I’ve decided to include this post in the “Great British Strokes” section of the site. I had it in my head that – given his transatlantic aspect – Robert McCrum might not be, or define himself as, British. Maybe he doesn’t. His resumé does put one somewhat in mind of that of Bill Bryson, who seems very confused about all that stuff.
As hashed over ad nauseam on this blog, there are different types of time. Newtonian time. Relative time. And of course, NFL time. Where 3 hours, 12 minutes = 11 minutes.
But one rarely reads about Astley Ainslie time. Y’see, I went to the Astley Ainslie Hospital for a driving assessment last week. When I first checked in with my GP upon my return to Edinburgh in 2013, she told me that due to my stroke, I’d have to take a driving assessment test before resuming driving.
[“What are these weird conversations below the line?”
“Sign up for the apoplectic Tiny Letter and find out.”]
Have you had enough time to recover from the last sex-themed post? Do you want some more? OK…. A couple of weeks ago, apoplectic.me contributed to the tsunami of sexual content on the internet, in a fairly G-rated (or U-rated, depending on your location) post. Well, maybe not a tsunami. It’s not like sexual content has suddenly burst onto the interwebz like a firehose, spraying effluvia all over your laptop. No, it’s more like the Great Pacific garbage patch — an endless build-up of material that’s probably in excess of 5,800,000 sq mi.
[The environmentally-conscious recycling of that metaphor reminds me —
there are exciting times ahead at apoplectic.me.
Sign up for the tinyletter and don’t miss any special events or bonus materials!]
Continue reading After The Refractory Period
Long-time readers of the blog may remember the meditative trilogy of posts (1, 2, 3) from this past summer, sparked by Alan Spence’s imagining of the life of the Zen Master Hakuin in his novel Night Boat. Others of you may recall my more recent discussion of empathetic imagination. This week, those threads resurfaced and wove themselves into this post.
With a title like this, I feel like I should be writing about Kraftwerk.
Or Neu! or Can. Maybe I should have called this post Motorik. Or Krautrock. But probably Motorik. Not familiar with the terms? Do yourself a favour. But this post ain’t about them things. Though it is about a German. Continue reading Vorsprung Durch Technik
As we pass the winter solstice and Big Ben prepares to stroke 2013 out (GEDDIT??!!!), it’s time to fit in a last stroke news digest for this year.
[Y’know, if you haven’t signed up for apoplectic tiny letter email alerts,
you’ve missed Stroke Bloke’s Saturnalia Sending to the Apopostles.
Don’t miss another one. Sign up here: https://tinyletter.com/apoplectic_me]
As is the tradition over the festive period, I’m going to blow the budget of the sixth Digesta Plaga; it’s going to be such a blockbuster that I’m going to have to split it into two parts. Five bucks quid says you can’t guess how it’s gonna finish when we get to the end of part one…. Continue reading Digesta Plaga #6, Part One — Thermal Death Point
[As today’s post testifies, the mask of relentless positivity must slip from time to time. Cheer a Stroke Bloke up, and sign up for alerts and bonus materials at https://tinyletter.com/apoplectic_me.]
Long-term apoplectics, apopostles and friendsoftheblog will no doubt be expecting to read a Doctor Who post today. But it turns out that after the madness on Saturday night, I’m going to have to let 400 years worth of regenerations pass while my thoughts steep like a good cup of tea. Then I’ll probably pop back to have something up for next Monday.
In the meantime, how about some hard science? Continue reading Be Your Own Brain Experiment
Have your ever found yourself suffering from a medical condition that you’d never given much thought before, and suddenly found that it’s everywhere?
-My dog’s got no nose. -How does it smell? -Like burnt toast. -You’re having a stroke. -Oh.
— Matt Kirshen (@mattkirshen) October 14, 2013
Maybe it’s the monotony, or the blank walls, but there’s something about a long hospital stay that intensifies the reaction to any art that’s available.
Continue reading The Art Of Stroke
I’ve been a Batman fan for as long as I can remember. When I was a wee boy, I dressed up as the Caped Crusader to go to a Halloween party at scouts. I had the full mask, made of a black, felt-like material. When the Falklands War ended, the BBC interrupted the Adam West Batman movie that was showing with a newsflash. I was livid.
Continue reading Stroke Bloke: Year One