Flush it Friday: I Know Why the Quarantined Owl Sings
Things are getting really weird out there. Bathroom tissue (or toilet paper, for those of us familiar with how Earthlings talk) is being poached harder than ivory tusks, Social Distancing isn’t just a nü-goth album title anymore, and the pillars beneath the future bear an uncertain weight. If there’s anything that’s kept this Strigiforme soaring, it’s been a measured level of media consumption, mixed with an escape into the lands of Temeria, Nilfgaard and Spalla. I’m talking about The Witcher of course. No, not that mediocre Netflix adaptation. The two books of short stories and the quintet of novels that follow (and the 3 excellent games from CD Projekt Red). I haven’t read this fast, this steadily, since I was a wee fledgling; the layered politics, social critique and adventure held me enraptured for the last few weeks. I would suggest y’all check this stuff out. (You probably have; I am, as usual, extremely late to the party.) The other wind beneath my wings? Y’all Toilet-folk and your good-ass posts. Check ’em out:
BSG upped the funx with his live review of new Thundercat material:
Funky Nights: My Evening at the Portland Jazz Festival Featuring Thundercat
365 asked the real question: why hasn’t this turd been dropped yet?
Bork brought us to one minute to midnight with his retrospective look at an esteemed Discharge record:
Albums for the Apocalypse: Hear Nothing See Nothing Say Nothing
Spear flexed his pecs with these techs:
Everybody doing ok? I’m lucky that I’m able to work from home, but I’m going stir-crazy and this has only been the first week of an unforeseeable end to the WFH saga. Lay out the U’s, choose between the multitude of B’s and dig deep for the G’s, fam. I care about all of you and hope you’re keeping your heads above water.
