i left the apartment with an extra giddy-up in my step to make it to the library before heading out to queens this morning, as i was not interested in having the shards in my life for another day or two. i don't remember bret easton ellis being that bad — i don't remember much about rules of engagement, honestly, though i know i preferred donna tartt's the secret history if we're ranking fictionalized-bennington novels — but hoo, friends. it did entertain me that a key scene went down at crystal cove, the park/beach due west of my dad's place to which i repair when visiting the OC, and his fixation on ultravox's "vienna" did inspire me to watch the banger of a video and then pick up the demonic lafufu i found on the giveaway heap in our laundry room, which i steeped in boiling water and woolite and have added to the rotation of creatures that join me via my tote bag for protest monitoring and reproductive health clinic escorting, and that's not nothing. do i need to read less than zero or, like, american psycho? my library-holds queue threw a four-book clot last week, so i won't be doing it any time soon, at least.
i got a bitchy letter from the blood bank saying that, per the FDA, i was nearing the limit of what one can safely donate over the course of a year and won't be allowed back until mid-march, maybe i could do them a favor and be a little more mindful of my schedule in the future? i called to contest that, as i was/am way under the max of 24 platelet draws at least a week apart that their literature mentions. as the aggrieved gal at their call center explained, my donations had all been triples, as the techs are directed to optimize donors' visits. "and your platelet count has been going up over time," she said in an accusatory way. are you blood-shaming me, lady?! i tried to suggest, respectfully, that the letter's patronizing wording and tone were perhaps at cross-purposes with their center's aims, and that it was challenging to keep pacing in mind when i received weekly texts about critical platelet shortages i alone could resolve and also wasn't informed that i was up in Ye Threefold Bloodlettings, but i don't think she was interested in being receptive to me, and that was not a me problem.
on bloodlettings, luc besson made a dracula! i don't know much yet, but the romantic trappings and mars attacks!-adjacent vamp-coiffing suggest it'll be francis-ford-coppola-ish, and more of that energy in 2026, please. in other news of the not-traditionally-alive, we saw 28 years later: the bone temple despite my worry that it would hurt my feelings (a fear i also had and was later sheepish about with the first 28 years later movie) and holy shit, that's the most fortifying business i've seen in ages. absolutely everything about ralph fiennes's character was delightful (inspired, i dug around this week for iron maiden 50th-anniversary tour tickets and would have planned a trip around a show, were they not some $400 and up per seat), and i burst into tears at the last line. it's fortifying to watch the zombie metaphor evolve past capitalism and fascism to whatever this is; i'm really hoping danny boyle can land the plane with the final movie in the cycle. i was reminded of the harbinger, the COVID-in-new-york-city movie that unpicked experiencing the pandemic here for me, and i dearly love to see genre films meeting their moments. i'm almost tempted to hang around and try to talk the local horror folks into letting me volunteer for their film festival again this year (they absolutely didn't need the extra hands and were humoring me last year, the softies).
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