Close to politics

So, some ten percent of Americans think Obama is Muslim, eh? Why does this not surprise me?

I don't have a race card to deal with. I don't have wingnut talk show hosts whipping people into a frenzy. What I do have is a highly unusual name from a very small country, and in many parts of this country, that's close to a crime.

Some years back, when our Department of Homeland Stupidity managed to detain a few travelers for the crime of being Welsh, I crossed a threshold after a lifetime of this crap. I don't care any more about the worthless opinions of people who find any name stranger than "Billy Bob" too complicated to handle.

I suggest Sen. Obama do the same.

More Proof...

that stupidity is the most universal of human conditions. The actions of a Finnish vandal on Easter Island prove once more that you don't have to be an American tourist to be an ugly tourist.

One would prefer something more comforting from human nature, but its a tossup between this and the idiots who ransack houses because Craigslist told them it was OK.

Scotty, I'm ready anytime.

All right, I will say this

Over the last couple of years back my TN, when active, has interfered with my eating (or, more precisely, my chewing) more and more. For a person of a certain weight, this is a silver lining in the cloud. In addition to an absolute reduction in caloric intake, there is a Pavlovian reaction that develops when one's mind begins to equate food with pain, and it happens very quickly. Not to mention that a diet with soup and yogurt as staples loses its excitement very quickly. The other night I discovered that a little polenta with a bit of chopped spinach (semi-Florentine?) in marinara sauce meets my brain's definition of non-chewy. Heaven!! I may try the down-home version and go for grits and gravy next.

One can't even drown one's sorrows. The meds have now reached ridiculous levels, confining me to such laughably small alcoholic intakes that I'm effectively on the wagon.

I'll take my whining back to a dark corner now.

(exits right)

Just marking the space

So yep, two weeks of trigeminal amusement. I've said everything I want to say about it and y'all have read more than you want to about it.

This clown car gets back on the road when things are under control.

Razzle Dazzle

Life, once again, imitates art. This time, it's that form of razzle-dazzle called "medical necessity."

Here's the game. I have rung the chimes on the use of Tegretol, the default medication for trigeminal neuralgia. So next, we hold fast with Tegretol and increase the dosage of my second medication, Neurontin, to levels that will allow me to beam myself to work. Just in case the Beast finds a chink in this armour, I am also prescribed Clonazepam, an anti-convulsant of legendary properties. When--not if--this regimen proves unsustainable, The MD makes a case to my insurer that I should have another option called Lyrica, with less hallucinatory side effects. (The link gives you the party line, by the way.) That too is probably destined to failure.

One does all this why? To make a medical necessity case for surgery. Whilst the medications have about a 60 percent chance of success, the surgery has a 90 percent plus chance of success. But we wouldn't want to deprive the poor drug companies of another chance to make a buck, now, would we?

I admit to mixed feelings when I discovered that the most I could get from a whole bottle of Clonazepam is a reversible coma, and probably a wicked bad hangover. Shit.

One does find a sense of solidarity with laboratory animals.