A Ranticle to Close Out a Rough Week

It has been a particularly rough week in an exceptionally rough decade. Like many people, I started this week already a little sad simply because I live on Earth. However, like most sad people trapped in this dystopian world, I was putting one foot in front of the other. A few quips and the rationale that my morning iced coffee is probably weaker than I am used to, and I was off to pretending everything was fine. We love to pretend things are fine after all. Mostly because the other option is to unpack all of the shit weighing us down, and capitalism doesn’t allow time for that. 

Who Ordered This Shit Sandwich?

Then we lost Dolly Parton and Tim Curry on the same damn day. It somehow hurt even more than I could’ve predicted. I bitch about parasocial relationships all the time. So I tried to suck it up because I never want to be one of those people. I’m also really good at ignoring and avoiding things and have tried to figure out how to put that on my resume for years. Sadly, that was the last straw, and I took advantage of this being terminally unemployed to feel my feelings. Which is why I’m back upright and writing this incoherent article. It’s my turn to close the week out for the blog. However, I was having “feelings” so didn’t plan one damn thing. Hang on though, because I think I can find a thesis. Or at least a path to something to make this journey worth your time. 

It’s Friday morning, also known as the day I’m supposed to have something up on this blog to take us into the weekend. Insert a bunch of sports metaphors I don’t understand as I drink a cauldron of gas station iced coffee and eat Nerds clusters for breakfast while looking at laundry that needs to be done so it can be packed. I’m listening to Tim Curry’s songs from The Rocky Horror Picture Show on repeat and refusing to cry anymore. I have finally opened the computer and am trying to connect any of these loose threads. Surely that undiagnosed thing that saves my ass when it comes to writing pieces at the last minute will save me again. It’s how I got three degrees after all. 

There’s Nothing Left To Say Though

I also don’t want to try to compete with all of the amazing pieces about these icons written by queer journalists. You should all read some of those if you really want to cry. However, I don’t want to write about how Dolly is part of the reason we had Buffy the Vampire Slayer for seven seasons. Also not into writing a streaming guide about Tim’s many genre films. I am also noticing this has gotten too long for a streaming guide or listicle anyway. Yet, if I don’t do something, then I will have taken everyone into one of my more polite sad spirals for no reason. That’s highly inappropriate for the business page.

A Ranticle Is the Best I Can Do

Maybe this rant/article (can I coin ranticle as a word?) is just words. After all, everything just feels like words now anyway. I write all of the time. Which is part of the reason even I’m sick of seeing me on the social media streets. Still, I don’t have the vocabulary to put together the paragraphs to describe this shit sandwich of a week. 

So, what if this is one of the times I take comfort in being the Co-EIC of a blog? Maybe then I can treat it like…a blog. What if this is just a perfectly imperfect jumble of words? A reminder that life is hard, the wrong people leave us too soon, and it’s okay to steal time to feel feelings. That’s one of the few privileges of being unemployed and (usually) being so ahead that most of my editors aren’t looking for me. I watched Tubi Originals and laughed with a friend while we kept drinking. I tried to capture pictures of last night’s eclipse with my iPhone 11 that reminded me that phone is past its prime. I’ve also been watching Disney Original Halloween films that I skipped as a kid because they were beneath me. I’m finding comfort in the crap.

At Least We Have Horror During Times Like These

The genre is always there waiting to embrace us when things are bad. Things have been especially shitastic this decade, and that’s why it’s flourishing. Articles asking if horror is back always make my eyes twitch because it never went anywhere. If anything, it’s everywhere. So, while I’m not turning to my usual comfort movies (The Autopsy of Jane Doe, As Above, So Below, When a Stranger Calls (1979 film), etc.), I know they’re waiting for me when I can lock in again. I know they’ll distract me from my troubles even if only for 90 minutes. In a frustratingly unfair world that just got a whole hell of a lot colder this week, my genre is there for me. 

As an editor, I’m not going to let a writer (even if it is me) get away with ranticles (I’m keeping that word). I promise this will not become HMB’s standard. Sorry if you stuck this one out, but thank you if you did see it all the way to the end. I’m also sorry that this week was such a punch to the tits as we watched the best of us leave this floating rock when we needed them most. I hope you’re taking care of yourself and watching some comfort crap too. While I didn’t even do the least I could do by providing a streaming guide, we have plenty on the site. Many of them are written by better writers than me. More importantly, most of them weren’t written by people having a moment (looks at my greasy reflection).

We Have To Be Our Own Bad Bitches Now

I’m going to stop holding you hostage while abusing my editor powers. There is more brooding, packing, and attempting to turn stuff into my other editors on my agenda. I hope you stay weird, ungoverned, and kind out there. May you live your life so loud that multiple generations are confused if they want to be you, or be with you. May the youths take your death personally while still chewing on that. After all, Dolly and Tim didn’t both give us 80 years and countless memories for us not to be at least a little extra in their honor.