• Christina Applegate does not have MS

    And she is not happy about it.

    If my doctor told me I did not have MS I would be livid. I imagine Christina Applegate wanted to run that doctor down with her wheelchair or start wildly swinging her cane. Just all that time wasted, all that money wasted.

    I just listened to today’s episode of her podcast …

    https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/messy-with-christina-applegate-jamie-lynn-sigler/id1734318382?i=1000797232304

    … where a doctor shared that 20 percent of MS cases are misdiagnosed. That’s utterly insane. On the other hand, usually the actual cause ends up being something similar to MS — so much so that the MS drugs will help with whatever Mystery Illness X you actually have.

    I did wonder how she was misdiagnosed. Didn’t she get an MRI and a spinal tap? And she did, and she had lesions on her MRI and oligodendrocytes in her spinal tap. But evidently, other things cause those symptoms. I think the doctor said migraines can cause lesions and any inflammation can cause oligodendrocyte bands. The trick is to look at the lesions and see if they follow the veins of the circulatory system and have Special Spots. I have no more info than that: if you have Special Spots in your MRI that clinches the diagnosis.

    Last time I saw my neurologist he did point out that my lesions followed my circulatory system. No word on Special Spots. My MRI was so “textbook” they didn’t bother to do a spinal tap. And the drugs are not just helpful, they are spot on. No new lesions. And I have never had a migraine. Pretty sure I’m on the right path.

    But seriously, to find out you’ve told the world you have MS in a PODCAST and then technically you don’t? That would be a nightmare. Still, it’s nice to hear that even if the diagnosis was wrong the treatment wasn’t entirely wasted, just not as effective as it should have been.

    Fingers crossed for a more exact diagnosis for Christina Applegate.

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  • The food meme, revisited

    Man, we were all hard up for content in 2008. We had Memes, and one meme from 2008 was a list of foods we had eaten, foods we hadn’t, foods we never heard of, and foods we’d never eat.

    Here are things I have now eaten, formerly on the forgotten list of untried foods.


    I knocked these off the list around St. Louis and Kansas City:
    5. Crocodile (Some Mexican place in St. Charles) / 33. Salted lassi / 51. Prickly pear / 54. Paneer / 83. Pocky (Friend 4 brought it to Friend 2’s cookout) 85. Kobe beef (Some place on Laclede’s Landing)


    I had to go further afield to try 59. Poutine (Toronto) and 73. Absinthe (New Orleans). And I only had to go as far as the Internet to get 90. Crillo Chocolate.


    But what I find remarkable is how this list from almost 20 years ago predicted what I ate just this month in Chicago at the tasting menu at the three-Michelin-star restaurant:

    50. Sea urchin / 53. Abalone / 62. Sweetbreads … and this is spooky … 84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.

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  • Spoiler-free Review: You Can See Everything

    I’m direct and honest. Not by choice, nor by nature. In my youth, all the boys complained I wasn’t open and honest enough. Then in my 30s I got one too many lesions and I found myself blurting my truth uncontrollably. I’m not mad about it anymore, because other people love it.

    But, being honest makes me especially vulnerable to pathological liars … yet also especially sympathetic to them as well. How can I judge? They can’t help themselves any more than I can.

    That’s why I am going to the theater to watch the new documentary about Elizabeth Holmes, if that is her real name, and her imprisonment.


    [watches movie]


    Allow me to echo everyone when I say, Holy shit, that was not what I expected.

    Also, I want a sequel with her parents; that’s what I want.


    [additional thoughts]

    They tell you to see it with an audience. Sadly, my Audience and I were not on the same page. My Audience was sitting next to their boyfriends. My Audience was uncomfortable with showering. My Audience did not get the masturbation reference; my guffaw echoed in the silence.

    I felt some sympathy for Elizabeth Holmes: my Audience was not having it. I’m fairly certain the lad sitting next to me had lost his life savings to the fraud at 12, given how he was sighing and writhing.


    You know, it’s been eight hours now and I just realized that perhaps I shouldn’t trust the editors.


    I took to Reddit to see other takes on it and Reddit is WRONG; that shower scene is not gratuitous; that shower scene explains a lot.

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  • TWIL: Warning labels

    The average financial settlement for the Coldwater Creek radiation contamination appears to take nine months to arrive. They give precedence to people who actively have cancer, naturally. Or they say they do. I think.

    Really hard to believe that they did such a lousy job disposing of radioactive waste (put it in metal barrels and throw it into a creek) compared to how much thought they put into it now. Now they put it in salt mines that will slowly shift and encase the barrels in solid salt.

    But, because those radioactive materials are so far underground and won’t decay for say 10,000 years, they plan for communicating with future humanoids: “Don’t dig here … and if you do, don’t open any barrels you find … and if you do, don’t chug what’s in the barrels you opened.”

    I just found this delightful Wikipedia page on how much thought goes into warning future people that bad things are below:

    Long-term nuclear waste Warning Messages

    Suggestions summmarized:

    • Written message that says “There is danger below here.” traslated into into French, Spanish, Chinese, Arabic, Russian and Navajo. Those signs would be in a circle, and every generation would encircle the previous circle of signs with more signs with updated language.
    • Skull and crossbones imagery
    • A device that makes a spooky whistling sound
    • Spikes. Lots of spikes.
    • Gravel, like the kind on top of the Weldon Spring Site Disposal Cell (where there is also a written sign with a typo warning of “Inclimate” weather; so much for bullet one above.)
    • Cats bred to change color the closer they are to radiation, publicized with “a song, called 10,000-Year Earworm to Discourage Settlement Near Nuclear Waste Repositories (Don’t Change Color, Kitty) … designed to be ‘so catchy and annoying that it might be handed down from generation to generation over a span of 10,000 years’[18]
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  • Best part of the hobby

    While I was Ubering through Chicago, Gary was surfing Amazon and purchasing telescopes, plural, yes, and also lenses and lens-carrying cases and telescope-carrying cases and telescope chairs for when the eyepiece is under the telescope and a mirrored piece that lets you mount a second phone to take a photo of what your navigating phone sees and … and a box of cards to teach you how to use your telescope. He hasn’t looked at that yet, because he is assembling his palette of tools for a successful telescope experience.

    He’s also establishing himself as Telescope Expert, which is a key part of any hobby.

    At no point has he looked through the telescope. Well, he looked through it during the day one time and focused it on a leaf at the top of a tree. Not on Saturn, or the Moon or the Sun. And don’t worry – he has the Sun Filter that lets you look at the sun.

    It’s pretty clear what path this hobby will take. He will set everything up and I will look through the eyepiece and not touch the telescope. But actually, that’s fine. The point of the hobby is the learning, not the doing.

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  • Glamping

    Speaking of vacation …

    This Almost-finished Wild Animal Park is very close by.

    And per the 1 minute and 20 second mark in the video below, there are going to be “glamping” cabins.

    Check out the Glamping cabins made of chipboard, right?

    That’s going to stand up against a charging rhino, right?

    But seriously, this seems like a mini-vacation Gary might be up for.

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  • Thursday Paint Progress: 10/14/2026

    You know, there’s always been something wrong with the perspective on the New Orleans mausoleums. And the colors are dead.

    It is missing all kinds of contrast and detail.

    This is what it is supposed to be:

    7B0B89F7-8A41-4222-A219-3FA355399DBC

    See? It’s just lifeless. Time to fix that.

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  • Misfit wigs

    My first public wig (one I wore outside of a Zoom call) was named Click, and I still have that wig. Because she was a misfit wig. None of the reviewers liked her.

    “Well I like it,” I said, “And I want to nurture this poor abandoned wig no one loves.”

    (Click does have a weird back, though. Shhh. Don’t tell her I said that.)

    I moved on, but as I say I kept her, and now that I know a bit more I bet I could even fix her back issues.

    I was skilled eniugh to take Big Wig …

    … and scale it down.

    So now I find myself in need of a curly pixie wig, and I have found one that is universally reviled. Evidently Twisted Pixie comes out of the box looking like Pippi Longstocking after surviving a head-on tornado in Texas.

    I could compile a gallery of screenshots of similarly horrified expressions. Or you could Google videos of “Twisted Pixie Wig.”

    Even the ever-tolerant reviewers all said there was only so much they could do.

    That clinched it for me, of course.

    Unappreciated wig, come to momma and she will turn you into … a slightly less ugly duckling?

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  • The last vacation post

    Other places I visited on vacation:

    Robie House

    Stunning. Completely sated my Frank Lloyd Wright appetite. I didn’t need to see Oak Park or anything else.

    I don’t know why the foot of the sofa leg has a CURVE in it. So out of place.

    Museum of Surgery

    Loved this place (except for the spot where you emerge into the hallway and see an iron lung and feel sorry for your Mom).

    A souvenier:

    Palmer House (second runner-up hotel)

    I did go to the lobby of the Palmer House – and I am very glad I didn’t stay there. There were no robots. Also there was the worst brownie I have ever eaten.

    Supposedly the brownie was invented there. The recipe tasted old, like they used bakers’ ammonia as the raising agent.

    And that’s a wrap from Chicago. Would recommend, and I learned a lot about hoofing it as an older lady.

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  • Travelling while aged

    I am aged, and I like it. I particularly enjoy the compliments. After living with an average body and a face not worthy of note, I find that I really enjoy hearing people comment that I don’t look 64.

    This happens a fair amount in Saint Louis. I find it happens regularly when I ask what the age threshold is for senior discounts. I know. I’m shameless. I’m pathetic. Pity me.

    I was expecting the same treatment in Chicago. Here’s what I heard in Chicago:

    • “Well, you can take the stairs up to the gallery – or perhaps you need the elevator?”
    • “If you need assistance, ma’am, we can help you get to your compartment.”
    • ”The check-out counter is at the end of this aisle. Be sure to get your senior discount.”

    Well, the check-out counter remark I dismissed given that my basket held Poise pads and a heating pad for the freezing cold train ride back. But the others? Disheartening.

    It was especially sad because I really was clawing my way back into doing things like The Kids Today. Every purchase was Apple Pay; every ride was Uber. But I resigned myself that — even with my many many Uber rides and Apple Pay purchases — I needed to accept I was a senior citizen by Chicago standards.


    Later, after a hundred dollars’ worth of Ubering, I thought, “Maybe Uber has a senior discount. Maybe I can get this to work for me.” So I poked around in Preferences.

    “Are you a senior?” the app asked.

    “I don’t think so, you tell me,” I thought, and clicked Yes to see if I qualified, and it didn’t tell me. So I just gave up.

    Oddly, the next two Uber drivers I called couldn’t get their app to go into drive mode. I called a cab to get me to the Frank Lloyd Wright house and paid with cash like an old lady.

    The problem with the driver app happened again on my return trip. I just gave that Uber driver all my remaining folding money and we did it off the books.

    Once inside the hotel I doubled down into old lady mode and called Uber to complain.

    They explained there’s a bug in the Uber driver’s app that if you are a passenger who requires special attention, like you want the driver to call you on the phone, or you’re a SENIOR because you never changed that setting back, then this bug flares up.

    “Well that sounds suspiciously convenient for them,” I said, and they said, “No, really, it’s a bug.” And I pointedly turned off that senior setting and I will never use it again, even if someday I need the driver to lift my oxygen tank into the SUV.


    The next evening, I successfully Ubered to a gay bar that gay friends had recommended, and it soothed my soul because it was packed full of men as happy as they could be. Never have I seen so smiling men in one place, all full of winks and joy and bare bellies and hugs. Men with the Y chromosome who were not yet cranky. It made me smile a little.

    Then they carded me. That made me smile a lot.

    They card everyone, it seems, but still.

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