Sorry to start this post with a downer, but my comments on facebook to the contrary, what happened to Amy Winehouse is a tragedy. As with what happens so often with talented people, Amy lost her battle with mental illness and drug addiction (here). I hope she finds peace now, wherever she is. While I agree with the philosophy that you can't be helped if you don't want it, I do think a successful intervention can make someone want it. Like I said in My Story, the consequences of continuing must be worse than the pleasures of continuing in order to get through to the addict. Unfortunately for talented, famous, or powerful people it's too easy for them to find people willing to enable them (like Michael Jackson). The human body can take an incredible beating as it's main objectives are to remain alive and procreation, but eventually enough is enough. It's terribly sad, and a real shame that the world has lost another incredible artist.
On a lighter note, I just saw a commercial for Papa John's pizza and I just want to say that Papa John's was the worst buffalo wings I ever had. When I'm sick or ill I sometimes get random food cravings and late-ish one night I had to have buffalo wings and my favorite place to get wings wasn't answering their phone so I had to find someplace else open and willing to deliver. Papa John's fit the bill and I figured, how bad could they be?
The answer is really bad. I don't know if they forgot to fry them or what, but they were plain water boiled-- the skin was soggy and the meat had no taste and the sauce was essentially ketchup.
I differentiate between "sick" and "ill" because...because it makes sense to do so. "Sick" is an infection, bacterial or viral, like a sinus infection or mono or a cold and "ill" is the fibromyalgia or depression (and lately the IBS/Endometriosis drama).
Tomorrow we're celebrating my father's birthday so I probably won't post. Mickey, Debra, and Manny are coming, along with my mother's cousin Truly. Truly is short for "Truly Awesome"-- she's one of my favorite relatives. She's my mother's age, but she's a motorcycle-riding, church choir singing, jug band member (literally) with a million stories to tell. She's a good time.
Best part of my father's birthday, though, is the pecan pie. It's his favorite and we only ever get it on Thanksgiving and his birthday so we have to enjoy it while it's there. Yum.
The Great Job Search!! Update: I've applied to so many places I'm losing track. I wanted to start putting "biracial" on the applications but it turns out Slavic doesn't count as a race, it's just a subset of Caucasian so I'm stuck being white.
I thought I might be able to get away with it because we don't claim a nationality because the area has been so turbulent. When my mother's grandparents were still over there they were living in Austria-Hungary, but then after a war (probably WWI...I'm not good at geography) the area where they were became Czechoslovakia, but that's not there anymore either. People without a country.
Herbert makes fun of me because when I talk I do that Mid-Western "O" thing where you elongate the long O sound, like in "toast". I noticed my mother did it, too, which lead to me researching the origin and it turns out that because so many Slavs immigrated to the Mid-West their accent became or influenced the regional accent. He still thinks it's funny.
Why is it that at 4 o'clock I can't stop yawning, but then at midnight when I want to go to bed I'm wide awake? Stupid body.
Coming posts for next week will include The Story of How I Broke My Leg, Our Culture of Awesome, and an update on Eva & Hitler & Me & Herbert.