What looks like a cash grab, smells like a cash grab, plays like a cash grab, but isn't really grabbing you unless you're grabbing it?
Some contemplations on the stories of life after someone has "left the room".
So, really, how real to you want your reality to be when real life isn't that entertaining?
"A moment of inspiration will far surpass spending six years on something." - Tom Waits
Some disparaging recollections of planks gone by leads to frustration at the failures of contemporary creativity.
Where I often feel a lighter sense of all things poppy minutae, I was overcome with a feeling of foreboding dread. Not necessarily for me, but for everyone.
Contemplating the the inherent cheese in a love song and why it was always difficult for me to embrace the cheese.
Some excited ruminescences about a new season of another podcast I do, and some fond recollections and nostalgia about a lifetime of Sunday afternoons.