I am coming off of a massive dopamine binge. Live music, chilling with friends, arts and crafts, guava sorbet, a four-digit windfall. Plus I have just earned every one of the rewards listed in my “things I’m buying myself if I finish slogging through these Hugo nominees” schedule. Tonight I’m going out for the bath bomb and the fried shrimp; the concert ticket is already in my queue; and Captain Labubu will soon be sailing west from my awesome pal Toy Dealer Kevin in Texas.
The new onset of positive brain chemicals helped me deal with that other novella (The River Has Roots) from a positive headspace, and realize it was actually a very good story rehashing an old style that I initially mistook for a derivative story trying to cosplay a more interesting one.
That’s actually Automatic Noodle, a scatology-focused ripoff of classic film Tampopo littered with weeaboo cringe and touchy-feely robots by a former baitlord from the Gawker empire, a tiresome read that’s more about evaporating dopamine than generating it.
The only positive thing I can say about this one is “I’m sure glad my chores are over so I can go back to reading for pleasure.”
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