Ten Things, 2023-14/15
Here are ten things.
- It dawned on me that I have many friends, people who I admire and share hobbies with, that I never do see in person. So in an effort to break free of this particular spiral of isolation, I hit up a poetry reading at a local used book store (local note: if you haven't visited Phoenix Books, please rectify that), knowing that I'd run into people I hadn't seen in months. Now I have a bunch of plans in the coming week. Funny how that works.
- It's been a big couple of weeks for stuff on YouTube for your boy. First off: I devoured several of Lady Emily's videos because I, too, spent an inordinate amount of time watching James Rolfe yell at old video games in his prime.
- Every new Doc Destructo video is a cause for celebration, and this one is about the agony and ecstasy of playing Valheim.
- On April 10th, the avatar of chill studiousness known as Lo-fi Girl disappeared, and the internet fucking lost it. As it turns out, this was all in the lead-up to the launch of a sister synthwave stream, complete with its own mirror-world mascot, Synthwave Boy. Sometimes we can have nice things.
- I am thrilled to report that the new Dougie Poole album The Rainbow Wheel of Death absolutely fucking knocks. Get some cosmic country in your life.
- I love hyperspecific playlists/mixes, and so I made one called It's Senior Year and I Don't Own a Blazer to Wear on My Date So Here I Am at the Gap Buying a Blazer.
- I also love a good hyperspecific novelty Letterboxd list, so I made one called “Movies where Cate Blanchett plays a steely American who speaks German and trips at an inopportune time.”
- The great Roger Ebert passed away a decade ago, and the just as great Austin Kleon remembers his late-period blogging and drawing.
- Oh how the gods of chance have smiled down upon me during these last games of Watchlist Roulette: we have Hanna (kind of like a YA Bourne movie?) and Brian De Palma's Dressed to Kill (what sumptuous problematic trash the man makes, and I say this with love).
- An excerpt from “A Parking Lot in West Houston” by Monica Youn (via Pome):
Angels are unthinkable in hot weather
except in some tropical locales, where from time to time, the women catch one in their nets,
hang it dry, and fashion it into a lantern that will burn forever on its own inexhaustible oils.