No fixed abode

Allowing for the phone call from the doctor's at the crack of eight o'clock and the resultant difficulty in falling back asleep thanks to the neighbors' adventures in yardwork, I think I slept almost eleven hours. I dreamed of living in a small room tucked into the honeycomb of a library, which was much more like semi-homeless house-sharing than being a library spirit, alas, and seeing a spectacular cabaret show called Drag of Our Fathers, which I had to double-check with the internet wasn't a real thing, either by title or concept. I can't be the only target audience for historical drag.

selkie pointed me toward this tweet reminding of the awesomeness of Dorothy Arzner. Lucky New Beverly Cinema patrons, getting an eleven-film Arzner retrospective! I'd watch that. And just about everything else on their calendar this month, really.

I have no idea what I am going to do with today. I have that scraped-out kind of feeling you get when your body is not running on pure cortisol for a change. I am thinking maybe I will take a walk. Or just sit around in the afternoon. It's sunny out there.

Do animals talk in this dimension?

I had been looking forward for several months to tonight's screening of Scarred Hearts (Inimi cicatrizate, 2016) at the HFA, but at the last minute I decided that perhaps I did not actually feel like watching a movie about being chronically-terminally ill in the face of rising fascism and instead spatch and I walked to the Brattle Theatre and saw Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018).

I'm delighted we did. It was great. The visuals were as excellent as promised and the storytelling just as strong. I may or may not write up it properly whenever my ability to think returns, but it was definitely a better choice than TB and World War II.