannon and Lisa and Marika and gotten to hang out with Mark again (GREAT master class with author Jim Grimsley, sitting on the front row with Mark like teacher’s pets/acolytes). Whatever expectations I had before meeting D/S/L/M and reuniting with Mark have not been met–they’ve been exceeded. Later tonight after beignets and cafe au lait at the Cafe Du Monde, I’ll get my dog fix when we meet Marika’s handsome Dash.

On the way to CC’s, I saw a little boy sitting in the lotus position on top of his father’s parked car, looking very Buddhalike. A woman waiting on a stoop asked if he could tell her future, and he said, “Yes. Work. Work. Work. And more work.” While the woman laughed, his father sighed and said, “Same future as me.” It’s hard to think about working as I sit at my corner window and watch pretty girls in straw hats and white linen dresses walk by, men holding hands with their boyfriends, and people just inhaling the magic of the Quarter.

But I do need to get some work done. There’ll be lots of photos and other such things to come. For now, I just wanted to check in, read some of your journals/blogs, and say again that Paul J. Willis knows how to host a literary festival and that Greg Herren is one super friend for all he’s done–even above and beyond helping us find THE SOURCE of BBQ Fritos. Those of you who aren’t here? The Crescent City beckons with a whisper of Next year.

Oh. And David and Shannon may even sober up eventually. 😉


Yesterday’s breakfast in Jackson Square Park, where my conversation with an elderly black man made me nostalgic for days of old. Until his cell phone rang and he had to leave, but he gave me his Times Picayune newspaper first. New world meets old world…


Looking in a window and thinking of Audrey Hepburn looking in a window…


Painting in the window of the Rodrique Gallery.


Flowers for tomorrow for all you mothers.

Mondays can be good

Cousin Ron’s recent trip to Atlanta-G-A netted him this box of goodies, which he arranged to be mercy-dropped to The Compound this morning.

Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full of BBQ deliciousness. Now as for that fourth bag, if this is some subtle attempt to help Timothy and me overcome our BBQ Frito addiction? Never gonna happen. We thank you for them nonetheless and know they will be eaten.

It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Thank you, Cousin Ron.

Pre-birthday festivities that almost weren’t

Happy birthday, Rhonda!

I decided that yesterday would be a good day to beg for Rhonda and Lindsey time. I bribed them with promises of a little early birthday somethin’ for Rhonda. I knew Lindsey was still on TV strike, so I invited them to The Compound post-Survivor, and the invitation was accepted.

Mid-afternoon, I started dinner, including putting a giant Tollhouse cookie in the oven to bake. Then Tim and I promptly began an impromptu bitch work session, and I forgot the cookie. When I remembered it, the edges seemed a little crisp, but I decided to just slather frosting on that part and encourage the Brides to cut from the middle.

Later, Lynne arrived, and she being the Queen of All Things Baked, I asked if she thought the cookie would be okay. She gave me The Look, whereupon I took a roll of dough out of the freezer to thaw. Then I sat down to steal cashew nuts from Lynne and that’s when I saw it: the chocolate cake Lynne had brought with her for dessert. HELLO! Birthday cake! Dough back in freezer. Lynne used softer pieces from the overbaked cookie for some cake decorations.

Unfortunately, after Survivor and dinner (roast beef, rice, fresh green beans, salad, and rolls, if you wanted to know), Lynne decided her upper respiratory infection had gotten the best of her so she went home before The Brides arrived.

Which they did. Much conversation and cake ensued. I hope you are feeling better, Lynne, and thank you for making sure the following smile happened:


Hot woman in red.


Two hot women!


Can you eat all that? I don’t think you can eat all that. Want me to help you eat that?

Kitchen Bitches

If ever a camera was needed, it was Sunday night in the two Compound kitchens.

When we started the dogs on raw food, we bought three 10-pound tubes of ground chicken and vegetables from a local dealer. We’re getting to the end of that, and her shop isn’t open again until Thursday. So it seemed like a good time to make our own raw food.

Tim and I went together (Tom decided that sleep was more important–so selfish! It was only midnight.) to the grocery store. We were hoping to find really gross stuff like beef tongue and chicken gizzards and livers and such. Alas, there must have been a HUGE run on those items Sunday at Disco Kroger. So we selected two packages of turkey necks (you’re already wishing YOU ate raw food, aren’t you?), some veal, some short ribs, and ox tail, all at excellent prices.

From the fresh produce section, we decided on parsley and brussels sprouts. (Brussels sprouts may give them gas, but a Rex fart can be a hilarious thing, so what the hell.) I already had a big bag of carrots to add to that mix.

When we got home, Tim didn’t know I was going to start the food mixing and dividing immediately, so he went to his apartment. (He was probably hoping for more Adventures with Palmetto Bugs, but that’s his story to tell.) I intended to chop the vegetables, but then I read on someone’s site that because dogs have short small intestines, they can’t really get the full nutritional value of vegetables unless they’re juiced. The blender lives at Tim’s, so I went and got it. Unfortunately, the blender wasn’t really working out as a juicer. I added a little water. Tim suggested that next time, we buy some vegetable juice to use in place of water. Good suggestion. At one point, nothing was happening so I pushed the vegetables down a little with a rubber spatula. The spatula hit the blade–no harm done. Except for the stream of green liquid that sprayed my cabinets and counters. Margot and Guinness watched all this with great anticipation. I’m not sure if they were hoping for an exorcism or a juice fountain.

After I had a big bowl of juiced vegetables, I decided to cut up the turkey necks. Um, I’m not a butcher. I don’t have great knives. I don’t have a cleaver. I WILL have a cleaver before we do this again. At this point, Tim came in and saw me struggling with the turkey necks. He took over with his strong manly hands while I sliced up veal and ribs.

Then it was time to divide it, but it wasn’t as simple as with the ground stuff we’d gotten from Bones2Go. That’s when I remembered that I had a food scale. I dug around in a cabinet until I found it. I also found–A JUICER! Where the hell did that come from? I never juiced anything in my life. I have a vague recollection of asking for a juicer for Christmas one year, and someone in Tom’s family must have provided. YAY! Unfortunately, there was not a surprise meat cleaver anywhere.

Tim said it smelled like a slaughterhouse in my kitchen and that he felt like he was in a scene from Sweeney Todd. The dogs were pacing at our feet, but they got nothing.

Later, when everything was divided into portions and put into the freezer, there was still mushy vegetable juice. I took it to Tim’s and put it in his unused ice trays to freeze. A vegecube is about the right amount to add to their meat portion.

I offered the veggie bowl to Rex to lick out. He was like, “Are you shittin’ me? Number one, Tim never lets me do this. Number two, while in your kitchen, did I not smell beef? Veal? Turkey neck? OX TAIL? Give me the good stuff, betch.”

He finally licked some vegetable mush off of my fingers to humor me.