I stepped on an ancient fish

I feel I should mention I aten't dead. I am not doing well, but I persist to complain about it. I recommend Beth Lincoln's The Swifts (2023), an eccentric family murder-mystery-cum-treasure-hunt which I would not describe per one of its blurbs as "a Knives Out feel by way of Lemony Snicket" so much as "Edward Gorey does the Westing Game," although what it is really about is sorting one's own identity from expectation and tradition in a way which is focused through names and does not feel like a trans metaphor when the narrative casually has queer and trans characters in it, my favorite obviously being the non-binary cousin who knitted their own jumper in the coloration of a poison dart frog. I have watched a couple of movies, written a strongly worded letter which I suspect no real person will ever read about the continued dysfunction of Watch TCM, am planning to watch tonight's installment of Noir Alley as it airs because otherwise I won't see it and I could just have a real TV if I wanted this hassle. The cats continue to be wonderful.