Bosch Bosch Bosch Bosch, and my twenty-first birthday. Continue reading Playlist — November 2018
I truly do not remember what happened in October, so I turn to a statistical summary from my various accounts.
- I watched Sharp Objects and I love Amy Adams, somehow, more now.
- I listened to Liz Phair at least ninety-six times, although I am certain I deleted many more scrobbles because it was nearing an embarrassingly high number.
- I also listened to Britney Spears’s “Lucky” four times over one weekend, which I’m sure was a trip.
- There’s also a lot of Jimmy Buffett in here, which reminds me that the new season of Always Sunny happened, which I also enjoyed terribly. I too appreciate inclusivity and yelling at people that “Kokomo” is not Jimmy Buffett, you idiots.
- I read To the Lighthouse and it was lovely, and this month’s cover art was not necessarily a reference to that, but I wouldn’t be upset if it is interpreted that way.
Continue reading Playlist — October 2018
You may have noticed by the fact that I write like a Neil Gaiman groupie (or, perhaps, by the fact that my blog name is a literal quote from it), but Good Omens is my favorite book. Like, several-copies-that-have-all-been-dropped-in-puddles-and-lent-out-to-friends-(and, notably, one high school English teacher), filled-with-scribbles, devoured-thousands-of-words-of-fan-fiction-based-on, entire-friend-groups-centered-around, books-carted-across-the-country-and-to-concerts-and-the-like-so-performers-have-recognized-me-as-“the Good Omens kid”, kind of favorite book.
So I can posture all I want about how Michael Sheen and David Tennant are as far from my personal ideas of Aziraphale and Crowley, about how strange all the changes in era and setting will be, about half a dozen nitpicking worries, but at the end of the day the fact remains that I’m getting an adaptation of my favorite book crafted with immense care by the only person I will admit loves it more than I do.
It truly has been fun. And it continues.
And so, of course, the fact that I have the opportunity to write a paper on said adaptation of said favorite book means that this is now all I will ever think about. In honor of me losing my entire mind over the first trailer, here are some collected quotes from my research thus far:
You know, we make a lot of fun of the characters from The West Wing for always immediately adding that they work at the White House (like, a whole episode’s worth of fun), but I’m starting to get the intoxicating joy of it, because despite my natural superstition I am bursting at the seams to tell people that I’m Keaton, I work at the Smithsonian.
But, then again, I’m Keaton, and pretty soon I’m going to be working at the literal Smithsonian Institute. In a back room, in an office building down the street, scanning old photos all day, but for the literal actual Smithsonian Institute. Between this and my research paper on Good Omens that legitimizes my spending all my time on Archive of Our Own, everything’s really coming up on-brand for me.
Too busy to critically think. Description to follow.
Let the record show that in this, the seventh month of the year of our lord 2018, Keaton Coleman attended their first party ever. Let the record also show that it was just fine, I suppose, it was really just a bunch of people sitting around talking. There were popsicles. Pink lemonade!
More importantly, though, this “party” awakening in me the need to listen to “cool” music so as to impress people. It was a terrifyingly familiar feeling, sending me back to the depths of high school, but then I remembered that I am impressive enough as is and really don’t care, so my only attempt to coolify my listening habits can be seen here as:
- A single Billie Eilish song, and
- another song by The Cure.
*To everyone who DIDN’T neglect to tell me that Natalie Imbruglia’s “Torn” is not actually Natalie Imbruglia’s at all, which is approximately NO ONE, TRAITORS.
I am his daughter, a mirror
or a window. I reflect red,
which means: stop, blood, or danger.
I am a bull, born in May.
I am not meant to be desolate,
an evening pulled apart like smoke.
Cathy Linh Che is a daffodil.