I looked in the mirror and saw a red spot on my belly. Shaped like a sanitary napkin about 10 inches long. A few days later it was redder, and bigger, so I went to the dermatologist. She found a small ulcer in my eye and prescribed antibiotics for the belly spot, which was then over a foot long and due to Lyme disease, she diagnosed. Now I have an appointment with my eye doctor and am taking antibiotics with all the side effects such as funny looks from the person at the pharmacy (dermatologists in Austria do skin and STDs, is it like that in other countries?) dizziness (discovered while balancing on the top rung of a 14′ ladder with a shopping bag with 10lbs of prunes in my left hand (as I was telling David Lynch), myopia and wacky driving (discovered on the freeway last Sunday, in the rain), increase sensitivity to the sun (got a rainburn at a wedding on the same Sunday), and I don’t know what else. Never look in the mirror, it causes rainburn, and you might fall off a ladder. The spot seems to be fading, which is good. Very happy about that.
Nymphomania
Dear guys looking for actual nymphomania, sorry, wrong website.
I went to the dermatologist last night.
You’re not eating, right?
I went to the dermatologist for three things. My masseuse mentioned a…
I went to the dermatologist last night.
What’s this? I said.
What do you think it is? she asked.
I don’t know, that’s why I came to a dermatologist, I said.
What would you guess? she asked.
I would guess… (How do you say ringworm in German?) I would guess a fungus.
She shook her head. Lyme Disease, she said.
Gah, I said.
She prescribed antibiotics. We discussed another rash (on my face). She said the antibiotics might help that too. She said another thing was nothing to worry about.
I googled Lyme disease when I got home. When I told my doctor that I couldn’t remember getting bit by a tick, at least at that spot (later on I remembered a tick somewhere else) my doctor mentioned that tic nymphs are very small and hard to see and just bite you long enough to infect you and drop off.
I googled Lyme disease when I got home. Geeze. Spirochetes!!! Joint damage. Heart damage. Central nervous system. I have a fat prescription for antibiotics, but still.
Lyme disease, man.
Nymphs, man.
Nymphs, schmymphs.
Posted in Metamorphosism
Tags: dermatologist, disease, lyme disease, nymph, tics
Dear postal workers
You in America: Austria and Australia are two different countries. They’re on different continents, in different hemispheres. Okay? Remember that next time someone tries to send me a package.
You in Austria: At least the Americans didn’t lose my parcels. They may have sent them to the wrong country, but at least they eventually arrived in Austria. They did not vanish until they got here.
Fences
So I just finished sanding and repainting the part of our fence along the sidewalk. When I got home last night my wife informed me that all our neighbors are redoing their fences now.
Heh.
The joke’s on them: next spring we’re painting our house.
Something on the radio this morning about an event to commemorate a picnic on the Austrian/Hungarian border 20 years ago. This is what happened: 20 years ago, they had a picnic. They. A peace thing. And they temporarily took down the fence. And as soon as they did, a zillion East Germans vacationing in Hungary shot across the border into Austria.
One thing led to another, and there I was, in a living room outside Tokyo, holding a baby in my arms and crying as I watched news footage of the Berlin wall coming down. In the memory I am drinking champagne, but I suspect only the people on TV were, and I was wishing I could share it with them.
Maybe I’ll drink some this weekend with the baby, when she and her little sister get back from their trip to the States.
One thing led to another, and there I stood at a urinal in the Moscow airport, and Boris Yeltsin walked in and we took a leak together, a couple urinals apart. Not the linty, grey, puffy, gobsmacked-looking Yeltsin, either, but the tall, silver-haired, handsome, charismatic Yeltsin, on his way to a book-signing or something.
One thing led to another, and there I stood last night at a diplomatic reception, watching gate-crashers getting de-crashed. Potential gate-crashers please listen: they are looking for you. They will throw your ass out if they catch you.
Gate-crashing tips:
- Don’t bother. Just get yourself invited.
- If you are going to try anyway, render yourself invisible to the anti-gate-crasher people, as follows.
- Appearance: Look like everyone else. Don’t overdress, don’t underdress. For a diplomatic reception/garden party, a nice suit with matching shoes and tie is okay. Also haircut and facial hair should not look too feral. Women: nice dress. Not too long, not too short either. One woman was wearing trousers last night. She had an invitation. Note: if you have a genuine invitation, wear whatever you want.
- Arrival time: don’t come too early or too late, when the AGC people have lots of time for you. Come a few minutes after the party is scheduled to start, during the crush.
- Story: This is key. Both tossees last night messed this part up. Actually, they messed everything up, which is where I got this list. Don’t change your story. Don’t claim to be from an obviously non-existent organization. Don’t claim to be from somewhere famous, either, where the AGC people know all the invitees. Claim to be from somewhere obscure, but known, where there is a good chance of someone inviting someone at the last minute or something.
- If you can’t make your own realistic-looking invitation to present at the door, make at least a realistic-looking business card from your “organization” to lend credence to your story. And have genuine ID matching the name on the business card, which will therefore be your own name. In case they ask for it.
- Don’t insist on getting in. This just draws attention to you. Be all apologetic for forgetting your invitation, while sort of implying that there will be hell to pay but, sure, fine, you understand their position, but they’ll hear about it, later, maybe, sure, you’re going if that’s what they want. And then leave.
- Because if you sneak in anyway, law enforcement officers will escort you out and that’s embarrassing, even if they are discrete about it.
- This is all theoretical, based on mistakes I saw made last night. I haven’t tried crashing a party like this yet. I imagine it’s basically impossible where they have an actual guest list and you’re not on it.
About fish
What are you listening to?
This piece I’m composing.
What kind of piece?
String quartet.
Can I listen?
Sure, here.
(the piece is 2.45 long currently. the guy starts getting antsy around 2.00, gives up at 2.30) Okay. What’s the, um, theme?
Fish.
Fish? It didn’t sound like fish.
It’s about fish. Grunion.
Grunion.
They’re special fish. Once a year during the same full moon each year they swim onto the same beach and mate and… (sees the guy has lost interest) … and so on.
Okay.
Grunion.
Okay.
They’re special fish.
Okay. You ever post compositions to MySpace or something so people can comment about them?
No.
Useful feedback.
Grunion. Remember that.
Deckchairs, tabasco, insurance
A truck hit a bus, which jumped the center divider and hit a car and made a big mess. The freeway was closed for hours so my wife took me to Dots, an experimental sushi bar on Mariahilferstrasse in Vienna. Looking for the address online, I found a page of comments either complaining about the service or remarking on the hotness of the waiters. Maybe there was a slight element of slapstick to the service – our waiter brought us a neighboring table’s order (“Looks great, though!” I chirped) and forgot my dessert – I can’t really verify the latter. Our waiter was handsome, but the rest were fairly ordinary, albeit with perfect hair. Main thing, though – okay interior design I guess, except maybe those big framed Marilyn Manson photos with the mouse ears – the food was really, really good. It was the best sushi I have ever eaten.
Not so sure what to do with the “experimental” adjective. Not clear to me what hypothesis they were testing. The hypothesis that this would be good tasting food? I liked it a lot. Interesting and more importantly tasty combinations (the black tuna, which I am mentioning only because I forget everything else had black sesame seeds, poppy seeds, and maybe coconut?). The adjective “experimental” puts me off when applied to non-scientific pursuits like food, or literature or music. I find art experimental by nature, and much of what is called experimental art or music or whatever blah blah blah etc etc.
After eating there – I’ll be back, but will make reservations first (the vodka/lemon sorbet dessert was also tasty) we headed home (on our way to our cars, parked at the Museumsquartier, I bought the comic book “The Wise Robot will answer your question now” by Tom Gauld (from which I took the title of this post) from a vending machine because I like the idea of vending machines selling comic books), in separate cars as we’d arrived at different times from different quarters of the compass, and our freeway onramp was closed, not due to the accident as I’d originally assumed but due to construction.
I went one way, my wife went another way. She phoned me at one point to tell me how lost she was, which streets she’d driven down the wrong way, etc. Little did she know she was doing a lot better than I was. I was taking an existential detour. My road had no exits. It was pitch dark. One of my headlights was apparently misaligned because other drivers kept flashing their brights at me. There was construction, and the speed limit was way low and the roads narrowed to one lane, and nothing but shit on the radio. It was pitch dark, did I say that already? I did not know where I was or where I was going. I sort of had the feeling I was heading north, after which I’d head west first chance I got, and look for something that looked familiar.
At one point I was not actually in the Czech Republic, but way closer than I wanted to be.
I was on a tiny, narrow country road that would go uphill, in a landscape that had appeared perfectly flat, steeply uphill, winding switchbacks. Or it would plunge down into some valley. At least the weather was okay.
I planned to start taking bigger roads. At every intersection, I would take the larger road, I told myself. That way, I would eventually return to civilization. But the roads kept getting smaller, including the one I was one.
Eventually, they got so small that I had to get out and carry my car. Which is okay because my car is so small.
At some point, after a long time, I was in bed swapping Getting Lost stories with my wife. She was asleep, though, so I had to whisper.
Rorschach Inkblot Test Secret Correct Answers
You have no doubt read of the controversy over a Canadian psychologist posting the Rorschach inkblot plates to Wikipedia. The Wikipedia page is currently locked down, but in case you need to take this test and the psychology industry’s attempts at censorship win out, I’m posting the answer list here:
Plate 1: Ganesha fighting over a dress with Babar (50% off).
Plate 2: Clown being drowned by his evil Doppelgänger in icy pond.
Plate 3: Sexually aroused monkeys fighting over head of Britney Spears until their brains are blown out.
Plate 4: Elephant man wearing pants on his head.
Plate 5: Conjoined twin alligators dancing.
Plate 6: A cello blessing the multitudes.
Plate 7: Infant gives birth process two thumbs up
Plate 8: Pipi Longstocking, angry because her corset is so tight, strangles two blind moles
Plate 9: Radioactive seahorses dueling during the Apocalypse
Plate 10: Sarah Palin crawls from Dick Cheney's rectum with the skeleton of a nun in her teeth.