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My God, Andy. Same thing as last year in Mr. Blodgett's barn
Tonight I had to take a dead moth off Autolycus' nose.
As far as I can tell, he headbutted it to death and it stuck there. He was licking repeatedly at his nose, not yet unhappily, but definitely failing to dislodge the interference. I lifted him onto my lap, coaxed him to turn his face toward me, scruffed him slightly with one hand and picked off the ex-insect with the other. The separated wings of the moth fluttered toward the floor and Autolycus dove after them; I heard the happy porcupine noises of a growing cat with a treat. Then I heard a lot of sneezing.
He left the room with an air of great self-satisfaction. So now I have a cat that snorts moths.
(My laptop's keyboard has unjammed. I have to assume it's a temporary respite, but I'm using it to make another quick backup—not touching the keyboard itself or the trackpad, just in case. The wireless setup works just fine now that my computer no longer thinks that the "W," "V," and command keys are being held down constantly. I am also listening to my iTunes, which I have missed. Come on, Bertie Owen. You are the Fisher King of laptops. Being healed after long suffering is your thing.)
Watching the pilot episode of Twin Peaks (1990—1991) after falling in love with Gravity Falls (2012—) and Hannibal (2013—) is a fascinatingly archaeological experience. Based on the first ninety-three minutes, fortunately, I really like Twin Peaks.
As far as I can tell, he headbutted it to death and it stuck there. He was licking repeatedly at his nose, not yet unhappily, but definitely failing to dislodge the interference. I lifted him onto my lap, coaxed him to turn his face toward me, scruffed him slightly with one hand and picked off the ex-insect with the other. The separated wings of the moth fluttered toward the floor and Autolycus dove after them; I heard the happy porcupine noises of a growing cat with a treat. Then I heard a lot of sneezing.
He left the room with an air of great self-satisfaction. So now I have a cat that snorts moths.
(My laptop's keyboard has unjammed. I have to assume it's a temporary respite, but I'm using it to make another quick backup—not touching the keyboard itself or the trackpad, just in case. The wireless setup works just fine now that my computer no longer thinks that the "W," "V," and command keys are being held down constantly. I am also listening to my iTunes, which I have missed. Come on, Bertie Owen. You are the Fisher King of laptops. Being healed after long suffering is your thing.)
Watching the pilot episode of Twin Peaks (1990—1991) after falling in love with Gravity Falls (2012—) and Hannibal (2013—) is a fascinatingly archaeological experience. Based on the first ninety-three minutes, fortunately, I really like Twin Peaks.
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I've seen a good argument, by the way, that new watchers might binge S1 and the first 9 episodes of S2, but should then take a break and digest the rest more slowly.
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Huh. Why that way?
(I watched the pilot with
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Those are an arc and it shifts gear considerably after that.
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Agent Cooper is the role Johnny Depp has been trying to play for his entire career without admitting it.
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Heh. I did not actually start watching Twin Peaks because of Gravity Falls or Hannibal—I started watching it because it had always been one of the landmarks of television I was unfamiliar with, and the few clips
Agent Cooper is the role Johnny Depp has been trying to play for his entire career without admitting it.
I truly love the fact that, objectively described, Agent Dale Cooper should be a bunch of whimsical tics, and instead he's the most natural and human character in the show's universe, especially when compared to characters who are conventionally far more normal than he is. It's lovely.
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Heh.
You are the Fisher King of laptops.
May it be so.
Nine
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(Also, I have a hard time telling people's faces apart. There are like a dozen teenage boys on this show and they all look alike to me unless I really make an effort, so I'm constantly going, "Is that the jackass who was selling drugs? No wait, that kid had floppy nineties hair and this one has buzzed hair. This is the one from the awkward makeout scene." This adds pleasantly to the sense of mystery and confusion for me, rather than detracting from it.)
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Thanks
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I have seen Dale Cooper for about only forty-five minutes so far and I support this assertion.
(And I agree: he needs to be grounded, because everything else around him is flying off into weirdness and borderline surreality. He's the only person in tune with the world he's in, but it's not a curse like it might be in another story of this kind. Have you smelled those trees?)
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Apparently!
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An eternal battery? Open-source software? A screen through which everything can be seen?
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I'm really looking forward to future episodes and slightly wondering if it's worth making sure that I've watched the complete series in time to see Fire Walk with Me in a theater.
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Wow, the memory of him saying that just blossomed in my mind. Great line.
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