15.04.2018 – Sunday (bloody) Sunday

What’s worse than your Basset Hound drinking his own body weight in water just before bedtime? It’s a trick question. There’s nothing worse.

‘Wake up human, I need to go pee’ 

A quick survey of past experiences means this REM fracturing occurrence will likely begin at two thirty seven AM and end approximately thirty minutes later. It’s rarely a case of go outside and come back in again… afterall a virtual menagerie of night creatures have tramped through the perimeter by this stage… and ALL of these interloper spoors need to be thoroughly investigated via snout, sent for threat assessment and then graded according to suspiciousness and girth of critter.

Color me excited.

‘Are you listening to church music?’
‘It’s John Cougar Mellencamp’
‘Okay… It sounds like church music’

While our Venn diagrams do overlap musically, my wife tends to view anything that isn’t Seattle circa 1990 as straying from alternative orthodoxy and should therefore be (at least initially) regarded with suspicion. (I click next). Kasabian.

‘Better?’
‘Meh.’

In Johannesburg when the mercury dips below 18C (65F) its broadly considered a sign of the end times. In very short order the dress code goes from Billabong beach casual to Northface Antarctic expedition. Also everyone suddenly starts subjectively hypothesizing how this winter is ‘Going to be REALLY* bad’.

*By REALLY bad they mean two days where the temperature will drop briefly below zero. One of those days might also be cloudy.

Since my toe-nails, cuticles and actual toes received a smattering of purple nail polish yesterday I knew I was purple-traitoring (perpetrating) a cultural faux pas by committing to flip flops today.

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But… I felt it was more important to… eh… strut my stuff as it were.

Unfortunately strutting my stuff (and trying to embarrass my wife) meant I clipped my little toe on this… f’ing… bolt

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Which cut my toe open. (I’m not having much luck with my ability to amble along these days)

Soon I was trailing O+ through the mall like it was the invasion of Normandy. (this may be a slight exaggeration)

After about thirty meters my profound and very public display of hemorrhaging  was remedied with a Disney band-aid (featuring a portrait of Princess Elsa) and a suggestion that I should ‘toughen up’. It does not get any less alpha-male than this.

I briefly considered intimating that maybe ‘someone’ should buy me a lollipop for being particularly brave… you know… under the circumstances. But then decided better of it it.

I spent the rest of the day in the kitchen. I made a roast chicken for lunch. Baked liver bread for the dogs. And fried up enough plantains and sweet potato to keep me out of ‘real’ carbohydrates for the week.

I also bought a west African Yam this morning. It’s a serious beast of a tuber (onion used for scale).

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I have no idea how I’m going to attempt cooking it yet. It’s not a very sexy vegetable, I cannot lie.

Apparently it’s good for you.

14.04.2018 – Saturday

‘Who ate the last cookie? I know it wasn’t you, because you would have left the empty box in the cupboard’

I feigned ignorance, shrugging non committedly…. but actually… it was me… I just inexplicably changed my modus operandi. Consider me admonished.

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For my sins I was corralled and then subjected to adornment. I would have preferred some cuticle work and maybe a seaweed wrap (applied to the soothing sounds of some Enya-esque alter ego). Unfortunately I got the backstreet hatchet job experience, the real life consequences of diminished bargaining power.

But that only happened much later… before things started going really awry for me we had breakfast at the Farmers market. (which included carrot-cake and a plus-sized chocolate croissant)

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Not exactly the cornerstones of high density nutrition and paleo. I mollified my concerns with dietary platitudes and bandied about terms like ‘cheat days’. It seemed to work and for good measure I inhaled a home made chicken pie. It was pure ambrosia of Olympusian* proportions. Just thinking about it now is illicting a Pavlovian response.

*My made up adjective for today.

We also bought eggs, homemade sauerkraut, sourdough and kimchi.

I love kimchi. I eat it on toast. I would write a poem about it, if only kimchi rhymed with… anything. Basically a haiku is my only option.

In your gut it does
probiotic health effects
but with garlic breath

(Counts out syllables on his fingers) I think that’s right.

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I also played with my DSLR for a bit.

13.04.2018 – Friday evening

I can’t decide whether it’s Falkor (the Luck Dragon from The NeverEnding Story) or a Basset Hound caught in mid-gallop, heading for the cookie jar.

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“Never give up; and good luck will find you.” – Falkor

I blew the dust off my DSLR earlier. Quite literally. The last pictures on there were from my wife’s baby shower. (My daughter just turned two) I don’t know much about cameras and, rather embarrassingly, I have never even swapped out the lens it came with. There is another lens in the bag… but I don’t know what it does. Wide angle maybe? Is that even a thing? After engaging with the stratocumulus mimicry above my domicile I meandered in a circuitous fashion around my garden.

I took a picture of some daisies….

Adjusting myself for what I thought might be a better ‘shot’, I put too much pressure on my twisted ankle and toppled over, furrowing myself rather unceremoniously into the flower bed.

I lay there for a while (as one does) before deciding that the best course of action would be to make this sad sort of mewling sound. Eventually staring down the double barrels of starvation and hypothermia and with no spouse or canis familiaris in sight I picked myself up and hobbled back towards the house. (ostensibly to make myself a sandwich)

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I don’t know much about light… (Other than it comes in waves and is measured in lumens) but I’ve decided that I really like the color yellow. Who knew.

13.04.2018 – Friday

I’ve decided (recently) that I hate running. I realize hate is quite an intense verb and that I used to run almost every single day.  In terms of time efficiency, it’s a really good workout, but… I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed running, not really. I suppose I could frame my statement with various excuses; I don’t have the right build, gait, mindset or that distance running is counter evolutionary to our bipedal form, but I think the reality is that I’m just more inclined towards sloth (the vice not the marsupial) and therefore just resistant to the whole concept of forward inertia coupled with the aggressive locomotion of my lower extremities. Besides, running is bad for you.

‘Why do you run Joey? Because it feels so good when I stop’.

I usually wake up (stupid) early, usually somewhere around four am. Theoretically this time between booting up and breakfast is meant to be spent in zen like contemplation, girding my loins for the day ahead. More often than not I loose myself in some mindless (fake) news event or some YouTube rabbit hole instead.

This morning I decided to take the German Shepherd for a walk. The Basset Hound was still snugly furled up in his pillow fort and it would have proved… challenging to extract him from within its confines without considerable effort.

In any event I appreciate the way that the world feels at four thirty am. I like the Noir effect and how the only people that are awake are those indentured beings delivering bread and newspapers (I’m guessing this won’t be a ‘thing’ forever). Although this morning I did meet another idiot walking his dog. (weird)

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The ubiquitous selfie. (I’m the one on the left)

My sojourn takes me up past a film studio, through a park and then I loop past a cemetery on my way back. Just under three miles. Only about five meters from my house on the return leg I tripped on the unkempt verge of my neighbors pavement and twisted my ankle. I’ve been hobbling around today ever since. The irony.

So maybe its just walking upright that seems to be problematic for me? I feel the weight of my ancestors and my kin (all the way back to homo-erectus) as they collectively share a look of concern and then face-palm.

‘Damn Joey, been walking long?’  

At thirty nine and two months I’d like to underscore that I am a slow learner. Recently my wife has been trying to teach me some more ‘occult’ like accounting practices (specifically deferred tax). If ever there was a concept that has wrinkled the gray spongy stuff!

I feel I may have reached my ‘trick limit’ and that new tricks are now beyond me. Maybe I’m aiming too high though. Instead of deferred tax I should maybe just concentrate on the basics. You know, like putting the toilet seat down and eating with my mouth closed.

That seems like a lot to remember though.