While watching "Homeland" yesterday - and I'm up to speed - I recalled The Libertines' song "I Get Along"; in the middle of the track, the music suddenly dies while Carl Barât slurs "Fuck it." Well, if that's how I'm supposed to feel about the rest of "Homeland", go ahead, because that's what I feel. What happened? How did the series utterly putrefy in season three? Not that I care, because the caring part of me died while watching the incessant cuts between Carrie's and Dana's ((If that's her name - I really can't be bothered to look it up, but I mean Brody's daughter.)) facial denominations, ranging between twitchy and lax, respectively.
Still, The Libertines. I recalled them this morning as I found myself splayed under my bed while X slept. My mobile phone wake-up alarm had gone off, but the phone wasn't where it usually is; it was far under the bed, under a sleeping X. So, I carefully extracted two of the boxes under the bed, dodged dust, saw the phone at the far end of the bed which meant that one of two things had to happen: either I had to wake up X and ask her to get up, move the bed, and retrieve the phone, to everybody's chagrin; or I could put on my catman suit and act like I've been doing Ashtanga yoga for 20 years and spider up; needless to say, I went for the latter. Imagine yours truly holding a dust sweeper in one hand, trying to get hold of a phone that's stuck far away, while my cat circled my head, jumping on top of me, going "MmmrrrrrrRRRgh?" as though she pondered what the fuck I was doing; well, that semi-made us two.
I was surprised that X didn't wake up. And actually, having retrieved the phone - before the alarm rang out a second time, yeay - I felt like a winner ((Makes me recall Beck's "Loser"; "I'm a driver. I'm a winner. Things are gonna change, I can feel it.")) and in my head Carlos Barât kept singing "Get along, get along, getalong" over and over. Now, that's a great start of a day.