Do you have a favorite band that doesn't exist? A favorite artist that only headlined on some animators' storyboards? Hey, no need to be ashamed- I've got several beloved bands who only exist in the fictional world. I've been dabbling in escapism a hell of a lot more frequently than I think I've done since middle school (and no wonder with this spectacle of a year, right?) and I'm suddenly yearning for nostalgic rushes to buoy my mood. Looking back at old shows, musing on memories and wishes, to have done and seen more than I had before the world would no longer be there in the way it used to be.
You're inhaling the mingled scents of oft-used air freshener, hastily swiped deodorant, and the musk of hard labor. You're tasting the first wave of salty sweat trickling from your temples to the edges of your mouth and wetting the corners of your lips. You're hearing grunts of exertion and whatever particular program is being presented by the one who holds the remote. You're about to grasp the handles just underneath the seat of the cycling machine and breathing in deep- but suddenly a little lightbulb moment happens and you remember the most important part of this workout session.
I like my hair. I do. That wasn't always the case though.
See, my dad is African-American- Philadelphia born and bred. My mom is Trinidadian- from San Fernando, specifically. You mix those two together and you . . . get a coily mess on the first child. More relaxed than my father's curls (and bigger), but definitely not the waves my mother's hair relaxed to in her adulthood. I can't tell you how perplexed I am every time I see photos of her as a baby with big ringlets that . . . she just seems to grow out of??? If there's one thing I haven't let go of, it's the envy I have over my mother's fast growing, healthy hair. Mine has never once reached those lengths, though it's my dear wish to make it happen one day.
The Pandemic we currently trudge through has made some . . . awkward, albeit necessary adjustments to nearly all aspects of our lives. One of those prominent changes to our lives deals with our jobs. Now I confess that I am extremely grateful to not only still have a job during this uncertain time, but to have full-time and its accompanying benefits to rely on as well. The hosting job I've held for about a year now really came through for me, the company providing for as many of its employees as it can and I'm thankful to have been included in that protected group. Despite the faults I can lay at its feet, and the sort of chaotic nature of it all, I was happy to get back to it and a more normal routine when the venue finally reopened. I acknowledged, and even anticipated, some changes to not only the rules but to the customers that would cross our doorstep. I accepted the changes social distancing, new COVID-19 safety protocols, and the ensuing public reaction, would doubtless call for an even greater amount of flexibility and patience than I've ever needed to dole out before. I agreed to meet the expectations of the business, to promote revenue incoming and uphold the values of the business to the best of my ability.
Happy Halloween you bunch of freaks! Thank you for following this playlist to it's final, ominous end . . . You were here for part 1 and part 2 (feel free to click on the links for a refresher), and I was very careful to make sure I could make it to three, to honor the auspicious number on what is going to be a providential Halloween weekend. I'm giving you 13 reasons tonight to get spooky, get weird, and get real acquainted with the Dark. Let's not dawdle, the night only lasts so long!
There's a little store tucked in between a Subways and a music shop. It's called Coliseum of Comics, and it's my favorite comic book store. That I've only been to two in total is of no consequence. They have a couple of other sites in Florida, and a pretty nice following on social media. I made my first visit there last year, bored with the slim pickings at the bookstore and intrigued at what lay beyond the dominating worlds of Marvel and DC.