Dante's Grocery Shop For Disadvantaged Parsnips

It really has.

Where to begin.

I’m an actor now, it seems. My wife encouraged me to try my wings as an actor. And grudgingly, I did.  And was immediately accepted to the Turku Mideval Fair. Not only that, I actually made big enough of an impression to score TWO parts. I’m the poor stricken merchant, who winds up in to a life of crime. And that’s because I, apparently, actually,  really made an impression.

An impression? Me? Fuck off. Since puberty I have realised that my brand of charm works after two nights and an open mind. My wife… took a fucking year to make her realise that I am an ok guy. No kidding. We met, a year passed, she realised that I am not the venomous source of angst that I appear to be.

An actor? Me? Cock.

7.23 AM, Sunday morning.

Upstairs neighbour decides it’s time to hammer up some drywall. Pillock.

One of those things I no longer have to think about in a few days.

I have swineflu.

Started Thursday evening, with a lot of coughing. First I thought it was just the plaster dust from the house, but when I started to feel a bit weak later in the evening, I figured I may be coming down with a bit of the common cold.

Friday morning, I woke up having spent most of the night awake, coughing my lungs out. Being a man, I decided not to see the doctor. And then, as I started screaming from pain as I closed my fist, my wife suggested, rather strongly, that I call the doctor. An hour later, I had a prescription for Tamiflu and some potent coughsyrup and painkillers. At that point, I hadn’t yet developed fever. So, being a man, I decided not to go back home, but instead went to the house to do some work. Had to quit about half an hour later, mainly because of the dizziness, nausea and aching testicles.

By the time I got back home (barely alive, due to almost running off the road a dozen times) I was running a fever of 38.6 degrees (101,48F). Since then, my fever has been jumping up and down, my lungs are killing me, and every joint in my body is aching. Also, my testicles are really, really sore.

This really couldn’t have happened at a worse time. We’re moving next Thursday, and before we can do that we still need to do some structural painting at the house, and pack up literally everything we own. Bringing me to my earlier conclusion: Oh Cock.

Been real busy few weeks. Mostly been working on our house. Oh yes.

Ok, so it’s not our house. It’s a rental with a long lease and an option to buy in a few years time. But it’s heaven.

The house was built in 1955. It has four rooms and an undeveloped basement (four rooms, one of which I plan on converting in to a “club house” for me and my friends), a large storage room, garage and a shed that used to be a lived in shack. We plan to make it in to a lived in shack again, come next summer. It has modern amenities, thankfully, but it also has the original woodburn kitchen stove, and two heating stoves, one in the living room, one in the bedroom. And we plan to use them. The lot is 3.6 square kilometers, includes a small apple orchard, various berry bushes and a small field for planting crops. I plan to grow potatos, carrots, lettuce, herbs, cannabis, rucola and maybe some turnips. Oh and strawberries, must plant strawberries.

We’re moving in by the end of the month, currently we’re doing some minor renovations. Mind you, when I say minor, I mean to say we are doing a total renovation of the entire house. The previous tenants left the house in shambles. So far we’ve fixed all the dents and bruises in the living room, lounge and the kitchen, and painted two layers of undercoating in all of them, and last night and today we painted the living room with the final color. If we stay on schedule, we’ll have the entire downstairs paintjob finished by the end of the week. The upstairs is in decent enough condition, just needs new wallpapers (Miia found wallpapers in an English interior design shop, “authentic” old English country cottage), and the master bedroom built-in wardrobe needs new shelves. Oh and all the electrics are brought to the century of the Fruitbat. And there’s some plumbing that needs to be done. But I think we can handle all that. In less than two weeks. No worries.

Oh, and I am now a licenced lorry driver and have a job interview scheduled for December 2nd, unless I get employed before that.

I think that was all for now. Just swallowed two painkillers and a sleeping pill with a jug of beer. That should get me through the night. Hopefully. Haven’t slept proper in two weeks. If the end of this post reads a bit off pace, it’s because the sleeping pill is actually a hypnotic agent, and related to sodium pentathol (truth serum). Which, oddly enough, makes my head a bit wonko unless I go to bed immediately. Like this one time, I took two, stayed up watching TV, started to go to bed and realised my wallet was missing, started looking for it and in my head, right, the wallet hunt turned in to an episode of CSI. With me sorta wandering around the apartment, drooling and babbling to myself, occasionally hearing The Who. Shouldn’t propbably write that, but there you go, totally breaks down the barriers that I keep up to appear somewhat normal. No control what so ever. Better stop now. Can also cause hallucinations. Which is actually nice. Like this one time……… right, this can go on for awhile, I’ll be going now. But there. We has a house. Nice.

I have a huge problem.

My new mobile ringtone is “I Know, You Know” by the Friendly Indians.

Now, when ever someone calls me, instead of answering, I start partying. Quite bothersome.

Also, my wife is in the hospital, and I may yet kill myself.

My new laptop is now more than three weeks late.

All my London pics, most of our wedding pics, a whole lot of vitally important junk, are still locked inside my old laptop’s harddrive, and I need the new one to retrieve everything.

Also, it’s affecting my schoolwork. No kidding. It’s a ritualistic thing. I have like 758 OCD related tics, and I need my fucking rituals. I need my own laptop, my teamug, my headphones and my moment of zen. It ain’t happening on my wife’s computer. Took me two days to write an assigment on describing the differences between early and current politically driven newsmedia. Should have taken me two hours.

Luckily there’s a bottle of Cono Sur Merlot in the cupboard, and some Al Capone cigarillos, so at least I can selfmedicate.

What in Satan’s glorious name is going on in here?! Is mental retardation an epidemic now? Have people reached the point where they simply tune out the real world, and swallow the irrational ejaculate of batshit crazy demagogs?

I am, of course, referring to the neverending parade of borderline insane, completely made up and wholly fearmongering rhetoric from the somewhat… shall we say intellectually cuckoo right wing, concerning healthcare in America.

As I have little time, and my bloodpressure is already making my ears bleed, I will list and blow out of the water only some of the more common (read: “I have a shotgun and my sister is my wife, but I sure do know everything about them socialised healthcare things”) misconceptions.

1. Socialised healthcare will bankrupt the country.

No. No it won’t. You know how I know? Because according to the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD), the US pays more money per capita on healthcare than ANY other country in the world. 15,3% of gross domestic product (GDP), goes to healthcare payments. Now, I know that sounds a lot, but it sounds even bigger when you consider that it’s 44% more than what people in Switzerland pay. And just to be sure, the Swiss don’t pay the least amount, they are in fact the second worst. Sounds bad, no? Here, let me twist that blade a bit. Americans pay 134% MORE than the OECD average. Oh well, what are you gonna do?

BTW, some inbred streak of piss said today that us Scandinavians pay through the nose for our healthcare. Actually, we don’t. Seems that the Americans pay almost double what we pay over here in Finland. But there’s a reason for that. We have a functioning healthcare system that provides top quality healthcare for the people, and so we can use more money on useless shit like education.

2. Socialism is EEEEEEVIL!!!

Here’s what I want to do. Could all the people who say socialism is evil and unamerican, please line up on the right. And all the rest of you, ie. the people who have read at least one book in your life, line up on the left. Good. Now. Would all you people on the right stop using public schools. And if your house cathces fire, you let that fucker burn. And when some hobo stabs your wife, you are not allowed to call the police. Because all of these are socialist constructs. You are also not allowed to use products from Motorola, Exxon, Wal-Mart, or any other of the thousands of companies that have received tax breaks and government subsidies. Tax breaks and government subsidies is not capitalism. That’s socialism.

3. Socialised healthcare doesn’t work.

Why would anyone even say that? Seriously, in this era of 24h news networks, internet and untethered global communication, who would be stupid enough to say something so false? United States is basically the last developed country in the world that doesn’t provide it’s citizens with universal healthcare. Are all the other countries upholding their healthcare systems out of spite? Obviously it can’t be Christian compassion, because Americans have monopolised Christianity these days. The only reason I can think of, the only excuse that makes any sense is, that the system works. Makes me feel dirty in all the wrong places to say that, but there it is. Is it flawless? No. When you have a system that has to service millions of people, there are always flaws. But it’s better than anything else in the entire world. And here’s why: it doesn’t exclude anyone. You have a pulse? Step right this way, the doctor will see you in a moment.

I really do hope that people who have absolutely no concept of what is being talked about, would just stick to what they do best, marvel at how Charlie the Chicken plays tic-tac-toe at the county fair.

Huzzah! My new laptop has finally… left the warehouse?! Are you kidding me? Three weeks and that’s it? Let’s just hope that the same people who run that warehouse never get a job delivering organs.

“Here’s that kidney, doctor Roberts.”

“Thank you. Too bad the patient died two weeks six days ago, you insufferable oaf.”

So, while you all eagerly await my London post, I shall bore you with other gibberish.

Due to surrounding circumstances making it impossible for us to get on our proper honeymoon, I decided to book a cruise.

Last year we went on a cruise, and it was on one of the “official” party boats cruising the Finland-Sweden line, and as such wasn’t exactly the quietest 24 hours. This time, I went the extra mile. Or the extra 42 feet, at least.

Silja Line Galaxy, the newest “luxury” liner and more geared towards families and so on. I got us a Premium A cabin, which is almost like the regular A cabin, except it’s on the upper deck, a bit bigger, and instead of four beds, it has one king size bed.

And I must say I am looking forward to this. And here’s why; last time we went, it was an evening departure. Meaning, it’s 8pm already, so all you have time to do is change your clothes, go to the tax free, and then start drinking/eating/drinking. And then, the next day, you’ll spend the entire day on a big boat, suffering from a hangover. And I’m not 17 anymore, my hangovers are lethal. So of course, in order to stop the flock of howling demons in your head, you’ll have to drink more, and that leads to all sorts of bad things.

Which is why this time, we’re going on a morning departure. It’s real early, 8am to be exact, but it gives us the time to relax, walk the ship in peace, do some shopping, then head to the buffet tables at 2pm. Where there is beer and wines on tap, and no limit to how much you can drink. Fast forward two hours, and we’ll be sitting in the Piano Bar, listening to smooth tunes. I don’t know what we’ll do for the rest of the evening, but I do know this; the next morning, I will be a short car ride away from my home, from my shower and from my bed. Which is where God intended man to spend his hangover.

Today something truly remarkable happened. But in order for you to fully understand the wonder of this, I will start at the beginning. Way beginning.

When I started school at age six, little more than a week later my parents were summoned to see my teacher. And while this was something they would in time get used to, this was pretty much the only time they met in this light. My teacher, along with the school head mistress, suggested that because I was somewhat ahead of myself, they could move me up one year and I could start at second grade. My parents, thinking this would alienate me from kids my age, declined. A decision I have never forgiven them, and consider to be the root of all my later problems.

Come grade 7, where my teacher attempted to get rid of me by throwing me to a school for “naughty children”. In order to do that, a student must be evaluated by an independent psychologist. The whole “gifted but incredibly arrogant and disrespectful to authority” didn’t really sink well with my teacher, seeing as how now she was stuck with me, and I had an even bigger chip on my shoulder. The psych evaluation also came with instructions to make extra curricular activities available and allow me to read a book in class when ever I came bored. She did neither. No Teacher Of The Year Award for her.

High school, second year. My literature teacher says she has never met anyone with a mind so naturally oriented towards linguistics. I dropped out of school two months later.

Enter a period of about ten years, during which I do little more than drink and abuse drugs and myself. A few odd jobs here and there do little to amuse me. I occasionally think about taking classes at the Open University, an adult learning facility at Turku University. But as this never will result in a degree of any form, I always decided to buy a bottle of scotch instead.

Then today. There is a thing now, called the Open University Portal. It allows for people who, for one reason or another, missed out on the opportunity to get in to uni when they were suppose to, to get a second chance. If I take classes at the Open University, gain 80 educational points, and then pass a rigorous close examination, I can earn myself the right to study in the real University, and get myself an actual degree. So today, I enrolled in my first class. Media Studies – Basics, 25 points if passed. All in all, in 3.5 to 4 years, I should have a Bachelor of Arts in my pocket, with a major in journalism and a minor in history.

The dream, is alive.

Walking through Hyde Park, a dishevelled white man said to me “AAAAARGH!!! I HAVE LOCUSTS IN MY EYES!”

What say you, people dumb enough to think the words of a single individual counts as the opinion of everyone else like that person and thus validates a snarky ha-ha-I-told-you-so-esque remark?