Monday
Dame Maggie Smith went to the great green room in the sky. My father worked at the National Theater when two women, Rose and Nellie, ran the canteen. Rose was very lively and energetic and did most of the serving while loudly explaining and having fun chatting. Nellie was thin and exhausted from caring for her, so we rarely heard from her. She spends most of her time running around behind her with pots and pans, or sitting almost double over the laundry that comes from making more than 50 hot lunches on two broken family stoves. I spent my time bending over.
Before she became a duchess, Smith was queuing with a friend one day. He watched for a moment as the people in front of him were served, then leaned toward Smith and said, “Rose is great!” “Yes,” Smith agreed. “But Nellie part”
Tuesday
Conservative leadership candidate Robert Jenrick has revealed that his daughter, born in 2013, has been given the middle name Thatcher. He thought it was “a good way to remind her of the great Prime Minister”.
There's a lot to unpack here. There was a lot to unpack, given the world and time. But for now, let's ask the first and simplest question. Dear God, why not “Margaret”?
Wednesday
The medicalization of the human condition is progressing rapidly. (By the way, I'm all for it. Give me a pill for anything.) When I first read Brave New World, my only concern was whether Soma was offered in both liquid and pill form. Because I wasn't very good at taking the latter, and at that time I didn't know about slow-release capsules, and it was a steady infusion, not a fast-acting capsule. Sounded like what I wanted.) Now we have “emophilia.” All the jokes about 1990s rock and blood disease are made, so some people fall in love instantly, are devastated when it ends, and then fall back in love just as quickly and with just as much force. tends to fall. Next time I have to solidify the basics, etc. It goes on and on.
The drama queen remained the same. Your most disgusting friend. Your least favorite and most exhausting brother. If you are being polite, you will be emotionally incontinent. If you don't, you idiot. We hope that officially labeling this phenomenon will help both them and those around them who have been forcibly and more severely affected. I long for the day when, instead of spending hours, days, or weeks counseling X or Y about another breakup, I can say flatly, “I’m sorry. I'm having another emophilia attack! Poor you. Here, let's find some medicine.'' I poured a small white pill down the sufferer's throat and held my hand around his jaw until he swallowed it. It's like deworming your kitty, but much more satisfying.
Thursday
Lately, I've had various doctor's appointments regarding lumps and bumps on my kidneys, and today they finally confirmed they are cysts. “Some are calcified and some are jelly-like,” my dear doctor said. “But it's just a cyst. You're just pretty cystic!” It was nice to know that at least on the inside I had a hobby. But he suddenly stopped talking and looked frightened. My first thought was that he had read the wrong form and was about to say I had cancer after all, but then I panicked because he was just joking. I realized that it was just that.
Everyone, especially doctors, is already burdened with trying to pretend that they and their patients are equal in all respects, right down to medical expertise, and that there are no power dynamics at play, so it's a serious problem. Joking about things is no longer allowed. We've completely lost the ability to distinguish between laughing about something or someone and laughing at something or someone, thanks largely to the internet, so it's best to stay away from either.
So I laughed a lot and threw in just the right amount of hobby gags. By the end of the appointment, it's hard to say who was more relieved by the outcome.
Friday
The worst thing in the world happened today. My computer died. Anyone who doesn't know anything about computers knows the pain I went through. Discovering new things, talking to salesmen without a common language, installing Microsoft Word, trying to minimize copycats of expensive antivirus software (with no hope of avoiding them completely) I gave up on it a long time ago)…I can't stand the thought of it. I got down on my knees and asked all the gods (Steve Martin, Martin Short, Selena Gomez, Jane Lynch) for help.
And they did! After crying a lot, waiting in line at various stores, and talking to more than 1,000 12-year-old assistants in the technical department and patients, it turned out that it was simply a dead battery. My charger stopped working without me noticing. The kind child who finally diagnosed the problem suggested a new one. It was 127 pounds. I said that's more than I paid for this computer. Bring a chair and smelling salts.
The child stared at me for a moment as I stared at the price tag and tried to match it. I could feel the spirit rising and moving within him. “You can buy something a little older,'' he said eventually. There are still a couple. But they are not the latest versions. ”
“'Not the latest version' is my motto in life, baby. Please tell me the price.”
“Thirty-four pounds. But that's really old, not even from last year.”
“But will it still do everything I ask? Will all the latest ones work? Is there no fundamental difference in effectiveness or usefulness between the two? No? Then if I I accept it, my love, and may this be a kind of awakening for you to the constant irony of Western capitalism.”
I definitely think so.
