Rain Dog @Leucrotta@awoo.space

Realizing my beloved Indiana Jones movies were uh, kinda problematic.

Oh yeah. And that’s FY close for [finance division redacted], missing the most senior coworker. I put in 40 minutes OT this week, I probably could have done more but ehh, I don’t think review could turn things around on more than one loan by Sunday. Let’s see if the new group in [location redacted] can pick up speed by December.

I’m so tired of paying money to rich people so they can destroy my country, my species, my future, my ethnic group and my fellow citizens, from most loved friends to assholes I can’t stand.

The whole thing honestly makes me want to slug someone.

shhhKKKKKRRRSH

Is that supposed to be doing that? Okay. Okay, we’re ready now.

We’re Pinepitch Prosthetic Eyeballs and we want REVOLUTION! LATRANS STYLE NOW!

I got a proposition, goes something like this;
Girl you can do what you want!
Girl you can be who you will!

Hot take; “Pro-Vision L3” is such s good “throw something heavy/go checkout the tubes” song it’s too bad the rest of the album is a great break-up album instead.

https://twitter.com/Tav_Fox/status/1045755210214203392

omg omg omg 💙💙🦊💙💙

Now it’s 1984
Knock, knock at your front door!
It’s the suede-denim secret police!
They’ve come for your uncool niece!

... this is not making me want to head towards Santa Cruz any less.

Listening to Meco’s Star Wars right now.

“You ever heard of the Ford Falcon? It’s the car that made the Cannonball Run in 12 parsecs.”

Something that kills me about getting older is how the 70s featured stuff like trying for better children’s programming, more Black representation in movies, the creation of the EPA/ESA, etc.

Apparently America’s actual golden age was about trucker movies, polyester pants, yellow and orange plaid patterns and shag carpet, Meco covers of Star Wars at roller rinks, etc, which is why it was impossible to see it as a golden age at the time.

During Bush II I used to joke they had Zach de la Rocha as a special consultant, knocking out ideas for what would be cartoonishly offensive.

Now that the GOP is basically a cross of Captain Planet/Toxic Avenger villains, mixed with angry anti mutant preachers from X-Men, actual Nazis and Klansmen, desperate to support a bad stereotype of used car salesmen (seriously cartoons are gonna be different after this), I imagine ol’ Zach is somewhere trying to block it all out for his own sanity.

Re movies, something I really liked about “Zulu” is that it’s the non-Europeans who are the serious badasses; the Brits manage to make it through on individual bravery and a very engineer solution, but Bromhead’s running on glorified ideas of warfare, Chard’s out of his depth, and outside of Bourne and Schees, *nobody wants to be stuck in a war*.

The movie is not that accurate to *what happened* but that’s a nice change from the parochial attitude of history books or say “300.”

The Izimpisi mass on the border, willing to fight at the orders of their inkosikasi! uWhup! IS YOUR SWEET FOOD GOOD?

... because of course nearly the only isiZulu I know is “hyena/hyenas.”

... meanwhile in The Matrix;

SHKRRRRR
“...ou hear that, Mister Anderson? That is the sound of inevit...”
SHHHHEERRRRRRRRR
“... ame is NE...”
SSSSSHHHHHHHHRRRRRR

#bart

Okay I took some melatonin, and I'm going to TRY to sleep - I have no clue how well this will work.

wow. Apparently my body reacts really dramatically to niacin tablets - I've been getting flushing, chills, hot flashes. This sucks; I think I need to figure out a different way to get niacin.

This place is NOT home, it's not going to be home. My associations with this place are my health going weird, insomnia, changing my diet to be healthy, doing other peoples' dishes, and feeling isolated. I feel centered and good when I draw, and then I come back here.

RIGHT NOW, I hate it. I am this close to screaming frustration but I'm unsure nobody's around to hear. I want to leave.

#drawing helps a little; finished a page of faces from reference I started Sunday, copied horses from McBride today.

Generations of families, the sort of small town America politicians always say they’re about. Stones told stories of family tragedies- kids drowned in the river- but other than long lives nothing to spot successes, joys. No soldier graves; locals who didn’t come back to have service on their stones, must have been interred elsewhere. There weren’t stones any newer than the 1960s.

The whole experience was really striking but it’d be hard to explain why.

The main building must’ve been truly giant; the rest of the town would’ve fit easily in the track-broken concrete slab that remained and that was only some of the area behind the fence.

I thought I saw a cemetery on the hill opposite where the mill once stood and my friends were interested enough to stop. It *was* a cemetery on this steep slope, little areas linked by steps, part overgrown with blackberry.

We took a couple of days to travel up the coast (S grew up on the coast). The first day we got sidetracked by a beach, a game shop, a large local history museum, and we stopped at what used to be a mill town.

A few mostly old Victorian, some newer houses sloped down to the immense river, and there you could see the remnants of the mill; a few small buildings and several railroad sidings, piers and the remains of piers out into the water, chain-link-fenced off.