Stumbled onto homeopathy

 

In case people get worried, I would like to state I am in full support of western medicine. Sure, I have taken the odd Echinacea and tried eating an apple a day rather than taking vitamin supplements, but I am no hippie; I have been vaccinated is what I am trying to say. Nonetheless, for the last two years I have been struggling with eczema, which is painful, annoying and very much not flattering. And while cortisone does wonders for a couple of days, it does nothing in the long run. So after having visited a couple of dermatologists, I gave in to my mother’s wish to try homeopathy. It has been an odd experience. What is most odd, though, is that it fucking works.

I was very, very reluctant to do this. My mother, the true culprit behind this experiment, had even come with me to the appointment to make sure I actually go through with it; that’s how reluctant I was. I, eventually, found out the homeopath had indeed studied medicine and lots of my acquaintances with skin conditions had turned to homeopathy, so I gave in. My one-on-one with the homeopath felt like an uncomfortable interview with a therapist; uncomfortable being the key word here. My visit was nothing similar to a visit to any doctor I had ever been to. Of course, I was initially asked about mine and my family’s medical history, about my skin condition, when it started and other normal questions of the sort. I am convinced these introductory questions were nothing short of a diversion; this was all to make me think this homeopathy thing was going to go smoothly!  The rest of the questions, though, were very peculiar. I was first asked to describe myself, which may sound simple, but really isn’t. I mean ‘I’m relatively nice, maybe a bit introverted’ is basically what I said. And what’s worse, she was clearly not satisfied with my response, so much so that at the very end of our meeting she called my mother in her office to describe me instead! My mother concurred and assured her that I was a good student. I think that’s when the homeopath felt utterly defeated and realised she wasn’t going to get a very saucy description out of either of us.

Back to the one-on-one part of my visit. I was next asked what sort of foods I probably wouldn’t eat. Again, this may sound simple, but I was clearly not getting it right! I said I would have a hard time eating deer or reindeer, which is very hypocritical because I eat beef just fine. She looked at me with despair and explained she was looking for more taste-based aversions rather than ethical ones. I then proudly proclaimed Brussel sprouts, because they are disgusting; this hardly needs further explanation, I thought. Once again, she did not seem very fond of my answer and explained that she was looking for more general categories of food. But who has a problem with whole categories of food, if not for ethical reasons? Like, who hates all vegetables? Surely you like beetroot, or tomatoes, or cucumbers, or avocados, or even celery, if you have malfunctioning taste buds.

She then started asking me about my relationships and feelings, which is the worst thing anyone can do to me, unless we know each other for a good while. Sometimes even I find it curious that I chose to study psychology. These emotional questions were somewhat expected; I had also concluded that this skin situation was anxiety related, considering it showed up during an extensively anxious time in my life. I had calmed down since, but the eczema decided to stick around; seems I was a good host. However, the epitome of uncomfortableness came when she asked me about sex. Sorry, not exactly sex, per se. Even more inappropriate and uncomfortable than that! I will try to describe my ordeal in a chronological manner. For that purpose I will need to initially give you the first half of her question, literally break a word in half, I will then need to describe my state of mind  when I assumed I had correctly predicted where this was going, and finally provide you with the rest of the actual question. Now that I have sucked all the interest out of the cringiest bit of my visit, I will proceed.

‘So when did you first have sex-‘.

Okay. I am a repressed and introverted person and having a random stranger asking me about the first time I had sex literally made my skin crawl. But this was a doctor, of a sort, and sometimes questions like these could be included in a medical history questionnaire. I personally don’t see why, but that much I could accept. So, I summoned all the nonchalance I could find, I briefly double checked with myself that I got the age right and was finally ready to respond. But obviously that wasn’t the question.

‘-ual desire?’

What?! Dumbfounded is how I would describe me. And now it is my turn to ask; who would know the answer to this question? Is it even normal to be able to pinpoint the exact time in your life? I am not even sure I properly understand this question; it is not quantifiable. And if there is one way I would describe myself in addition to ‘nice’ and ‘a bit introverted’, is that I like things to be quantifiable. And then anxiety kicked in. What if I had misunderstood and chose an age that was either too early or too late? I would be wrongfully labelled a weirdo. Or what if I had understood correctly, which I hadn’t because to this day I am not sure what she meant, but still the age I said was either too early or too late? I would be rightfully labelled a weirdo, but it being rightful does not make it any more pleasant. I momentarily decided my best bet was to say ‘never’ and deal with those consequences instead. I think I gave her an answer, but my brain has made sure that answer is no longer accessible to myself or others. I have a very efficient brain as far as repression is concerned. Or don’t want to disclose this information on this blog. Believe whichever you must.

After I had failed to convince her I could either describe myself or foods I hate, she gave me a prescription. This felt normal; this felt familiar. I was in shallow waters once more. Then I realised, as I should have done earlier, that this prescription did not correspond to any medically approved substances, but rather to something that the pharmacist would put together on the spot. So I was asked to trust two strangers and ingest pills, without the safety net of a big corporation that I could later sue if I grow an extra pair of ears. I was feeling very uneasy as it was, but then the doctor said that if they had to mail me another dose while I was abroad, they should conceal them in a pack of biscuits or something, in case customs inspect the package. And may I remind you, it is my mother who is trying to get me to do all this!

These concerns are of course the exaggerations of a hypochondriac; the main principle of homeopathy is giving the patient a very weak percentage of active substances that will most likely do nothing. If it does do something, though, it initially amplifies the issue before it eventually subsides. Something both the homeopath and my mother failed to mention! I spent a month freaking out and flirting with lathering cortisone all over my arms. I was also asked to stop drinking coffee, even decaf. I could have something like a cup per week. And might I add, coffee was not one of the foods I mentioned as taste-aversive. This was very unfair, I thought, but I was cleared to drink as much Gin as I wanted, so I decided to compromise, quit coffee and become an alcoholic instead.

And then, against all odds, the eczema did actually disappear. Like clockwork too. I was told I would have a spurt of eczema for about month (which I did) and then it would retreat; all of my eczema was essentially gone by day 38! I don’t know how and I don’t know why. I was so ready to discredit all of this ‘pseudoscience’ and I still am; the moment I get the opportunity I will readily do so. And thankfully, I have since developed a different sort of dermatitis on my hands that homeopathics have not yet tackled. However, I haven’t acted yet, as there is a slight chance these might be more related to the 137 times I wash and disinfect my hands per day. Slight.

I want this remedy to end; I miss my daily decaf coffee. Laugh all you want but the 3% caffeine in decaf coffee works just fine for me. I also miss being able to praise western medicine and western medicine only, without secretly and shamefully using homeopathy to be able to wear short-sleeves without looking like Ser Jorah Mormont. But for the time being, I have come across really nice caffeine-free tea varieties that I might bore you with in a subsequent blog post where I haven’t come across anything of proper interest. Or otherwise dig up other year old experiences that would have best remained personal and confidential.

Stumbled onto QAnon… extensively

 

Is anyone else getting most of their entertainment from the US presidential race? I mean, Larry David couldn’t write absurd situations like this if he tried. This will not be much about politics, as I doubt I have the knowledge to disentangle and analyse the current climate. I mean I don’t understand how people are still considering voting for Trump, unless they are worried about the furniture of their children. But I am entertained. My morning routine is basically hate-watching Trump videos and hate-reading tweets and then resorting to my happy place; Colbert’s monologue and Myers’ Closer Look. Despite another Late Night hiatus this week (are these getting more frequent, or is it just me?), last night consisted of another presidential debate and another refusal from Trump to denounce an extremist organisation that supports him. This time round it was QAnon. I sort of had heard of QAnon this year, once about Chrissy Tiegen being part of a child sex-ring and once claiming the same for Tom Hanks. Now, I get that most Trump supporters dislike Tiegen, a vocal judge of the current administration, but did QAnon really think they could turn people, even Trump supporters, against Tom Hanks? He must be the most beloved man on earth. And there is, like, 40 years of evidence that this he is rightfully so.

Let me quickly go through what QAnon is. It is a conspiracy theory that originated from 4chan (the internet’s toilet) in 2017 claiming that Hollywood elites and other rich individuals are part of a Satanist paedophilic cabal running a global child sex-trafficking ring and controlling the whole world. This is brilliant as it is; you don’t need much more imagination for a successful conspiracy. If you want to say the left is evil, make sure they are all the evils; they worship Satan, they are paedophiles and human traffickers, and they probably put pineapple on pizza for all we know. This particular conspiracy theory, however, decided to take things one step further and knight Trump as the earth’s saviour from sin and wrongdoing. Trump. The ‘spank-me-with-a-picture-of-my-face’ president. See, according to QAnon, Trump is planning ‘The Storm’, a day of reckoning, a day where thousands of this cabal will be arrested and sent to Guantanamo Bay. Trump will bring piece, salvation and utopia, you know, as he has done thus far. The ‘individual’ known as Q has since asked his followers to take a ‘digital soldier oath’ on Twitter. After all, all meaningful fights for humanity were materialised through hashtags and proud digital soldiers. My question is this; what are these digital soldiers’ roles in the upcoming apocalypse? Will they form a protective shield against Satan when he defends his disciples? Will they carry Trump on their backs all the way to Hollywood to bring about his mission? Will they be manning the hashtags on Twitter?

This all seemed like the perfect joke, no additions necessary. I mean, all anyone can do is laugh, but interestingly enough these core claims are not the funniest of the lot. Let me go through a few of my favourite peripheral claims.

First of all, the predecessor of this conspiracy theory is called ‘Pizzagate’. Such a waste of a good name. This is again about Democrats’ satanic sex rings and child trafficking, but this time operating from a Pizza restaurant, Comet Ping Pong. This is the best paragraph I have ever written on this blog; it is a paragraph about a conspiracy theory containing the words ‘Pizzagate’ and ‘Comet Ping Pong’. However, it is not necessarily funny when you consider the death threats this particular restaurant has faced, along with nearby restaurants such as Besta Pizza and other non-restaurant businesses. But it is funny to imagine a stereotypical cook with a thick Italian accent expecting a list of pizza toppings; ‘No, we are all out of the Diabolo pizza, pepperoni only’.

Next, you would have thought the Russian investigation would have discouraged the proud American far right from crowning Trump as their saviour, but alas, QAnon presented a solution! The Russian collusion was a response to a coup. Obama, Clinton and Soros were apparently organising a coup against Trump, but they didn’t expect his tactical response. A counter coup; a pretend collusion with Russia to probe the Mueller investigation, who only pretend-investigated the president but was actually investigating the Democrats. I love the details; not only did he have Mueller investigate the Democrats undercover, but Trump had to go through with the actual collaboration with Putin. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t leave anything to chance. The Russia conspiracy had to look real to put Democrats off the scent as they do have demonically efficient noses. 

The Covid pandemic has also preoccupied QAnon members. They encourage the consumption of an industrial bleach (known as Miracle Mineral Solution) as a "miracle cure" for the disease. In case anyone was wondering where the President of the United States gets his ideas from.

Another much entertaining claim is that a man from Pittsburgh named Vencent Fusca, is actually John F Kennedy, who faked his own assassination 57 years ago, in disguise. And lest we forget any claim in this theory has to include Trump the saviour; therefore, this Kennedy-Fuska hybrid would have been Trump’s running mate in 2020. This is hilarious just because it is so unnecessary. Why did they bring a dead Kennedy into their manifesto? Aside from the fact that Kennedy’s brain was scattered all over Jackie’s beautiful pink suit so he would have had to really commit to his own assassination, why would he run with Trump? Wasn’t he a Democrat? And what would his contribution be if he is pretending to be Fusca anyway? What does this have to do with the child sex ring? I have so many questions, maybe I will get some answers on the next season of the Crown.

One of the more recent theories put forward by QAnon has re-shed the spotlight on the Hollywood elites. And if you haven’t heard of adrenochrome harvesting, boy, are you missing out. Adrenochrome harvesting is the extraction of adrenaline from children’s blood to produce the psychoactive drug, adrenochrome. This is clearly plagiarised from across the pond; America might be insane but Queen Elizabeth consumed the blood of new-borns to stay young long before Trump was president.

Speaking of ‘across the pond’ there is a fun little claim about Angela Merkel being Hitler’s granddaughter. When I first read this I wasn’t sure whether QAnon meant it as an insult or a compliment, or whether they watched a little bit too much of ‘Dynasty’ and assumed all the German people they know of must be related. QAnon has also found its crowd in Germany, a group called Reichsbürger. They believe that ‘modern Germany is not a sovereign republic, but rather a corporation created by Allied nations after World War II’. And as if there weren’t enough Trump supporters in the States, this group has placed their trust on Trump to lead an army and restore the Reich. Just thought I would include this last little claim in case people doubted Trump’s rhetoric appeals to Neo-Nazis.

These are insane allegation in and of themselves. Regardless, as you might have guessed, a lot of these have already been debunked by, you know, events or lack thereof. You would then expect that people would abandon this idiotic theory and preferably start therapy. However, QAnon has taken pre-emptive measures. Q has instructed their followers that incorrect claims or predictions are deliberate to confuse the non-believers. They have also rebranded their posts to be more vague and cryptic so followers can interpret them as they wish. A bit like a Rothko painting. More cryptic and vague is an understatement; a lot of the posts are random letters which are meant to be codes. However, information security researchers have concluded that it is most likely random typing by ‘someone who might play an instrument and uses a QWERTY keyboard’. I didn’t know it was that easy to start a cult, let me give it a try.

oNknsoge

These codes are presented in so called Qdrops (cool name, let’s give credit where credit’s due) and are meant to be related to Trump’s speeches and tweets. It is a bit like a game with riddles which, ironically, has drawn in a bunch of idiots that probably couldn’t solve the riddle of which Batman villain Edward Nigma is. 

I fear my language might be misunderstood. I use the word ‘funny’ a lot, as if it isn’t scary that serious people have to waste time to discourage people from drinking bleach. Ridiculous is maybe a better word. I think I am simply having a hard time believing all this is actually taken seriously by any sentient being. I, for one, have been laughing all morning, something I am not necessarily proud of, but I am excusing myself. It might be a sign that I am a psychopath, but at least I am not deciphering Trump tweets trying to locate paedophiles across the globe.

This conspiracy has had frightening consequences though. Between attempted and actual murder, child abductions, breaking into a military ships, breaking into the Canadian Pirme Minister’s property and reckless car chases with unconsensual spouses and children, this was probably my favourite headline:

‘12 August 2020: A Texaswoman is arrested after allegedly chasing and crashing into a car, then telling police she thought she was chasing a paedophile’.

In hindsight, that is probably as good excuse as any that a drunken driver can come up with on the spot. 

The president of bad toupees has refused to denounce this group, or refute their claims. Instead he has said ‘I don't know much about the movement, other than I understand they like me very much, which I appreciate’ and has described the members as ‘people who love our country’. He has also been directly asked about his part in ‘The Storm’ and whether he ‘is secretly saving the world from this satanic cult of paedophiles and cannibals’. He responded that he is unaware of the claims but ‘is that supposed to be a bad thing or a good thing?’. I think I liked it better when he tweeted Covfefe. But wait! Could this have been one of Q’s codes?

Conspiracies work because humans cannot accept the inevitable randomness they encounter, or because they have a need to connect everything, or they are bombarded with absurd information and have a high tolerance for bullshit. It probably also makes them feel connected, part of a movement; it makes them feel special. And that is the scariest bit, because needing to feel special is a very common human sentiment that some people take advantage of. Q members are obviously a small minority and not all QAnon members support or are aware of all of its claims, which I cannot decide whether it gives me hope or despair. Thankfully, some people snap out of it when faced with good arguments or when asked to financially contribute to the cause (you don’t get to be a cult if you don’t monetise people’s beliefs). After having read all this and reproduced it as I didn’t have any better ideas for this week’s post, I feel drained of any few IQ points I had waking up this morning. But again, at least I am not deciphering Trump tweets trying to locate paedophiles across the globe. See? It multitasks as an alternative to both psychopathy and idiocy.

Stumbled onto Lindy Hop

 

It might not seem like it, considering all my posts are about the things one does when sitting down like watching series, movies, reality shows and Twitter, but I was very much into dancing in my youth. I was part of my school’s dance team; we went to international gymnastics festivals, and even competed a couple of times. I didn’t say we won. But then I moved to England and I guess it was too cold to get out of a seated position. That is my excuse anyway. Dancing was over. I tried a couple of classes here and there but nothing stuck. I got a bit interested in finger tutting, as it could indeed be danced in a seated position, but no one was convinced this was an adequate form of exercise. Including myself. Do look up finger tutting; it is what they did in Dr Strange for spells and it is very impressive when done well. When not done well, it looks like one is trying to relieve finger cramps. One sometimes is.

Now that I have fulfilled my customary long, loosely related intro, I can discuss the Lindy Hop class itself. I have a friend who has been praising it for years and admittedly it really sounds like it brightens up her day. And you can clearly understand why; it looks like such a cheery, rhythmic dance. For years she has been urging me to try it and of course I chose the Covid era to actually go to a class. Covid means no Lindy Hop parties, which are apparently the easiest and most fun way to practice. Covid also means a single partner for the whole year, therefore less socialising. So, bad and good things alike. I chose to go with a friend of mine, where I would lead and she would follow. I wore my most gentleman-like ripped jeans for the class, sat with all the boys who were learning how to lead and moved my hips as if I was dancing Salsa. I have done a few Latin classes here and there, but I never thought they had been so influential. I guess it will take a while to get into that groovy body posture our instructors seemed to employ with such ease.

The class setup was relatively straightforward. We did a warm up, we learnt a few basic steps, learnt a bit about the history of the dance, and learnt that the term ‘Swing’ is not just Lindy Hop, but an umbrella term for a bunch of different dances plus the practice of exchanging romantic partners for a night. Hence my consistent use of the term ‘Lindy Hop’ instead of ‘Swing’. Imagine my statements about parties being good for practice and having a single partner for a year if I used the term ‘Swing’ throughout the last paragraph.

These primary lessons were all quite expected; it was a dance class so we danced and it was an introductory class so we were introduced to its history. Not everything was expected though. For example, I didn’t expect to sing. Or scatt, as we were told to call the jibber jabber that we sang. Now, I might have misled some of you to think that we karaoke-d to Ella Fitzgerald, but in reality we just put some syllables in place to understand the rhythm of the dance. But doesn’t that sound much less impressive? After our basic steps, we were paired up with our partners so that we could repeatedly crash onto each other instead of managing the steps. Apparently this is a common teaching practice; it teaches us to wear withstanding shoes when dancing with another novice like ourselves.

As you might have realised in the last couple of posts, I have decided to make the most of my time in Greece. A bit of Improv, a bit of Lindy Hop, still a lot of series watching and a brand new addition of working out to Chloe Ting. This will be an action packed year that will hopefully inspire a few more posts and distract me from the pandemic that, for the time being, has me doing gargles every night since I heard that they use Listerine in between shoots for Riverdale. And anyone who knows me knows; I will do whatever Camila Mendes does, except run an illegal speakeasy with my dad’s drug money.

Stumbled onto an Improv class

 

I have now been back in Greece for six months. I haven’t stayed here this long in eight years. I will not lie, not everything has been easy to adjust to; the lack of Five Guys, the presence of my mother. But as these six months don’t look like they are the end of it, I have decided to make most of my stay. So I asked myself; what is it that I can do here that I couldn’t do in the UK? Eat tasty, fresh food? Sure. Get a tan and some well-deserved vitamin D? Of course. Get yelled at by a driver who wanted to break the law but I was in the way? Most certainly. But the biggest difference between the UK and Greece is the prices of, well, everything. See, I have wanted to try Improv for a few years (took me a while, but I got to the point), but most classes worth doing in London are over a hundred pounds a month. The reason I wanted to try Improv, apart from the obvious reason of laughter, is that it is so out of character for me, so out of my comfort zone. Therefore, I thought, what better way to try something so risky for me than the cheaper way?

Also, I wanted to start doing things and sort of set out a schedule for my time here. But that wouldn’t make much of an intro. So, anyway, I tried Improv. And loved it.

Obviously, it has only been one class so this isn’t meant to compel anyone to try it, although I have tried to convince a bunch of friends. This is more of an account of a complete novice to this world of fun and silliness. I should mention at this point that prior to going to class, I looked up the company and saw that they would also do corporate seminars and that completely baffled me. Until I realised how important the aspect of collaboration and adjustability was to the practice of Improv. We did a bunch of exercises that were completely devoid of ego. You were there for your partner’s idea and ready to build on their every suggestion. It was liberating. And fucking difficult. And ultimately funny. That was another aspect of Improv that was highlighted time and time again; it ends up being funny, but that should not be the driving force. Which was even more liberating, because there is nothing less funny than the pressure to be funny. I have spent a lifetime ensuring no one expects that of me.

The pandemic, of course, affected our time in Improv as everyone had to wear a mask. This effect was twofold; first of all, you only made out about half of what others said. So for example, in one game, where we each had to say a single word to make up a story, said story was particularly incomprehensible as ‘boy’ sounded like ‘bird’ and many a boy ended up flying and laying eggs. The second effect was that a lot of facial expressions were not available to whoever was putting themselves on the line. You miss out on the reassuring smiles, but possibly also on smirks of disgust. Problem is I am prone to assume that the latter would be a constant mode whenever I am concerned. Oh well, small price to pay. Just like the price for the classes in comparison to London, did I mention? I wouldn’t change a thing though, if the Covid safety measures were not in place, I would most likely still be in my room in the attic ‘Yes and’-ing my large stuffed Baymax. The bastard has much better ideas than me.

It really was a great experience. I am sure it will continue to be. I am also sure it will continue to be extremely hard for an introvert like me, especially considering a lot of the games require you to step up, take initiatives and sit in the middle of the room. I should stop writing; I am making myself panicky and might never go back. But I do have a viva coming up, so this type of exposure might be just what I need. There is a game where you can only answer questions with questions that I imagine will come particularly handy when they quiz me about my thesis.