Mrs Stroke Bloke and I were just talking about how over five years have passed since my stroke. A lot of things have changed since the day before the stroke. Since the day after the stroke. Since the day I was released from the Rusk Institute. And so on.
The rather hoary old saw I’m ripping here is, time flies…
In 2006, a psychologist at Cardiff University identified today as the most depressing day of the year. Cliff Arnall suggested that this was due to the confluence of a number of factors, including debts from Christmas overspending, the abandoning of New Year’s resolutions, and low levels of motivation.
So if you were already been super-depressed about having to go through Blue Monday on 15 January, now you must feel really bad.
Let’s just ignore the elephant in the room for a moment, shall we? Yes, for someone who has the ability to speak out against racism and misogyny and homophobia (dons Stroke Bloke hat – or ablism) to choose to stay silent on these matters is the same as condoning them. So let’s be clear – I’m against these things here, in my life, and in my art.
Mrs Stroke Bloke and I spent this past weekend in the Highlands. More precisely, we were visiting family in Strontian, on the banks of Loch Sunart. One of my cousins asked if I would be writing about our trip in the blog this week. And since she took me to see David Bowie’s Sound and Vision tour stop in Ingliston in 1990, I could hardly say “No.”
A blog established in the aftermath of a catastrophic stroke necessarily dwells on issues of personal identity. There have certainly been plenty of those sorts of posts over the past three-and-a-bit years.
But last week found me thinking about the origin stories and “values” of various countries. The French and the Americans have theirs, of course. Forged in, respectively, the white hot heat of revolution and, er, revolution. Eras that demanded flags and symbols and identities around which to rally. Their own spasm-ing bouts of apoplexy, if you will.
So, where does that leave national constructs closer to home?
In the wake of last week’s post about Post-Capitalism and cyberpunk (and sure, strokes) BBC Radio 4 embarked on its Digital Week. It seemed Britain’s talk station was forever teetering on the edge of a discussion about what the next generation of roboticisation would mean for us humans. But they never quite got there while I was listening. A bit like today’s news stories.
A good job, too. Because I don’t know about you, Dear Reader, but I’m not up to another socio-economic post today. However, Digital Week did throw up some gems….
16 April was the deadline for turning in my Spring semester portfolio. And of course Illicit Ink’s Apollo 21, co-starring Stroke Bloke, premièred the prior night at Edinburgh’s Royal Observatory on Blackford Hill. I’d like to think that Apollo 21 wouldn’t have been possible in its final, polished form without – in addition to great performances and writing by the whole team – the contributions of my super-talented Nerd Bait bandmates Steph the Brain and Professor Paul, who soundtracked the whole thing.
When I say it’s difficult to listen to this without crying, that’s a good thing. But don’t just take my word for it – thanks to 1 Proton 1 Electron for this lovely review.
I’m still a wee bit of an American Stroke Bloke. In kind of the same way Martha Stewart is Scottish by sex.
And yes, it’s still weird when the cheese triangles in Subway are “cheddar” and not “American”. And I still say and think “toMAYto”. But on the other hand, I was doing a crossword the other day, and got the following clue….
[Sign up for apoplectic.me alerts here. That’s where the revolutionary thinking is.]