I’m starting to think in more detail about what I’m going to do for Death Awareness Week this year.
Tiny Letter readers will know that Mrs Stroke Bloke and I visited Cairnpapple Hill in central Scotland last weekend. It was an enlightening trip, in light of last week’s post on ’80s movies. Like Withnail and Marwood, we came across a bull in a field. And turning to an obvious omission pointed out by Atletico Marcelo in the comments, Cairnpapple was the site of a little henge.
Sometimes, it feels like the blog is being hounded by an abstract concept.
[Get more whimsy and free gin* at the Apoplexy Tiny Letter.]
As followers of the apoplectic.me Tiny Letter will be aware, the University of Edinburgh’s Creative Writers had their second reading night of the year just over a week ago. I co-hosted with my co-host, the handsome and talented Mr Jacques Tsiantar.
For this event, we only had three minutes for each of our individual slots. That’s about 600 words, which isn’t a lot. But fortunately, the first 600 or so words of my stroke-y memoir of extreme survival stop at a real doozie of a line.
Hi, everyone. The Prof is back to pull back the curtain on genius once again. Here he is on the soundtrack for Illicit Ink‘s Apollo 21 at the Edinburgh International Science Festival – but being too modest to mention his star turn as Ground Control….
So. I’ve got an admission to make….
This stroke survivor is in a band.
I think Nerd Bait was first described on here as a “Six-Legged Collaborative Creative Collective”, and that is about the size of it. But that appellation was also a reflexively defensive way not to say “band”.
Yes, we’re an odd kind of modern, transatlantic, virtual iteration of a band, but that’s no excuse. The Dave Matthews Band is a pile of shit, and they’ve got “Band” IN THEIR NAME.
[Scroll down for the new Nerd Bait track, The Bonfire — apoplectic.me gives it FIVE STARS!!!] Continue reading The Bonfire
I mentioned once that I had let slip to Longsufferinggirlfriendoftheblogbeth that “I didn’t solely come back from [stroke-y] death because I had to see her one more time. I wanted to see her one more time, and tell her that everything was going to be OK.”
And that that was a a lie, solely to the extent I didn’t think I was going to survive.
I read something last week that, had I known it at the time, would have meant I could have delivered the message with a clear conscience. Continue reading Something Fishy
Our host, the partner of ein Autobahnkind, throws the Mercedes people-carrier into bends that lead us to Highgate. Looking out the windows, I want to tweet to every Scot who ever said, “I can’t be doing with London,” and fill 140 characters with wide arboretums and bilingual Eurostar stations and urban parklands and Japanese supermarkets and treetop walks.
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Hey, folks! This bonus post comes from nerdbaitband.com. I can’t tell you how proud I am to be associated with this piece of magic….
“So, all six legs of the collective were in the same room last week. And we thought, “Since we’re all together, why not get in a full orchestra to fill out the emotional finalé of The Treacherous Brain?”
The Professor wasn’t sure we could get the kettle drums past the couch, but when we moved the brass onto the deck, the acoustics worked out remarkably well.
Hear for yourselves:
Get your hankies out. I don’t think Ricky’s gonna get through this one….”
When I sit down for too long, my left leg gets all seized up. And being out of my regular routine these past couple of weeks has made it harder to regularly stretch my legs. I decide to go for a walk through my temporary neighbourhood.