That's only half correct, frankly.
The "feeling fine" part is a bit optimistic.
I may be collecting some of these thoughts for an actual newspaper down here in the Southland before I collect them myself for an educational treatise (or whatever) and publish it through Immolation Productions.
But, we are on STRIKE.
We are on the the forefront of the fight for the Good. We are on the correct side of history. We are part of the rebellion, part of the resistance.
I always wanted to be, right? That's what Corrie tells me, and that I should lean into it and become more vociferous.
I'm not exactly sure what that would look like, but I do know that as shit has unraveled among our tiny crew, how some people are quietly trying to undermine what we have built in this crucible---and it has been amazing to see how strong and tight a group can get under intense circumstances---that I have been far more diplomatic than the circumstances would generally allow, and that may be my ultimate strength: Somehow I will be able to direct these adults to some semblance of peace on the other side.
HOLD THE LINE!
SOLIDARITY FOREVER!
Monday, January 21, 2019
Tuesday, January 1, 2019
Electric Guitars Serenaded Us
Happy New Year, 2019!
"Do you wanna watch a silly, comedy tonight?" Corrie asked last night, New Year's Eve, after 10 sometime. We realized that it wouldn't really be over until a few minutes after midnight, and into 2019, so I set an alarm for 11:59, just to give us a chance to get romantical when the clock struck 12.
The movie we settled on was a Mr. Bean Comes to Hollywood edition, where in his duty as a terrible museum guard he's about to be fired, it turns out the boss's boss loves him, so they send him to LA to oversee the return of Whistler's Mother to an American museum. There's plenty of misunderstandings about his knowledge background in the subject (modern art), and plenty of idiotic absurdities (it is a Mr. Bean program), and it fit the bill.
Corrie got up to go to the bathroom at some point two-thirds of the way through, and my 11:59 alarm went off. We shared a laugh, and before I could decide if I wanted to try to catch the taped-delay falling ball or something more local, across the street someone started shredding an electric guitar.
Blasting into the New Year a lovely rendition of Auld Lang Syne echoed in our apartment and, presumably, all of them in our little vicinity.
We rang in the new year with the musical standard swallowing us whole, and it was like the light fantastic.
"Do you wanna watch a silly, comedy tonight?" Corrie asked last night, New Year's Eve, after 10 sometime. We realized that it wouldn't really be over until a few minutes after midnight, and into 2019, so I set an alarm for 11:59, just to give us a chance to get romantical when the clock struck 12.
The movie we settled on was a Mr. Bean Comes to Hollywood edition, where in his duty as a terrible museum guard he's about to be fired, it turns out the boss's boss loves him, so they send him to LA to oversee the return of Whistler's Mother to an American museum. There's plenty of misunderstandings about his knowledge background in the subject (modern art), and plenty of idiotic absurdities (it is a Mr. Bean program), and it fit the bill.
Corrie got up to go to the bathroom at some point two-thirds of the way through, and my 11:59 alarm went off. We shared a laugh, and before I could decide if I wanted to try to catch the taped-delay falling ball or something more local, across the street someone started shredding an electric guitar.
Blasting into the New Year a lovely rendition of Auld Lang Syne echoed in our apartment and, presumably, all of them in our little vicinity.
We rang in the new year with the musical standard swallowing us whole, and it was like the light fantastic.
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