percolate / collate

in

57ºF, sun: Wednesdays are my off-days from the MainFictionThing: give my brain some percolation time, let things merge, transform; get the inbox wrangled, books and reads processed / TSR preppings and writings for this space.

Truth of pod-prep: Every time I do it, I worry I don't have enough questions. Every time I collate all the fragments and shards assembled over the month(s) of prep and reading, I see that I'll do just fine and that it'll be a matter of cutting things out and of being able to go with the flow: the latter is probably the main thing – for me, at least, I have to have a deep knowledge of the subject matter (not as much as the guest, obviously) in order to go with said flow during the recording and lend each interview the combo of "in the moment" and timelessness I try to add to each (I rarely, for instance, discuss current events - though they may come up as an aside.)

Still on the "to-process/review stack": SUPERMAN'S METROPOLIS. Might have a thing about Postman's AMUSING OURSELVES TO DEATH coming later, but it won't be a "reviewy review": better to let Postman speak for himself and for our times from 1985.

this is what i write when i haven’t slept

in

Woke up in the middle of a horrid night – though I probably slept more than I think – to find that I somehow managed to kick all of the covers loose and bring the bottom of the sheet up to my head; if I talked in my sleep, I'm sure I had interesting things to say, probably far more interesting than in my waking hours. Bright side: I'm still married. Not-so: my capacity to be brilliant is even more nonexistent than normal; might be in negative brilliance territory and no I don't have a clue as to what made it so horrid a night of sleep / send help, DARPA-level coffee / caffeine infusion: I am contributing nothing to this conversation with myself and need to learn to nap.

a comics neophyte once more

in

Yesterday I read an actual physical single issue comic for the first time in at least 10 years (the antique mall find of SUPERMAN'S METROPOLIS, review forthcoming; quick version: loved it – have to get the other two volumes in the trilogy) and now I'm considering, because there are no local shops in this cultural wasteland, getting a pull list together via Midtown – or some other delivery service; if you've got a recommendation, let me know – and reading them again. Only problem: no clue what I'll read or where to start (recs welcome here too)– I feel like a comics neophyte again (even though I wrote a book on them ten years ago) but that, to me, represents the strength of the medium: constant, perpetual change – not always for the better – but change nonetheless.

i appear to be calibrated

in

The good news is that – well, actually, two pieces of good news: one, my CGM – unlike the night previous – didn't scream at me all night long which means I am, if nothing else, calibrated; and two, the latest issue of MacroParentheticals is out to subscribers. The bad news – though maybe it's good news but if you're reading this... nevermind – is that since I've spent all morning, so far, on getting the newsletter ready for coffee time, my font of biographical ephemera is at a low ebb and this will have to do... oh, right, third piece of good news: yesterday’s antique mall jackpot wasn't a dream.

I am a bluetooth device and my blood is sending me push notifications

in

Changed my CGM yesterday evening and, as is sometimes the case, alerts woke me up twice in the middle of the night to tell me that I was crashing into hypo-ness but fingerpricking revealed I wasn't, pretzels and sugar gel for zilch. And now, it's doing the same thing this morning: CGM screams, You're at 53 and dropping and oh my fuck you're going to die, while the fingerpricking, the same one I've had since day one of T1D/TFD (this fucking disease) says, Nah, you're fine. 102; carry on. Fuck this fucking disease and the deeply flawed technology it uses to notify me of its fuckeries internal.

wed/20220824

in

61ºF, sun: all good on the medical front, happy pill cocktail remains the same, my nose is fine (though still a bit sore), internal numbers have stabilized and yielded a satisfied doc... the sting of being free from an onerous responsibility is more stinging than I thought – that it triggers more than a bit of emotional PTSD doesn't help – but oh well fuck him: I did more than my share and he's not worth the intrusive shenanigans mental... shit's getting scandalous at the Bratwurst Festival ... dismay at snail's pace of current fictional progress heightens; trying, nonetheless, to keep something Nick Cave said somewhere in mind: when it's not coming, it's coming – rhythm rhythm rhythm ... if heaven exists, mine will look like this though perhaps I'll be satisfied with calling it my happy place internal... happy 96th birthday to my grandfather: it's been a(nother) hell of a year, but here we are, starting another... kind words glow continues… the day awaits.

tue/20220823

in

61ºF, fog: the local school day one, hellions and their children on the sidewalks and in the parking lots above…. I don't think my nose is broken but damn – thanks, Kirby, for the flailing hundred-pound puppy headbutt to the bridge of said nose; a little swelling maybe, but no twisting, no bleeding, no breathing difficulties, no bruising though perhaps, like Michael Corleone and our shared T1D, I'll have to dab at my nostril all the time... scheduled doc checkup today so who knows (watch your stress / i've been watching it, it's doing the same shit), I’ll either say something about it and have to go get x-rays or not say a word about it... started JUSTIFIED last night (only 12 years late but hey it's been an interesting 12 years) and love it... staring at these social spaces and wondering why I even bother staring – I really want to get a good comment system working in here / maybe cultivate that dormant Discord space (it'd be great if Discord offered a comment system for sites)?... godfuckingdammit, Warners-Discovery… yesterday's accomplishment: slicing up a Rite in the Rain memo book into a mini notebook to fit inside my Dango wallet: paper cutters rule. ... the day awaits.

mon/20220822

in

65ºF, fog: I am bereft of material for this morning space this morning which means as soon as I decide to stop writing these morning things I'll want to start writing these morning things though I can't discount potential for more interesting writing with these things stored up but oh look now I've just written one of these morning things... DerbsBall upgrades continue: installed a soccer goal in the backyard; Derbs hasn’t quite figured out what to do with it… while K isn't sold on our need for a life-sized freshwater stingray blanket I am; marriage is, however, all about compromise ... the day awaits.

sun/20220821

in

65ºF, clouds/sun: still aglow from EJK's kind words about the first issue of PRESS (A)... tendril branches cleared from power lines in an afternoon of surgery via electric pole saw atop a ladder (only hit by one falling limb, yay)... a Parenthetical Recluse day in these morning hours, compiling notes into reviews to be published throughout the week and adding quotations and bracketed things from current reads to their Obsidian sheet (far easier than trying to do it all at the end): making a weekly Sunday thing... speaking of Sundays, MacroParentheticals returns next Sunday; you can sign up here if so inclined... Sonnenfeld's THE ADDAMS FAMILY remains, 31 years since it came out, an absolute delight... the day awaits.