In-Flight Moving

"This is your captain speaking. We're not actually moving yet."

It's been a while since I've mentioned my "wobbly floors" problem, but it's never gone away. Nor has it changed much; some days it's very minor and other days (like today) it's more annoying. I'll finally be able to consult my doctor about it next week, but I think I've identified my malady by searching the Internet (doctors love it when you do that!).

Unfortunately, the condition has a French name that makes it sound sort of candy-assed: "Mal de Disembarquement Syndrome." According to Google, it's "a rare and poorly understood disorder of the vestibular system that results in a phantom perception of self-motion typically described as rocking, bobbing, or swaying. The symptoms tend to be exacerbated when a patient is not moving, for example when seated or standing still."

As you can guess from the name, this is an affliction usually associated with disembarking from a ship or jet and then still feeling like your body is in motion. It can also happen spontaneously. And it tends to just go away in a couple of hours for most people...except when it doesn't. It's also most common in women, so perhaps I've been a little too confident in my gender self-assessment up until now.

One of the treatments for the condition is to actually put the patient on a jet or ship, after which in some cases the symptoms disappear upon disembarkment. Or, if you land in gay Paree, disembarquement. So maybe Medicare should just put my happy ass in a first-class jet seat to some tropical resort for awhile. Although the way the government spends money, I'll probably end up getting an open-air ride with a crop duster.

In other news...

• It's now been a full month since we lost Kathy. Daughter J and I are doing reasonably well all considered, although the whole surreal situation still sucks and hurts like bejeezus. I've barely made a dent in all the things that need to be done, but I've made a serious dent in our grocery store's junk food aisle. I've fallen into an unfortunate habit of binge-eating and have put on almost 20 pounds. Fortunately, if inflation continues to be a factor I soon won't be able to afford the vast quantity of barbecue chips and Nutty Buddy bars that my psyche is prompting me to gorge on.

• For those of you who haven't read the comments section from my last post, The Mysterious Interview went well last week and it looks like I'll be in the upcoming documentary at least a wee bit. And while it's fun to be vague about the details of the documentary, there are also a couple of pragmatic reasons that I'm not saying much yet. The first is that I signed a non-disclosure agreement. The second is that I don't want the "cancel culture" cultists to associate this blog (and other politically incorrect aspects of my life) with what I was doing 30 years ago. But all can be revealed when the documentary airs in August.

And by the way, the 30-year-old bottle of Scotch didn't even get opened. The documentary crew decided they wanted to do a little more shooting at another location and it didn't seem like a good idea, liability-wise, to be pouring alcohol into them before they hit the road. SOooo, that pricey bottle of Scotch is now a family heirloom or an investment or something. If I ever tap it, I'll certainly give a review here.

• I'm still avoiding the news in general because, and please correct me if I'm wrong, it still sounds incredibly stupid and depressing. I did see that Joe Biden is going to help out America's working class by authorizing the sale of E15 gasoline that will be a dime a gallon cheaper because it's 15% ethanol made from preposterously expensive corn subsidized by our tax dollars. Granted, "gasoline" with that much ethanol will damage most internal combustion engines and cause gaskets and other parts to fail, but there's absolutely no other alternative to bring down gas prices. Well, other than to repeal the Biden policies that have ruined America's energy independence. Or maybe just knock a dime off the damn federal taxes on gasoline. But hey, destroying engines is good too.

• And finally, because we desperately need something colorful to break up all this text, I was recently browsing video projectors on Amazon and had a genuine WTF moment when looking at this ad promising "greater enjoyment" of what's on the screen...

And this, my friends, is why I drink cheap Scotch.

A Fool and His Money Are Soon Partied

Today has the makings of being an interesting day. Because today is when the Jarlsberg home will be visited by filmmaking strangers (wearing masks, thank you) to shoot me for that semi-mysterious documentary I've mentioned here a few times. 

By pure chance, today is ALSO the 30th anniversary of an event that is the core of the documentary - an event in which I played a major role. So I told the documentary folks that we could share a toast to the occasion (an old friend once told me "caring means sharing"), and I'll be damned if I'm pouring Inver House, "The Scotch The Clan MacGregor Scrapes Off Its Shoe," for people who've flown hundreds of miles for my convenience (and charming personality and propensity for making libelous remarks).

No, it seemed like a 30-year old Scotch was called for. And let me tell you, friends, Scotch that old gets expensive really fast.  You can pick up a nice bottle of Glenfiddich for $900, a tasty Balvenie for $2000, or a lip-smacking Macallan Fine Oak 30 for a trifling $7,600.

Obviously, I didn't buy any of those things. Rather, I found the cheapest 30-year old Scotch within driving distance and, after watching an assessment on the Youtube "Half-Assed Scotch Review" channel that declared it really tasty, I bought a bottle to share with the documentarians.

At about $200, I guess it's a steal - though it's a bit painful to think about the fact that the same money could have kept me in Clan MacGregor for a year or more. Still, 30th anniversaries only come around so often, and if the cameras happen to be rolling I can look like a big spender.

Which would technically be a big media lie, but hardly the first one.

It's Random Wednesday!

Okay, there's really no such thing as "Random Wednesday" but I felt like visiting with you and have only random things to talk about. For instance...

• Will Smith is in the news, which allows me to tell my only Will Smith story. Years ago here in the Dallas area, I was just wrapping up a recording session for the Chuck E. Cheese singing/joking robots and hauling my stuff out of the studio control room when Will Smith and his entourage came in to record some damn thing. And I don't want to say he found me physically intimidating but he sure as hell didn't try to bitch slap me. (Hey, I didn't say it was a great Will Smith story.)

• Several weeks ago, Kathy tasked me with planting some flowers and bulbs in a little garden area we'd recently put in, but I was clueless about where to start (although she was quite specific about what she wanted to be done). I kept asking a neighbor questions and, perhaps because she got sick of my blithering ignorance, a little group of neighbors is coming over on Friday to do all the planting (and provide the necessary plants and supplies) to make a nice little memorial garden that everyone can enjoy seeing when they pass by our house...

Granted, it's a pretty narrow bed (just the area between the windows, which was perhaps more suitable for burying a python) so the neighbors probably won't be adding any life-sized statues of angels blowing trumpets or Wizard of Oz-style columns of fire. I'll have to add those later.

• On an unrelated note, some time ago I mentioned that I might be appearing in an upcoming documentary scheduled for national broadcast later this year. When things turned crazy here, it didn't seem like I'd be able to participate, but now the documentary makers are planning on making a special trip here to interview me in a week or so. 

If I say so myself, I'm one of the world's foremost authorities on the cultural phenomenon the documentary is about. And no, I'm not saying what that is just yet, but I hope you'll eventually be surprised if not flat out flabbergasted. I'm looking forward to finally getting a chance to share my perspective and memories. And also glad that I'll have a strict deadline for cleaning my house and office so I don't look like a complete mental case with a hoarding disorder on national TV.

• I still don't know what the heck I'm going to be blogging about here in the future (it has to be FUNNY, dammit, and suggestions are welcome) but I think I'll officially start posting to Johnny Optimism again starting Monday. Which should come as great news to the 25 people who actually read it.