OH I GUESS THIS IS GOOGLE NOW

NOTHING LOADS
EVEN YOUTUBE IS SLOW AS FUCK
EVERYTHING GOOGLE TOUCHES TURNS TO SHIT
BUT NO KEEP BOWING DOWN TO GOOGLE
HURRR I WANT GOOGLE FIBER
Might as well get an AOL disk and cram it up your ass because that's all the faster the internet will be when Google is done with it.
Blogger and Youtube are owned by fucking Google.
2/3rds of the tools used in the creation of this blog are currently unmanageable.
Fuck.

I received a beautiful present from an elderly lady I visit sometimes! I'm a little staggered by it. It's a German language Bible - with 40 prints by an artistic fascination of mine: Salvador Dalí, among other things.

Oh good a book no one bothers to read in a dead language with art by Helen Keller.
Thx.

An anecdote to begin the post: The love of my life, T., arrived in Montreal from Iran on a fake Portuguese* passport in '84 - running from the draft, running from war, running from poison gas. He'd never met an Iraqi teenager, and he was independent-minded enough to know he had zero intention of heading off to kill any. Perhaps he already understood something deep in his soul about that war: that by the end, foreign powers would be funding both sides, and he wanted nothing of it.

I already so don't care about this.

T. is violently atheist ("Dear," he tells me as I read him that last line. "I am a secular humanist you know." Well, perhaps.) a position I never argue with because he has suffered in his life in ways I haven't and I can put up with jokes about going to mass, but he shares my deep love of Nuns. Nuns are very "dear and darling" as he often says (it's a phrase unique to T.). That they are women helps with this perception. T. loves women with a certain sweet sentimentality ("I am not sentimental!" - but you are, my darling - you really are). Ask him in a weak moment when you sense he is in a confessional mood and he'll tell you that Quebecois women are nearly as lovely as German ones. T. is generally, to his credit, rather delicate on this matter.

I can't think of the last time I hated a paragraph this fucking much.
I'm currently using my whole body to hate this paragraph.
Fucking goddamn it.

I'm a migraine sufferer who can't bear the sun most days. It blinds me. As such, I look for clouds behind silver-linings. Scents, sounds and sensations can be wonderfully enhanced, and completely unbearable at the same time.

Can't wait to read this.

I've become convinced that migraines affect mood depending on where the pain is coming from. There is no scientific basis for this thought because supposedly, your brain can't feel pain.

Objectively it cannot feel pain.
Your brain has no pain receptors.
It has no nerves, in fact.
The blood vessels around it do, however, and that's the source of the migraine.
Presumably.

I clearly remember my migraines almost from infancy. 

Considering your brain isn't developed enough to retain memories at infancy I'm going to assume by "almost" you mean "when I was four almost five".

Also: my mother's upbringing. In the late 1950s my mother was hit by a car. The woman who hit her cried for 2 hours from shock in the living room of my mother's grandfather's house. My mother was tucked up on the sofa and given pepper-mint tea: my great-grandmother's cure-all remedy.

...
Take her to the hospital?
They had those in the 1950s.
I think.
Sprinkle some chicken blood on her--
whatever people did in the 1950s do that.

For all the woman's pleading, there was no question of taking my mother to the hospital. Concussion? Well - as her devoutly Catholic grandmother (who had survived the depression, 10 live-births, life in a factory, rationing and the flattening of Nurnberg during the war) comfortingly told the woman: "Never mind, my dear. It's God's will."

I know people call voodoo priests primitive but at least they're making a fucking effort.
It might be backwards and barbaric but at least they try.
"God's will" is the ultimate cop out, lazy excuse for bullshit I've ever heard.
How do you know God's will isn't take your fucking cunt daughter to the fucking hospital?
If I were a god I'd probably tell you not to take her so she'd fucking bleed out from internal injuries but then again I wouldn't be the god of mercy.

On a day when an homage to fromage competes in the Eurovision competition I've realized that not only am I addicted to cheese but really: I think about food far too much! Also: I've kicked the sugar habit (possibly for good) but am now addicted to salt.

Oh good.
Migraines are connected to water intake.
Make sure to dehydrate yourself as much as possible.
Also hasn't cheese been linked to migraines?

This morning an e-mail was waiting for me from my sister. "Terrible news about Jack Layton," it read. I'm so sorry."

No not Jack Layton!
Who the fuck is Jack Layton?

I logged into the Globe and Mail to find out what she was talking about - and then I saw the news. Jack Layton Dies At Age 61 of Cancer.

Well that's a shame.
He was a good man.
I guess.
What a rotten way to die, though.
Seriously who the fuck is that?

We all knew he was ill because of the press conference he gave when he temporarily (or so we thought) handed over the leadership of the NDP to Nycole Turmel of the Quebec Caucus, but he'd promised he would return.

Canadian politician.
Wow, I care even less than usual about this political post.

Jack was born in Montreal. His dad was a cabinet minister in the Mulroney government - or, as Jack put it: "He fell in with a bad crowd!" Jack studied at McGill and York Universities and later taught at Ryerson. He was a Toronto City Counsellor and deputy mayor of Toronto. His wife, current NDP parliamentarian Olivia Chow, also served on that council They met at a hospital fundraiser.

A wiseman.
ALL RIGHT JACK MAYBE I WAS WRONG ABOUT YOU.
Anyone with his personal affairs that in order must at least be a consideration for office.
So few people can get their personal affairs together let alone a nation's.
Anyway that's the start of this blog.
Unless you count soccer as an entry.
I don't.