Keep your hands to yourself

Location: Rat's nest
Condition: Tired but wired
Beverage: Decaf PG Tips
Recently read reading material: Fall Carleton Voice

About which this post is. Not the TSA groping, as the title may have led you to believe.

Don't get me wrong. Carleton was stellar. My only "academic" complaint would be that somebody who worked as little as I did shouldn't have gotten my GPA. My classes could have been a little more hard core, but I think that they had to be dumbed down just a smidge to accommodate for how bad some people's French and Spanish language skills were. Both my "science for dummies" classes kicked my ass, as did Chaucer. I hate the Canterbury Tales and I hate the kind of English they're written in and I think it sounds stupid when you pronounce it correctly. So there.

People at Carleton were cool: nice and smart and liberal. BUT. There was a vibe going around that made me cringe. A lot of people there were way too touchy-feely for my taste. Those of you that know me (everyone who reads this) know that I am not this way. Please do not offer me a backrub, greasy creepy druid. (And please, 4th Hue neighbor, please for all that is holy, do not approach me to participate in the back rub "chain".) Please do not meow at me as you give me a bone-crushing hug, VAXlab dude. (What oh what was I doing "working" at the VAXlab?) I have had to mentally block out other examples.

So anyway, what do I read in the shiny new Voice? Carleton students challenged the guinness record for: most populous group SPOONING! Over 500 students (I think this would have to be about 20% of the student body) gathered in the Bald Spot (self-explanatory name), lay down, and "spooned" with their arms around the person in front of them. This lasted for about 5 minutes. As I say OOOOOOOOOOOOOO-NO, I am also signing it in American Sign Language. How typical, yet how wrong. How glad I am that this did not happen 15 years ago when I could have been there to witness it. Ughety ugh, ugh ugh.

PS: Mac Shack Man

Medical update:
Visual: My gut, not very attractive at the best of times, is covered in big purple bruises. This is thanks to low whites (need for jabs) and low platelets (easy bruising). Some very short hair on my head. Lots of nasty extra skin hanging down due to too-rapid sickie-related weight loss. Crone-like puckering around the mouth. This is ugly.
Mental: Not bad, perhaps thanks to happy pills.
Ospedale: Back on Friday. If I need platelets, I will have to check in, will probably waste the weekend there, miss the arrival of the handyman.
Jelly legs: Check.
Next mustardy chemo: 2 weeks?

Lest you should get the impression from the above that I am limping lamely but surely towards death's doorstep, I include a photo from the KAS archives to prove I am happy (jutting-out chin indicates I am smiling) and absorbing maximum Kazzie power on an almost daily basis! Here we are seen in our viewing station (peanut gallery), from which we watch others do housework. We offer moral support and commentary.


So it sounds like the handyman is going to work one of his crazy detox, exercise, cleanse, whatever regimens when he gets here. He is also going to help me start getting a little exercise myself to facilitate the passage of no power jelly legs to amazing Kazzie-power strength. Speaking of exercise, G and the Spaz, the two of them have decided to become training buddies (G's suggestion, no objection from the joey). I don't know if G will be able to keep up because she is strong. Really strong. And she has been doing calisthenics every morning for the past 16 weeks whereas the handyman has been playing with pumpkins. (Just kidding no offense to the Greatest Glow on Earth!!!)

Let's keep embarrassing the handyman now that we know he reads the blog.
Ya know how I always say things come full circle. Well, my sibs have both been involved in the Christmas light business in the past, and there's a chance G will pick it up again next holiday season. And guess who's gonna be out in the cold on the perch wrapping branches while yours truly sits on her backside drinking hot spiced apfel sapf? (And holding the joey while K gets roped into helping.) Anyway, full circle. The following pic was lifted from the perch and scanned recently.
The handyman testing the lights our first Christmas in Wilmette. Full circle. Don't worry--we got rid of that carpeting as soon as the still-packed boxes were out of the living room.

commentarios

When Lou first started this blog, no one knew the address, so it was kind of like a personal diary which I knew no one read. Now at least ten people that I know read it at least occasionally, but there are almost never any comments. And when there are, it's always the same people (who I love and appreciate). It's like a voidy vacuum that isn't. Granted the things I talk about do not inspire much controversy. But it feels like when Korye and I hosted the radio show "Talk It Up" and nobody would call in. Then I'd meet some random person who would tell me they listened to the show, but we never knew that because we didn't get the feedback.

So I think the solution is to write a very controversial entry which is bound to pull people out of the woodwork. Something really shocking. I will mull this over and prepare for it. Right now I do not know what it could be but be warned that it'll be a shocker...You will be forced to comment. I mean, on fb people say the most mundane things and get like 8 comments. My NJ cuz J says "TGIF" and gets 16 responses. What is up with that?!?!?!

Maybe the answer is to be mundane. And maybe give a little personal info to make it spicy. Here goes:

My least favorite tile in mahjong is the bird. I hate it and try to get rid of the two stupid pairs as quickly as possible. My next least favorite is the black dragon, followed by the red one.

I think the numbers in sudoku have personalities. The 7 is a pilot, and sort of scary. The 6 and 9 are austere, and the 3 is kind of slutty. Will Shortz, you have seriously imbalanced my mental condition.

I sit alone in the rat's nest. All the balcony doors are open. It is really cold but I don't want to close them. I want to hold on to the idea of nice weather a bit longer. My fingers are numb as they stick out of the sleeves of the pumpkin show sweatshirt and try to type.

Fun Kazzie Facts

from the rat's nest,
home of the Auntie,
who, undeniably, gave an interesting (second, unfortunately) name to her niece,
as you will soon read

1) Saint Kazzie was a great beauty and pursued by the emperor of Constantinople. She rejected him for the monastic life so she could focus on her music. She is the most important and prolific female hymnographer in the Byzantine tradition and her works survive to this day.

2) The Kazzie tree is a brilliant plant specimen, with colors ranging from pink to purplish to yellow. It graces tropical climates with its cascading blooms.
It also provides us with:

3) Kazzie cinnamon, a favorite spice around the world!
4) In the Old Testament, Kazzie (Keziah), one of Job's daughters, is a symbol of equality among women.

5) There are three cool Kazzie ancestors in Dappy's family tree!

6) And now a descendant:
Off I go to get my fix as soon as the washer finishes (2.25-hour cycle, which always surprises United Statesians). Speaking of washing, yesterday I had enough power to wash a few dishes and change the cover on a queen-sized comforter. Evil side effects be gone!!!

A long time ago

Reminiscences from the rat's nest,
after a brilliant overnight at the priests' hole (details to follow)

So we used to spend all our summers here, never went to camp, never did the family trips to the Grand Canyon (must visit the GC--I am borderline obsessed with going there), would always hit the Dells off-season. We came to Diak, to our rented flat within walking distance of the beach, turned brown as nuts, and returned to the Chicago environs in time for school to start. We were lucky to squeeze in some time in New Jersey some summers. I remember a lot of bike riding and working on my cousin Nick's bottle-top collection and playing with the other summer renter kids. No organized fun, just summer chaos alternating with summer lethargy.

One year, however, our landlady and some other neighborhood ladies planned something special. We were to have a mock baptism with all the trimmings. And in an Orthodox baptism there are lots of trimmings. The babies in question were a couple of little plastic dolls, which got slathered in olive oil and dressed in little white outfits. There were candied almonds and little crosses pinned on our fronts. We seem to be in our Sunday best, all participating in the ceremony. K (in Mom's emergency black funeral dress) as priest:

G as godfather:

Me as involved onlooker (saying goodness knows what with my hands):
I remember how much fun we had getting ready for all this and how our moms thought it was so cute that all the neighborhood kids were participating, and we took it kinda seriously, too, with K probably reading a real prayer. And now I think back, and my current self and way of thinking kind of taint this memory. I think about conversations I've had about religion in the past few years, thoughts expressed on El's blog and other places, reactions I've had to actions taken by the religious right all over the world. Would I let my kid participate in something like this today? (Had I a kid.) Was this cultural/religious indoctrination or just a bit of fun? Is this just another case of me overreacting and overthinking things because I sit around the rat's nest and have nothing better to do?

Yesterday, during a fantastic and way-overdue visit with Z and her Mom, in our all-over-the-place conversation, I mentioned that I believe in preserving history and tradition. And in this place, religion and history and culture are intertwined to a huge extent. You can't draw thick black lines between things.

Anyway, just some thoughts and old pics.

So yesterday Z and J came to the priests' hole and hung out with K, Dappy, the Spaz and me. 5 hours were not enough to catch up, especially since I have been in social isolation for so long. Dap says she wishes they lived next door and I can't disagree. A few good friends is all you need, as I always say!

Then I went to the little salon and got my wolfman appearance under control. Readers of this blog are surely sick of hearing me talk about hair: loss of it, regrowth of it in various places, etc. But I have to say one last (yeah, right) thing. After the second-to-last chemo, the really evil summer one which had nasty side effects and no results, my face hair grew in like crazy. It took a couple of months (as usual), but it came out insane. My eyebrows were about an inch thick (in width!!!), I had a thick mustache (not with bristly shaven hairs, obviously, but millions of little soft hairs), and beard hairs. I should have taken a picture but it was way too nasty and embarrassing. Mom wouldn't bring my wax to the hospital because I had no whites and she thought I'd give myself an infection somehow and create worse problems for myself.

Anyhoo, eventually I did a half-assed job on my own in order to be able to go out in public without scaring small children, as I'm enough of a shuffling, scarf-wearing freak show as it is, but yesterday I was professionally epilated and this is a wonderful and huge piece of news about something that makes me feel halfway human again, therefore I mention it in my blog. In 500 words or more. So there.

One last pic for those of you who know the handyman. Even at five (?), he knew how to pick out the cutest girl in the bunch and lay on a little charm. (Look how he's holding that doll-- like a baby chick. :) ) Hurry up and get your half-moons over here, G, or I will start calling you Pierre again.

Must sign off because the Spaz is on her way to the rat's nest and I must prepare psychologically to receive maximum Kazzie power. Also I've rambled on long enou' for one day. Hasta Lou Reese to all.

The vast Mediterranean

Oh it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor...
even if you are stuck in the rat's nest.

No neighbors, actually, just wanted to sing that song.

So on the other side of the Mediterranean, in the North African country of Marocco, apparently people like their pictures with some context. Therefore the joey's baba has decided to start taking pictures with some scenery around them, and criticized K's beautiful portraits of the Spaz in this respect. Dappy and I do not believe that Granny F would rather receive this picture:

than this:

but that is why we are not culture experts, alas...
To be fair, today they were going to take the Kaz for a walk and shoot her pic in front of some monuments and ruins. A bit more picturesque than Lola the car.

Yesterday K bought me a peck of pickled peppers (I wish-- just about a pint) for fifty euro-cents at my favorite supermarket (or hyperagora, as they say on skai). I've almost gotten through them, especially since I had about ten with my breakfast. This salt fetish is very strange after a three-year no-salt diet. My chem panel shows low sodium (Natrio) in the blood. Maybe my body just knows what it's doing (kind of a late starter?) and is craving salty foods, like olives and feta and the decadent pickled pepper. Next is tinned sardines. Just kidding. Of course with 32mg of cortico-steroids per day, Miss Piggy face is the price you pay for salt. I'll have to find the happy medium.

Thanks to those who suggested funny stuff. I have downloaded some stuff and done some you-tubing. Keep the suggestions coming, though. Last Real Time (Bill Maher) on Friday till Jan 14th. It was a good one. Love love love Bill Maher.

Laughter

Somebody told K or G that the best thing for a sickie is to laugh a lot. My problem is that it is very hard for me to laugh out loud. Isn't that sad? I think I've been like that for several years, even before getting sick. I can acknowledge intellectually that something is humorous, or smile at it, but almost never laugh. Yes, this is sad. K started me off with an SNL DVD (highlights of the last 25 years) and I have bookmarked internet sites that show funny clips. Again, funny but no laughter.

Then recently I discovered: The only person to make me laugh: Karl Pilkington. He was on the Ricky Gervais Show on the radio and then on his podcasts. Apparently he has a cult following. He is impossible to figure out. He's fascinating-- you feel a little bit guilty laughing at him because you're not sure he's all there. He's funny because there's a human foible side to him. It's hard to describe. It's like the reason why a good practical joke or a good hidden camera trick is funny. It's the reaction to somebody saying or doing something completely unexpected. In this case, you're the one reacting. I also find the quebecois hidden camera show Juste pour rire really funny. Here they used to show it dubbed with music (because it was in French) and it was still hilarious. My favorites are when people get pissed off. (I won't provide a link because apparently the JPR thing has expanded to become a whole comedy festival, so if you google it, you get tons of links to the fest, not the TV show.)

Most people who know me well have heard this story but I am going to repeat it anyway:
One year in high school, I think frosh, I had 3rd period free for a semester, but none of my friends did and I didn't want to go to the student lounge alone and I certainly didn't want to go to the library. (I didn't like the NT library. Unless my amnesia is particularly bad, I'll say I probably went a scant handful of times in 4 years.) So anyway I used to sit cross-legged outside my 4th-floor locker and read or catch up on homework. The 4th floor was shaped like a T and the vertical bar of the T was separated into two sections, with about four stairs you had to go up to get to the "lower" section (which was physically higher, but I'm trying to continue the T analogy). I was near the top of the stairs, so in the "lower" part of the T.

ANYWAY, the point is, one day, I had been smelling something "off" and finally looked to my left. Somebody had barfed at the top of the stairs. I was kind of processing this when the bell rang. Suddenly people started pouring out of classrooms, coming up those four stairs, stepping on the barf and sliding several feet down the hall, on their feet if they were lucky. Some people got barf all over their clothes. A small circle of bystanders started to form (I was further back). But nobody warned the people coming up the stairs, who would potentially slip, get hurt, get dirty, etc. It was just too fascinating and, yes, funny. I didn't laugh out loud, because I have better manners than that, but it was like a slapstick movie come to life, and funny this time because it was real and not annoyingly scripted. Unfortunately, you witness stuff like that live once in a lifetime, and for me it happened when I was 14. I'm not sure what to make of all this, just getting it out there in this post about laughter.

One thing I am almost positive would not work on me is those classes where you laugh fake in the beginning and then you keep doing these various exercises/games and saying, HA HA HA, and eventually you are really laughing. I think I would feel stupid and I think the whole thing is phoney. However, if it works for some people, go for it, as Mer and I used to say.

Irrelevant 1: Gillian Michaels is my hero, and my role model if I ever get well.
Irrelevant 2: Today Dappy told Kazzie she'd got my calves. Way to curse a child, Mom. Well done.
Irrelevant 3: G aka my handyman is coming for Christmas! Have not seen him since May! He's never met Kazzie! Perhaps some progress for the rat's nest is in the works? Of course, Nick has all kinds of jobs lined up at the perch, including collecting the olives (combing the olive trees with a mini rake), decorating the front yard for Christmas, etc. [Last year the rents were slow to decorate, and when people didn't see any lights, they thought I may have croaked, and that's why my family wasn't being festive. Ahh, village life.]

Bonne nuit à tous!

SHOUT OUT TO C.H., MY NEWEST READER, AND ANYBODY ELSE FROM WORK WHO'S STARTED READING. (sorry not to provide better quality)

Spared incarceration

From the rat's nest, yay!!!
Went to hosp today, quickie blood tests, part one of mustardy goodness (trying to be positive here) and *back home* to the rat's nest!!! Another hour-and-a-half treatment tomorrow, then home for 3-4 weeks as long as I don't tankety tank too low. According to internet sources, side effects last the first week only...

Dare we be optimistic, just this once?

I will now go to the place on the green machine where scanned things are stored and try to ready the pics for my upcoming post about a weird religious experience in my past. Teaser: K dressed as a priest.