Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Putting the TMI in absentminded

  • Review: Trying

    Trying is a series on Apple TV which is the very antithesis of Cape Fear.

    That’s all I needed to be roped in. Got me at “not Cape Fear.” Plus, it has Imelda Staunton and she is marvelous, of course.

    I should not be all in on this show, because I am not the demographic. It’s about a couple’s efforts to adopt children. But I am, because it consistently provides one belly laugh per episode — usually delivered by the dour sister or the male lead. (Most recently, he advises a child, “All the buttons on the microwave do exactly the same thing. Don’t waste your time. Press anything.”) There are also reliable snorts aimed at the sister’s insufferably pretentious boyfriend.

    (Now, I am only as far as episode 3 of season 3, and that one kind of let us down a bit. There was action, and a chase scene, and you know I am not down for that.)

    Gary and I have noticed there are themes that prompt conversation.

    My theme: There have been at least two instances in which a female character has disposed of an object a male character loves.

    I always say, “My god, who would DO that? Gary, I would never [give away your vehicle / throw away your accessories]. I don’t believe anyone would ever do that in real life.”

    It doesn’t bother Gary as much as it does me.

    Gary’s theme: There have been ongoing housing issues and engagement ring issues and Gary can’t let one pass without “I’m sorry I didn’t buy you a big house, hon,” or “I’m sorry I made us pick out your ring together instead of surprising you.”

    This bothers Gary much more than it does me.

    What does this mean? Could I blithely throw away his 1980s leather jacket? Will he someday take me to a big house that contains all our furniture and say, “This is where we live now, honey?”

    Do we secretly long for / fear high-handed decisions that ignore the other person’s desires? I don’t know. I know I’m getting an adjustable bed I don’t particularly want at the end of the month. Is that actually charming?

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  • Gary’s latest health update

    The receptionist at the gastroenterologist said that either Amber or Aqua would be out to walk us to the exam room, and Gary asked if they’d be dressed color-coded by name.

    I had argued with Gary that I should be in the room for this visit, because there have been a number of visits in the past in which Gary’s synopsis doesn’t match the doctor’s report.

    Here’s a reason I try to be in the room from now on.

    Doctor: Any history of gastric cancer in your family?

    Gary: No.

    Me: Gary, your grandfather died of stomach cancer.

    Gary: That’s not gastric cancer.

    I wondered if there was a body part called “the gastric,” as in “That guy’s gastric piercing looked really cool.”

    Doctor: Stomach cancer definitely qualifies as gastric cancer.

    Gary: Yes, but he smoked cigars.

    The doctor and I both quietly thought, Yes, that’s how he got stomach cancer.

    The doctor asked us what our relationship was.

    I thought, “Haven’t you heard him bickering with me?”

    Gary piped up with “wife” at the same moment I said “spouse.”

    Initially I felt that the doctor may have thought I was Gary’s daughter. I was wearing little Keds-like tennis shoes while Gary was wearing his cane. (The cane adds ten years.) Then I realized later neither of us were wearing wedding rings.

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  • Why is blue blue?

    We have many means to make colors.

    Indigo is a plant dye. Purple comes from sea snails. Carmine red is from beetle shells. Dry it out, grind it up, mix it with linseed oil. Paint.

    The earth tones are literally earth. The reddish-brown umber colors started out as the dirt in Umbria, Italy, where the earth is colorful with high amounts of minerals like rusty iron.

    Some colors come straight out of the periodic table. Cadmium red. Cobalt blue.

    I have a fat tube of ultramarine blue. There’s no ultramarine on rhe periodic table.

    \

    I got very excited when I read where that blue comes from.

    Guess what ultramarine blue is made from. What would you grind up to make that color?

    Yes. Lapis lazuli. They ground up lapis lazuli to make that paint … once. No more. Now sadly, it’s just synthetic, at least the stuff I buy. It’s a Mars tone, not an Earth tone.

    Yet … I think I seriously have lapis lazuli beads from the jewelry-making days. And a sledgehammer.

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  • TWIL: Downtown Chemicals

    My mother said something once about how my Dad was sprayed with chemical agents when he worked downtown in the ’50s and ’60s.

    Mom made that comment in the ’90s. I believe I said, “Wait … what?” because I was about 30. Had I been any younger I would have just taken it at face value and then assumed that was why my parents were hesitant about going downtown. All the mustard gas floating around? That does sound dangerous.

    Mom said that evidently the military wanted to see how chemical weapons would disperse in a city, so they sprayed Saint Louis in case they needed to spray the Communists.

    It was during the time my Dad worked downtown on 12th Street.

    Cut to this past week. Something made me think of that. And now that I am old and have these flashes of clarity, I thought, “Wait … what?”

    So. Facts:

    1. The military wanted to see how chemical weapons would disperse in a city, so they sprayed Saint Louis in case they needed to spray the Communists.

    Not facts:

    • It was not mustard gas. It was Zinc-cadmium, which glows under ultra-violet light. I don’t know how they’d shine an ultra-violet light down in St. Louis to see the coverage.

    St. Louis was picked because it resembles Moscow, with the river, if you tilt your head.

    Screenshot
    Screenshot

    The blowers that dispersed the chemicals were on the roof of the brutally bad Pruitt-Igoe housing project, which is particularly awful because they picked it because it was a primarily black residence.

    Pruitt-Igoe was so legendarily bad they blew it up and never built anything else on that site again.

    Not a shining example of the military or Saint Louis.

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  • Beautiful

    I think I said something this week I’ve never said before.

    I met a friend for lunch, and she greeted me with “You look beautiful.”

    Without a thought I automatically said, “Thank you.”

    It felt weird immediately.

    This is not my typical response. Usually I furrow my brow, roll my eyes, say that you need your prescription updated, point out my latest flaws, say how much weight I’ve gained, argue, et cetera.

    After I blurted it out I tried to walk it back. “Whoa, where did that come from …” but it was too late.

    I think part of that reaction was because the compliment came from one of my most sincere friends, so I couldn’t accuse her of conning me. She’s so honest that responding with “Oh, that’s nice of you to say” would be akin to accusing her of lying.

    I will try to think of some other response that doesn’t sound … icky.

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  • Minnesota starvation experiment

    I don’t remember how old I was when I read about the Minnesota Starvation Experiment. Thirty-six young men starved during WWII so the War Department could understand the best way to bring starving people back to health.

    Here is a really interesting article in which the now-elderly participants remember what it was like.

    What I remember best from my introduction to it years ago was that the men became obsessed with spices, condiments, gum, recipes, and cookbooks. They combined weird spices, and made reductions of boiled coffee, and then I imagine they whisked the spices and coffee reduction with jelly and made glazed rutabagas. (Evidently, two became chefs afterward.)

    There are also stories of these starving men buying donuts for children and dinners for girlfriends just so they could watch someone else eating food. (I suppose that could be what Gary’s doing when he comes back from the grocery store with Pretzel Flipz and broccoli soup.)

    Anyway, I think of that experiment whenever I combine two unusual tastes. If it tastes good, I worry a little that I’m starving.

    I had a sip of Muscle Milk chocolate protein shake followed in quick succession by a sip of orange Crush before today’s lunch, and it tasted pretty good. I was going to stir them up with a spoon until I thought better of it. I’ll have to try a cocktail of Crush and Muscle milk tomorrow after a full breakfast.

    What are we naming it? A Christmas Orange? A Muscle Crush? An Orange Cow? A Moo-Crush? A MMorange? An Orange Moo-lious?

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  • Thursday Paint Progress: 7/16/2026

    It’s been a long time since I brought a painting into Photoshop to see where things went wrong.

    That was what I painted. I’m not going to perfect it because frankly, my mistakes were grotesque. That dog — compared to the original – looks as if he were hit by radiation. He’s doubled in size.

    But I’m leaving him doubled, because otherwise I might as well start from scratch. I’ve got a Photoshop image now for every line that can be re-done, and I can re-use a lot of it except for the pedestal he sits on.

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  • Gary has turned

    If Gary ever gets a new love I will know how I will be treated. He will be treat me like trash, an impediiment to his happiness, a nuisance getting in the way of his new love.

    How do I know this? I see how he treats the raccoons.

    He stomps in from the backyard. “DAMN RACCOONS TORE ANOTHER BIRD FEEDER OFF THE TREE.”

    I make the de rigueur “Oh sweet raccoons” noises I have made for the last ten years.

    ”STUPID RACCOONS NOW I HAVE TO BUY RACCOON BAFFLES SO THEY CAN’T GET TO THE BIRD FOOD.”

    Seriously, THIS after a decade devoted to feeding the raccoons in the cone shape they and all mammals prefer, now his former beloved raccoons are getting between him and the birds. Ten years of a relationship thrown out because new tail comes along.

    I think a big part of it is that the birds are not playing hard to get. I haven’t seem them flying away if I peek at them through the curtain. Where the raccoons would run off, the birds are now staying put when they see us. It’s very compelling when a bird stays on the feeder and looks you in the eye while pecking into a cylinder packed with black seeds and mealworms.

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  • Cyclosporiasis

    Pre-reading assignment if you haven’t seen the US breaking bowel news: News on the outbreak from Reuters. (Notable for not using the word “explosive”.)

    I felt pretty lousy Monday afternoon. Headache, nausea, body aches, after a full night awake. Gary was headed to the store and asked if I wanted anything. I sighed “No” like I always do.

    He came back with his deli-cooked herbed potato wedges and broiled chicken and several unsolicited things for me: Broccoli soup. Chicken Caesar wraps. Potato chips. Lobster bisque. Chicken soup.

    “Ah, chicken soup,” I thought. “He’s feeding my cold.”

    OR WAS HE?

    Today I was eating one of the chicken wraps and he yelled from the other room:

    “THAT’S IT THEY SAY THE CYCLOSPORIASIS IS IN EVERYTHING IT’S IN CHICKEN AND LETTUCE AND CHEESE AND HERBS.”

    I looked down at my wrap made of chicken and lettuce and cheese and herbs.

    ”Well played, old man,” I thought, “The perfect crime.”

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  • I had not considered that I might have MS and be old

    I knew a man once who had worked in a nursing home and he reported that aged people with MS really liked quiet corners and spending time alone. I imagine those people were down so many brain cells that the TV room at an old folks home would feel like Dave and Buster’s.

    I was glad to hear him say that some people made it to old age without dying from the MS. Not a likely outcome before there was interferon or immune-modulating meds.

    Evidently they’ve done studies, and the current thinking is that elderly people with MS might not need their meds at some point for one of two reasons:

    1. It’s not working well enough for them, or
    2. It’s working too well for them.

    I think I might end up shunted into that second category next time I see the neurologist. They’ve already cut my dose in half. Why feed me drugs that shut down my immune system if my body’s shutting it down on its own anyway?

    Of course, the prospect is scary. Fight a disease by not fighting? I can’t imagine being that Zen.

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