They change your poopy diaper -- the least you can do is thank your Personal Social Worker (PSW). Nevertheless I have learned not to say "Thank you."
I say "Thank you" and the questions start coming fast and furious. Are you OK? Are you in pain? Do you need to pee? etc. I get it, I truly do.
At my stage my "Thank you" sounds like "Fuck you" which I am decidedly NOT saying. So I do not say "Thank you" at all. I have learned how not to.
In December of 1984 Burger King David Lynch's Dune was a very big deal. I had a plastic cup with Kyle MacLachlan, hair-dried and rubber-suited, in which I kept loose change. Sting took the Silver Screen with plasticized gitch and dagger. "I will kill him!"
By evening's end when the girl with blue eyes swam into view and stage-whispered, "He is the Kwisatz-Hadarach!" there was an audible groan from the audience. Lynch removed his name and we witnessed an epic turkey. I haven't seen it since.
I went to the BBQ cafe adjoined to the Metropolitan Cinema Theatre where I bumped into some friends. A woman dressed in white sang, "Jeremiah was a bullfrog/A very good friend of mine..." She was accompanied by a man with a matching white electric guitar. She stayed in tune, but only just. I ordered deep-fried perogies
Key-change!
"Joy to the world /All you boys and girls... "
The guitar-man ran up and down the neck, but it was no use. She had broken key. She was free, and he'd been left behind.
My friends either saw or didn't see Dune. It was NOT a "date movie." At a time when I saw EVERYTHING twice (it was the era of Rocky IV -- *sigh*) it is remarkable I only saw Lynch's film once. As my friend and workmate Kaz put it when the extended version was finally available, "If you've seen the theatrical release you've already seen the best that Lynch has to offer."
And immediately thereafter I'd seen the Lady in White; how were you gonna top that?
You have to see this -- you just do. The black rubber makes these instruments silent, but I don't see how this matters any more than the silent instruments of Stop Making Sense. But this doc is for musos, and those of us who wondered what David Byrne has been up to for the past 20 years. I've seen it on Crave and elsewhere. I wish my wife and daughter had seen this in their pre-COVID visit of Manhattan. I won't speak for the daughter but I know my wife would be over the moon with it. I was already green with envy and just days away from my hospital stay. I would've gotten over it!
At the conclusion of Season 2 I thought FARGO was about pooped out, and the first disc of Season 3 bore me out. It was all Ewan all the time. But the rest of Season 3 -- boy howdy! Walk straight to Episode 3 on Netflix.
I broke my own promise and watched it before conclusion. Bob Odenkirk and Rhea Seehorn are just that good. So are Michael McKean and Jonathan Banks, et cetera ad nauseum. You can watch Better Call Saul on Netflix.
I had crystals and a urinary tract infection (a UTI). I wouldn't wish crystals on my worst enemy. Crystals feel like getting kicked in the balls, and the feeling never goes away. And during the operation my legs felt like they were on fire -- my femorals and my weenie.
Anyway. Not my experience, but earbuds vibrate as they will:
If my understanding of this album is right (a BIG "if") then a charismatic experience overcomes any shortfalls of God on offer. Again: not my experience, but the ears want what they want.
It helps that frontman, lyricist and singer Terry Scott Taylor couldn't be bothered with more than a handful of concerts, but what was on offer was spectacular. Wiki (you should support them) and bandsite.
