So, last time I updated about my health I mentioned A2 rejection and the buttload of highly invasive and radioactive tests looming on the horizon. And then I kind of forgot to follow up, like, at all. In hindsight, that was probably not the best place to leave off.
In any event, everything’s fine now. The drugs did their job and the rejection’s receding, I didn’t grow any extra appendages from all the radiation and chemicals I ingested, and I don’t have to go back to Stanford for at least three months, which is the longest stretch so far, and fantastic for both my wallet and my hatred of air travel.
Also, it was postulated that I may not have rejection at all, but instead something called the Quilty effect, which, if I understand correctly, is a kind of cellular scarring that looks like rejection in biopsies but is something altogether different. Unfortunately, there’s really no way of knowing for sure, and the effect as it pertains to lung transplants is still pretty theoretical — all the current documentation about it is solely for heart transplants. That would, however, explain why only the biopsy showed rejection and everything else quantifiable was on an upward trend. Whatever it is, it’s going away, so ‘s’all good, man.
Moving on to other stuff, I’ve been doing a lot of writing in the last month or two, some of it new, a lot of it salvaging older stuff. So far most of it has been rejected, but I do have one conditional acceptance and a lot of stuff still pending, so that’s something. Also, been doing a lot of hiking, with the ultimate goal of ascending the Sandias by the fall. And that’s pretty much it, as far as being productive goes.
Speaking of indolence, I started watching Last Man on Earth, which started as a clever and wonderful meditation on the human condition but quickly became aggressively bad. The show is going out of its way to crap all over the first two episodes, which, again, were funny and unique and seemed to transcend the stereotypical sitcom. Now, though, it’s nothing but by-the-numbers pablum. The plots of at least the last four episodes have been about how Will Forte’s increasingly unlikable Phil feels fundamentally slighted that he can’t bone January Jones’ character, Melissa. Never mind that Melissa is involved with another character (Todd) and has repeatedly told Phil in no uncertain terms to fuck off. The fact that the audience is, as near as I can tell, supposed to sympathize with Phil is monumentally bothersome. Add to that that Todd, the only other other male character, is played by Mel Rodriguez (an actor of Cuban descent) and it lends an extra helping of White Male Privilege to the whole thing, which is also terrible. And if it turns out that the character of Todd is not Latino, then that means the only four survivors of the apocalypse are all white, which is another problem all its own. Anyway, my point is Last Man on Earth kind of sucks, which is a shame.
Not terrible, however, is Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. Aside from being smart, hysterical, and kind of dark despite the neon pink packaging, the show also has the catchiest opening theme known to mankind. Dammit.