Mostly true stuff…

I need a TV show to watch. One to call my own. Something that transports me outside my comfort zone. Lays down new pathways in the gray matter. A David Lynch, Cronenberg fusion with a healthy sprinkling of Ricky Gervais and Coen brothers. (Now, THAT would be a tapestry of dysfunction).

Please don’t suggest a celebreality show that involves skating/dancing/singing/hot-tubbing/renovating/dating/breathing by B-list actors or long-forgotten child-actors (unless they modify ‘Wife Swap’ to ‘Husband Swap’). Negative too, for anything manipulated by one Mr. Cowell, the sadistic author of music’s demise. Same goes for Grey’s Anatomy…consumed by my mother, aunt, sister, Safeway cashier, Quizno’s sandwich-maker, and anyone else with a vowel in their Christian name. Get me an anaesthetist. Stat.

Synapses are dying. I need help. Now.

I’ve just moved into a new place near the base of Grouse Mountain. I love it. Alpine tree smell. Glacier river alongside my house.

I’ve moved three times in the past 12 years. Each time, on the mountainous North Shore. Each time, a little higher up the hill.

I’m scaling a mountain.
The house is my sherpa.

Last week, approximately 300 people contracted gastroenteritis after dining at an Olive Garden restaurant in Indianapolis, Indiana. Health officials have reviewed stool sample tests of employees and have determined that the pathogen responsible for the illnesses was norovirus.

Olive Garden patrons and the County’s Chief Health Examiner have since narrowed the source of the pathogen to either the Chicken Marsala or the Pork Filettino entree….along with the Shrimp Primavara, Sausage-stuffed Rigatoni and, quite possibly, the Braised Short Ribs, Veal Giardino, Chicken Scampi, and any other pastas, soups, salads, or appetizers.