My body is slowly exacting its revenge on me. The wonderful sensations of indulgence are now catching up with me. My hubris levels are low and I’m starting to fear that that my love of decadence will kill me. I ask my family (who work in hospitals) if they have seen [insert ailment here] in young people. Slowly moving past the age group of young, healthy, and ‘still growing’ I am now at risk for all of those scary diseases.

I dread to find a doctor. The last general practitioner I had, was the same office that my parents went to. Despite the rampant malpractice lawsuits, this office has mixed up my father’s records with mine. To my amazement, I went through a few personal questions with the med-tech before she realized that I wasn’t a 60 year old man, smoker, with a heart condition. To even further the malefaction, the internist blamed me for a heart monitor that my dad broke.

Ailing eyesight, headaches, chest pain, and general joint pain are now starting to irritate me. I now must figure out my supposedly phenominal health plan and choose a doctor…

Thankfully the air conditioning unit is in the bedroom window. Night time is a bit more bearable. Mr Kitty seems fascinated with the air that it pushes. He stands in a stream of cold air and lifts his head and closes his eyes. The unit blocks his usual window sill, but I’m sure he’s enjoying the cool air more.

This heat is not as miserable as my current hair situation. I’ve been wearing it dry and without product in hopes that I find a salon that seems pleasant enough.

We were raised to believe that we can do anything that we want and that indulgence isn’t a bad thing. All of us that have stress look to relievers that fix the crushing pain of our existance. “Ultra-premium” alcohol made from the by-products of cheese production, neoprene sacks filled with a viscous polymer, “FUN”-sized portions snack food all try to buffer the crushing reality of the work-a-day life. Institutions of stress-relief all seem to temporarily assuage the rage. Everyone knows that they have to put down the beer, hit that last golf-ball, or wipe the smell of the sex-worker off before going home. The fun pizza parlors or restaurants of our youth were something special and to look forward to. As adults, restaurants are enhanced by the variety of cheese that one can get on a nacho platter or the being imported all the way from the wine region of California. We don’t have the excitement for extra spicy chicken wings and four cheese nachos as kids love video games and a ball pit.

Instead of cursing what is out there now, a friend of mine and I decided to do something about it. In combining the healing powers of group therapy (inspired by the reality television show “Starting Over”) and food. Tables would be set up according to issue or emotional need. We haven’t figured out if the wait staff would moderate or we’d have some trained professional at each table. Set menus would be according to the various moods.

“Light” consisting of simple sandwiches, salads, assorted fruits and cheeses. Big portions perfect for that sense of well being that can only be attained by non-spicy foods.

“Comfort” American classics like pot pie and macaroni & cheese. This menu is served in small portions so that the diner can eat and not feel guilty and on the same token complain about the amount of food rather then their problems.

“Crying” Choose 3 sweets: pastry, ice cream, chocolate du jour.
Mix them, match them… maybe get three of one kind.

We came up with the following names for this restaunthapy:

gab ‘n gob
chat and snack
eat ‘n greet
food ‘n freud
chow chow
tea and sympathy
the healing table
deep fried issues

I came across the Bjork “Big Time Sensuality” video a few days ago. Since then I’ve had a huge revival for the wonderfully quirky Icelandic singer. It turns out that she has had somewhat of a same turn of events as well. Her song “Army of Me” is being covered by several artists and the proceeds will be going to UNICEF. To inject my own cosmic theory into I understand this to be a sign to go to Iceland. Bjork gives to UNICEF. UNICEF was established on my birthday. I must go to Iceland.

I thought that the flight was reasonable and the lodging a tad on the expensive side, but I thought it would be a great destination. How many people out there wax longingly about the old cities of Europe? Breaking out of the Euro-bore attitude, I thought I could experience life and wind up with stories about Reykjavik. Furthering my research on Iceland led me to various travel sites on the Internet and I found some disturbing posts. Some complained about the US$5-9 beers. Other travelers talked about sticking close to the traditional menu to save money. One traveler was so bold to say that Iceland makes a trip to London look cheap.

The prospect of eating mutton and reindeer meat didn’t phase me, but the thought of having to pay out the nose for salad greens and coffee made me wonder if people from other affluent countries swarm to Iceland. Tourists with bundles of cash and adventurous spirits find themselves wherever I go. There are the Belgians and French in their chill outfits. The Spaniards with their tanned innocent faces almost timid in crowds of non-Spanish. The Italians constantly on the mobile phone all the while smoking like there’s no tomorrow. The British bitching about… everything. The curious Taiwanese youth with an even more curious budget. The Japanese of course, are everywhere.

Could Iceland be the one place that these people aren’t interested in? I hope the cold climate during our waning summer days would be the last thing on tourists’ minds. I’d hate to find out that the rotted shark meat is a thrill that many people are seeking.