And Castro is finally dead.
And Ron Glass has died.
Trump is calling the recount a "scam." I suppose it takes one to know one, right? He certainly does seem to be an authority on the subject, having orchestrated so many scams in his lifetime.
Yesterday, I started signing the signatures for Dear Sweet Filthy World, but then the depression got just enough worse that I couldn't bear sitting there signing my name over and over and fucking over, and we left the house and went to Thayer Street. First time, I think, in my whole career that I have ever not finished a set of signature sheets at one sitting. Anyway, not much remains of Thayer Street. A couple of restaurants, the Avon, and the Army/Navy store. The new parking meters were the final nail in the coffin of the long death of Thayer Street. What gentrification and Brown University had not done, the parking meters are managing. Anyway, I got a new cap at the Army/Navy store. And then we went by the market, and then we came home. I tried again to do the signature pages, and again I wasn't up to it.
Night before last, we finished Cameron Crowe's Roadies. I wish there were going to be a Second Season, but Season One ends very well, no cliffhanger. Last night, we watched David Mackenzie's Hell or High Water, and it was very, very good. Maybe the best film of its kind since the Coen Brother's 2007 adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's No Country For Old Men.
If you've never heard the music of Mirel Wagner, you really need to give her a listen.