I am not a fan of pandemic or zombie movies, but I've gotten hooked on the apocalyptic thriller Happiness, which depicts a post-Covid Korea in which an experimental pneumonia treatment drug turns people into crazy blood-drinking zombies. At the end of the last episode the two cop lead characters are now quarantined in a massive apartment complex in which most of the rich residents have been taking the illegal drug which they believe will help them with weight loss. It's currently airing in real time in Korea, so I can only watch an episode after a couple of days when the subtitles have been added on Viki.com, but holy cow, it's really good.
This was our little Thanksgiving dinner last year, when it was just the three of us. Time keeps whittling down my favorite holiday; this year it will be just me and my guy, and we likely won't even have a turkey.* That will be a first in 35 years. I feel about Thanksgiving the way other people do about Christmas, and while it's a lot of work it's my favorite holiday. Of all the Thanksgivings I've had in the past sixty years, only three were truly terrible: one when I was a kid that I don't talk about (#1 most miserable); the time I roasted two turkeys together and hosted fifteen people whom I cooked for and served with zero help (the largest and #2 most miserable); and the one I spent in basic training (the #3 most miserable.) I have no pictures of any of those, thank heavens. In addition to doing all the cooking I'm the one who takes all the pictures, washes all the dishes and puts away all the leftovers. I suppose no one else cares because to them it...
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