May 4, 2015 by unclespike218
Last night was the last time I took a full day’s dose of Keppra. Tonight, I will cut back to a half dose. And by tomorrow, I should begin to see a difference. Will my brain come back more? Will I get dizzy? Will I (God forbid) be more prone to seizures again? So curious! Mr. Man expressed concern last night about me making a transition so close to when I begin to drive again…to which I glibly said, “Yeah, there are a lot of things in life to be afraid of.” At this point, I care very little about fear. I need to get going on life again.
I must acknowledge my living contradiction before I become too hypocritical. Yes, I’m already a hypocrite. I can’t stand the bear scene, but what do I look like? At dinner a few nights ago, I expressed my disgust with people who thought I was good looking, deriding them as blind and wishing I had a tattoo that said “NOT FOR YOU.” Then not three hours later, I’m my bearded, burly self, in a leather vest and a Provincetown Bears cap at the local leather bar soaking in the attention (and giving some out freely myself). I told a good friend of mine about going to a big leather/bear event later this month, with the expectation that “Mr. Cellophane” would be my theme song. And he laughed, then said, “If that’s the case, then that’s all your fault.” So which is it? It’s a mindfuck, knowing that the appearance of a big, burly bear is one that I’ve been attracted to – and since I began owning my body about four years ago, actively cultivating said appearance – but knowing that the very pervasive cliquish aspects of bear culture are a huge turnoff. I can consciously grow bigger, but not hairier or darker, so I recognize that many pictures of bear events would not include me. For example. Yet even before I knew of a concept of bear culture, as a college kid back in 1994, I viewed a bear as a personal totem…even to the point where for a short while, I had a necklace with a bear on it. In case I had questions about where I stood, last year at Bear Week, I went to the first afternoon’s tea dance, getting cruised enough to boost the ego a bit…to the point where I took off my shirt, and immediately became invisible again because of a lack of body hair.
This is not a post with an answer. But at least it’s acknowledgment of a situation that sometimes occupies my mind, and which I am grappling with. Eventually, I’ll make an uneasy peace with it, perhaps.
Let’s continue the gayety, shall we? Cocktails and Classics on Logo: awesome, if not tremendously original, idea. Auntie Mame was fun last night. But the featured cocktail – the Agnes Gooch – was definitely not. Two parts bourbon, then one part each vermouth, triple sec, and lime juice. The drink is a disgusting brown color, and what really comes through is the worst flavors of vermouth tied with the acidity of the lime juice. The drink occasionally burned coming back up – even though I didn’t burp – and I couldn’t finish even half of my drink. Oh well. Worth a try. And maybe I need some better vermouth, for that matter. Next week will be Sunset Boulevard, and I anticipate an appropriately glamorous, Hollywood-themed cocktail for that one.