Manflu!
I went about three years without catching a cold thanks to old mate Covid, but the deadly man-flu rhinovirus variant caught up with me this week, deep-sizing all my plans to write heaps of books and max out all of my compound lifts.
Articles from Cheeseburger Gothic
Primary tabs
Back to the keyboard.
Had a little break the last week or so with guests in the house. Mister Lambright and his kid, touring the antipodes. We’ve had them down the hoop-snake mines and out to the drop bear forests, so I have been at my screen as much. But I’m back now.
Unless a yowie gets them.
Gnarly
I’ll spare you the horror shot of the wound site, but I visited my surgeon this morning for a post op check on the melanoma excision. We’re still waiting on pathology to see if he got all the edges, but I’d hope so, given the size of the scalping.
Closing time at the Zoo.
Just read in The Graun that Brisbane’s oldest surviving (and possibly most loved) music venue, The Zoo, won’t be surviving no more.
I am excited for Exploding Kittens.
I subscribe to The Oatmeal’s newsletter and it’s one of the few regular, reliable belly laughs I can count on. So I’m all in on this.
The meaning of work.
I kinda enjoyed this bit on the meaning of work, or rather on the need for work to have meaning. The premise is simple, but it scans. Meaningful work should contribute to a goal that connects the individual to something embiggening. It doesn’t have to be overloaded and groaning with meaning. Some pretty simple jobs can have that meaning.
"It wasn't me."
I decided a long while ago that I wasn’t going to run any political content here because it just aggravates everyone and improves nothing. But I’m posting this because I’m in awe of the fucking artistry here. And the tune is pretty cool, too.
What I didn't do on my weekend.
Friday afternoon, some guys I know, good with a blade, cut out the melanoma that’d been sneakily growing on the back of my head where I couldn’t see it.
You come at the king, etc.