The Trials of Mr. Selwyn
Fuck. What day is it? I keep asking that, don't I? Yuesday, it's Tuesday. Well, Tuesday night, no almost Wednesday. Our high today was 96.1, with a heat index of 105F. Fuck, right?
Selwyn had a vet visit today, too see how he's doing. Blood and urine were taken. He was not a happy camper, apparently because he had to pee the whole time. He's usually good with vet visits. Anyway, so now we wait anxiously for the results, which we should get tomorrow.
I am always nervous about talking people into seeing movies. I know my tastes are eclectic. I know what I like, I have no reason to expect other to like it (though, also, sometime my tastes are suprisingly mainstream). Tonight I got Spooky to see Denis Villeneuve's Sicario (2015) with me, a film that manages to be very horrific and majestic at the same time. I adore it, and I've seen it many times, but I had no idea how Kathryn would feel about it. To my relief, she liked it too.
Some solid work on the frontoparietal section of MP2 today, though I will likely need to rewrite it all.
I'm hardly sleeping. This morning I woke at 2:30 a.m., then got up at 3 a.m. I did my best to work, but I was going on maybe three and a half hours sleep. I did what I could. I'm not sure why I'm not sleeping, but my suspension is that it's mostly anger and despair. I won't say more for now.
And there's the news of David Lynch's emphysema diagnosis. To quote Mr. Lynch: “I've gotten emphysema from smoking for so long, & so I'm homebound whether I like it or not. I can't go out... because of COVID, it would be very bad for me to get sick.” He's still working, directing remotely, which has to be terribly frustrating.
Something I posted to Facebook today: Remember loyalty? I do. And I remember a time it did not seem as if we were all sitting around waiting for someone we could judge, that we might feel better about ourselves. But maybe my memory is selective, and we were aways jackals.
Please visit the shop. Money's tighter than usual, and both rent and taxes are coming.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
2:30 p.m.
Postscript: I was reading this article somewhere online about things that young people can no longer do, things we took for granted, simpe things. I jotted down some notes, but I cannot now find the actual article. But some of the things were both bizarre and sad, like using a rotary telephone and diagramming sentences. A few were insane, like using punctuation. No, really. And reading a road atlas, or any map. Using a print encyclopdia or finding a book in the library. And one that has haunted me for me, an inability to write to in cursive. Or read cursive. can you imagine how much of Western history and biography is lost if people lose the ability to read cursive? And all these things have happened in a few short years, and all of it follows from our dubious reliance on computers.
Selwyn had a vet visit today, too see how he's doing. Blood and urine were taken. He was not a happy camper, apparently because he had to pee the whole time. He's usually good with vet visits. Anyway, so now we wait anxiously for the results, which we should get tomorrow.
I am always nervous about talking people into seeing movies. I know my tastes are eclectic. I know what I like, I have no reason to expect other to like it (though, also, sometime my tastes are suprisingly mainstream). Tonight I got Spooky to see Denis Villeneuve's Sicario (2015) with me, a film that manages to be very horrific and majestic at the same time. I adore it, and I've seen it many times, but I had no idea how Kathryn would feel about it. To my relief, she liked it too.
Some solid work on the frontoparietal section of MP2 today, though I will likely need to rewrite it all.
I'm hardly sleeping. This morning I woke at 2:30 a.m., then got up at 3 a.m. I did my best to work, but I was going on maybe three and a half hours sleep. I did what I could. I'm not sure why I'm not sleeping, but my suspension is that it's mostly anger and despair. I won't say more for now.
And there's the news of David Lynch's emphysema diagnosis. To quote Mr. Lynch: “I've gotten emphysema from smoking for so long, & so I'm homebound whether I like it or not. I can't go out... because of COVID, it would be very bad for me to get sick.” He's still working, directing remotely, which has to be terribly frustrating.
Something I posted to Facebook today: Remember loyalty? I do. And I remember a time it did not seem as if we were all sitting around waiting for someone we could judge, that we might feel better about ourselves. But maybe my memory is selective, and we were aways jackals.
Please visit the shop. Money's tighter than usual, and both rent and taxes are coming.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
2:30 p.m.
Postscript: I was reading this article somewhere online about things that young people can no longer do, things we took for granted, simpe things. I jotted down some notes, but I cannot now find the actual article. But some of the things were both bizarre and sad, like using a rotary telephone and diagramming sentences. A few were insane, like using punctuation. No, really. And reading a road atlas, or any map. Using a print encyclopdia or finding a book in the library. And one that has haunted me for me, an inability to write to in cursive. Or read cursive. can you imagine how much of Western history and biography is lost if people lose the ability to read cursive? And all these things have happened in a few short years, and all of it follows from our dubious reliance on computers.