I hope all my American friends know and will be involved in this
day. I’m looking forward to it enormously, and would give my back teeth to participate in it – anywhere !
Erasmus or Nostradamus ?
A bloke named Chip Franklin, who has a lengthy and successful history in various media, posts regularly on YouTube and I read his stuff.
The post that caused me to choke can be watched here (pretty sure I’m not meant to do this, but I honestly think the channeleers ( ! ) don’t care.
I did write in time (meaning, before they closed off comments) to the NYT to add my piece regarding the shutting down of Stephen Colbert’s late-night talk show, and am happy to see it there amongst all the others. The orange lunatic at his best.
The YouTube clip can be said to show him at his most typical – to say two-faced is to grossly flatter the fucker.
I’d made an appointment with the Lort Smith Animal Hospital to take Boodie to have his horrid claws clipped. This is so … so FRAUGHT an occupation that the last time we had such an appointment the clipping didn’t happen; as the vet – a large bloke – was unable to hold Boodie (and I am utterly useless: when he’s having anything done to him, his strength is astonishing). The next time he was there it was to have most of the rest of his teeth extracted; so of course they did it while he was under.
I bought a new cat-carrier: one with wheels and a pulling handle – or not – and had put it, open, on my crochet table in the loungeroom, ready …
I picked him up in the bedroom and he was immediately wary as I carried him out. Then he spotted the cat-carrier and went absolutely ballistic. Like, BALLISTIC !
I was trying to stuff him into the carrier and he was doing his insane starfish imitation – his very, very strong insane starfish imitation – and suddenly he’d twisted half around, knocking the carrier to the floor and inserting ONE SINGLE CLAW into the back of my right hand.
Dunno about you guys, but on the backs of my hands there are two very large veins that form a Y – the two hands matching fairly well – and you can make it out under that long horizontal wrinkle. Will you be astounded if I tell you that this single claw sank into the junction of the Y (on the other hand, I mean) …?!
Well, I screamed and swore very loudly indeed, flung him down and sat down on the couch to sob – largely with fear, although it was fairly sore. After a while of doing this I realised the inanity and stopped. My fears appeared to’ve been greatly over-dramatised because there wasn’t a shitload of blood. In fact, having blotted the hand with several tissues, I was able to make a cross of bandaids over the wound …
I spent the next 20 minutes cancelling the taxi (had to go down and pay the driver, as he’s been requested and had come out from the CBD) and Boodie’s appointment, this latter being much more difficult as the LSAH takes forever to answer the phone.
And then I realised there were blobs of blood popping through the bandaids – where they were in a double layer, as well …
I crossed the corridor and asked my neighbour Michelle to give me a hand with replacing the bandaids with something larger, of which I had a collection (no idea where they came from). She came in most willingly and we started to remove the normal-sized bandaids … and then we stopped immediately. There was blood almost gushing from underneath – kind of dark blood. She said, in a matter-of-fact kind of tone, “I think you should go to a hospital” and I agreed fervently, but hadn’t the faintest idea of how this was to be done. Happily for me in my ancient hopelessness, Michelle – roughly young enough to be my daughter – has a functioning brain: she called for an Uber and off we went to The Alfred because it’s only a few blocks away.
That was somewhere around 3:30; and I managed to persuade Michelle to leave me and go home somewhere around 6:00 but was myself home again only at 9:30. During these six hours I had bled over various areas of The Alfred’s emergency section and myself,
was re-bandaged, had my hand X-rayed in case of any bits of claw-casing’s remaining in the wound (anyone whose household contains a cat will understand this possibility when recalling cats’ claws’ castoffs so often found), was given a tetanus shot and then, as the bleeding had triumphantly regained its momentum,
re-bandaged again. All seemed well; they allowed me to go home by taxi.
I was welcomed home by a totally unaffected Boodster, who fell over sideways as is his wont upon seeing me so that I can rub his beautiful tummy. Then I ate a DELICIOUS warmed meal from my current (and forever, I hope and trust) supplier called Perfect Portion Meals, drank much mineral water and sat down for a few moments before going to bed.
Uh-oh …
It had started AGAIN. Sighh … I returned to where I’d tipped all the bandages and large bandaid thingies onto the table and started to apply them. I must’ve used about 7 or 8, sticking them madly all over the bandage and encasing/enclosing the gore. THEN I went grumpily to bed.
During the night I got up to have a wee, but as ever didn’t turn on any lights. Thank all the gods …
In the morning I awoke to find myself in an abattoir. 😦
This time I organized myself, as I was no longer in a state of fear and confusion. A pair of ambo drivers turned up without too much delay; but in the meantime I’d been kept talking, on and off, in a most pleasant manner, but a young woman who’d answered the Ambulance section phone when I dialled triple zero. Eventually she decided I could be left on my own; but about ten minutes later I was called by someone else, who carried on with the care. It’s impressive ! 🙂
And back we went to The Alfred, where I was attended to by a young woman who had a secret solution, apparently: it’s a kind of soft bandage that you cut to fit a wound and press on it for a while as it works its magic – and that’s its being impregnated with something that causes the blood to congeal ! Then you cover it was one of the soft sticky plasticky bandages and a compression bandage over the hand and wrist, and Bob’s yer uncle !
I feel sure there must be a moral to this tale; but I’m not nearly as witty as someone like Hilaire Belloc –
so I can only think it has to do with remembering cats change their minds about things. Whereas Boodz was once perfectly amenable to going into a carrier, he ain’t any more.
B stands for Blood. It also stands for Boodz.
Remember that the latter makes the former ooze.
Sorry about that … [grin]
… to understand the pain.
California and the fires: all values are upended.
Thinking’s an interesting activity – far more so than most of the regular ones on offer to anyone like me.
Sighh … and now I’m obliged to define ‘like me’ – what a dickhead I am !
Well, that’s a beginning – I’m a dickhead, for starters. And then, I’m no longer young; no longer in possession of any noticeable degree of tolerance; no longer fat; and the key thing I want to get across is that I’m definitely no longer interested in watching drama on screens of any size.
Tonight when I’d finished glomming down my favourite food – Woolworths frozen (but thawed in the microwave !) blueberries and Greek-style yoghurt – and this combo has been eaten for brekkie and dinner every day since last October … when I finished, as I say, I realized that Boodie was ensconced on my recliner with me, tucked tightly between my knees. Now, as any cat person understands clearly, having a cat sitting on you means that you cannot change position. Well, not until the cat does, anyway. I’ve finished crocheting the back, the two fronts and the two sleeves of a new cardi and had intended to start assembly; but it’s all on the crochet table and out of reach. 😦
So I hauled up the laptop, opened my browser and went to my BritBox shortcut. After some wandering about its CRIME DRAMA menu I re-found a program I’d been watching and picked up from where I’d left off. A British police crime story set in Dublin (which looks truly dreary, I hafta say) about a Mancunian policewoman trying to solve her daughter’s murder and care for her two Irish grandchildren. (It was easy to remember what was going down when I’d last switched off. At least, I thought it was; but I’d remembered a totally different program !)
After ten minutes Boodie shifted position, distracting me; and I realized I was thinking about a new coffee shop in the CBD I discovered on Google and how I’ll go and look at it tomorrow, and— you get the picture. I had lost interest in the program roughly two minutes after starting it up.
I’m pretty sure this loss of interest in the final stage of an activity in which I once participated to earn my living is a result of being old. I’m not whingeing nor going to whinge coz I’m not characterized by my age, and there is a second possibility – the failing I’ve written about before: loss of ability to focus / concentrate. That failing was posted about in relation to reading; but it strikes me that watching stories on a screen (fact or fiction) is the same kind of activity as reading them on a page, requiring one to Pay Attention. And I don’t seem to be able to do that except when I’m conversing with a person or persons.
And yet that statement is actually untrue and uttered prior to thinking about it: I can Pay Attention to things I do on my own – of course I can. If I couldn’t I’d be where my eldest sister is now, in a care home.
So OK, so it must be how much interest I have in whatever it is, mustn’t it ?
But no: that would mean that I’m not interested in reading … oh, say, my favourite author’s novels – and that’s not at all true ! I remember when I first discovered them, through one my second-eldest sister sent me that made me buy all the other eight immediately. I was in love !!!
Still, since then I’ve been able to buy six of them as audiobooks; and the readers are pretty good … Hmmmm … sheer laziness ? Delight in discovering that a good reader can bring a book to life and let you find out all the little bits you missed because you skip when you’re reading ?
So why don’t I give a rat’s arse about television or movies any more ?
Yeah, the move is done. And so am I, but only pro tem – and that’s largely due to last Friday morning, when the whole development was officially … ahh … opened, I guess, by the Federal and the State Ministers for Housing and a couple of Members to back ’em up. That’s not forgetting the staff, the dozens and dozens of people whose companies and departments are associated. In other words, it was a shitfight, but a most delightful one. 🙂
434 newly built homes ready for residents to move in Prahran
I have still to do a camera interview for Housing Victoria the week after next. As to why in the name of any god you can think up that is to happen, it’s because, believe it or not, ’twas I who featured all throughout this official do. The two Ministers – terrific women both ! – hung on to me throughout the morning; and the only time I wasn’t in their company was when each was speaking at a press conference … but I had been kind of fed along the line to stand very close, even then; and it turned out that the reason for my being kept nearby was that I HAD TO SPEAK, TOO. [gasp !]
I feel as if there wasn’t a single moment when someone was saying “M-R, when did you move in ?” / “M-R, what d’you think of it ?” / “M-R, which level are you on ?” / “M-R !”— you get the picture. I was so exhausted that I had a moment of weirdness in the middle and had to go out onto a garden deck and just sit for five minutes while everyone was inspecting an empty apartment to see what one was like. But that was fine, because a most yummy bloke (Mark, his name is) kept me company in a very kind and sweet way, to ensure I was OK. All the men were luverly, btw: there was John and Richard and Grant and Al, not forgetting the afore-mentioned Mark, and they were all high up in either some corporation or some department or some off-shoot of a department or an elected person ! I don’t waste my time with nobodies !!! [grin]
And then about a dozen of the uppermost came to inspect MY apartment ! Harriet, the State Minister, promised to send me a framed photo of she, Julie – the Federal Minister – and me. She has said whichever frame is chosen will be the nicest one. Ve shell zee … 🙂 The Boodster was seen briefly as he checked out the crowd coming in and disappeared into the bedroom wardrobe; and it turns out that both Harriet and Julie are cat people and I should’ve known because they are so nice ! I did tell everyone that if any of ’em have a spot in their garden/s that gets morning sun, they’re mad if they don’t get a cactus orchid to put there, and they were all impressed by Phyllis. Harriet knew enough to ask if this isn’t the night bloomer with the scent ?
The press conference followed, on a rooftop garden in the next building, and then it was all over. I sat down again on the edge of a garden, and those two gorgeous women came to sit by me. I asked if they’d be trained to speak as they did – meaning that each was able to speak for 5-7 minutes without repeating herself or saying “Umm …” once ! They said no, it was something you just picked up, and both claimed to have made vile addresses when they began. I don’t believe them.
Oh … I forgot to say that not only – at the start of the whole shebang, when people were still turning up and the numbers were growing exponentially (!) but it seemed that everyone knew who I was ! – I had turned to my left to find standing next to me a most beautiful young woman with a wonderful smile and a quiet manner and voice. “And”, says I, “who are you ?” “I’m … ahh … the Federal Minister”, Julie replied, entirely unoffended and in fact delighted to have been “incognito”. A short time later, when I was as ever being addressed by several people at once and another good-looking young woman joined us, I was telling this appalling story; and this one smiled widely, causing me to ask her name, too. Yep, you guessed it: Harriet is the Victorian Minister. Only I could do this not once but twice, and within the space of minutes. 😦
I do have some photos, and I also have some photos of my WONDERFUL apartment. But I’m waiting for my dresser to arrive so that the bedroom can be properly furnished before I put them online.
As for the photos of the opening, I think I might spend some more time sorting through the limited selection I have, in case any better ones turn up (which I’m hoping will happen). So for now, just accept that this is by far the best rental I have ever been in, run by the nicest group of people.
Look carefully and you will see how Phyllis is bursting with buds. I counted 15 ten minutes ago, and I’ll bet I missed some. She’s already had two blossoms.
This is amazing because before I came here (February 13th) and was finally able to position her with morning sun, she had sad, wrinkled leaves that looked as tired as I did. Not even a suggestion of a bloom: I was worried that all energy was spent.
But now … well, she’s showing you how I feel about being here; because if I could have blossoms on me in the right environment, they would be putting their beautiful heads out just like Phyllis’.
She’s a cactus orchid: an epiphyllum oxypetalum; and this is what she’s going to look like (only better, of course !):
Not only are her night-time blooms divine, they also smell divine !!!
Frankly, anyone who has any spot that gets morning sun and who hasn’t yet added a cactus orchid to it … well, yer bonkers. I have spoken.
And btw: this post is to stave off more whinges about my lack of The New Place info. I’ve been REALLY busy with setting it up; and on Friday morning both the Federal and the State Ministers for Housing are visiting us with entourage, and I shall be kind of pushed in their direction to welcome them and rabbit on about how terrific this place is. There will be media.
Can I do it ? – of course I can. Do I want to do it ? – I want to do anything at all that will be a gesture of thanks to the people here, who helped me in so many ways.
It is truly special. Just like Phyllis !
I GOT IT !!! – I’m IN !!!
It’s not exactly what I went for, but it’s still bloody good !!!
OK, back to the start ..
I applied to this brand-new development in Prahran for a 1-bedroom apartment. Here’s a nimage – artwork only, but more than merely sufficient for the porpoise:
Pretty neat, huh ?
Having donned shoes correct for viewing, I viewed one of those – somewhat different layout but much the same area – and fell instantly in love. Not only with the apartment, but with the gardens, the area and the team of people doing the showing (who’d be the contacts).
It all took much longer than I’d hoped; but ten minutes ago I was informed that my application has been approved – for a studio !
Whaddya reckon ??? – not your usual studio !
I’m in an NRAS place right now, and the rent is only $260pw; its owner will be able to charge more or less what he wants in June – I’m told it will be $430pw.
The rent on a 2nd floor 1-bedroom is $430, and most definitely worth it in today’s terms: split system, dishwasher, everything brand new .. Oh, you should see the landscaped gardens ..!
But the team was anxious about my move from $260 to $430 – and I will admit that they were being both thoughtful and sensible (one of the reasons I want to be where they all are !). The offer is thusly: I’m approved for a studio and expected to last in it for six months; and if I find that I’ve saved some more and still want a 1-bedroom, then I’ll be offered the first one that becomes available and that I like !
No complaints from this old broad !!
I have TENURE !!! – and for $380pw !!!
I am HAPPY !!!
I can’t move, after all: I didn’t find a place to move to in the month after which I’d told my Property Manager I would be gone.
Of all the places I found – not sure how many, but probably around a dozen – there were three I really and truly wanted: one was in the CBD, one in Malvern and one in Carlton. The first one I was rejected for without explanation – this is the bit that hurts, when they tell you no but go on advertising the place – the second I was mucked about by an expert mucker-abouter to whom I passed on that he’s una pezza di merda because he has an Italian name; and the third was the very last place I saw.
It was a dear little newish place with everything I must have – a bedroom, dishwasher and split system, and in a simply gorgeous environment of trees and plants. However ! it seems I have finally achieved a degree of common sense, for I didn’t even apply .. It is in the middle of – like, nothing. Other residential buildings, all nice and equally nicely landscaped. Not a shop in sight of any kind at all. Sure, only six or seven minutes’ walk to the tram, but one must actually travel on it to reach the Carlton shops in Lygon Street. Here all I need do to reach my delightful pharmacist is manage the ghastly intersection of Leicester, Victoria and Elizabeth Streets with their array of slow lights and Bob’s yer uncle. And I mention Cheryl’s pharmacy because an old fart of my age is in frequent need of same, just to keep up with her scripts, let alone buy hair bleach, non-soap bodywash and so forth.
And knowing me, the prospect of those unavoidable minutes of walking before being able to go anywhere would render me even more likely to sit in my lovely big recliner chair, crocheting, with Boodie between my shins.
I think these lovely little flats were designed for students who have scooters or bikes, for there is a nice big empty space just inside the front door, absolutely suitable to park one of these. Whilst I would give my back teeth to have someone teach me how to ride an e-scooter, I wouldn’t be able to count on there being one nearby whenever I needed it.
So, I turned my back on it, with great sadness. As my sister Paula and I agreed by phone, I wasn’t meant to move at this time.
What in the name of all the gods I’m going to do come the end of May – chissà ? Something will turn up. Maybe aged care. Oh jesus ..
I’m immortal, surely ! – I must be.
It isn’t possible that I’m going to kark at any stage: I’m ME, alive, breathing, thinking, eating, writing, crocheting, loving my little mog and a small, select group of humans and [deep breath] planning to move again. (Shut up. More later.)
But.
Friday I saw my GP, who explained to me a report from another doctor who wrote it after seeing what is known as a ‘calcium score’ CT scan. Cecile – my GP, in whom I have a great deal of trust, but it is not unlimited – had about a year ago found signs of atrial fibrillation and sent me to a cardiologist. He could not find any more signs, and in fact none have since been found .. except that the calcium score the other day has – as some kind of next step up, presumably – this time found atherosclerosis. O joy ! – disease that killed my father at 64. 😦
So, having become a dedicated fan of Malcolm Kendrick’s since my younger sister introduced me to his book “The Great Cholesterol Con”, which I followed with his “The Clot Thickens”, I’m suddenly actually involved in it all !
What do I mean by “it” ? – I refer to the facts that prove beyond any doubt to me – as well as to Paula, and now (deo gratias !) to many doctors around the world – that cholesterol, far from being bad, is both good and vitally necessary. And that statins are very likely to be the worst con perpetrated on humans by other humans, ever ! (For which you must blame Big Pharma, who are making billions of bucks out of them.)
I must go visit the cardiologist again, as soon as I can get an appointment. It will be interesting. Cecile simply wrote in her referral to him that “she is not on statins” and has handed me on to him with a big sigh of relief. I suggested as she was typing that she should say “and if you can get her onto them you’ll be succeeding where I have failed absolutely !”, but she demurred .. [grin]
I think my major interest now is in ascertaining what he has in mind. An angiogram ? And if it does indeed prove that artery/arteries is/are atherosclerotic, what then ? Because au fond, as the French say succinctly, any treatment by statins he has in mind is never going to be undertaken by me. Not ever. So is there actually any point in an angiogram ?
The cardio is not going to be tickled pink with me. What can I say in my own defence ? Well, there have been many times when the entire medical fraternity has been proven wrong about something, and the cholesterol “diet/heart hypothesis” is IT, currently. I have read Malcolm Kendrick – sorry, I have listened to two of his books, and I agree with everything he writes: the logic is irrefutable. Imnsho it is not possible to take in what he says and not believe it. And below is the kind of simplified garbage that you find on Google – or presumably any search engine – if you go searching on “cholesterol”:
It’s utter bullshit. There ain’t no sech thing. Eat as much fat, of all kinds (not counting trans fats !) as you like/want.
Read Malcolm Kendrick and become another believer !
DOWNUNDER WITH BOODZ 