Spelunky Charms

Okay, I'm kidding about that particular book, but I'm still hiding out in a cave rather than interacting with the world yet. Not that it's all bad - Osama bin Laden left a lot of porn in here.

Days continue to pass and I'm hoping that the (too) slow process of healing is happening on some subliminal level even though it doesn't feel like it. And I really am building up a little library of books that purport to help with the process of reinventing your life now that everything, and I mean everything, has changed. Dammit.

One thing the books seem to agree on is that it's important to maintain some sort of contact with other humans. And look - YOU'RE a human and here we are together! It's Kismet! 

And now let me prove that there's nothing much exciting happening around here...

• I continue doing gardening chores for Kathy, even though I don't really enjoy the process yet. I think that maybe I'll learn to, though, once I start getting an idea of what I'm doing. Mind you, I was no stranger to yard work before, but I always operated under expert (and occasionally exasperated) supervision. Still, I've managed to plant four ferns, some ornamental grass, and several pots of petunias. Additionally, I've been watching and watering the new plants and so far they look healthy.

• I still haven't tapped that bottle of 30-year-old Scotch, but intend to one of these days.  Perhaps to toast Daughter J, who is having a birthday in a couple of days. We don't really plan to do anything celebratory because it's going to be a very weird day this year. Still, we'll probably enjoy tasty food from the outside world and probably watch a good horror movie. In times of emotional turmoil, it can be very soothing to watch attractive young people running from maniacs with power tools.

• Speaking of running from maniacs, I've been concerned about a business acquaintance who lives in Ukraine so was greatly relieved to have this message forwarded to me: "Glad to hear from you! You remember that I am from Ukraine! Yes, we have a war that no one expected. Imagine that you live in a developed civilized world, go to cafes, theaters, use Apple, Netflix so on and think that now humanity will begin to explore Mars and suddenly, you are attacked by savages from the last century and they begin to destroy everything with missiles and tanks. So far, it seems to us that we got into the movie "The Man from the High Castle." And you just need to find a portal to return to the usual reality ... Somewhere such feelings. My family and I left Kyiv under bombardment and went to Western Ukraine. The "Russian world" has not reached here yet. I hope it never comes."

• I forget if I mentioned it, but I finally did write up a very negative review of our hospice service and posted it everywhere I could think of. The hospice service replied online that they were sorry I felt dissatisfied and said that they really appreciate feedback to help them provide excellent service and blah, blah, blah. In other words, they blew me off. But that's fine - I had a duty to warn others and now I have.

• My doctor has chosen a "wait and watch" approach to my "in-flight moving" condition, which is fine with me. He also wants to consult with my former neurologist about the highly kinetic Psychoneurological Non-Epileptic Seizures I was having four years ago. Since then, the condition has become much less pronounced but hasn't disappeared completely. Of course, it's not the size of your PNES that matters...

And with that sophomoric attempt at humor, I'm pretty much out of things to say. With the all-important exception that I'm very grateful for the love, laughter, and support you continue to share in the comments section. It means a lot to Daughter J and me!

The Irises Kathy planted are coming up. Purty, ain't they?

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.