Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Hockey and Brain Tumors

Over at DadCentric today, I wrote about my reaction to witnessing ritual violence at a hockey game.  It starts a little something like this:

 Sports is Weird: Hockey Edition

Let me just get something out of the way, right off the bat (to use one of the millions of sports metaphors that are so ubiquitous we don't even recognize them as metaphors): I'm not much of a sports fan.  Actually, not a sports fan at all.  There are exactly zero professional teams that I give a rat's ass about, and three college athletic programs that I feel some sort of kinship with, since I (or my parents on my behalf) paid tuition at those schools, and that gives me a tiny, mostly imaginary stake in their fortunes.

There are a bunch of reasons for my lack of interest, most of which have to do with my never having felt a great connection to a city or geographic region growing up, and even more so with my skepticism that a professional team really represents me as a resident of wherever I live.  It's really difficult for me to maintain interest in a sports contest in which I don't care who wins and who loses.

There are a lot of sports I like to participate in though; and I do enjoy displays of athleticism and on-field drama as they are depicted in highlight reels and movies about sports.

But that's not even what I want to talk about.  It's just some background so you might understand that my bemusement with the world of sports comes from a willful ignorance of it.



And in case you missed it, at Aiming Low yesterday, I wrote about how I thought I had a brain tumor, but it turned out I was just using the wrong deodorant.

I Thought I Had a Brain Tumor, but It Was Just the Wrong Deodorant 

I read a book a long time ago.  I can’t remember the name of it, but I’m pretty sure it was by E.L. Doctorow.  In it, the main character is losing his mental faculties because of a brain tumor.  Or some kind of degenerative brain disease.  Or something like that. 

You know, I might as well give up reading books altogether for how much of the content I retain.

Anyway, as I usually do after investing twenty hours or so in reading a novel, I remembered one tidbit.  The character with the brain tumor, or lesion, or parasite, or whatever it was, kept smelling things that weren’t there, or perceiving the wrong odor when he smelled stuff that was there.

Ever since reading that book, I’ve been very distracted whenever I detect a distinctive odor that seems out of place.  Mostly the mystery smell would just make me think about that book, whatever it was called and whatever it was about, and how interesting that one tidbit I retained was.

But recently, I started having this recurring olfactory hallucination, and it got me a bit panicked.  At random times, I would smell something that reminded me of a Greyhound station in Southwest Virginia where I spent way too much time when I was in a long-distance relationship in college and had a suspended driver’s license.  Pretty glamorous, I know.  It was a sweet floral scent with earthy undertones.  In other words, it smelled like purple disinfectant and dirt.


You thought that was it, right?  Well guess again.  I also posted a couple short commentaries on newsy-ish stuff over on TLC Parentables.  Please enjoy some more links.

So, that's why I haven't posted anything in this space for a while.  Busy.  But I will soon.  Swears.

Thanks for reading, sharing, commenting, checking in.  

Oh yeah.  It was my birthday on Monday.  So thanks if you said happy birthday!  Or even if you thought it, or are thinking it right now.  

I need to just stop typing.

1 comment:

  1. Happy Birthday!
    I hope you had a nice celebration with your family and that the year ahead will be a happy one.
    I didn't mean to laugh so hard at your brain tumor story because I know those thoughts are scary and all, but I did anyway.
    I've always been bemused and befuddled by the names of fragrances, but "soft cashmere" is one for the records.
    I also have a problem recalling the novel I adored at the time I was reading it. There are a couple of favorite authors of mine for which this is not true. I think it's because they make me wait so damn long for the next book that I hold my adoration close.


Don't hold back.


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