One of the better decisions I ever made in life was to only buy Apple products. They obviously cost more, but I can hardly contemplate the time and inconveniences I’ve saved myself from. When I had those junky Android phones, they never worked right. I got tired of never getting my emails or watching the battery die by the time I got to work. How are you supposed to be productive with technology that doesn’t work? So now I have an iPhone and a MacBook and an iPad Pro and and Apple Watch and three Apple TVs and even an Apple router. It’s excessive, but this is a world that operates so beautifully together. I could weep. But that’s not really what I’m here to write about today. I am obsessed with the built in backup program in the main operating system. I do absolutely nothing, and it files away all of my work without me ever having to think of it. Then, if I should delete a picture or need a song later, I simply have to do a Time Machine search and a few moments later…there it is. It’s literally magic. The other day when I was getting an infusion of horrible drugs at the hospital, I hit delete on an email that should not have been deleted. I don’t know where it went for the life of me. I just couldn’t find it anywhere. I was so annoyed. So I got on the MacBook last night, fired up Time Machine, and found the email in seconds. I don’t know how this witchcraft works, and I know that this isn’t the most exciting entry I’ve ever written, but I was simply beyond thrilled. Apple knows how to do shit. Now, I should probably reply to that important email before I delete it again!
Winter Palace Omelettes:
Okay, so these aren’t really a thing, but whatever, it’s just an omelette reminiscent of a place and a moment in time more than an actual recipe. God, I sound like one of those horrific food bloggers that blabbers on and on about home churned butter dripping down their chin from a fresh biscuit on a warm summer night, watching fireflies blink, as their overworked and under appreciated mother watches from a distance, sipping out of a cracked mug that she couldn’t afford to replace. It’s expensive coffee, though, her one and only indulgence in world that otherwise is too cruel. You know the kind of website I’m talking about? Forgive me if I ever do that. Sometimes food invokes memories and happy contemplation, but if I ever go on like that about something stupid, arrest me. To get to my story, I was miserable the other day. I was in a depressive state that I did not even know was possible. I was crying about things I don’t care about and laughing about things I did. It was the worst thing in the world. I talked about it last week, so I’m not going to reflect to lengthily. I’ve changed my mind. I’m not reflecting at all on that because I want to forget it. So, I was miserable and I was also starving to death because steroids make you a ravenous bitch. To try and soothe myself, I made a Winter Palace omelette, which is literally just an omelette that isn’t folded. It’s round and sat on a plate and that’s it. Nothing elegant or particularly special, but that’s how they are served at the Winter Palace in Luxor, Egypt, and the idea of having one made me happy. It was good, and it made me smile a little bit. I went straight back to the pits of hell afterward, but for a moment, there was joy in the world. By the way, I’m way better now. I can kind of use my left eye, life has meaning, and I can get out of bed without wanting to vomit everything I’ve ever consumed. Progress!
Eurovision Ballads & Lackluster Use of Glitter:
Eurovision is my favorite time of the year. I mean, that’s a huge exaggeration, but it is something that I genuinely look forward to all the time. There is nothing better than watching European countries (and Australia for some reason) compete in a pop battle while covered in glitter. That’s how it used to be in 2011 when Jessica and I watched for the first time in Paris. That was one of the last hurrahs of the glory days of the show. Nobody cared for ballads and nobody bothered to be serious. We had dwarves on unicycles, fires galore, sequins, shirts that turned into ships, rhinestone encrusted vampires, and bearded ladies that inspired all of Europe. It was beyond delicious. Here are some personal highlights:
Last year, though, something awful happened. I think it must be political. Every country started to sing sad ballads on and on and on. They were awful. The sequins were gone. The glitter was gone. The set design went away. It was miserable. This year was slightly better, especially since the hosts did a parody of what a perfect Eurovision song should be, called “Love Love Peace Peace.” If they had entered it, I have absolutely no doubt that they would have won. It was exactly right.
That’s what Eurovision is about.The rest of the show was fine, but it could have been so much campier. Maybe next year will be better? A highlight was the magical moment when the Ukrainian delegates awarded their points dressed in their famously wild silver costume of years past. I had a good time, and I will always have a good time watching Eurovision. It’s just not the same as it was. Somebody needs to bring the madness back.
“Murder, She Wrote” Episodes Without Jessica Fletcher:
I understand that my queen, Angela Lansbury gets tired and deserves a break, but there is nothing in the world more painful or difficult to get through than an hour of Murder, She Wrote trying to care about characters that aren’t Jessica. I mean, I still watch them all religiously whenever I turn Netflix on, but how many times do I have to watch her acquaintance in the M6 dash around Europe on a series of misadventures that don’t apply to Jessica? I want more than her little introduction and conclusion. I want so much more. I want Jessica Fletcher on that screen every damn minute. You see, and I know you see because I have written so much about it in the past, there is a wonderful calm from watching Angela Lansbury solve mysteries on the screen. She is gracious and witty and there are so many dead bodies. Dead bodies are absolutely everywhere! I don’t know how the inhabitants of Cabot Cove have survived so long with so many corpses all over the place. Still, Jessica manages to solve them all with her wit and keen eyes. It’s a good thing she didn’t develop optic neuritis like me or she would never have figured out the KGB killers in one episode every season. It’s remarkable how many times she bumpes into Russian assassins. I don’t have an awful lot more to say other than I miss her when she’s not on the screen. I have started an episode twice now about a mafia wedding in Italy, but my heart is just not in it since she is there only for a few moments talking about credit card offers. I hope the next season I watch again features her extensively.
I don’t like eating in the mornings. I would much rather have a coffee and then wait for lunch. In all my life, I think that the only times I have ever willingly sought out breakfast is at the Winter Palace for those omelettes I was telling you about earlier. That was a damn fine breakfast, and I think about it often. Other than that, though, I’m content to never have it. Recently, I have had to start taking a medication in the morning that affects me negatively if I’m completely empty on the inside, so, with great bitterness and revulsion, I eat boiled eggs or cheese or cereal. Nothing large, never more than a nibble. It’s the worst thing in the world. I have no hunger and no desire whatsoever to consume those things. I love eating, but I do not want to eat in the mornings. I can’t tell you how gross it feels to have a lump of food sitting in my stomach that early in the day. Recently, I read the results of a poll on America’s breakfast habits, and it turns out that most people eat breakfast. I thought it was a common thing now that we all made coffee and scurried off to work. Guess not. Guess I’m just a bit unusual in that regard. I sincerely look forward to being done with this medication because I will surely not be keeping with this ritual. I don’t want to get fat. I do want to eat croissants though. I’d eat a croissant in the mornings, I would have no troubles at all with that. So, long rambling statement to say that breakfast is terrible and I want nothing at all to do with it.