True Blood, Through Fingers

Oh, lord, I had to watch about half of this episode through my fingers. I’m glad to get rid of Sam and Tommy’s parents, but I have concerns about the viability of a non-murderous skin-walking Tommy. I fear for Sam. What if Tommy offs him and then poses as Sam, thus letting them keep both actors?! That would be terrible.

I found Lafayette’s boyfriend’s grandpa strangely hot.

I’m finding Erik less and less hot, but I have to say, from what we know about Sookie, it makes sense that she would, even at this late stage, want a high school boyfriend. And here he is.

I was glad to hear from Gran.

And I was glad Tara finally got pissed at Sookie. That seems like a long time coming.

I didn’t like the bit with Tara’s mom, but I’m glad it felt kind of meta, like red-headed-chick’s presumed racist comment was also a comment on the weird behavior the actors were having to do, as if all religious black people just break out in song whenever needed.

Nashville in the 1850s

I was driving around trying to get an idea of what Nashville in Jack Macon’s time would have been like. In 1850, there were about 11,000 people living in Nashville. But more importantly, almost all of the “old” buildings downtown wouldn’t have existed yet. If you check out this picture, c. 1859, from the TSLA, you can see what I mean.

Roughly by where the Hard Rock is now, there’s a couple of four-story buildings, but there’s a lot of one and two-story buildings in there, too.

I don’t now if there’s anything much left from Dr. Jack’s era. But I went driving through Goodlettsville and Whites Creek, looking at their one and two-story buildings, trying to use those as a guide.

Anyway, I find lots of stuff calling Macon one of our most famous black residents, but, you know, not a whole lot about him. Nothing more than what I already know.

They Have that Bumpy Bike Thing at Hamilton Creek Park

The Smell, an Update

Man, this has been some riveting blogging! So, I only had a tiny bit of bleach left, but I used that on the part of the drawer that appeared to be bloodstained with potato juice. Then I rinsed and soaked the whole thing with vinegar and then let that evaporate, which took a couple of hours. Then I shut the drawer with an open thing of baking… um stuff… whichever comes in the box. Powder? Soda? Who knows? And one contains the other, right? So, some of that stuff and some coffee grounds to add a different smell.

And, so far? Well, it could still smell in here, but I can’t smell it, which I deem a success.

I read this article yesterday, which I cannot find now, about how scientists were looking to verify some claims about the benefits of a low-salt diet and, basically, they couldn’t find anyone in America who eats just a low-salt diet. Like, you might be consuming less salt than the average person because you’re a raw vegan who makes all your own food, but then they couldn’t separate out your health benefits from being all raw v. being low salt.

Even people who think they’re on low-salt diets tend to unwittingly be consuming a metric fuck-ton of salt, because it”s in so much food without you realizing it. (So, even the “non-raw” vegans can end up with unwitting salt if they’re eating processed foods, for instance.) Even “low-salt” foods tend just to have less salt than the regular version, not necessarily much less.

So… yeah. I don’t have any salt issues (knock on wood), but all these cultural narratives about how people with health issues just aren’t trying hard enough sometimes need to be pushed back against. You can be doing everything you know how to do–eating low-salt, changing your diet all up, and still the cultural forces you’re caught up in are hard to even know, let alone adjust for.

And then, as my last quasi-food related thing, I read a review of a book last week. The book is a collection of personal accounts of people with a certain, ever-more-common disease and it’s winning a lot of critical acclaim. The collectors of the stories are a doctor specializing in this field and two nurses who also specialize in this field. The reviewer has this disease.

The reviewer really, really liked the book. The reviewer said that the online support community for this disease tends to have a certain tone, which is great if you need it, but if you aren’t quite there yet, this book is a great way to hear a lot of stories and to see that people who have this disease have a lot of different experiences and struggles with it.

But then the reviewer said something, and I’m paraphrasing a little, which has stuck with me. The reviewer notes that all of the stories are clearly told by the collectors and not from the perspective and voice of the people whose stories are being collected. And the reviewer says something like “It’s like the doctor still wants to be the one in charge of saying what the stories mean.”

I wish I could quote it directly, but man, that stuck with me. Ha, well, obviously, since I can’t bring up specifics and yet I still want to talk about it. I don’t think that’s just a doctoring tendency–to think that you, even as someone who works closely with folks and who has a lot of knowledge of what they’re going through, knows enough about it that hearing your voice, instead of theirs is not just acceptable, but necessary, even, in some way.

I tell you what. The longer I blog, the less I think any of us know shit.