There are some moments where you remember exactly where you were and what you were doing. Like the exact nightmare I had the night after I watched Barbie and the Nutcracker for the first time (terrifying movie) or the phenomenal atmosphere of the 2018 RnV countdown (back when they could count). And itβs got me thinking about what Iβll remember from quarantine when I whip out some embellished βWell, back in MY dayβ stories to torture the future grandkiddies.
Thing is, iso has been, actually, not that bad. Iβve βsampledβ a lot of wine I canβt afford – shout out to the Man OβWar 2019 pinot gris, bellissimo – and the postgrad workload has definitely kept boredom at bay. Never time for a dull moment.
The real win, though, has been music. Specifically, the vast amount of time available to explore every nook and cranny of Spotify. Iβve listened to every Red Hot Chili Peppers album inside and out. Iβve been refamiliarised with the genius of blues legends, like Muddy Waters. Iβve combed through rock of the mid 60s-70s, bled the vaults of Radio Hauraki dry, and listened to more Rage Against the Machine than any sane person should. My DnB playlists are filthed up, and Iβve been purified with happy tears listening to Temple of the Dogβs Hunger Strike an obscene number of times over. Itβs been epic.
So as shitty as this situation is, cheers to music. For everything. And cheers to the higher powers that be for inventing Mick Jagger.
Amene.
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