After stripping off some weight and adding on some muscle during the early months of the dread Miss Rona’s reign, I went backwards over the last month while I've been pounding on multiple deadlines. An old story, trading fitness for productivity. I wish I could stop doing that, but we all know that I can't.
Netflix did what Netflix does and put a bullet into Takeshi Kovac’s stack this week, confirming there would be no third series of Altered Carbon. It’s a pity. I liked that show. But it’s not unexpected. Netflix cancels everything that makes life worth living, and the old series are still there to be watched.
A bigger hit was hearing that Amazon’s planned adaptation of Iain M. Banks Culture series was dead.
The first couple of weeks of the dread Miss Rona's reign, I was crushing it. We'd usually walk the dog early in the morning — like really early. I'd do a massive work out under the house in the middle of the day, just to break things up. And then in the evening I'd do another walk, say twenty minutes or so after dinner, around the local streets, which are punishingly hilly.
I never really got into the previous iterations and I’m not sure they even released them for Mac, but I’ve enjoyed some of the reactions to the latest version and, to be honest, it’s probably the closest I’m gonna get to air travel for another couple of years. Maybe that’s why so many peeps have been blissing out on it.
It looks beautiful, if a little eerily COVID-like because of the empty streets everywhere but Perth (at least on the video below)
Had big plans for this week, starting with Sunday when I was going to research and maybe even write the better part of an essay on QAnon. A migraine put paid to that. (Oh noes! Probably beamed into my head by the Deep State). Lined up for some book writing today and… pow. Got blasted with the second barrel.
It sort of worked out though. I had to do a photoshoot for The Guardian and I was supposed to look sombre and brooding.
No fucking worries, govnor!
From Letters of Note. “The late, great Dorothy Parker, born on this day in 1893, informs her editor that she has writer's block…”
