A vid to share and I don’t know if it’s political or not.
It could legit be titled any of the following:
“Paying the extra for organic is very definitely worth it”
“OK Boomer: why you don’t want to hear what comes out of your rich neo-liberal grandpa’s mouth”, or,
“Why you actually agree with that Joe Rogan guy much more often than you thought you would”
***
Enough of that though, for one evening.
It was a very nice social weekend; the visiting waif of a kitten did more for my YouTube than I’ve done myself in three weeks of hard cinematic labor, and now suddenly the rental home is once more starkly quiet. I recover, in my dishes-and-laundry way.
The truck is at the dealer and there’s every indication that it is finally going to get a proper inspection of its old bones and, um, … coil packs.
The smart femme practicality of the Spooxta (you can look her up on YouTube now too and her first video instantly got more views than my whole channel to this point) is slowly turning me away from the cargo trailer solution and toward the travel trailer version instead. She’s finding nice old ones for me for five and six and seven thou apiece, and it’s hard to dismiss her logic (god dammit).
Some mash-up between Living In A House In Town and Living as an Eternal Vanlifer Vagabond is trying to make itself plausible in the churn of the modus vivendi part of my brain, which is like about 62% of it.
A third job-for-which-I-actually-want-to-apply popped up just tonight, so I have more grindy resume’ work to do tomorrow.
My bedside book is Thomas Wolfe’s ‘Look Homeward Angel’ because when I stood in front of the Friends of the Library sale shelf and silently begged the book god to please have one good thing for me, that is what she decided on. This puts me in a distinct phase of being immersed in hundred-year-old literature now, coming as it does right after all that Hemingway in September, and breaking with the August of John Nichols.
I am developing a pet theory. In order for writing to be Great, it goes, the writer has to be willing to say the quiet parts out loud and talk about whatever won’t do in a polite conversation.
Being open to Going There is no guarantee of Greatness–John Nichols’ writing, and probably my own, are willing to speak freely about anything, and yet no one has accused either of us of Greatness–but without that willingness, there’s never a chance of catching lightning in a bottle, at all.
Alright then. I’ve done my workmanlike duty and pursued my daily ration of craftsmanship diligently. Early to bed with the Alex the well-fed. Tomorrow dawns another miracle, with any luck.