Happy solstice!
spatch and I inaugurated the shortest night by walking out for ice cream and then returning to watch a bunch of music videos. I was infuriated to read before bed that the president of Warner Bros. Discovery cannot tell a hole in the ground from reasons not to dismantle TCM—aside from its importance to film history and preservation or its last sixteen years as a lifeline for me through life-derailing illness, it's a guaranteed moneymaker; people who otherwise couldn't want less from a cable TV package will pay for it. I am aware this is a familiar refrain. I'd rather just be singing to conjure summer in.
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