Extra Evil - Seasonal Affection Disorder

Newsreel

Just one more week of Jingle Bell Rock.

Your uncle's a tax lawyer this week.

Management forced Covid to work through the holidays.

Congress pledged $858 billion to fight arms dealer poverty.

The loser of a game of Russian Roulette gets to run Twitter.

Martians auctioned off the Insight lander.

Today's Mood

War Journal

I read a few newsletters and blogs by people smarter than me, and most of them are taking a break. Time for family, faith, and the simple sanity of stillness.

Naturally, I'm hitting the bricks. Literally, as far as training goes. But mostly at a keyboard, absorbing the precious blue light that leads to Nirvana. Deep down, a very sick part of me thinks the Venn diagram of "champions" and "sleep disorders" is  a circle. I hope you enjoy the results.

I should have stronger feelings about Christmas. It's wrapped up in Americana, commerce, and religion, topics I have a handful of opinions about.

I also grew up with it. That comes with a default range of golden and traumatic memories. But my mind never sticks on it for long.

It's a little out of character. Whatever you think of the pranks, I'd make an excellent Grinch. There's plenty of exploitable iconography. I’m also an eternal fanboy, so I’d be a dedicated Yuletide counterrevolutionary. Detachment feels like leaving gold bars on the table.

But my mother passed two days before Christmas, and her birthday was two days after. So I suspect that I have a psychic firewall around the entire ritual. By instinct, I avoid touching the flashing red  weak point on my brain.

I'm not convinced moping would be better. I don't get touchier around Christmas—that happens at complete random. I'm much more likely to fistfight a Trick-or-Treat chaperone than a Mall Santa. Parents get testy when more driven children get to the candy bowl first.

Projecting cheer might be worthwhile. But if I could control my face, I’d be on stage. Instead of terrifying Brooklyn with a rictus grin, I’m going to try making stew peas and thinking about how intently I used to stare at gift wrap.

Having bad taste is amazing. Every clearance shelf has a dozen sneakers no sane man would touch, and they're all beautiful to me. I don't fulfill many stereotypes, but I own countless shoes you couldn't get on my white neighbors at gunpoint. If you see an unhoused man in Christmas tree Vans, I was feeling generous.

Is that point vacuous after the Mom bit? Yes. That’s called healing.

I found a cheaper source of Halo Top. I won't go broke until the dollar crashes.

The Present

Slash grinds after the bombs fall, in The New Yorker.

It's been a long, strange year.

My very, very petulant Babylon Bee parody.

I taught the good people at 1-900-HOTDOG about Vegemorphs.

My book's still my best mark on this Earth.

The Past

Somehow, I was deemed interesting enough for a mini-doc.

The Future

Either this manuscript's going well, or I'm delusional. We'll see.

I'm overwhelmed by how much I suck at Photoshop.

I'm going to drop some kind of bonus here as the year plays out. Just brainstorming.

One Sentence Reviews

Tom Papa - What a Day!: An amazing sleeping aid. (1.5/5)

Sanctuary - The Day the Sun Died: Sweet Nevermore methadone. (3.5/5)

Cattle Decapitation - The Anthropocene Extinction: Should I be worried that extinction metal is almost a genre, or just keep enjoying it? (4.5/5)

Metallica - The Black Album: I actually see the appeal, but boy can you see the shark and ramp ahead. (2.5/5)

Jay-Z - The Black Album: I actually see the appeal, but boy can you see the shark and ramp ahead. (4/5)

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court: Twain doing everything in isekai better and first makes me hate it more. (4.5/5)

Open Question

Signing off

Thanks for reading Extra Evil, the newsletter hiding under the bed. Share to evict it.

-DD