Thursday, October 14, 2010

Fun With Organs...Though Not the Ones You Think

I know how much all of you are just dying to know what the silence these past few months has been about (isn't it funny how I just materialize an audience out of nowhere?). However, I enjoy teasing too much to give it all away so soon.

Instead, I'll play a little game: I give you a clue, and you see if you can't figure it out before I decide to share (ie, procrastinate, file my nails, worry about what the hell I'm going to write next.) I fear that building this up too much might result in a huge let down, but then I guess that's your problem isn't it? I'm just going to keep thinking that for my own peace of mind. Kthanks.

My sister, Ceri, has inspired me to go back to my artful origins (yes, it's true; once upon a time I drew), and create my own comic of injury  - though, slightly more "cerebral." (It's a joke that will pay off later, I promise.)

My therapist brought up a great juxtaposition of emotional and physical conditions that I thought would be perfect fodder for a comic that took all of my recent bad luck and packaged it up into a neat little bow of witty self-discovery.

*NOTE: I bet I know what you're thinking: "Therapist‽ Um, yeah, I'll see you later" ::runs away:: If not, kudos to you, because you're open-minded and not an asshole. If you do happen to be rolling your eyes and starting to lose your credibility in this blogger persona I have so artfully created for myself, then I probably don't like you, so I don't care. HOWEVER, consider that my therapist is the mechanism by which the things I should be discussing with myself are reflected back at me in a way that is both enlightening and a slap in the face. Much like broccoli, you really should try it sometime. It's a good source of nutrition.

Here's a review of the players, introduced by their medical definitions, which will be useful in interpreting what the hell I'm trying to say:
  • Hippocampus: An area buried deep in the forebrain that helps regulate emotion and memory.
  • Amygdala: A small oval structure in the temporal lobe of the brain that is closely connected to the hippocampus and plays a role in the sense of smell, motivation, and emotional behavior. 
  • Cerebral Cortex:  The cerebral cortex is responsible for the processes of thought, perception and memory and serves as the seat of logic and problem solving (among other functions). It is not formed until later in adolescence.
(Thanks Med Terms)
*My appendix either look like a muppet, or a really dinky representation of male genitalia. But we are talking about organs here, so it's all good.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Insult to Injury

I'll be the first to admit that when I blog about my family, it's usually tinged with sarcasm. How awful you must think me to be. Don't I think of my poor mother‽

Of course I do. Where do you think the sarcasm comes from?

In our home, sarcasm was the #1 coping mechanism. Our family has been through some unusual unpleasant experiences; however, nothing that can't be cured by good ol' sardonic aplomb. Give us a glass half-empty, and we'll see it as such; and then we'll fill it with beer and suck it down. Cause we figure you might as well drink it up, and toast to the irony.

And while my mom was the first to point out the facts in my blog about family car woes, she did it with the hilariously flippant cynicism of a champ. You see, I learn from the best. That said, it's not surprising that I write to express myself (and that my early dream was, in fact, to become a comedian.)

My siblings are no different. Creativity by way of self-deprecation is the way to go. Our work is almost always reflexive.

Another fun fact about my family: we are accident prone. This is most definitely a Stromberg trait. I could go on and on about this one, but I'll save it for another day. For now, I'd like to use it in context with my recent situation...

As I was [finally] leaving the hospital a few weeks ago (I know, the suspense must be killing you by now - explanations to come later), my sister, Ceri, was on her way to a hospital, via ambulance. This is her first year at Savannah College of Art and Design. I suppose that the only way to celebrate this wonderful opportunity was to do so in the Stromberg tradition: accidental, self-inflicted injury.

It was a deep cut, but only to her finger. Conveniently enough it was during an attempt to cut a bagel.  All she was trying to do was eat. By 4am she was glued up and sent back to school with another scar to add to her collection. The perfect college initiation, by way of bagel. (Jewish joke anyone? Anny-body?....)

The most amusing part about this story is that it was in no way surprising to the family. Upsetting? Yes. Stressful? Most definitely. Inevitable? Of course; and thus, pretty hilarious.

Now, before you decide I'm quite possibly the worst sister in the world, I must remind you of the nature of my family. Instead of being bitter, Ceri takes it all in stride, by using her injuries to fuel her creative musings. It's a running gag that both she and my father (most likely the giver of the accident gene) have racked up a long line of ridiculous impairments. And since she has an artistic gift, Ceri decides to document them:

Since then, there has also been the Bagel incident, as well as the Bowl incident, which occurred when a glass bowl exploded over an open flame in Home Ec, sending shatters of glass into her arm. Ironically, the scars look suspiciously like the result of some retardly botched suicide attempt.

This constant barrage of bad luck, though it sucks terribly at the time, is just another Stromberg oddity. We're so used to it by now that it's almost a given that something will almost always go wrong when you least expect it. And, conversely, something incredibly right must follow. This irony is reflected in much of my writing - it's at once a curse and a blessing; the mark of my namesake.

The fact that my sister is also using it to her artistic advantage, is deserving of applause. I believe her most recent work says it best:

Check out Ceri's other works below. (And please buy her merchandise to fund her future hospital bills):

    Sunday, October 3, 2010

    Back, with a Vengeance‽

    I sit here on my couch this Sunday evening in a strange, dreamlike stupor, trying to salvage the day after a waking hour of 3pm, sipping groggily on flat Wild Cherry Pepsi. I believe it is time.

    I'm finally going to say it, even though I hear my inner critic already chastising me for defying the unwritten "Blogger Code of Ethics." It cries, "No one wants to hear your sap story! Save it for your diary, Wendy whiner."

     To this I say "Fuck you," evil ego, and watch as it slinks away spinelessly into the dark recesses of my mind. It's my blog and I'll cry if I want to, which includes admitting certain truths that I've been neglecting to face.

    "It took awhile for me to allow myself to start writing again, because I was afraid."

    There, I said it. And so far nothing has exploded or ended in an engulfment of flames. So I guess I'm safe........for now. I apologize if this doesn't seem a sufficiently exciting beginning to a blog entry - in time you will realize that the most recent turn of events have a somewhat cartoonish quality that will test your belief. In short, I can't make this shit up.

    For those of you who need a visual aid in order to understand, this is a pretty accurate representation of what I've been dealing with over the past two months:

    It is due to this rather unlucky and preposterous chain of events that I have made a few changes in the Unkosher world. However, only as far as my blog is concerned. What used to be "Goy Vey," a title which heralded my Woody Allen-esque views of life in lieu of my very non-Jewish heritage (clever as it was), has now been replaced with something less offensive, less religiously charged, and a lot more arrogant.

    "Interrobang" is a word I always thought to be interesting. I remember it popping up in my Google web clips and thinking it was some nerd's idea of an apocalyptic grammar explosion. In a way, I guess it sort of is. The definition, as you can see on the sidebar to the right (for those of you who are too lazy for defines "Interrobang" as the combination of both question mark and exclamation point, used to express incredulity and disbelief......loudly.

    This little punctuation mark, my friends, is the definition of my life.

    To find out why, I invite you to continue reading, as more [incredulous] truths are revealed.
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