What's Happening

An entity alleging godhood has claimed responsibility for the bolts of lightening which struck the Capital and the Washington Monument last night. The "god" left a statement saying that this was just a warning shot to the U.S.

What provoked this action? There’s the genocide of the people native to this land, all the enslavement, Jim Crow, KKK, etc. shit, the heinously cruel and absurd misogyny crimes and NOW we’ve reelected Donnie Dipshit, the felonious rapist, racist, conman, and Putin flunky to the highest office in the land?! Yeah, the gods are sick of our insanity and hate.

They’ve had enough and won’t be tolerating much more. Can you blame them? I surely can’t.

Who exactly left the note? Was it Indra, Hindu god of lightning with his trusty thunderbolt, Vajra ? Norse god Thor and his faithful buddy Mjölnir? Zeus, Greek god of lightning and king of the gods? Fulgora, Roman goddess of lightning? Raijin, Japanese god of thunder, lightning, and storms? Possibly the wee missive was left by the christian’s god. Who can say? It’s not like it was signed or maybe the lightning was the signature.

COULD be that the strikes on the Capital and monument were a unanimously approved Gods and Goddesses Union action. I rather suspect this is the case.

Here in Valhalla, how did we mark the end of 2024? I didn’t throw any bolts but I did have an excellent physical therapy session. After my last unfortunate time I decided to just see how things went. Would my PT be an asshole again? Would she be treating me like a dimwit once more? If so, I figured I’d just halt the session, state that we didn’t seem to communicate well, and that it would be best if I saw a different therapist. Calm, direct, brief. Also, happily, unnecessary. Maybe, last time I was in, Amy was just having a truly wretched day? Possibly I remind her of a hated auntie from childhood. Who knows?

Afterwards, the two Valhallan households got Mexican take-out and watched Earth Girls Are Easy. I hadn’t watched it since it first came out in 1988. That’s 36 years ago! Damn, I feel old. The flick was dated but still fun. One of my favorite bits was Julie Brown’s song 'Cause I'm A Blonde. Also, I may have mentioned this before but, Jeff Goldblum is quite the handsome fellow. Woof!

What’s the main business that I accomplished in ’24? I didn’t die. Pretty neat huh?

I had dental surgery in May. Later the same month I had a huge fucking tumor removed from the front of my brain (eighth all time bean op and third since 2020). Recovery’s been slow as frozen molasses rolling uphill in January. I’m seven months post-op and not where I want to be physically...YET.

But HEY, I’m alive AND rolling.

Gemma Correll

EEEEEEEP!

I have a birthday coming up…tomorrow actually. It’s a big one too—65. EEEEEEEP!

This is the average lifespan for someone with my extra special, rare disease—neurofibromatosis type 2. Clearly, I’m not dead yet. This is good news, yes?

To be honest, I’m a bit surprised about this. After these past few years—all the mega huge surgeries (4, count ‘em, 4!), proton radiation, chemo, eye procedures and endless rehab—I wouldn’t have bet on me. But, fuck man, I’m still here. How ‘bout that!?

Oh, speaking of endless rehab, my current physical therapist feels that I AM making progress after all and is looking into scheduling me for more appointments (versus cutting me off at the end of the month). I hate PT but I need it and it’s most awesome to finally see some positive results.

~~~
I saw this yesterday—I want to be 15 again and ruin my life differently. I have new ideas. To be abundantly clear, I do NOT want to go back to my teen years //shudder// at least not in a permanent way. It’d be interesting to pop in and out though. Ya know, undo/avoid a few embarrassing situations here and there.

If I could go back to any decade, would I? Maybe my 30s and up from there.
~~~
I just finished one of Tim Dorsey’s Serge Storms mystery/adventure/wild rides. Serge is sort of like Dexter but instead of creatively killing murderers who’ve managed to dodge justice, Serge imaginatively offs unrepentant, entitled bullies and other complete assholes who should never have been born. He’s brilliant, funny, wildly creative, has an immense wealth of knowledge about his beloved home state of Florida and he’s the most unlikely good guy you may ever come across.

Here are three lines that hit me:

Remember the key to life…always act like you deserve to be here.
(TRUTH!)

Far too quickly we grow into jaded adults and lose our appreciation for silliness.
(silly is good—stay silly.)

You never stop being Catholic. It’s like the Mafia or Amway.
(you can leave the church {as I did}, but the shame and pain inflicted by the nuns, takes time and a lot more effort to ditch.)
~~~
An important message from The Beaverton:

NASA warns alien life may not be fuckable

NASA’s interstellar sexual health spokesperson, Clarice Kravult, decried the golden age of Sci-fi in the 60s and 70s for creating unrealistic templates for attractive aliens:

“Horny writers who were paid by the word to appeal to teenagers set a standard that lingers to this day,” Clarice explained. “Do not expect aliens to be ageless nymphic figures that are fascinated by our naive ways, or statuesque stoic warriors who somehow find nebbish heroes charming.”  (source)

Well, there goes thousands of adolescent dweeb’s fantasies. Consider this a public service announcement. You're welcome.
~~~
That’s it from me today. It’s now time to do a few balance exercises, perform acts of hygiene and entertain Cake (aside from constant pats, he enjoys playing the occasional game of Monopoly—he always wins. I think he cheats.)

Approaching Lightness

Flowering Boston from years past

I did REALLY good yesterday – I promised myself that I wouldn’t obsessively haunt the news sites for election updates and results. In fucking fact, I didn’t even look at all! Nope, not once. Instead, I worked, painted, took a walk and, just generally, had a life outside my fears. Awesome, n'est-ce pas?

I should do more of this. Mind you, I can't holiday from reality every day since I DO need to know what’s what and shit BUT having a couple news-free days a week could be excellent for my discombobulated, rat-ass health.

On Monday I had my second Spaulding Rehab session and, unlike the first appointment, it went GREAT – gangbusters even. I got back on the recumbent elliptical (for five whole minutes) and it felt SPECTACULAR. I’m now cleared to elliptical on my own – YEA! I can also walk on the indoor track (I did two laps Monday – an eighth of a mile!). Ten has to be with me though. Basically, I need a babysitter (I much prefer the term”spotter” or, better still “chaperon”) because I tend to ambulate too damn fast. This means I’m not getting a solid equilibrium work out PLUS, going all rápida ups my ever present splat possibilities.

Jackie, had me on some weight machines for my legs too. I need a minder for these as well since I’ve demonstrated a tendency to keep going/NOT stop after the advised number of reps. (10 versus ∞).

So, this second session felt like a solid breakthrough. I’m not back at 100% – not by a long shot BUT I’m now, at least, on the road. Yea me!

I feel like I can make fun plans again like, taking the T into the Public Garden later this month to see (and snap) the first flowers of spring (Daffodils! Crocus!). Maybe, if my energy holds, we could walk up through the Back Bay to check out all the gorgeous blooming dogwoods too.

Clearly it’s not just Monday’s breakthrough perking me up, it’s the imminent arrival of spring too. I’m feeling a bit of hope for myself, my stupid health AND the country.

One of my GIANT fears has been that the Treasonweasel in the White House will find a way to cancel November’s election (where he and his BFF Mitch of Moscow will lose BIGLY – vote for Amy!). Maybe he will or will try to BUT with his big-ass fumbling of Afghanistan, the Coronavirus  (he puts Dense-Science? Who needs science when we can just pray it away!-Pence in charge – christ almighty, what a maroon) AND his ongoing catastrophically cruel, stupid, lie filled, nazis-on-meth family separation policy, on top of his other mondo incompetencies and crimes…I suspect that only the most sycophantically imbecilic Republi/Fascist congresscritters will support this. (Maine Senator Susan Collins will be “concerned” though)

Dunno, I think it’s more likely that he’ll just round up his usual gang of shysters, sharks and reality twisting slicks and attempt to litigate/buy his way out, as uszh. I don’t see him doing a runner, decamping to Moscow. That’s not where his cult, his fans live, there's no gold paint covered Trump Tower there either AND I think he's aware that Putin doesn't REALLY like him. Call it a hunch – look at the pics of them together. 45 knows that Vlad's not gonna put a ring on it.

So yeah – I'm feeling a tad more like myself again – YIPPEE!

Geek Alert!

You know that I don’t watch much TV, right? I can’t deal with all the commercials and I’m too old to see paying for it as anything but a big fat ripoff. Jen, Oni and I DO watch on the weekend when we have our “High Teas” though.

Given this, it’s no surprise that I’ve only yesterday watched the first episode of Star Trek: Discovery and, holy fucking WOW, it IS awesome!

The show begins, not on the Discovery but the Shenzhou with Captain Georgiou (played by Michelle Yeoh of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon fame) at the helm. 

They’re checking out a wonked up satellite at the far end of Federation space when First Officer Burnham (played by Walking Dead star Sonequa Martin-Green) comes upon a Klingon ship AND, unsurprisingly, duh, there's a Klingon out for a spacewalk. He attacks and, in her effort to escape, she offs the dude. This does NOT make the Shenzhou especially popular with the Klingons.

Now then, the show is set ten years before the original Captain Kirk series (set in the 23rd century). Klingons are still the bad guys, still warring with the Federation – the Treaty of Alliance is another century off.

Here’s the deal, these pre-Alliance dudes are something radically special. They’re beyond Worf brown. They’re a brill, lustrous obsidian Black and they are beautiful. Scary as hell too.

There’s one albino Klingon who is so pale, so amazingly white – his skin is shimmeringly iridescent. Because he is so radically different, Voq was an outcast and felt he had a LOT to prove. There’s a scene where he’s petitioning the head Klingon, T’Kuvma, for the chance to do some important but sehr dangerous revenge-on-the-Federation shit. T’Kuvma is so kind, so open, so unprejudiced. 

The original Trek ep Let That Be Your Last Battlefield came to mind.

I’m thinking that between Number One and Captain Georgiou, both female and NOT Caucasian and the Klingon convo, this show’s gonna be fantastically egalitarian AND asshole-boy challenging – this. on top of the fabola stories AND visuals. NO cabbage was spared in doing up the sets, costumes, makeup, special effects and general cinematography. This is one wildly gorgeous show.

Oh, another thing – apparently Burnham/Number One, born human, was raised on Vulcan by Sarek – Spock’s daddy – after her parents were offed by Klingons. Yes, Number One is Spock’s adopted sister! TOO damn COOL!

Oh yeah, we’re also deeply into the series Lucifer.

Bored with being the Lord of Hell, the devil relocates to Los Angeles, where he opens a nightclub and forms a connection with a homicide detective. (source) 

The show’s intriguing, witty as fuck, twisty, human and just flat out fab.

I can’t wait for Tea Time today!

My Personal Superheroes and Fairy Godsisters

The Mega Awesome Doctor Schoenbaum

I’m not a sparkly, stripling of a lass anymore, don’cha know. I’ve seen a few zillion sunrises in my time.

What? I’ve shocked you to your very core? You were blissfully unaware?

It’s true, it’s true but you’d never know it given my firmly entrenched. persistent belief in my, purely mythical, Mister Spock-ness.

He was my solid fav on Star Trek, with his logic, reason and rejection of messy emotions. I wanted to BE Spock. So strong and sturdy, so much on the rational, even keel.

No, no, don’t be throwing All Our Yesterdays , Amok Time and The Naked Time to me! These are anomalous red herrings! Oh yes they are.

In any case, this has been one hell of a week. My sad lack of Spock-ness has bit me in the ass.

Pourquoi?

1) I’ve been putting in a lot of extra hours at work, doing new, fun but very challenging stuff. I’ve felt like I was tap dancing on a cliff edge -- always so close to certain fuck up.

2) My trike broke -- I NEED that trike! A big piece needed to be welded. ‘the hell?! So I’ve been doing long, fast walks, even tried running. What can I show for this? Shin splints!

3) Some nasty-ass infection invaded my lady parts and that’s all I’ll say about that. OK and this: EWWWW and OUCH!

and then, then

4) the one year anniversary of mia madre’s expiration came. I didn’t think this date would phase me? Warum? Aside from my dimwitted belief that I’m all Spock and shit, I thought ‘Mother and I weren’t close.’

True and not true. We were spectacularly different but quite alike. She didn’t understand me at all yet, at times, yes she undeniably did. Our style choices were light years apart...except where they firmly overlapped.

So yeah, I’ve been full of memories and a little down and bummed this week.

This is where my personal Superheroes and Fairy Godsisters stepped in to save the day.

Paula, my boss, pal and total Fairy Godsister

I usually trike to work. Monday, I walked in, swearing up a storm about my broken steed and asked her if she knew of any good welders (she knows everyone). Her reply? ‘Let’s have Larry look at it.’ Larry’s her husband. I think this makes him my Fairy Godfather.

The weld is done and I can pick up my gorgeous orange stallion this morning!

Wendy, Bartender of the Gods

I walked in to the Frog and Peach and said ‘Today is the one year anniversary of my mother’s exit from this good life -- can you make me something special and unique to the occasion’ (or words to that effect).

And she did -- it was something with pear vodka and Saint Germaine (whoa -- dead saint in my drink -- fabulous!) with a champagne floater (‘the hell is this floater stuff? beach toys? drowned beings as in ‘we’ve got a floater?’)

It was magnificent!

My PCP (primary care physician), GP (general practitioner), whatever they’re called now, Doctor Amy Schoenbaum.

I walked in to my last minute appointment, toting what I was certain was a terminal case of Hoo Haa Jungle Rot and feeling all squeamish and embarrassed about it -- as though I’d done something spazoid to bring this on. (Spock would never have felt like this. It’s illogical!) What did I have? Yeast infection.

One of the things I love about Doc Schoenbaum is that she gets me. When I shouted ‘the fuck?! I haven’t had one of those since the Carter administration!,' she laughed. And prescribed some Magic Rapid Acting Wonder Cure cream.

That and she walked in to the exam room in a witch costume! You know, it being Halloween and all.

I have some most def, totes  rockin' superheroes in my life!

I Want To Ride My Tricycle, Tricycle, Tricycle

More beauty

Morning ride beauty

Back in late August I posted the good news, the results from my annual Brain Pit Stop -- instead of refueling and tire changes I get MRIs, audiograms for the deaf (big fun. like taking a calc test when you’re only able to do basic addition) and visits with my brain minders Dr. Plotkin (neurologist) and Dr. McKenna (Neurotologist).

While seeing Dr. Plotkin we talked about the big, hairy need to reduce my robust, zaftig, voluptuous even, stress levels.

As I wrote then, exercise is the key, the big winner. Antidepressants don’t work for me. I’ve tried a wide variety and they all just leave me with sundry levels of enervation. Aerobic activity, a daily drill, getting off my fat arse and moving about brings up my moods/evens them out, clears my nasty ass sinuses and, funny this, gives me MORE energy.

We have a treadmill but, ya know, that’s not exactly fun. It’s like taking a dose of not totally vile but still more brussel sprouty than tiramisu-like, medicine.

Yep, clearly I want everything. Exercise should be fun. Dr. P recommended a recumbent trike. Exercise yes but fun. I was mega psyched and began researching cost and where to buy.

I found the same sad news everywhere I looked -- these wondrous hoopla machines, these implements of stress reduction start, START, in the $800 - $1000 territory and go up into the 5G range. I went by a few local bike shops figuring, if I’m gonna make this kind of major investment, I need to test drive one or three. I got the same answer at every store -- they don’t keep recumbent trikes in stock since they’re so very expensive and not huge sellers to boot. All offered to order me one. All I could do was snort and let them know that, if I can’t test ride, I’m not parting with those big buckos.

I was feeling all sad, blue and bummed when I got the sudden, way brill inspiration (yes, it was like a lightening bolt hitting me) to look for used trikes on Craig’s List and eBay. People are forever buying exercise equipment that they use for a month before it becomes a coat rack or a dirty clothes tree.

I found one, right off, on eBay for $300. I still would have liked to test ride BUT, for $300, I could take the chance. A week later my wheels arrived and, mega sigh, it was a child’s trike.

Much self-berating followed -- ‘of course it was so much less expensive -- it’s a child size! God, I’m an imbecile!’ To be fair to myself (which I do on the stray, odd occasion) the listing was in with a bunch of adult trikes and didn’t say anywhere that it was kid size. Of course, neither did the listing specify ‘adult.’

In any case, Jen calmed me down with this very smart idea -- email the company, see if they make an adult version and will let you exchange. Wow and DUH, TOO easy!

My trike! Clearly I need to fly a pirate flag off this baby.

And it was. I’d never dealt with sellers on eBay before and had just assumed it would be horribly difficult and disappointing. Nope. The folks at Fuhua Sports in Southern Cal were awesome. They responded to my emails quickly, professionally and warmly. My bright orange adult trike was here within two weeks.

Mein Gott, this is a total blast and a half! Except for the fact that my legs are doing a splendid Jello impression after the rides, this doesn’t feel like exercise at all. Seriously, I feel like I’m cheating. Yesterday morning I collapsed on the bed post ride and announced to The Amazing Bob, ‘god, that was MAGNIFICENT!’

Recumbent bikes and trikes are still unusual in these parts so I get loads of grins and waves as I speed down our Hough’s Neck streets. I feel like a one woman happy parade.

Out of the Blue

I never assume anyone ‘speaks’ my new language, American Sign Language. I never figure that most folks know how to finger spell -- because they don’t.

 Still, as I clock more days, months years in the no-hear zone, even with my roots well within reality, I find myself fully expecting most folks to know even just a wee bit.

Seriously, I’ve come THIS close (picture 2 laminated sheets of paper OR anyone, of any gender, allowed to stand as close to Penélope Cruz as they wanted -- how close would that be) when unable to lipread one of the Powers That Be at work to telling, (not asking), them to sign it. I mean...sheesh...doesn’t everybody sign?! Ah, not so much.

Lip reading is one of those Jedi arts that most of us painfully human sorts can’t fully, 100% totally master -- not in this or the next 12 lifetimes anyway. Normally I’ll say/ask ‘I’m not catching that third word/that last phrase, can you use other words/say it differently?’

Get a partner and try this out (no, really. I’ll wait...........................................)

OK, ready?

Say ‘sheep’ without using your voice and DON’T tell them the word before you say it. Did your friend get it? No? Try ‘lamb.’ Any better? OK how ‘bout ‘vermin’ -- now say ‘vomit.’ ‘Bark’ versus ‘growl?’ ‘Extraordinary’ versus ‘extortion? You see where I’m going, si? A lot of words look way too similar to call.’ Try ‘nachos’ as opposed to ‘crudités.’ OK, bad example (we'll take 'nachos' on most any day)

Meanwhile back at work, if I still can’t get it, I hand over pen and paper and ask them to write it down, bitte. This all seems to work fairly well.

Today though -- a bit of surprise.

A delivery guy stops by my desk on his way to the loading dock. This big, burly mountain of a man, dressed in an oil stained adult onsie (OK, overalls) comes up and says something to me. I was busy as hell, didn’t catch what he was after -- told him I was deaf, asked him to write his need down and I’d be happy to assist (‘happy’ -- my default state or so it seems).

Did he take the pad and pen? NO, meine freunde, he began signing his request to me!!! Easy as you please, the man switched from spoken English to ASL. You wanna know how accustomed I am to that? NOT AT ALL! 

Pretty sure I’d have been less stunned had he broken out in a chorus, plus dancing, of Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend.

Naturally, I asked him where he learned sign (community college) and why (girlfriend’s sister is deaf). What a nice, NICE guy he was!

Damn, that small connection today was better than getting a surprise bouquet of bright, warm daisies.

Unexpected and just fabulous.