Oh to be a carb-on based life form once more.

I’m out of town tomorrow, I’m so checked out already. I’d say I might as well be gone by now, but I haven’t packed a thing. I’m heading straight to the airport after work, so I guess packing is tonight’s business. I’m going for five days, it’s hard to mess that up.

Work lately has been both difficult and simple. It’s been difficult to put any intentionality or mindfulness into my work. It’s frankly not that kind of job. It’s been simple in that the work isn’t difficult, so I’ve been carving through it in an attempt to clear up potential covering that my coworkers would need to do. With little to no extra effort, I’m about a week ahead at this point. It’s alarming how much more I could be doing in more ways than one. I’ve been under no illusion for the past few years that I’m wasting time at this job, but clearly nobody could accuse me of wasting effort. In some ways it’s made me realise how badly I want to be the kind of person who invests their identity into the way they pay the bills. In other ways it’s brought home how severely I can’t with this job. My therapist told me two years ago I needed to get out. I listened, I tried, I failed. I guess like Aaliyah I’ll need to Try Again.

In preparation for my brief Texan sojourn, I’ve dumped keto. It’s been an incremental process over the last two days. By tomorrow I feel like I will have transitioned. It was the kind of exciting shit that’s a) not actually exciting and b) actually exciting to me. Yesterday I had oatmeal for breakfast for the first time in months. It wasn’t my usual concoction (I used coconut milk instead of soy and had no banana). As a hybrid it wasn’t perfect, but non-perfect was considerably better than non-existent. This morning I tried it with a banana. The banana wasn’t ripe and thus not sweet, but the consistency was closer than normal. My body also felt buzzed indulging in real sugar, even if it was just a banana’s worth. I haven’t done a full 180, but I’m trying to up my carbs, lower my fats and increase protein in an attempt to ease the transition. I had milk this afternoon. Tomorrow I might even try bread. What a brave new old world. On Friday I’m going to ingest every single carb based food in existence. Food truck tacos, pizza, burgers, chips, lattes, cookies, cakes, beer, happy hour cocktails. I’m going to return as a blimp to save on airfare.

I have one work day left. That’s it. I’m likely gonna do about an hour’s worth of work then spend the rest of my time twiddling my thumbs until it’s early enough to ditch. Speaking of which, it’s about time to check out here.

One more day! One more day!

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Can I get away with calling it Panthastic just this once?

So how long did we realistically think I’d wait to talk about Black Panther? Without exaggeration, it’s one of the most exciting films Marvel has put out in years. Of course I want to deep dive in. Spoilers will abound. With that note, I’ll give you some space to check out just in case.

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Are we alone now? Good. Wasn’t that a bloody fun film? A plethora of excellent performances, a great soundtrack, cool visuals and a nice departure from the formula we’ve become so accustomed to. Where should I start?

Let’s start with what you see onscreen. The colour palette was hands down fucking gorgeous. So much rich purple and gold. Hell, everything was vibrant as hell, but I specifically noticed the repeated use of purple and gold as a thematic element. Why? Purple and gold are traditionally royal colours. Not only that, they pair so goddamn well with black. The production design of this film looked sick and the palette was a big part of that. You think it was just incidental that T’Challa’s force feedback effect coruscated with purple? It’s a multi-hundred million dollar film. Nothing’s incidental. Throughout this film they drew with bold, flashy colours and it really helped lift it from drab overly self-serious shit like Civil War (I guess I’m especially down on Civil War because I re-watched it the other night. Way to spend an entire film to justify one airport fight scene). The film oozed style throughout and the fact that I’ve dumped 100+ words on joyously ranting about purple and gold speaks truth to how evocative it was.

Next, Wakanda looked like a dream. Choosing to begin the film in Oakland really paid out once we arrived in Wakanda. The dichotomy between the Oakland projects and lavish futurism of Wakanda really spoke to Killmonger’s central plight. I wanted to pause the film to drool over the architecture. The Afrofuturism fusion of traditional African style and motifs with sci-fi form was awesome. The concepts drawn not only in the buildings, but abundant technologies was dazzling and provided constant eye candy. Costuming isn’t something I normally pay much attention to (excepting maybe Phantom Thread as of late), but it was impossible to ignore. Everything oozed style and panache, likely drawing on ethnic influences that are way beyond my reach. If I enjoyed it this much, I can only imagine how much it’d resonate with someone who grew up with a culturally aligned background. So fucking cool.

Look, I could spend the whole time talking just about its audible and visual splendour, but this was a movie not an art exhibit. Let’s talk characters. Let’s talk the fact that we had a huge mainstream film in 2018 that managed to sideline its white actors into marginal roles. Fuck yeah. Serkis was a gratuitous cartoon villain and it was nice that they used Freeman as a proxy for a know-it-all white audience member. The restraint showed in not making him a total caricature was remarkable.

With them out of the fucking way, wasn’t the rest of the cast fucking great? Bold characters who lived and breathed without becoming walking tropes. T’Challa was a splendid depiction of a good male role model. Humble and soft-spoken, but confident and self-assured. Sensitive and loving, but uncompromising in principles. So often comic book heroes are these Marlboro Man cocksure embodiments of walking testosterone with a plastic smile. Amongst these dopey hero fantasies, T’Challa stands tall and proud. The best part too is that he’s fallible and knows it. His own rigidity works against him in the film’s central ideological conflict. In his desire to be a good and noble king, he has to face the fact that in order to do the best for his kingdom he has to break from tradition and face change. It’s not the newest notion in the world, but they sure represented it well.

This is going long, so I’m not gonna get to talk about the whole cast here (which sucks. So many well-defined characters. Does this film have more competent, formidable and balanced female leads than all the previous Marvel films combined?). I do want to talk about Killmonger. This is what we want from a villain. From the same well as Magneto comes an antagonist with a meaningful ideological struggle. His father killed, banned from his homeland, brought up to see nothing but systematic abuse and degradation. It’s a solid background for an imminently sympathetic, tragic anti-hero. Michael B. Jordan sold this role so well that it’s hard to look at him as a true villain. He had good points. His methodology may not have been 100% on the money, but you can’t fault his motivation. Plus he was fun as hell to see onscreen. Please Marvel, give us villains we can root for. If you want there to be conflict in your films, make us question our protagonists. Let this be a solid sign of things to come.

Anyway, as you can tell, I loved the film. The action scenes were a blast. It was dynamically shot and narratively enticing. The pacing made sense. It was great to get rooted in the cultural tapestry surrounding our hero before plunging into the wider story arcs. The casino heist was great not only as a way to give us a black James Bond (please sir, can we have another?), but it was a riot to strap in and enjoy the ride. The central conflict was both personal and drew well into wider global ramifications. The cast was stellar and the production design was outstanding. With that, I’d give the film a solid 8.5 out of 10.

Where did it fall down? Like most big blockbuster films, it took clumsy and unearned narrative steps to vault towards its conclusion. Of course we had to have a large, expensive looking battle, so after all the groundwork was carefully laid, we got there tout-de-suite. I know Wakanda was isolationist, but are we to believe that after the time spent to establish T’Challa as a considerate and thoughtful character he’d make colossal sweeping snap judgements that could destabilise his country overnight? They’re supposed to be a socially progressive and advanced nation, yet there’s no part of their government that respects due process? That wouldn’t look at Killmonger and think well, you do have the right to live here and have been unfairly dealt with so maybe let’s try easing you into society before making rash decisions? I mean, just ’cause this dude makes a challenge, there’s no reason why it has to happen right away. They even say “oh, it’ll take ages to prepare all this” and he’s like “nah, do it now” so they’re all “okay”.

Also they’ve spent time setting up Killmonger as this master spy, slowly and systematically taking apart governments from the inside. Then when he turns up in Wakanda they throw all of that aside in favour of “but I want it” and T’Challa’s like “okay.” They do so much good work in setting up this villain, but then also don’t do enough to buffer his motivations with realistic social change. He’s so into helping out struggling communities and dealing with inequality, just think how much more effective this could’ve been if they’d shown one 20 second montage of him helping out in the community, to show a deeply balanced villain. Instead he’s just like “well I kill people, so let’s just kill the rest of the world. Then there’ll be no more inequality.” So much wonderful subtlety thrown out the window.

Then once the battle occurs, this wonderful and advanced society immediately flips on its head and thinks “well this new guy won the battle. I guess we’ll just do whatever he says”. So without internal conflict or anguish they start following his plans? They set up T’Challa and W’Kabi as being close friends with an emotional connection, then W’Kabi so willingly tosses away all of that in an instant? They’re willing to turn on the rest of their country on a whim with no ideological misgivings? I know we want to see rhinos in battle, but for fuck’s sake it has to be earned. I know it’s a blockbuster, but that’s no reason not to demand more from our films. Of the 200 million or whatever spent on this film, how much was spent on the script? THESE ARE FIXABLE ISSUES, PEOPLE.

All of which is to say, I had a fantastic time. I thought the movie was excellent. The ending was great and felt immensely satisfying. It was wonderful to be plunged into this piece of the MCU which, for the most part, stayed the fuck away from the tiresome and grotesque franchise building. It felt self-contained and this only strengthened the film. It’s okay to be critical of things you love and want more from material that delivered. Nothing is perfect, but Black Panther is testament to the fact that they’re getting better. Now with its financial dominance inarguably proven, can Hollywood stop bullshitting through its mouth that the market doesn’t want more minority super heroes?

I wouldn’t say no to a Lego Death Star either.

Black Panther time. Soon, I guess. I think. The woman behind the counter suggested I arrive early if I wanted a good seat. Roughly an hour early, was her bet. So I’m sitting here 70 minutes before start time (or rather, when the trailers begin) and I’m already seeing others who’re obviously here for the same film. It’s crazy. The movie is cleaning up and I’m finding it really hard not to buy into the hype. So many Marvel films lately have been neat, but still not straying too far from the formula. Guardians of the Galaxy 2, Thor: Ragnarok. You’ve been virtually guaranteed an enjoyable enough movie experience, but as with most big blockbusters they’ve been lacking in character development or clever plotting. Am I asking for too much from a comic book film?

Clearly the answer is no, because I just re-watched Spider Man: Homecoming last night. It wasn’t my first time, but I feel like that says something in itself. When it was first announced, I marvelled (pun not intended) at how unnecessary it all seemed. We already had six Spider Man films over the past 15 years. Did we need one more just so Sony could hold onto the rights? Then I read some of the names they were getting for background characters. Hannibal Buress, Donald Glover, Martin Starr. I saw a couple of clips with the stars of the film: Tom Holland and Zendaya. They were young and charming. They seemed like they’d sell a fun script with charisma. Michael Keaton was cast and I wondered if they’d be able to make The Vulture into a legit villain instead of a scrawny old dude in a green fluffy turtleneckThen I watched Captain America: Civil War. Civil War was a generic, mediocre superhero film, but this incarnation of Spidey was lively, endearing and stole the show. I thought the way he played off Stark was fantastic and got me jazzed for Homecoming. I was excited, hoping this film could deliver on more than just a big dumb blockbuster.

Watching it again last night reminded me just how solid it was. First off, they know we’ve seen the origin story played out too many times, so they straight up skip it. Secondly, Peter Parker is actually a teenager and Tom Holland is suitably aged. It makes the high school scenario seem more authentic. School stuff comes into play in ways it didn’t in other films. All of which serves to place Spider Man as a kid, dealing with things that’re far beyond him. The writers have the tact to leave out the Great Responsibility speech, but retain its ethos. Rather than simple quips, this film has jokes. REAL JOKES. It’s funny and its cast handles the humour remarkably. The action is fast paced and while there’s a ton of CGI, it looks great. The interplay between Spidey and Stark technology adds a bunch to the film. Seeing him deal with the advanced suit and it’s plethora of options is neat. The suit’s voice Karen becomes a great character in herself. The cast is effortlessly diverse and doesn’t pat itself on the back for it. Characters span cultures, but never mention it. In real life, why would they? That’s just how society is, why not reflect it onscreen?

Keaton manages to make The Vulture not only fearsome, but gives gravity to his performance. There’s more nuance than just a villain for villainy’s sake. The character motivations make sense (up to a certain point) and it’s easy to see where hubris overtakes him. In a genre that boils down to big splashy fight scenes, a sympathetic villain makes a world of difference in adding real conflict. It’s nice seeing side characters being effective without feeling like it’s a token addition. Jacob Batalon is outstanding as Peter’s best friend Ned. He’s competent and intelligent while still not losing the charm of being an excitable kid. He’s equally excited to find out about the Spider Man ordeal as he is for his Lego Death Star. While young and sexy Aunt May sounded like a shitty idea when I first heard it, Marisa Tomei sells it. She’s a loveable character and her performance brings a lot of heart to a script that’s already bursting with it.

In short, the film is exciting. It’s a joy to watch. It’s easy to sit back and get lost in, without being put off by a ton of glaring tonal errors and convenient plot contrivances. If Black Panther manages to stick the landing as well as I think it might, it’s gonna be one of my new top entries in the MCU.

Everyone’s always so quick to blame the scotchka.

I feel rough as guts, that’s how going back to drinking went. It’s 8pm and I may still be hungover. This hangover has been remarkable. Not in a pleasant fashion, but in its length and depth. Fluid movement has been off the table since this morning. I’m a shambling mass trying to navigate the minefield of Getting Shit Done. Fortunately I’ve got nowhere to be for several days. I was hoping to get out and see Black Panther today though.

I was sick. Let’s get that out of the way. I chundered spectacularly just as we were ready to get into bed. It was awful and covered the sheets. My girlfriend sighed and took charge, grabbing spare sheets and we set to making the bed for a second time. When we’d finally finished, my body took that as a sign to unleash hell. I upchucked on the bed again. Demoralising and disgusting in one package. My girlfriend handed me an old pair of spare sheets and told me I was on my own. Fair call. She slept in the spare bedroom and I somehow managed to mostly keep my little chunks inside my body. At some point I awoke and continually began throwing up bile into a mixing bowl she’d left for me. I checked in the morning, it was a sickly blackish green. Nasty as fuck. My girlfriend went to work at 10am, leaving me with pain meds and water by my bed. I don’t know what I did to deserve her.

I lay in bed all day, drifting between sleep and gentle dosing. I felt incapable of moving. At some point my downstairs neighbour began strumming his guitar and singing along. It was actually really lovely to listen to. I felt broken, but relaxed. My body wanted to pee, but my head wanted me to stay in bed. My head won. That was me for most of the day. It’s sad that being irreparably hungover was what it took for me to relax for once, but aside from feeling ratchet, it was kinda pleasant. After some time I figured it was getting late. It’s probably after 3pm by now I thought. I looked at my phone, it was 3:30pm. I’d spent the entire day being hungover. I guess I paid for my revelry tenfold.

Thing is, I had such a fantastic night. The party was amazing. They’d recreated a bunch of The Room’s sets. There were framed pictures of spoons everywhere. Everyone seemed to come in costume and there were some awesome left field ones. A guy just came as The Cancer Doctor, carrying Claudette’s diagnosis with him continually (“You definitely have breast cancer” was all it said). It felt like half the people attending were keto, so there were a bunch of keto friendly snacks. I got to catch up with some good friends I hadn’t seen in something like six months. Drinking again was predictably fun. Even taking today into consideration, I regret nothing.

Come to think of it, this whole exercise was invaluable. After several months on the wagon, I’d forgotten how to handle myself. My resistance had plummeted. The rum went straight to my head. I was having the time of my life, but I’d clearly forgotten that drinking doesn’t make you invincible. Considering I’m heading to Austin in four days, I needed to remember this. Can you imagine how shitty it’d be getting ruined in Austin and wasting my vacation on a hangover? This harsh lesson hopefully saved me from making a dick of myself with the abundant and cheap booze that’s sure to be on hand. I mean, of course I’m still gonna drink. Maybe I’ll do a better job of managing just how much I do.

The silver lining of being hungover at the moment is that keto cuisine is hellishly hangover friendly. I’ve practically just been eating mayo on everything today. Cheese, avocado, mayo. It’s all right there for the taking. Plus in precisely five minutes I’m about to tuck into some meaty chicken bones I’ve roasted while watching a big dumb superhero flick. I guess this day’s turning around after all.

What am I? I’m just a chicken. Chip-chip-chip-chip-cheep-cheep.

I’d say that I don’t know where to start, but there’s really only one place to start: At the beginning. It all began at the leftmost side of the page, right up the top. You weren’t there when it happened, but it’s where you joined in. Like, a line or two above this very one you’re reading now. At this point, you probably realised that this wasn’t going anywhere narratively. In a more literal sense it’s heading to the right in a downwards direction. Metaphorically, it’s spiralling in a downwards direction.

I was gonna make some glib comment about how my life’s following suit, but really that’s not so much the case. If anything’s following suit it’s this entry, which follows yesterday’s entry in which I talked about my newly acquired suit. Cue the groans and strap yourselves in, folks. I’m in one of those kind of moods. It’s not a bad mood per se. Also I should refrain from using the word “bad”, I’m better than that, right? Dreadful? Ghastly? Dour? Contentious? Erroneous? Double-plus un-good? Aside from padding for time, I’m not sure why I went on that tear. I’d already said I wasn’t in a “bad” mood. I had a really relaxing night last night. I’ve got no important plans for the next two days and I’m whimsically sailing through time powered by the lightness of being. Also I’ve decided I’m going to drink tonight.

*Shock*

Haven’t I been going on about keto for the past bloody forever? Now I’m casually introducing the imbibing of libations? I never said I couldn’t drink on keto, I merely said I wasn’t. I haven’t been. It makes it easier to lose weight and seeing as that was the goal, I didn’t. However at this stage the finish line is in sight. I’ve lost as much weight as I’m realistically gonna lose and I figure it’s time to prime my body once more for eating like a normal trashy human. I’ve stopped trying as hard. Simple as that. My old phone bit the dust and this new one doesn’t have My Fitness Pal installed. I haven’t bothered. I’ve stopped logging food meticulously and instead I’m just eating within the nutritional boundaries I learned from the diet. By now I kind of know how many calories/carbs/fats/proteins most of my regular foods have, so I figure I don’t need to make such an effort to harvest the data if it’s causing me such stress. Instead of aiming for specific macros, I’m keeping my carb intake low, eating moderate protein (and more on days where I lift) and having as much fat as I want when I’m hungry. Coincidentally I’m feeling a lot better about it and myself. I’m still in ketosis and the funny part is that according to the ketogenic [urine -ed] strip I just urined, I’m incidentally producing more ketones than I was when I was trying really hard. Overall I’m not sure that’ll affect anything. I’ve hit a weight where I’m comfortable. I’m happy as I’ll ever be looking in the mirror and that’s good enough for me.

Alcohol has no carbs. Diet sodas have no carbs. On the other hand, alcohol is the first thing your body processes (with it being a poison and all). Like a theme park queue jumper, it’ll push that whole ketogenic body devouring fat process to second in line. The food you eat will stay as a backlog and stick around waiting for its turn. Plus while diet drinks don’t have carbs, they can cause blood sugar spikes similar to insulin responses. These won’t knock you out of ketosis, but it’s kind of like when you’re waiting in line for a roller coaster and the person in front asks if you mind if their partner can join them. No biggie, you say. But then it turns out they’re part of a massive polycule and suddenly half of The Bay Area is pushing in line and your five minute wait became five hours. To be entirely honest, I’ve got nowhere I need to be in a hurry. If I’m gonna have a blast getting nostalgic watching the 90s promotional videos they’re screening on overhead CRT screens. Why yes, I do want to buy into the elaborate backstory of a fucking Godzilla themed rollercoaster. That sounds just like my kind of zoning out.

Plus tonight’s party is themed after The Room and I was obsessed with that film ten years ago.

I’ve found my viridian meridian.

I now own a green suit. For what inscrutable purposes, you may ask? None other than the purpose of trying to turn something unconventional desirable. What’s more, I’ve been searching for a suit such as this for some time. I’d elaborate, but I feel like any further exploration of this topic could do with a new paragraph.

I like the colour green. Have for a while. For much of my teens, lime green was my shade. I didn’t wear it (though frankly I didn’t wear anything that wasn’t black), but I liked how it looked. As time went by, my tastes shifted. I started to enjoy more subtle variations of the same basic colour. My preferences expanded to earthy tones. Kelly green has always been a bit too synonymous with St Paddy’s Day, but Forest greens or even darker began to catch my eyes. Why? Well it’s in there, my eyes. My eye colour at birth was hazel. As I aged, they lightened. The brown receded a bunch and the green came forward. I noticed that when I wore green my eye colour would be more pronounced. Browns worked too, but to a lesser extent. I liked the effect and so sought it out.

A year or two ago I bought myself a suit. A Yale/Egyptian blue one. Spent about $250 after alterations. It was nice, having some fancy duds for hoighty-toity soirees. It was so nice, in fact, that I contemplated getting another one. As I said, I was fond of the colour green and envisioned myself parading around swankily in such a refined garment. I liked the mental image. Of course, it’s so easy for a green suit to appear garish, so I knew I needed a nice one. I thought about getting a really nice one. Custom made, perhaps. As if it was some reward for a yet undefined task I’d accomplished. After a friend showed off his custom burgundy Indochino suit, I thought that could be a good avenue of bringing this to reality. I didn’t follow through. The concept of tossing down $600 or so for occasional threads was daunting. I put it on the backburner. I figured my green suit would come to me if the stars aligned.

I trust you read the opening line, so this isn’t a spoiler: They did. I was at a warehouse sale around the corner from my house. I noticed some dark green blazers on the rack for $50. I own green pants (and happened to be wearing them at the time) so I checked the colour balance with the blazer. No bueno. Plus my pants were closer to chinos, when the blazer was more woollen. Disappointment abounded. I looked at the tables to see if I could find a match in colour/fabric. I found what I thought was a good match of fabric. Unfortunately the colour was way too light. Foiled again. I frankly don’t know why I’m teasing this out. You already know that I bought the suit. In short, I found pants that were a match. For a grand sum of $70 I had my own off the rack svelte green suit. Success.

Now I need to figure out how to dress in a green suit. According to my rigorous skim reading of a few articles I googled, I can accentuate with white or light blue shirts. A black or pale yellow tie could work. Gold is supposedly a good match, so it’s time to load up on my Mr. T style bling. If I wanted to really get out there I’m sure I could find a salmon coloured shirt. Or go for broke with earth tones and couple it with a loamy brown. Maybe this is more fertile territory than I thought at first blush.

I give it a green thumb’s up.

By the way, have you ever heard of this cartoon called The Simpsons?

So I was listening to The Beatles this morning and they were pretty great. Yeah, you head me. The motherflippin’ Beatles. Stick that recommendation in your pipe and smoke it.

Yeah, I’m being glib, but also not. It’s hard to be both broader and more unnecessary than so The Beatles were pretty good, eh? Thing is, I was having a fantastic time. The temperature has jumped maybe ten degrees in the last day or two. I even had a real sleep last night. Everything was in its right place for The Fucking Beatles to make sense for my morning commute. It’s not like I was pulling some deep cut either. Have you ever heard the remix album Love? I think they put it together for Cirque du Soleil or something. In essence it’s a condensed version of The Beatles experience. It’s their big hits, but with new arrangements. They’ve tossed in sound effects, isolated vocal samples and played around with the tracking. Samples are taken from throughout the band’s catalogue and rearranged into an expansive soundbed. It’s pretty neat. I was walking through my day, but it held this innately theatrical tone. I mean, of course it did, the album was designed for the theatre. I’m not blowing anyone’s mind here.

I’m not proud of it, but for the longest time I had this deep seated belief that artistic merit was intrinsically tied to being outside of the mainstream. I sought out new and underground sounds and eschewed the popular for the downtrodden and discarded. I found particular critics and outlets that peddled in what I considered cutting edge. It made me feel like I was special, seeing the world through my own lens. In reality, while I was avoiding the mainstream I was still following a stream of some variety. My disregard for “the dull catalogue of common things” didn’t speak to any kind of heightened tastes. It took far too long for me to realise that you like what you like and that’s all that matters. Nobody is better or worse because of the media they consume. That’s just buying into another line. It’s dumb. We can’t say why certain art speaks to us, but we should heed when art does speak to us. If consuming something lifts us, we owe it to ourselves to ascend with it. That’s not as trite as it sounds.

Every once in a while I find myself questioning what it is I like about something. Why, as a teenager, did the frenetic energy of System of a Down and Faith No More find a mirrored beating in my heart? What is it about the twinkling intro of Wouldn’t It Be Nice that puts me into a certain emotional state? In the search for which art lights a fire in my heart, I can also search for what parts of my personality are drawn to that flame.

Is this all gobbledigook? For sure. It’s the issue with trying to say multiple things at once. In listening to Love this morning, it helped me take in The Beatles in a whole new manner. As I’ve aged, The Beatles’ relevance has shifted in my life. It’s strange listening to the complex arrangements and isolated elements from throughout their career. I think how the fuck did four British twentysomethings create such lush sonic pastures? I’ll hear “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” and think Oh, this is fine but unremarkable, then “Get Back” will wash into my ears and blow my brain out my arse. I’ll hear the song for the thousandth time and in some ways it’ll be the first. The song hasn’t changed, but why then does that line stick out that always just faded into the background? What’s shifted in me that this line is suddenly apparent? Who even was I when I first heard it? How did I see the world? How will I see it in ten years?

It’s not like The Beatles are going anywhere.