The clock ticked past 11pm a few minutes ago. It’s been six days since I last posted. I’m not entirely sure where the week went. I haven’t been out running. I haven’t even made it out of the house at lunchtime most days. It’s just been a slog from one day to the next - working, doing chores, and slowly going backwards.
It seems a little ridiculous, listing things I didn’t do - I may as well start writing “I didn’t fly to the moon”, “I didn’t solve general relativity”, or “I didn’t get bitten by a radioactive spider and gain super-powers”.
The whole Peter Parker thing has always mystified me.
How does radioactivity translate into super-powers? It’s almost like the comic-book writers thought “most people are too stupid to realise that if this works, then so does ‘cup of tea girl’, or ‘slightly indecisive man’”. I can only guess at their powers.
I grew up obsessed with monster movies - typically filled with giant ants, spiders, or whatever else radiation had caused to inflate, expand, or explode. Isn’t it interesting how radiation always caused things to become super-sized in old movies? How come there was never a B movie where the US bombed Japan, and then got absolutely decimated by half a million 200 foot tall angry Japanese folk looking for revenge?
I grew up consuming a steady diet of black-and-white science fiction movies. There was invariably a suave leading man, a shapely girl in a short skirt, a robot, an extremely annoying young boy, and a decidedly untrustworthy old scientist whose nefarious plans would lead to all manner of scrapes and disasters.
None of the principal characters ever died. The suave leading man always kissed the girl - causing her to swoon spectacularly. The robot almost always malfunctioned. The scientist invariably got eaten, melted, or fell off something high, or into somewhere deep.
The world used to be so much more simple.
Don’t even get me started with the “Incredible Hulk” always managing to have enough denim jeans left to cover his bits and pieces. Have you ever seen a She-Hulk comic book? Her shirts and knickers were obviously made of the same censorship imbued denim.
Anyway.
Enough idiocy.
I should go sleep. I’ll try and find time over the weekend to empty my head properly, rather than pour further idiocy into the keyboard.