Is it Friday? Thank fuckin sweet jesus its friday.
Lets start with the obvious, wife’s family got the Rona. You know its back around, but it doesn’t seem to be taking names like last time around. Everyone just got cold, not even the strong COVID symptoms this time.
Which I am grateful for, but man it definitely shaped the first half of the week (we saw them on saturday, we all fine).
Like I told my wife…we out there now. It isn’t like the strong days, we not wonka up in this bitch anymore. That is inherently accepting a risk. Our son goes to public school. We take risks. You got to accept what comes.
So the immortan has gotten a taste of comeuppance. I mean, fucking good. However, I don’t have the kind of luck in my life to believe that we will get a conviction. But hey, he has to go to the fulton county jail for processing, so at least thats some shit. Watch out for the bedbugs.
Next week, the album project takes me to TSwift. And look, I haven’t heard them albums (hence why she is up in rotation). But, I know a good chunk of the singles. And my reaction is simple.
It’s fine. Sounds mid. I am going into this trying to figure out why people are obsessed with her as they are. I have a feeling I will be no closer to the answer than I am now.
I just have hatin tendencies about it cause I wish that people listened to better music. You don’t have to listen to mid shit. There is great shit out there. TSwift don’t care about you, she cares about building that mythos around her that makes her fans study every fucking move like its Nostradamus quatrains.
Let’s see if my opinion changes. I fucking doubt it will.
And now, the most culturally significant thing (as far as I am concerned) that involved tailor swift.
By request, I want to spend a second talking about the current state of Kevin Smith. Look its simple. Life goes on for the rest of us, and Kevin Smith is out here making his mediocre pablum. Why? Why isn’t shit as good as it used to be.
Simple. Kevin ran out of rocket sauce. He had a ton of life happen to him…hell even just regular life can take it out of you. He got his way of making money. Let him have it. He got his NASCAR loyal fans buying stuff and he keeps on rockin.
And you know what, let him have it. Cause he certainly gave us enough stuff to enjoy when we were young. Let him make pablum in the shame years. I’m fine with that.
I know there has been a ton of review posts lately (expect ANOTHER ONE coming next week). Cause, thats what I have been doing with my time. Consuming alot of new shit. Be it movies, video games, or music.
And to be honest, I am having a fucking good time with it. Prepare yourself for it. Too bad.
Buy your fucking tickets now. Cause you are about to get the best quality preaching you can possibly get. A restoration of the greatest concert doc ever made (with no offence to The Last Waltz. You just got played).
Go see this in the theater. I know I will.
This doesn’t get its own blog post, but I just told this story, and it deserves some kind of real estate here.
Cut to me way way way down the bayou.
I must have been 10 or 11. I was at an uncle’s house. Well, great uncle. And it wasn’t a house. It was a big ole houseboat that he had beached on the side of the bayou and turned into his house.
Anyway, catfish fry. And the fucking catfish was awesome. I ate my fill, and I had a paper plate and plastic utensils to throw away. I noticed all these big ass 50 gallon lawn and leaf bags on the side of the house. So, I go to throw my plate in there.
I hear one of them old Cajuns yell out “OH NO UP DA BAYOU, NOT DERRE.”
I look inside of the trash bag. Filled with grattons. Cracklins. Pork Rinds.
…
And that is what its like eating in the South.
And on that note. I’m out. Over half way through August, and I am counting down the days to fall. Let it come sooner rather than later.
On that note, I am going to go drink and watch dumb shit. Have a great evening.