One-Sentence Journal, Week Seventy-Two

The “It’s No Bob’s Burgers” Edition.

  1. 10/16/2017: Given my limited patience and attention span when it comes to television, and the sanctity of my Sunday evenings, HBO’s WestWorld better get interesting — in a way that overcomes its flaws and cardboard cutout characters — in a hurry or it’s going on the scrap heap with all the other damn shows I’ve abandoned.
  2. 10/17/2016: Erika Wennerstrom of the Heartless Bastards at the Missoula Winery tonight, completing a trifecta of live shows unprecedented in my recent history for both quantity and quality.
  3. 10/18/2016: 3:30 PM, a deadline met, and black clouds and rain roll in, dim the light in my office, and make urgent the siren’s song of the couch to just call it a day.
  4. 10/19/2016: Reflecting on a panel discussion I attended last night concerning the fight over the Badger-Two Medicine oil and gas leases, I’ve come to the uncomfortable conclusion that the “smart-but-folksy” can only get a movement so far before it becomes critical that the “sharp and to-the-point” become the focal point of interaction with the public.
  5. 10/21/2016: I’ve learned no matter the climb, that ceiling of dark clouds that I seem to live under, largely of my own creation, simply rises with me . . . but at least the view from altitude is better.
  6. 10/22/2016: Perfect chicken fried steak, buttery hash browns, and a couple crisp English muffins bring to mind one of my favorite ever lines from a book, this coming from Christa Faust’s classic Hoodtown: “I sat and chewed, mindlessly content for the first time in what felt like ages, forgetting all the bullshit and the drama in the simple distraction of a good, greasy meal.”

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