Stumbled onto 2021: New Year’s Resolutions

 

‘Stumbled onto 2021’ is the most appropriate title for this post, considering the current global situation. I know we are all in a rush for 2021, but God knows we are in no form to run or walk towards it. We will be lucky if we get there in one piece. I haven’t done too many of these lists, I like to think; I did one for when I turned 25 because it felt like a landmark at the time. It wasn’t. Everything was pretty much similar to 24. However, I am hoping to follow through with this list and this doubles as a future retrospective post for when I have once again run out of ideas. So perhaps my first new year’s resolution is to adopt a more practical tactical brilliance and I can cross it off the list immediately.

Reduce the ‘Hamilton’

I made the mistake of watching Hamilton in July, when it premiered on Disney plus. Yes, a mistake! I know it is amazing; the music, the story, the visuals, the characters, the performances. It is spotless. But also, addictive. We are a group of four friends, let me rephrase that, ENABLERS, that will drop Hamilton references into every conversation, break into song with every opportunity and cry unprompted when people count from one to ten in French. And worst part about it is the breaking into song, because Hamilton, in case you weren’t aware, is a hip-hop musical. And we are white girls that cannot rap. But we don’t let that stop us from attempting Guns and Ships in 0.0025 the speed. It’s been almost six months that I have hardly listened to any music other than Hamilton, scored in the top 15% of their listeners on Spotify and I wasn’t even the highest one of the bunch. This is the moment for this Hamilton obsession to end. Scratch that, this is not a moment, it’s a movement. Oh, crap.

Get a PhD

This may sound like an overly optimistic resolution in general, but I am three and a half years in and ready to burst. I need to move on. But for this plan to succeed, there is something else I need. I need to get the fancy piece of paper that will restitute my time, sanity and honour. Problem is, ideally that fancy piece of paper would lead to a job that would once again revolve around a topic I no longer want to look at, but if push comes to shove I will use it as nothing more than a handkerchief for my tears. Either way, it will not go to waste. In other words, for the new year, I can hope to ignore this blog, TV shows, YouTube and joy in general (Lord, show me how to say no to these) and focus on my good friends, Microsoft Word, SPSS and Matlab. I don’t know why I put a resolution doomed to fail so high up on the list.

Stop ignoring my alarm clock

I am an anxious person. Anxiety is my fuel. Unfortunately, that has one downside. Okay, that has a million downsides, but the one I am preoccupied with at this moment is that in absence of an anxiety provoking factor, I will snooze a couple of times, eventually shut off my alarm clock and lie in wait, falling behind and running late. And there’s a million things I haven’t done, hours to take advantage of, resolutions to… resolute. It’s not even a case of being sleep deprived; I sleep for seven or eight hours for energy restoration and the continue sleeping recreationally. And then my back hurts, that is how much I sleep.

Do a whole vegan month

I have managed a vegan diet for a maximum of 22 days. I think it is high time I add the extra eight days to that number and have a whole month of regular poop. Because that’s what happens when you are a vegan. You poop. And if you don’t know, now you know. Veganism is a difficult task for me, being young, scrappy and hungry, but I like my vegan months; they work well as a detox and they also effectively spice up my diet. I am now a regular consumer of dark chocolate, which I wasn’t, and frequently snack on green apples with peanut butter, which I didn’t. It also very effectively confuses my dad, which is fun, if anything, to watch. Never have I ever seen a man so embarrassed to bring his daughter to a steakhouse and have her eat couscous and mushrooms. NO CHEESE. Left him with nothing but ruined pride, something new inside.

Allow myself to leave a series incomplete

A series of books, as of late. I started reading the ‘His Dark Materials’ trilogy in order to watch the corresponding BBC series. They are a very nice collection of books. If you are a teenager. If you have come of age with young Lyra. If you are an adult catching up on Pullman’s cultural effect, it is impossible to follow. The plan was to read a total of three books, the work divided evenly among the three summer months. In the end, I read two books in the span of six months (this reference is so subtle, it leans more towards plagiarism). The reason it has taken so long is that I have abandoned reading as a result of this painfully obvious religious allegory. And friends who care for me have instructed me to let it go. As a gesture. And perhaps then I can let other things go. Like a sunblock that has accidentally been infused with sand, or a movie like Seven Years in Tibet, when it becomes apparent that Brad Pitt’s blue eyes can make a movie only so interesting. This resolution is mostly a leeway to my next new year’s resolution; I want to read at least twelve books throughout the year. And I am not throwing away my shot.

Read at least twelve books

None of which will be ‘The Amber Spyglass’. But I won’t name the rest. I will keep all my plans close to my chest and see which way the wind will blow.

Catch up on my podcasts

Lockdown has taken a toll on everyone. In my case, I have seriously fallen behind on my podcasts. And I love my podcasts; they are my largest supply of Conan O’Brien and fun facts to annoy my friends with. And a good way to distance myself from the musical that shall not be named. I would listen to podcasts in one of two occasions; either when I was travelling places or running on the treadmill. Obviously, lockdown has interfered with both as we are not allowed to travel anywhere much and I have lost the will to act. I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory.

Seriously, reduce the Hamilton

If this post is any indication, the situation is fraught, I need to be carefully taught. Oh, not again. I am helpless.

Stumbled onto a bunch of cooking channels

Lockdown is still in place here in Greece. This means that the things that bring me joy have been limited to series, reality shows, comedy specials, not washing my hair for about a week and food. So let me waste some time on each of these other things and eventually get to food and hence the channels.

I am working my way through Better Call Saul, reminding myself why Vince Gilligan is probably responsible for at least 0.04% of those suffering from Stockholm syndrome. Anti-heroes were never before that loveable, unless they were sexy, And Bob Odenkirk is many things, but he is not sexy. Not unless I have watched six episodes straight and have not been wearing my glasses and, you know, haven’t seen a human male in the flesh for a while. I hope they have clued in whoever cast him for ‘Nobody’ that we are not down for an ab-defined topless Bob Odenkirk scene. Please.

Reality shows are mentioned just in time, as tonight is the show finale for Greece’s Next Top Model. Therefore I will be done with that reprehensible pastime. You know, until Master Chef premieres in 2021. I always go into watching these shows with a cool, dissociated attitude, mocking the process and ‘watching for the cringe factor’. But I am so invested in the show right now, it’s not even funny. I express my rage on Twitter, I drink herbal tea to get over the fact that the judges are biased and just eliminated the most worthy of contestants. I even shush my friends’ sarcastic comments’ even though that is the supposed reason we would watch the show in the first place; this is serious business now.

Comedy specials are the one thing that have rightfully pushed me through this mundane lockdown. Not much to talk about here; I have fallen back in a James Acaster pit hole after being reminded of ‘Taskmaster’, ready to pay good money to watch his live show online. Give me a ginger, tall man that can recite a joke or two and chances are I will stay glued to my screen, never go out and therefore never catch Covid. Unless they produce a hilarious talk show Podcast about needing a friend, I can listen to on the go; then I cannot promise much.

Here is the possibly wrongfully labelled ‘pastime’, as I am not sure that NOT doing something can be considered one. But I guess if you don’t buy a scarf and therefore make it yourself, knitting becomes a hobby itself. Not washing your hair is not just a sign of laziness; it’s not the easy way out. There’s dry shampoo involved and coming up with poor excuses about why your hair roots have literally changed colour and actively avoiding scratching your very, very itchy head. There’s much effort involved. But it’s all worth it; because then you don’t have to use a blow-dryer.

And finally, food. I love food and didn’t realise just how much until I tried to cut down on it. The tasty food, anyway. I have been eating so much fruit and cucumber as of late, I have almost forgotten what bacon tastes like. I say almost, because if I shut my eyes and focus really hard I can almost taste it from memory. But for some reason I also find it very relaxing to masochistically watch other people cook butter-based meals and eat them in from of a camera. Because let’s be honest, that is the most accurate description of cooking channels on YouTube. I have consumed so many recipes that I do not remember or plan to reproduce; I just watch the ingredients stride from one end of the screen to another, not even necessarily decoding what it is I am watching. Is it a cake? Is it a steak? Is it a soup? Couldn’t tell you if I tried. Those videos are truly wasted on me. I hope I am not the only one that passively consumes these cooking channels as a way to unload. Surely. Tasty is too popular for all its viewers to actually engage with the material.

I have come to some realisations after watching Babbish and Joshua Weissman on their very tasty-looking culinary endeavors. The answer to most cooking troubles is butter. Essentially they use shitloads of it and if we all cooked like they do in our everyday life, the dairy industry would run out of cows. And hospitals would run out of defibrillators. Both equally detrimental. Essentially when a recipe requires butter it requires all the butter, when it requires eggs it requires a coup’s worth, when it requires cheese it requires a bucket of it and when it requires any other ingredient, well, it’s just a decoy for more butter. I don’t doubt its effectiveness; adding butter in anything makes it better. But butter quantity in tasty foods seems to be one of those things that is best left unseen. Ready-to-eat is not more healthy, but definitely less stressful. Awareness is not always a pleasure.

There is still hope that one day I will put all this knowledge I’ve received through osmosis to good use and actually make that over-the-top mac and cheese, or overly gooey chocolate chip cookies. I mean it’s lockdown and Better Call Saul is only five seasons long, I might as well. However, it remains most likely I’ll keep on watching butter be stirred and cheese be topped and chocolate be grated than actually do it myself. And if my masochism gives way and I decide to indulge in something tasty of that sort, I’ll probably order it.

Stumbled onto Black Friday during lockdown

 

Quarantine has generally been a time for numerous, possibly useless online sales for me. I say possibly because I don’t see a reason I won’t be able to wear my new All Saints dress to the local grocery store once quarantine is over. Or why my new lipsticks wouldn’t show, just because I’ll be wearing a face mask on top. I think as a society, we have grown beyond mere eyesight and can sense other people’s make up. I imagine we were all pretty bored and looking forward to some sales event and some new, affordable additions to our households to revive this stale feeling of purposeless existence. Too dark? However, here is how the lockdown made this Black Friday interesting to me. I found myself unable to assess what I needed and allowed myself to obsess over price fluctuations for way too long.

I suspect this won’t be relatable to everyone. I know there are busier people than me and much more able to prioritise. Nonetheless I did do everything wrong and felt I should share. Let this be proof as to why I am not the best gift buyer. There were two things I needed; a new coffee maker and a new set of glasses. There were two things I wanted; a liquid blush and a new TV. Instead, I bought some new clothes and make up that in no way can be applied on the cheeks.

I will begin with the situation regarding the TV. My current TV is actually 15 years old. She was an excellent purchase back in the day (yes, it’s a she) by my older brother and I remember, as a youngster, being in awe of the quality, the size, those funky backscreen lights it had. Also, my brother is a tech wizard and had managed to connect this TV with the room’s PC through two different adaptors, which might be less convenient than directly signing into your Netflix account on the TV itself, but not that much of a bother. Things were going great; I had even failed to notice that you can practically see the edges of each pixel on the screen and the funky, accompanying lights had settled for a permanent, boring yellow hue. But then the somewhat younger PC died unexpectedly. Okay, expectedly, because it might have been younger, yes, but was still quite old. I certainly didn’t expect it because, as we have established, my assessments are terrible, but no one else was surprised. The current problem is this TV is old enough that about four generations of adaptors are needed to connect her to my laptop. I decided this Black Friday was my best chance to replace it. And then, I set up an impossible equation. I decided to find the largest possible size for my furniture, with the absolutely most recent technology, from a brand I know and trust, all under 200 euros. And obsessed over it for the duration of the sales. Obviously, this economic angel does not exist and my trusted 2005 Philips will remain in my care until November 2021. Along with its external digital receiver. It’s all very retro.

There isn’t much to my make up purchases, other than they are certainly redundant, regardless of the lockdown. I surely have enough of it, even though it never feels like it. And I certainly won’t be wearing it anywhere any time soon. Although I do have some epiphanies where I paint my whole face, dress up, lie on the couch and discuss the second season of ‘Succession’ with Baymax. However, as a rightful victim to capitalism, I want to try anything that sounds like something I don’t already own. And I know I do not own a liquid blush. But the make up industry is such a black hole that I ended up with new lipsticks, lip balms, brow products and skincare and my new blush craze sort of evaded my Sephora basket. Maybe it’s for the best, maybe it would be good for me to simply dream about a fresh, rosy cheek that can be achieved with products already in my possession, but won’t; if nothing else, as a reminder of this unfair omission of mine. Glasses I never even looked at, I think I have grown used to this humbling fuzziness that shows up when I stare at my screen for too long. Plus I can claim that any spelling or syntax mistake in my blog posts are due to increased short sightedness that has remained unaccounted for. In all honesty, I have minimum short-sightedness; I should just look away from the screen every 45 minutes and I’ll be fine.

I did, however, get the new coffee maker. It is a beauty. It is red. That’s it, really, that is its only redeeming feature. That and it makes coffee without the need for manual labour. Simple enough, and therefore cheap enough. But no, nothing was simple anymore. By now, I was starting to feel that I hadn’t taken enough advantage of this opportunity. I wanted to make sure I made the most out of this Black Friday. So, while this coffee maker was about thirty euros worth, less than the aforementioned unwearable All Saints dress, I wanted to get it cheaper. I checked the site every day. There was a discount alright, but I just felt like they could do more. I thought I’d wait it out, cheat the electronics store and wait until the very end for my purchase. I would squint my eyes to the screen like a cowboy, defying it to make the first move. Until it did and posted the ‘Limited stock’ tag. I have never made a purchase that quick. I folded. I yielded. I embarrassed myself. But I did get three extra euros off, and if that doesn’t count as a Black Friday triumph, I don’t know what does.

Please do not see this post as a sales guide. Do not see this post as an indicator of December content. Hopefully, it won’t be. See this post as it is; proof of my decay into MADNESS! I feel like we have learnt all we can from Covid and now it officially needs to stop. We all took up meditation, we learnt to appreciate the little things, we all watched Tiger King, we all started and abandoned a YouTube workout at home, some of us started eating healthy (which is disgusting), sleeping better, we saw our carbon footprint and how we have been suffocating nature. Lesson learnt. Can we go out now?

Stumbled onto the new era of Disney musicals

 

Stumbled? Not stumbled, more like run out of ideas and decided to diss Frozen and express my love for Moana and Coco. I am sure most people liked all three, which I understand. I am sure a good portion preferred Frozen out of the three. That’s what I don’t get. I personally did not like Frozen; it surely did not help that I was already fed up of ‘Let it Go’ by the time I actually watched the movie. Or that I wasn’t yet a fan of Jonathan Groff, having only seen him play the bastard he did in Glee. But I have attempted to limit this particular bias and still end up disliking Frozen. And loving Moana and crying during Coco every fucking time.

So here is my theory. Frozen was a relatively safe revival of the animated musical genre. I am not entirely sure that this is how the genre is called but I am sticking with it. I have already made a mistake; one that pisses me off when it is other people that make it. That is Frozen did not revive the animate musical genre; Tangled did. Frozen just followed course. It was Tangled that was very successful in 2011 which led the way for another Disney movie with this already successful format from Disney’s best years in animation. But I am not one to hold a grudge for a movie not being the first of its kind. I am not old enough, nor have seen enough old movies for that; I would have fewer opportunities to do so. I think the problem is Frozen was another Andersen fairy tale, with western themes and imagery. I know ‘Let it Go’ won an Oscar and is universally loved and the cast is famous and lovely all around and all that is nice and true. It doesn’t feel like a passion project, though. Not to me and my opinion continues to be of universal importance. It is, however, very possible (certain, some would say) that this ‘passion project’ criticism is just me trying to justify why I never went crazy for Frozen. I like the shift in focus from a romantic endeavour between a prince and a princess to two sisters, two leading female characters, but it seems they couldn’t risk not having a romantic prospect at all. Enter Kristoff (I hope that’s the name of the guy and not the moose. If it is the moose, I assure you I am not suggesting Frozen promotes bestiality). And the other guy, Hans. And a merchandisable snowman. There is still quite a bit of a formula in Frozen and that is what makes me think that executives played a bigger part than creators did. Or a significant enough part to make it feel a bit flat. And I’ll say it, even though no one else is. The rest of the songs are…meh. At best. And the comedy is meh, at best. Except that one joke in ‘Love is an Open Door’; the one with the sandwiches. Look it up, I refuse to plagiarise.

On the other hand, I feel both Moana and Coco were passion projects. Now, I have limited proof for this. If any. Okay, I have no proof for this. Not to say that executives are non-existent in these films. Hei-Hei was a blunt merchandise opportunity if I ever saw one. But the stories are so much sweeter and original. At least for western audiences. The family theme is much more prominent in these films, which is also a lot more prominent in Latin cultures and (I suppose) Polynesian culture. And it provokes a much stronger emotional response, at least it did for me. It is not just immediate family; it’s grandparents and the notion of family, including ancestry etc, it’s finding that balance between loving your family but making your own path through life. If I had to render a guess, this is also a more appropriate and relatable theme for kids. Kids and menstruating 26 year olds in lockdown. Talking about a friend of mine. I also very much enjoyed the colours, the imagery, the influences from a culture I am not frequently subject to. It was much more exciting to get glimpses out of this mythology, these traditions, this art that I would otherwise not look up online because I am a basic bitch. So as someone living in Western culture (not geographically, you know what I mean), it was much more exciting to hear these stories instead of another rendition of Snow Queen. And as I understand it, people from non-Western cultures are equally excited to see their stories, that are so seldom included in mainstream culture, animated and Hollywood-ified. Or they might hate on the inaccuracies, as we Greeks do about Hercules. By the way, awesome, hilarious movie, worth the re-watch at any age.

There is no need for comparison between Frozen, and Moana and Coco, other than getting a bit of friction for the blog. But I will now continue as if I had never admitted to this about how much I loved both Moana and Coco. They were both visually stunning and the music was brilliant. No surprise as far as Moana is concerned; Miranda can do no wrong. But that’s the thing, Moana has more than one incredible song! And each of them is special in a different way. Coco too; ‘Un Poco Loco’ can lift me up any time and ‘Remember Me’ can bring me to tears just as quickly. Quicker even. Also, Moana was originally pitched by Taika Waititi, which is generally enough reason for me to love anything.

It was interesting to see how far I’ll go to just to hate on Frozen. I think I just couldn’t let it go until I had written it all out. The unevenness in reception between this classic snow tale and the two more ethnic and heartfelt features drives me un poquititito loco. If anyone else feels the same way let me say you’re welcome. If this conversation comes into play, remember me.

Stumbled onto another music biopic

 

I did it! This post is actually pop culture related! This blog is back on track for a week or so. But I’ll be honest; it’s not looking good. We are practically re entering a coronavirus lockdown and I might have to bring back the ‘Blog in the Time of Corona’ series, featuring, Leyla, cats and awkward social norms.

I woke up with a relatively positive mood. I say relatively because (1) I woke up with an alarm, which is never a good start to the day, (2) we are indeed entering a semi-lockdown, (3) Greece just went through an earthquake, and (4) I run out of pretty face masks. However, I somehow managed to be optimistic about my day; made a nice breakfast, had a pleasant workout, and took Leyla for a walk. That is until my friend messaged me about the new David Bowie biopic, ‘Stardust’. And now my day is ruined. But every ruined day is a good day to write on my blog.

I haven’t met anyone who does not love David Bowie. Anyone I still talk to, that is. I think it is rare for someone so particular to be so universally loved. Not unheard of, but surely rare. His creativity was out of this world. His music was intelligent and methodical, but also honest and ground-breaking. His appearance was definitive, his whole persona was unapologetic and he was distinguished by his incomformity. He was more than a musician; he was a concept artist. He adopted so many forms and yet retained a British, beautifully twisted core throughout. So I would love to ask the executives behind the biopic; who thought it was a good idea to have a conventional biopic for such an unconventional man?

This is not a recent question; I do not understand how this was the case for Freddie Mercury, or Elton John either. I am starting to feel this is good indication of how Hollywood cannot begin to comprehend British culture. In their defence, I still don’t quite understand how they turned baked beans into a junk food. For the past three years, we have taken a look at norm-breaking, extravagant artists from such a conservative lens. I understand that mainstream usually means more money, but then Bowie wasn’t mainstream and I think he ended up pretty rich. I actually really like Johnny Flynn and thought he would be a good fit, as he is up-and-coming and a musician himself. Also, I see the resemblance. But this tiny glimpse into his Bowie felt nothing but flat and, as the Guardian effectively stated, a portrayal of Noel Fielding/Eddie Izzard rather than the Starman. It might be unfair to judge a movie that has not come out yet; it is unfair to be that predisposed from a trailer. But trailers are meant to entice you to see a movie and right now I have lost all faith in cinema. For like a day. I’ll be back.

It is not just the trailer. It is its predecessors. It is Bohemian Rhapsody. The best thing about that movie were the songs. Actually, that is not fair; I was obviously not expecting some aspect of the movie to surpass the songs. This was actually a poor attempt of mine to be a bit less negative. What I meant to say is the ONLY good thing about that movie were the songs. Okay, maybe the Live Aid scene as well, which was shockingly faithful to the actual show. While this reproduction was a cinematic feat and good for them, the very essence of Freddie Mercury was excluded from the movie. Mercury was larger than life and out of control, he was putting on a very certain face for society, but at the same was deeply hurt by the world. And someone thought this is a story that Bryan Singer should direct! I am not even referring to the fact that he apparently is a shit of a human being; if I have understood the timeline correctly, he made the movie prior to his shittidness being public knowledge. I am merely saying his movies are of a very certain genre; the ‘well-made, but nothing special’ genre. I also mean no disrespect to Rami Malek; I think he did what he was asked to do brilliantly, and acting with these ridiculous prosthetic teeth was probably worthy of an Oscar in itself. But I can relate to what Sacha Baron Cohen expected when he was originally offered the part and left the movie because it was so tame. I cannot believe it. They made a tame movie about Queen and named it Bohemian Rhapsody; the rural poster song of Rock Opera Extravaganza!

Also, is it possibly time to rethink the whole concept of a biopic all together? I understand the appeal, and it is sometimes done beautifully. It seems the fewer details we have about a figure’s personality the more interesting the portrayal. Maybe it is the fact that we have heard so much about Bowie and Mercury and John’s personal lives, we have so many examples of their manner on film and while all artists are of valour, there is something special about what musicians mean to us, I find. We therefore, as an audience, have a very consolidated idea of who they were and, dare I say, a more three-dimensional one than that included in these biopics. Is there really much interest in a chronological account of all the facts we already know about these people, with the simple addition of beautiful actors and good lighting? Maybe it is; if amateur porn has taught us anything is that beautiful actors and good lighting are important.

I was so annoyed with Bohemian Rhapsody and it even won four Academy Awards. I am worried I will need a tranquilizer to watch this movie; they haven’t even been allowed to include any of Bowie’s music. This is certainly a twist from mainstream practices of music biopics; have the main character mime his way through his career. Maybe not the twist I was referring to, but a twist nonetheless. The Bowie family is not happy with it (which I guess explains the lack of Bowie’s music), the fans aren’t happy with the trailer, and as executives are more susceptible to Twitter criticism as of late, for better (see Sonic the Hedgehog) or worse (see my post about Justice League), maybe we can hope for the Labyrinth inspired movie about Ziggy we deserve. At least there is an excellent ‘Stardust’ movie we can depend on from Matthew Vaughn that treated Neil Gaiman’s novel with respect. And an array of beautiful movies with the actual David Bowie. And… Zoolander. Nobody’s film career is perfect.

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.