윤

I’m still incredibly moved by this song.

Don’t call it a Throwback
It’s state of the art
Racin’ my heart, tearin’ my insides apart
Stormin’ my chart like a tsunami
Listen to my health cry mommy
Urination, peterin’
Over the brink o’ death I’m teeterin’
Causin’ shock when I hock these lyrics that’ll make you call a doc…

[from my Reddit submission, because nothing lasts forever on the Internet] …and while I’m grateful for their viewership, I can’t help but feel the show’s lost a little of its appeal—ironically, by demonstrating it to the kind of wider audience that’d guarantee future seasons. Forgive me if the subject of having your particular interest horned in on by people who disgust you has already been discussed extensively, much less resolved by hive-mind therapy, but this just happens to be the one that cheers me up from a family situation their membership makes worse.

IL from checking her Netflix envelope she left over the weekend; I insist, however, that any breach of privacy is out-douched (douché?) by this obvious lack of dedication and explanation why better fans have to wait on queues for their discs. She’s only watching because of her boyfriend, anyway, just as she did Chappelle for the one with the Wu-Tang T-shirt and anime for the perv after that. I cringe imagining her turning to ask what was so funny and follow-up jokes going unappreciated in the meantime.

El Tigre Chino, Spanish Halloween, “Pop pop”, all these great Community exclusives I now have to share with them. Maybe I just need to chillax.

As out of it as I may seem sometimes, my attention will always be there for a mobile app that purports to take you to another reality of some greater import. Perhaps it goes back to waiting for all my cellphones to ring, beating X in a dingy Japanese youth hostel fortified by warm はちみつレモン, or thinking the low-battery antics on my Mattel Electronics Auto Race meant that something special was happening. To me. This time it’s called “Shadow Cities” and what I like (assuming I’ve read the conceit right) is being able to conquer your own block, virtually, and “call” everything in it, at least in your own mind.

It’d never happen—or does it, everyday we go to work for the Man? My eyes, my brain, my very soul, aren’t these all organs we disposable donors sacrifice for the longevity of a corporate recipient? This “art” is unimportant.

I was outside in the snow with my son (or was I the son, the perspective kept changing so I couldn’t be sure), when just over an embankment a snow-rhinoceros appeared and looked our way. I tried slowly crawling away in my seated position, but when it appeared to take notice, I suggested we run for it.