Good morning. Hello. How are you? #1100
A dream of the end of all time and spaced, Spotify grumbles, doctor visit, Taylor discourse
Good morning and happy Groundhog Day to all who celebrate. Here’s to zero more weeks of winter, my feet can’t take it anymore. These electric slippers are awesome, but I am convinced they’re making my feet colder the rest of the time or something. I don’t know. Something weird is going on. I asked Google, Arc Search and ChatGPT why I always have cold feet and they all told me I was dying, but you can’t kill me, I am invincible.
Had a dream last night that was like one of those “end of the world is coming” movies where the government announces an asteroid or something is going to hit the earth and there’s nothing we can do and we’re all gonna die, so humanity just sort of gives up. Except instead of an ELE like an asteroid or the sun swallowing us, what the government and scientists had figured out is that, in fact, all time and space were going to instantly cease to be. We all knew this to be true. There were no deniers. I was running around the McCarren area of Williamsburg trying to get prepped for the thing, find Emma, change my clothes into something nice. We were working in a bodega, which was obviously closed as we were minutes from the end, but some kid needed to pee, so we let him use the restroom. I gave a sad old lady a free hot dog.
And then we stood on the dock at Transmitter Park and waited. Emma was distracted by the Manhattan skyline, and I desperately wanted to arrive at the end while we were holding each other. In the last few seconds, she came over, and we embraced as the end came for the would, the solar system, the universe.
And I experienced being out of space and time and it was exactly like Gandalf when he became Gandalf the white. Except I knew I was dead and done, and there was no going back. I felt immense relief I still somehow had a consciousness, and relief there was no paid, immediately followed by abject terror there was nothing else either.
The end.
Just dropped off Jane and thank god. Girl was cranky AF this morning. Wouldn’t give me any explanation, expected me to read her mind as always. Really need to get that girl to learn how to say what she wants who wants a coy girl in this day and age except freaks. Said she wanted to go to school, but sure acted like she didn’t. Whine whine whine. Made me dress her, complained about her breakfast, couldn’t say what she wanted. Eight minutes of additional stalling.
When we got to school, as one last act of rebellion, she decided she didn’t want to climb up front with me and exit the truck from the front door, she decided she was going to exit from the back door. Except she doesn’t know how to really open the back door. So I had to rely on the PTA helper parents who line the drop off curb keeping an eye out for kids who need help. Except the two closest moms were standing there gossiping. Which, I mean, let’s be honest, this is why these PTA parents volunteer for this ridiculously early labor. But they were engrossed in their talk and didn’t notice Jane. This has never happened before, they are usually on it. But they didn’t notice. And I cannot reach the back door from the driver’s seat. So I did a quick horn tap. Nothing. Another one, nothing. Mind you, this school is absolutely adamant that parents not get out of their cars during drop-off. But at this point, what choice do I have? I get out, start helping Jane, and a different PTA mom comes running over from really far away, to both help and rebuke. I pointedly glance at the two PTA volunteers gossiping, who still haven’t noticed this whole scene, even as I am blocking a line of a hundred cars. The newly arrived mom notices them too and rolls her eyes. We get it done. I climb back in.
At no point did the two moms break their gossip or even notice this whole massive breach of decorum.
As I was dressing my recalcitrant daughter I was almost brought to tears by the fact that I am staring down the barrel of twelve more years of this shit. There my be a year or two around second and third grade where it’s okay, but then it will get worse again.
And someone please explain to me how I live ten minutes away from the school, and each school in this district has their own busses that they don’t share with other schools, and I’d still have to get her to a bus stop an hour before school.
Calgon take me away.
We are listening to this week’s Spotify Release Radar playlist, it is Friday. They played a new Pet Shop Boys song. Now they are playing some band called Roly Boly Rag Bear which is a great name but I’ve never heard of them. I’ve never heard of 90% of the music on today’s Release Radar, which was originally supposed to be a playlist of music released by bands I have already listened to on Spotify. But nope, not anymore, now it’s mostly the payola — er, sorry – algorithm-generated nonsense. Thirty songs, four are by artists I already listen to. I mean, I love new music as much as the next guy but c’mon. Meanwhile there is new music this week from Billy Joel, BADBADNOTGOOD, Cold War Kids and Camera Obscura, all shit Spotify knows I listen to but, nah, you don’t need to hear any of that.
God know it is playing some horrible rave mix by some band named Genesis that is obviously not Genesis. All pro.
Semi-related yesterday in a 30-minute run of free time I moved my record player so that it is basically next to me at my desk, hooked it into my Mackie mixer and the monitors to which I computer is connected, rather than a pair of speakers on the other side of the room. Christened the new setup with a new repressing of the first Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and it sounded awesome. I am very excited.
Also I can now change my record without taking off my heated slippers and I know you are jealous.
Went to the doctor yesterday. All is well. Got bumped up on my dose of Munjaro. She is very happy with my weight loss progress, which is nice because I am not. One pound a month is garbage, he says, knowing that he is being unhealthy as he says it. My blood pressure was great. She told me that giant bruise on my abdomen might have come from one of my Munjaro needles and that was oddly reassuring because it’s somewhat disconcerting to have a giant bruise on your abdomen which has unknown provenance, and you have not been drinking enough to not remember such things.
When she came into the exam room, my doctor was wearing all black, so I raised my fists in the air and said “yes! all black!” as I was wearing all black myself, natch. We fist bumped. She was already wearing a (black) mask. She is a great doctor. A+ no complaints. Man. I gotta remember when tempting people to come to the Traingle to tell them about our abundant and competent health care. It really is an excellent lifestyle perk.
Jane Bedtime was almost normal last night. We managed a Bed Party — “Gentle Bed Party, so cute” — and a Dance Party. I tried to play that Diet Cig song she used to like. Not having it. So much Taylor Swift. Man I have been a Swiftie for like more than a decade but nothing challenges it like your daughter wanting to listen to the same six Taylor songs over and over.
Such a weird time in the world to be a little exhausted by Taylor, but entirely in your own little world, nothing to do with “the discourse,” where things are, obviously, out of control. Is it weird she hasn’t commented on anything? It’s probably the right move, right? Is it weird she’s still on Twitter? Kind of insane, right? Am I going to watch the Super Bowl, yes, I am. I guess I am sort-of okay about the CTE stuff these days, since the union settled and there have been way more payouts than expected. But also, they’re still stiffing people. And they should absolutely not be let off the hook for the Kaepernick shit. Though I hear there’s potentially a return in the works? And man is it weird to think about these two things combined, but why not, whatever. The normies need their own version of Phil Elverum and Michelle Williams. Probably work out about as well.
Deep cut, there. Imagine if the Microphones were the biggest band in the world my god. Imagine Phil Elverum with two private jets.
Yes. Taylor has two private jets.
Today’s Media of the Day is a Moody and Quiet playlist, because it has been too long. Behold the power and majesty of quiet, contemplative music. If only I could get my daughter to realize “All to Well” is Taylor’s best song and not “Look What You Made Me Do”. Alas.
Okay well you have a lovely weekend and I hope you get all your chores done.