I don’t want to die with a shelf of unread books. I bought them to read and, I guess, there’s no excuse not to now, if there ever really was.
No one, in general, has had it as good as Americans have had it while under this quarantine; that’s one of the reasons why this recent push back has hen-pecked me so much. I know this has been too good a time because I am sick of junk food, the couch, and most of all, television. I am sick of Netflix. And I am sick of Tiger King.
While people tend to love the miniseries about the misadventures of Joe Exotic, I thought it was a mediocre true crime podcast come to roaring life in seven parts. But, then again, maybe I’m a bit biased: working here at the Lost Ogle, we continually kept Oklahoma up to date on Exotic—even I wrote a couple of pieces about him—so it absolutely mauls me that do we not get that slightest bit of credit.
But that’s life in Oklahoma, I guess.
I wonder if Tiger King would have been as pop-culturally renowned under normal circumstances; would we have all the Carole Baskin memes and other internet intrusions of everyday life if we, as a quarantined country, weren’t all forced to watch TV at all times during this pandemic? It was just a matter of being in the right place, in the right time.