Along with muting a few Certain Keywords for a week, I decided to take yesterday mostly off social media. It was nice to sink fully into a story and not check what new beast was slouching to Bethlehem and Armageddon at the same time. I also turned my phone off once the Little Prince was home. That was welcome, let me tell you.
This morning I’m listening to an old radio show featuring Lead Belly and Woody Guthrie. Guthrie admits to not reading Grapes of Wrath, but “I seen the movie three times.” It may be time for a reread, now that I’ve listened to Ballad of Tom Joad with my mouth slightly open and my eyes closed, hearing history.
Maybe it’s the hail and the occasional thunder, but I’m curling up inside my shell this week. The sheer amount of hatred in the American air is overwhelming, and I have very little left to fight it with. I’m sure I’ll feel better after I recharge, but right now I’m channeling a polar bear–leave me alone, or I will stand up in a blizzard and wallop a head or two clean off.
Which reminds me, I’ve never seen John Carpenter’s The Thing. I hear the remake was dismal; should I even bother with it, or only admit the existence of the original, like I do with Star Wars? (No, I refuse to watch any more of those movies. You lost me with Jar Jar fucking Binks, Lucas.)
ANYWAY. Polar bear. Spring storms. My hackles are up, and I’m not even in my final fighting form.
Over and out.