My Pajamas

It’s 4:27 a.m. on a Saturday morning. If you follow these early morning purges at all lately, a quirky – but socially acceptable – pattern of non-sleeping is evident. Tolerated these days due to our governmental, virus-laden, punch-in-the-face complete stop of productivity and industry. I’m caught in it, as all of us are, and my self-employment mind cannot shut off as easily as the illustrious Governor of our Commonwealth thinks it can. “Put up with” because most of the obedient mask-covered constituents of our keystone state are trying our ever-loving best to push through a very difficult time. Agreed to since there seems to be no other choice; Have to, as I so patiently wait for four, yes FOUR, incomplete boxes in my financial life to be checked that should be checked by now.

You want to know my position right now? I’m pissed. Never mind who dropped the challenge in my lap, or under what circumstance it was placed. I’m not happy. The dishes were done by hand 45 minutes ago … that didn’t calm my nerves, so here I am. This, my friends, IS a socially acceptable position to take. And here’s why:

I don’t know who to believe anymore. It’s really that simple.

This shouldn’t surprise even the most astute among us, right? Politicians have been lying since the first T-Rex gnoshed on his first DoDo bird and the media flies around as if it has the virgin wings of Ouranos. Drop in a healthy, pardon me, unhealthy international dose of covid-19 in the middle of a dead bat-infested meat market in China and we have the beginnings of an “UN-believable” pandemic.

It’s to the point in my, now, sheltered life that if I not-so gracefully slide my left leg into the left pant of my pajamas … I’m not trusting it will reappear out the bottom. Yes, it’s that bad right now. My pajamas could be in a conspiratorial mode against me – plotting its next move should I decide to mistakenly forget to wash them, again, this week. #IsolationIssues. Assuming left is successful, right must then attempt insertion and then both must work together in order for me to have some kind of productive day. In my day pajamas. Doing basically nothing. Since none of my four boxes are checked.

This is a simple, but oh, so accurate analogy, of why I can’t sleep .. or believe anything anymore. Should I say, “anything”? Nah, that’s not fair to me. Let’s replace it with the phrase, “All the Windbag Words that Waste my time”, for the sake of this diary entry today. Yes. That’s perfect.

“I can’t believe all the windbag words that waste my time.”

This is phrased carefully, and purposefully. I did not say everything I hear is useless. The gift of discernment has to exercised, and it’s exhausting to say the least. Filtering out the bad information from the good is truly difficult. Just isn’t the same as pulling a pair of fresh, warm pajamas out of the dryer, holding them up close, and sucking in the sweet heavenly air through a cold nose.

Good Covid numbers vs bad.

Are the hospitals really full, or are we being dupped?
Are people actually dying from the virus as the primary cause, or are there serious underlying issues, but C-19 listed on the death certificate?
Is there a ventilator shortage, or not?
Why do the models keep changing so drastically and the experts get to skate when they, themselves, are the experts upon whom we rely?
Is the President really in charge, or not?
If this is such a pandemic, why are the seasonal flu yearly mortality numbers so much larger in year’s past?
Why do the numbers surrounding the success of Hydroxychloroquine stay basically hidden from coverage?
We have a really low number of cases in our county with, thankfully, no deaths. Why are our numbers so low?
Why no actual cases in North Korea or Yemen, as of April 7th? (ok, so this one, although true, is for some levity)

Facebook isn’t a good filter. I say that because it is from where the original proposition came. With over 1,500 friends, a survey would split them 30% reasonable all-in conservative, probably 40%-ish moderate, and the rest reasonable liberal to the edge… should a survey be done. I’ll never so it, obviously. Don’t want to. Love them all and really don’t care to know their political positions as I would hope mine isn’t of much importance to them, save one, the “proposer” . A few I’ve shared via private messenger or in a string of comments below a post. For the most part, however, kinda silent on the matter.

My theory about what the media and politicians say to us is pretty simple. They hear the same words coming out of their mouths time after time, so they believe what they hear … and expect us to as well. We have to discern and filter out the good from the bad, anymore. “Repeat a lie often enough and it becomes the truth”, is a law of propaganda often attributed to the Nazi Joseph Goebbels. Among psychologists something like this known as the “illusion of truth” effect is so important to remember. I don’t know what the truth is about Covid-19. Hell, I can’t even decide what kind of mask to wear.

So, here’s what I want. First, I’m still pissed. Let’s not lose sight of that fact. When I click “Publish”, the couch awaits my tired soul for some hopeful rest.

Second, and more important, the media and politicians need to start putting their informational pajamas on together. First right, then left. Both sides need to work together – getting their stories straight. I kinda wish they’d quit trying to play the gotch-a game with us, stand up like real Americans, pull up their big-boy superhero pajamas and start walking forward for the benefit of all of us … not them.

My position will remain unchanged until they change, but my position in this chair must change because I’m weary from a lack of quality sleep. I have personal boxes to check with no hope of doing so this weekend. Oh, my pajamas are really comfortable and I probably won’t be taking them off at all today. Yeah, coronavirus! The whole thing right now is really unbelievable in so many ways. That you can take to the bank…

…Hey, when you’re there, could you ask about the status of my paperwork? That’s one of my unchecked boxes and I’m pretty sure they don’t want me to call again.

Thanks.

A Rainbow

A Rainbow.

It has been a few days since words have appeared here, and quite a bit longer for a rainbow in the sky hugging Altoona, Pa. . Mr. Roy G. Biv was kind enough to make a visit Tuesday. Don’t know where he’s been and can’t recall the last visit when his magnificent colors broke through an otherwise dreary, overcast day. I don’t need perfect recall. All is forgiven because this visit wiped away any regret from past memories. He was here … time was sparkling, magical, and still…

…and now a few more days have passed. It’s Friday. Those words above were written this past Wednesday, early morning. Time is a funny, goofy idea as I consider these dizzying days during another stupid, … eer, whimsical week of prison, … eer, home holiday happiness.

Since the rainbow, I’ve gone a bit insane. Understandable in some 7-color, multi-hue way. My vibrancy is fading. It’s like I’ve been washed so many times. Put through the ringer – as my depression-worn grandmother would say. Jammed into the rollers like pizza dough, over and over, with coronavirus flour flying everywhere, clogging up my nostrils. I can’t breathe anyway. The heavy, homemade, flannel 10-layer cloth mask I’ve been forced into wearing is choking any life sustaining oxygen not only from my lungs, but also from any viable source within 6 miles of my house. A giant vacuum of Corona-suck, it is. But, it is color-fast. So no worries. Ugh.

Back to the rainbow. Ah, never mind. So over it.

Let’s see here. Oh, school has been cancelled for the remainder of the year! Yeah for that news (sarcasm)!! I’m a part-time music instructor at the local Montessori school and miss the kids I teach, privately. Instrumental lessons are now on-line with pixilated and delayed piano hands, no 3-D laughs, and difficult riffs, fingerings, and rudiments being taught through air. My “fellow” staff-mates (fellow in quotes … and they know why), are most likely missing the kiddos equally and feel as I do.

🤔What else? Fighting on Facebook with a friend over stupid sh*t. Well, ain’t that just something to be expected? She was upset that I, …wait for it … posted up an article without attaching an opinion to it either way. I must have an opinion, she opined, and railed me for not sourcing the article. I likened it to, well, here’s part of the reply:

I’m quite proud of the vegan dig. Don’t dislike vegans at all. As a matter of principle, I wish I had the discipline to do it. I’d be a lot healthier and happier not eating meat … but I had to make my point, absurd as it was. We made up – olive branched later. Forgave-forgot. If you think I will post up another article without checking the source, you’re right. I will. Need to Facebook fight once in a while. Reminds me people care … even if they’re the crazy ones. Or, did I admit I was earlier? I’m so confused.

Then there’s my FB video with the iguana and the rabbit. We’ll just move on past that room and look for other rainbows.

My dad is finally walking laps outside instead of around the inside of his stuffy two story house … for this I am grateful. He’s worked his way through this isolation and found a mental home that is satisfactory. I call every day. We laugh together. I like these moments with him

Ok. I have to end with the damn rainbow. Here’s my takeaway. A rainbow is like coronavirus news right now. We see only a part of it, but it never ends. It’s all pretty and such – full of hope and hype at the same time. There’s more we don’t see than we do. Both go around the world in one complete circle, quickly, and disappear as fast as they appear …. and we’re on to the next thing.

Not disparaging rainbows in general. Better times might find me looking for pots of gold or leprechauns. Right now, I’d rather be smooshed into rollers with dirty laundry than consider the magic in 7-colored, prismatic pieces of droplets miles in the sky.

I’m not depressed or mad. Just being real at the moment.

If I let a few more days pass, maybe I’d feel differently. Nah. For now, I’m going to continue to eat meat and fight with people on Facebook. Why not, right? My kiddos aren’t practicing, anyway.

The Hearts of Friends

The title above has been used before, I’m sure of it. Can’t say where or when. Not laying claim on originality because in the history of words, those four – in that specific order – must have been printed on the cover of a book, in a movie script, or tearfully penned in the diary of a princess. With this legal disclaimer out of the way, I can proceed with my 1:43 a.m. thoughts on the subject.

I’m up. Again. Having finished off another bowl of chicken tetrazzini and nursing a can of plain seltzer as I write, the time slowly pushes forward into deep night … and I’m awake. Nothing new, since this isolation, stay-at-home mandate, time warp continuum is sucking the daylight out of my life. The sleep/wake cycle I used to ride is tire-lessly lumping along a pedestrian free street to nowhere these days. I see no one as I push my bike up emotional hills day after day.

All of us are adjusting right now, though … Please remind me our collective Tour De’Humane Race is happening and I just can’t see it. The race toward normalcy and community-immunity, right? Heading toward a shared finish line where there is a ribbon of vaccines, reopened businesses, and significantly less political rift.

Well, for now anyway, we’re not there. We’re on our late night / early morning couches bitching about not sleeping enough. I am, for sure. Seems the only cure is to remind myself I have the most awesome friends in the world … and I miss seeing them.

To list all of them wouldn’t be fair to those I’d most assuredly forget to mention. Not bragging here, but I have a lot. They wouldn’t agree on the number, however, because … as I say so often … they are stupid and ugly 🤣. In their minds, I am overbearing, pretentious, full of stupid humor, sarcastic, well-intentioned but ill-informed, stylish with no sense of fashion, and best understood when quiet … Oh, and these are my traits as described by my bestest of friends – the loyal four: Mike, Joel, Jim, and possibly another Jim.

I have so many friends in my inner circle other than the four goofballs mentioned. Friends I can text anytime during the day or night who would show up right now with a warm cup of hot chocolate and listen to my story. Nice, cool, reachable friends who are less stupid and ugly. No offense to my loyal four, btw … wink wink.

Extending outward, the descriptors are less unkind – thankfully. We know, don’t we, that friendships change in quality as distances and times change. They are folks – occasionals – who are so gracefully in and out of our lives when we need them to be. The glances up from avacado strawberry salads … and there they are with a smile and a kind hello. Our days filled with such niceness because they close our circles. They fill our empty hearts with good things when we need it.

Mary is such a friend. She has a wonderful heart. Yes, being up in the middle of the night is not good and I’m not pleased about the habitual sock shuffling foot fetish I’ve developed. The path from this couch to the kitchen is worn enough with sock lint. Tonight, however, the trip was well worth the effort.

Mary dropped off a large pan of chicken tetrazzini the other day and tonight I just about finished off the last of it. It is so freakin’ delicious. Late, late night snack o’extra-ordinaire if I must say so. Better still is her genuine care and love to bake a casserole, drop it off, and do it without expecting anything in return.

We are co-workers at a local private school and great friends. Outside of school, though, we don’t see each other much save the occasional staff party or run-in at the local convenience store. Especially now, since the COVID-19 “yeah” stuff goings-on, there’s no opportunity to connect. She’s busy with two grand-young-n’s at home and trying to prepare on-line video lessons for school. In the midst of all this, I get a fantastic chicken tetrazzini casserole delivered. Did I say it’s freakin’ delicious!! Because if I didn’t …

The hearts of friends beat wonderful pulse-nalities. I love them all. Whether they want me to stop telling stories that are, in my mind anyway, folded into magical mysteries, or they drop off yummy goodnesses, ….. I Iove them all.

Too many to mention. Even more memories and joys from them to say or write about so I’ll close with the same four unoriginal words: The Hearts Of Friends.

Know yours. Remember them at 1:43 in the morning when you need to be reminded that your finish line may seem far away and your bike burdensome; However, lonely is never far away when friends are helping you push.

Be rest the best way you can.

DOUG

Why All The Plastic Bags?

I ask because it is obvious. On the wall of our kitchen hangs an unused cell phone. From the base of that very phone extends a rubber antenna – approximately 6″ in length – holding, by my guess, 1,455 plastic bags. Tan ones, white & gray ones, foreign & domestic, alien, …shall I go on, or is my sarcasm obvious? These very flexible pains in my a** multiply at a rate faster than bunnies on steroids. And, for clarity, I am responsible. Three more were added today to this ever increasing, bulging clump of pliable sacks.

At some unfortunate point in the future, there will be no more. Oh, just no more room on the the antenna, not plastic bags (they’ll keep coming). I figure there is about one-half inch left – at best – at the top before an end will be reached. Then what? Find another out-of-date phone to hang on the wall and start a sequel? Try, maybe “try”, to smoosh down the already tired bags to make room at the top. Me don’t think so, because I’ve finger-trash compacted the bags so much they’ve begged for pardons numerous times already. The antenna inmates have suffered enough.

My only solution is a bigger plastic bag. A step-up. A dorm room to an efficiency, as it were. Better yet, an individual cell to a common area, since I’m on that string of thought. The better move here is letting all these bags off the hook by dumping them, gently, into another, … err, larger plastic bag. Jeez. Where does it end? I then have a 5-gallon capacity plastic trash bag partially full with 1,455 smaller plastic bags … Good news, I guess for the 2,344 MORE bags I undoubtedly will be toting through the front door in weeks to come. At least the unused phone on the wall can take a breather …

Why all the plastic bags? Again, I ask because it is obvious. Let’s go back to plastic in general with the help of http://www.tecnofer.biz

The “years of plastic” began officially the 11th March 1954, when Giulio Natta, future Nobel Prize for Chemistry (in 1963), wrote in his diary: «Made the polypropylene». The new product, later called “Moplen”, was used for producing everything: from dishes to car components to bowls and toys.

Now, to our little baggie friends: http://www.allaboutbags.ca

Plastic bags were invented as an alternative to paper grocery bags in the late 1970s to protect trees and prevent clear-cutting of our forests. Plastic bags are a by-product of natural gas extraction and provide an environmental solution to the burn off of this gas during the refining process.

Easy, simple summaries because I’m not currently in a Doctoral research program at Harvard and have a ridiculously fantastic Chicken Tetrazzini dinner to consume before it gets cold. I’ve accumulated (all sarcasm aside) probably 25 bags in a week … low estimate. Fifty since the stay-at-home mandate started two weeks ago. Let’s go with a 25/week average for this household x 50 weeks – with two off for no reason = 1,250 bags / year.

This is one household with minimal needs. For argument’s sake, I’ll up the numbers to better represent what I feel America is doing. I’m going to do this first without googling the actual numbers. After thumb-crunching my way through, I will exit out, go to google, and then re-visit this entry.

So here’s my baseline: Average household consumes 50 plastic bags a week between groceries, household needs, and entertainment. Out of the 325 million people, an average household of 3.5 people means there are roughly 90 million households +/-. 50 bags per week is an annual household usage of 2,500 bags. Again, 2 weeks off for no reason.

90,000,000 Households x 2,500 bags = 225,000,000,000 bags per year. That’s 225 Trillion plastic bags PER YEAR.

Give me a few seconds to check out Google. Be right back.

In The United States

According to the Environmental Protection Agency, over 380 billion plastic bags, sacks and wraps are consumed in the U.S. each year.
According to The Wall Street Journal, the U.S. goes through 100 billion plastic shopping bags annually. (Estimated cost to retailers is $4 billion).
Four out of five grocery bags in the U.S. are now plastic.
The average family accumulates 60 plastic bags in only four trips to the grocery store.

160,000 plastic bags a second (www.theworldcounts.com)

This year 5 trillion plastic bags will be consumed. That’s 160,000 a second! Put one after another they would go around the world 7 times every hour and cover an area twice the size of France.

OK. So, I was way off. Glad to know my estimates were laughingly off-the charts. Possibly the number of households? … bags per household? Again, not doing Nobel-winning research here. For our sake, thankfully, my numbers are high. Too bad the real numbers are high as well, though.

Back to my kitchen…and the clod. Its gotta go somewhere. I have little patience anymore for the little tip of rubber exposed at the end. WHY all the plastic bags? I am at fault. We have reusable totes that could be reused. Thus, the moniker so forcefully emblazoned on the side! Jimminy Be-Jeepers it isn’t that complicated! Laziness begets more plastic. Ugh.

This is why all the plastic bags. I’m lazy.

Not too lazy, mind you, to spend an hour writing about it. Just too slothful to take a few seconds, when heading out the door for snacks and essentials, and grab a reusable, green tote.

Life is complicated in other areas. This shouldn’t be one of them. I hear my phone – should answer it. Not the one on the wall, though. It is otherwise occupied.

The Luxury of 85 Percent

A very short post today. Not a day for long reads, as most of my energy was spent elsewhere. Sleeping, mainly. It’s exhausting trying to do nothing while expected to do everything. This isolated, mandated, stay-at-home unproductive shifting around the house drains my ever-loving energy. With that in mind, consider the following brief, Nobel committee submission:

Did some thinkin’ today. What else other than “thinkin” is there to do, right?

This is a peaceful, little, calm discussion.

The pandemic of 1917-1919 took 675,000 US lives, according to the CDC’s own numbers. Based upon the estimated population at the time of 104 Million, that number is 0.65%. There are no stats as to what % of those deaths resulted from pre-existing conditions, so let’s assume all of them were directly related to the pandemic.

We are at 325 Million in 2020. With the above % as a base line, we should expect 2.1 Million deaths. Obviously, current projections (models) don’t even come close. We are, hopefully, not going to be even 15% of that number.

The difference is not only information, but also the speed at which our understanding and knowledge travels. Seems so ordinary, everyday to us.

We can differ significantly about who did what, where this went, and what happened when – all good for our national dialogue. Let’s, also, never forget the 85% margin of grace we enjoy that the folks of 100 years ago never had. Our luxury of advanced technology and medical science is a gift.

Let’s not abuse it by arguing too much.

Day X and No Closer to Why

I need experiences with people. Maybe you don’t, but I do. This is why stay-at-home mandates are not good for me.

Following the rules, paying attention, being the good son. I will obey. For now.

We need social contacts. Snuggling up, emotionally, with our commuting counterparts is so vital to an enduring, healthy life. For some inevitable quiet types, this isn’t possible … I understand and respect that space. Others pursue touch, contact, reach-outs, feed-me’s, Google Hangouts, text strings, and coffee mug hugs. I am the latter.

A collector of people. A fun, flexible, flocker of folks. Everything I’ve done in my life spins around the question, “If X is worth doing, the why must be in the gathering of others.” Simple, right? Sure! … Until the anvil of Covid-19 is dropped right in the center of this socially delicious cake and all the sugary people parts projectile out in all directions. Then Mr. Doug Hugs is stuck wiping icing tears from his frown face. This flocker of folks, now, a sad silhouette embracing a new normal.

Am I happy about it? No. I think this is pretty obvious.

Wasn’t really in the mood to write about anything today at all – except when a lady changed my mind, without knowing she did. A walker of walks in a weird wonky way, she was. It upset my emotional apple cart and forced my writer’s hand into action. To be sure, she is happily on her way peeling an onion or tucking a little cherub into bed – I don’t care, none the wiser to her habitual thingy-things at this moment. Her few seconds time interaction with me today was enough to unpeel my onion.

Ya see, she avoided me. Now, before you get all, “What’s the big deal there, Mr. Big Shot Blog Banger…?” on me, it was a sidewalk, passerby sleight. Simple to you – and possibly 99.999% of those considered normal in psychiatric circles – but irritatingly irrational, exceedingly egregious, and somewhat stupefying to me. Defined in my Freudian dictionary, I am currently socially distant from almost everyone who connects me to myself. Unfamiliars and Familiars alike. Today was another Day X and No Closer to Why the following happened:

I was sauntering south, she – in her black knee-length skirt and red sweater vest – heading north. Both of us sharing the sidewalk, kindly so, fifty feet apart. Catching friendly eye-glances of one another (or so I thought), her body language changed as I simply uttered, “Hello.” from a safe distance of what I assumed was at least two parked car lengths. She stuttered in gate, flip-flopped as if I spat-spittered the words, “I HAVE THE BLACK PLAGUE and AM A MUTANT!!”…

Am I over-acting the role? Yes. But, she started it!

She made quick work of her planned pedestrian route, eerr, .. shall I say excellent footwork in the alternate path – around, about, and in between any and all inanimate objects – in the overt attempt to avoid my ogre self. The man who could be infected with the dreaded Coronavirus. The man who should be avoided at the cost of saving the whole of human kind.

OK. That last sentence was a bit uber- dramatae. I get it. My psyche can’t handle a lot of this distancing. I’m not built for it. My X inside my brain doesn’t understand the why. My intelligence side does, though. I can read all the articles, study until the particulars prick their way out of my pores, and all’s well in the happy-smart world. Avoid me on an emotional sidewalk, and I become the sloppy, garbage “pale” mess only a late-night blog street sweeper can begin to clean up.

I ask the question, “why?”. I know why. She was afraid of my infected self. I get that. Not clueless here. To understand meant no blog, right? She did avoid me, which is more to the point. A simple smile and nod while quickly knee-jerking her Carl Lewis-ing, hurdle jumping self over two BMW’s at 60 miles-per-hour would have been a socially acceptable, better tea-sipping thing to do. I didn’t require much. Just acknowledging my insecurity at the time would have sufficed.

So that’s my story for today. Didn’t want to write much. Had to, I guess. Don’t know if today’s encounter had any effect on said red-sweater lady’s life, or not. She probably spent her day zig-zagging around ALL the N95 masked monsters in town.

As for me, I feel a bit better knowing there’s a connection here on my virtual huggy blog. An experience with people. Something I need.

At least on this space, you can’t avoid me. Well, you can, however, that defeats the purpose. If you don’t see the irony in that, I think I’ll need to avoid you for a while. At least until this stay-at-home mandate is lifted. When that happens, I know a sidewalk where we can meet.

Maybe a real nice lady in a black skirt will walk by. Do you want to stick your leg out as she goes by, … or, should I?

Plank, not Prank

An April Fool’s Day Plank. No, I didn’t spell it incorrectly. Exactly the way I meant it: P-L-A-N-K.

Prank, the generationally accepted form, is way too tame for today’s messed-up, “screw your opposing political view and accept mine!” world. So much intolerance, anymore. I want to take that very plank they stand on and whack it upside their zealous, arrogant, idea-inebriated, inhabitantly politically pompous heads. Too soon into the ongoing Covid-19 virus debate? I don’t think so?

Happy April Fool’s Day, everyone!

I love the meme going around social media: “April Fool’s jokes are on hold this year. No prank can outdo the shit we’ve been dealing with ..” Oh, I so agree. The virus. The f*cking virus (so sorry for the language, but you’re feeling it too, right?). Worldwide, humans are struggling with a new reality – a new normal as I’ve written so many times before.

Online teaching, Social Distancing, Government mandated-isms & over reaches (if that’s a “thing”), confusion from national leaders and medical experts, flattening curves not advised by Weight Watchers for a change, and shortages of masks, vents, and patience. NYC, Dr. Birx, the Pillow Guy telling us about God, arrests of preachers in Florida, navy ships, … all this … oh, and poor toilet paper is, well, yesterday’s news. These are our realities every day. One massive April Fool’s f*cking joke.

Who’s playing it on us? I have no potato-licking, speed-spitting idea. It’s become one big picnic of off-time recreational joy rides to big box stores, where families of, say, eight or more rug people pile into aisles looking for the latest flannel fashions. No BoGo sales? No problem! They’ll flam their way to the customer service desk to make use of valuable, strongly mandated stay-at-home time. There, I’m confident the over-worked, stressed, drastically under-appreciated gem of a human being will be glad to address and unmask the perfectly articulated complaint put forth by such an upstanding member of our community.

Am I bitter and a bit frustrated? Yes!! Does this show in my words?

Boxing out the big box stores, let’s get back to the four-one-plank problem. THIS is the splinter sticking in my side today. He said, on the right, She said, on the left … or, vice-versa. Doesn’t really matter the sex of either side. Well, unless a wife chooses, then whichever side is correct … of course, but I digress.

Discussion of politics at anytime is Ugh, right? Especially so when emotions are running faster than hearts at a Bon Jovi concert. Like NOW for instance.

Pick a political plank to stand on, and you will be well within the legal 6′ social distance of millions and miles apart from untold others. The space between is vast and getting wider. If you, with your (possibly) virus slopped garment draped over the unshowered three day body you have, dare express an opinion different from the dude/dudette snuffled up against you … good luck staying on that ship! So polarized and sensitive, are the Pirates of political discourse, that General Calm abandoned ship a while ago. He life-boated out once the words, “Do you solemnly swear to uphold the laws of the Constitution …. ” were spoken.

Take whatever election into consideration, and dump it into the canons of political, public discourse. Add a few pandemics, maybe a very divisive, selfish Congress, a few social media platforms, 24 hours non-stop news, mis-information ad-nauseam, extreme views about everything with no consideration of moderation, and a fascination – albeit fading – with toilet paper … and you have one hell of an April Fool’s Plank.

I don’t care, really, what year. 2020, 1984? (George Orwell-ian would have been nice, though)… 1776? (Ha! Imagine that)… Whenever. Just so happens this is a year of perfect vision – and we ‘ain’t got it. Wait. Allow me to correct that. Oh, some among us have it!! Just ask. Better yet. Look down at the plank upon which they stand.

…and then look across the wide, wide boat and recognize the other side. They’re just as committed. Both perilously walk their plank in opposing directions, destined to drop off into a sea of despair. Once they do, we have the ship to ourselves.

Great. A cruise liner full of moderates crowded around with nothing to do but play April Fool’s jokes on one another. Now what? Here’s one! We can’t dock anywhere now because our whole f*cking ship is probably contaminated with the virus.

Now THAT’S an April Fool’s Prank, yes P-R-A-N-K I can embrace. (But 6′ away, please. I don’t want the shitty virus).

A Pompeii Pal

Snarky around corner, but for a moment…

Italy is in the news. Our brothers and sisters are living through individual and collective stories written by an evil author of viral consequence. They are to be shown every ounce of compassion and support available. So, too, are all the sufferers of ills, depressions, and anxieties as result of this global pandemic. Surreal. Unlike anything our living, breathing earth has seen since 1918, when millions of our ancestral friends grievied the loss of loved ones themselves.

Italy was in the news during the late 16th century as well. Uncovered after centuries, buried under 19 feet of volcanic debris, the ruins of Pompeii were discovered.

Apparently, in 79 CE (Current Era … yeah, it’s a thing), Mount Vesuvius had what amounted to a bad gas day resulting in a quick burial for the unfortunate inhabitants below his bellowing ash hole. Fitting two word phrase seeing as how Mr. V decided to interrupt an otherwise ordinary day with sudden death, despair, and destruction.

Not aside, sarcasm is purposefully inserted here because it was masterfully – and sidewalk artfully – used by a toga wearing wall-writer at the time. More about this dude in a bit.

We have Pompeii. A bustling boulder, semi-metropolis of first century A.D. (C.E. ..?) thinking where grapes, scrolls, and steam baths-o’bacteria ruled the hours. Men of high stature statues lined the lanes and pebbles rumbled under the chariot wheels as horses pulled piles of hay atop peasant wagons.

Scenes of daily struggle were simple, I can suppose in my, now, coronavirus isolation, stay-at-home mandate mind. No electronics, cars, or airplanes flights to miss … or Facebook political opinions to violently tap in my opposition .. then delete before actually posting up.

Toga toddlers spinning about, discovering what was new to them that remained undiscovered by elders stuck in traditional ways of their ancestors. The legacy of what remains in the remains of every generation since. The cycle of cyclical time. Pompeii was just us a thousand-and-a-hundred-or-so years behind.

Enough deep, philosophical pandering to my early morning muse. Sorry ’bout that. She gets me … not in the sense, “She gets me” like “Wow, she understands my inner soul” … more like, “She freakin’ ropes me in with all the deep thinking and won’t untie me ..” kinda gets me.

Anyway. Pompeii.

The walls of Pompeii have an interesting history. According to “Uncle John’s Supremely Satisfying Bathroom Reader, 14th Book” …

“In Pompeii, the walls of every building were used as billboards on which anyone was allowed to write whatever they wanted. When the buried city was excavated, archaeologists found notices of upcoming plays at the theater, the schedule of games at the stadium, the price of goods at the market, and the comments of passersby.

The elections in Pompeii were coming up when the city was destroyed, so thousands of political ads were found, including this one: ‘Vote for Vatia, who is recommended by sneak thieves, the whole company of late drinkers, and everyone who is fast asleep‘ “

Sarcasm nearly 1,900 years ago. Gotta love it. Ironic, too, that we are in an election year as well. Good thing there’s no sarcasm here!! No volcanoes ready to erupt anywhere on social media walls anytime soon, right?? I can’t IMAGINE any of us writing our thoughts anywhere public …. oh, the shame to bear on our toga-less, exposed back-sided opinions these days.

So, back to our ancient spray can dude. He’s the real hero of this tale today. I’d even suggest he is our bare-back rider of a white Fresian horse; This mere peasant is the only hero for all humanity needing a sarcasm-saving champion of the day. I love this dude for one reason … and one reason only.

On the wall, he scrawled:

“Everybody writes on the walls but me”

I’m sure he perished in the massive belch. Good for him. Dying as a sarcastic, real, grape loving toga dude. Live on, bro .. We’ve got ya covered from here.

If only I could find a local steam bath. I’m in the mood for some company. Social Distancing is killing my buzz and I’m out of spray paint.

Always the Tease

It’s 3:45 in the morning and I’m up as usual. My sleep-wake cycle is all weirded out much like half the country’s attitude right now. Social screens blowing up with contrarian viewpoints, arching flame-filled volleyballs across spiked nets … works of biased broadcasting to be sure. I’m certainly not one to kick sand in anyone’s face here. Or, am I. Atlas shrugged his shoulders at the man and then became a body of reckoning by facing down his bullies. Ayn Rand served up potential of the human mind and the consequences of our good intentions in “Atlas Shrugged”. Both are digging their heels, deeply, into the dark wet sand of our emotional ripples. We sit watching them play as the volley never ends.

Above looks like an itchy, painful, sand-in-the eyes mash of mix metaphors and cross-pollinating literary plaah. I grant you that. Again, it’s early (now, 4:32 a.m.), I’ve run low of hot tea, am checking in on Facebook as I type, and hear funny voices in my head. The latter not uncommon, by the way. Oh, and we are still Social Distancing … not from anything inanimate, mind you – just from anything breathing, moving, or otherwise capable of interacting on any level keeping me from losing my ever-loving mind.

So, let’s tie all this together .. the little bit I’ve here so far. Charles Atlas Shrugged (not shagged .. be careful – now, now) Ayn Rand at the beach playing volleyball. We’re watching them early in the morning on March 29th, 2020, during a mandated mindful-ish, societal time-out. I am sipping once again after filling my monopoly-themed mug once more with Garden Andes organic tea. Facebook became boring so I clicked out and the voices still remain but are less funny …

All this to say, you have my almost complete attention. For now. To the subject at hand: The word BUT. Not, BUTT, but BUT … only one “T”. Being ever so careful, I am clarifying for clarity, exacting for exactness. In the case of this word specifically, it’s … Always The T’s, … always. T’easing and pleasing, in the most joyous of ways, during these confusing, hard days.

This word has been peeking around the dunes lately, wanting to play with the big boys and girls on the beach. I am as guilty as the next bikini-clad, batman-boxer bathing suit, speedo sporting, sand surfing writer. We invite it on our literary towels, where tanner more sporty looking words lay, without considering its ability to shun onlookers. Once a but is seen, an interested glance accompanied by a wink and a nod turns away. Exposed to the sun’s light, a but cracks open a spasm doubt previously unkown to snufflers walking by. It negates any sweet smelling idea proposed by the sentence structurer. Therein lies the rub.

I’m not completely adverse to the idea of using the but word, however, it is used way too often. It’s crammed into sentences so often I don’t think even the most exquisite among literary laxatives would ease the log jam. So apparent in columns of online social and professional colonoscopical bloviating, I find its usage exhausting. No wonder we’ve seen a run on toilet paper. It’s not just due to the Covid-19 outbreak and panic buying ad nauseam. Some fault to all the professional editors who are scurrying about, raiding the big box stores, maxing out their corporate credit cards, driving up the stock prices of Charmin, Cottonelle and Angel Soft. They are trying to clean up the crap-storm, but messes of contradictory information floating around in every crevasse of porcelain popular opinions.

So, here we are … buckets upon buckets of wet sand starting to build castles on a beach that will, eventually, be washed out … BUT for now, we have to deal with what is. A world of he-said-they-said-she-said information where everyone is entitled to their opinion preceded by the word “but”. I see it everywhere, especially in the Facebook universe where a man-boy founder’s vision of a better, less ugly world is certainly not that right now. I would argue today is more in line with Zuck’s original intent, anyway. Lining up faces in a juvenile dorm room to poll away the pretty from the ugly … just now we are substituting opinions for faces.

We are caught, non-professionals and professionals alike, in this goofy paradigm. Our line in the sand is the constantly moving narrative of what is true and what isn’t. Every day the stories change. President Trump vacillates more than a well-oiled, grease pole of slimy day old engine oil and Congress couldn’t agree on where to take a sh*, well … I’ll keep it clean because they did, sorta, manage to pass a massive relief. err… bill, BUT …

We will pay for it … eventually. There’s the rub, again.

Opinions are like ***s … as the saying goes, so I will get back to my original premise. But is a problem, Give me any proposition, follow it with “but”, and you’ve just negated your original position.

“I think you are gorgeous, but…”
“Wow, you certainly look nice tonight honey, but…”
“Thanks for your order, but…”
“I hate being Socially Distant from you, but …”
“Spiders can go suck on poison, but …”

See the problem? Now, to be clear, as a reply to another’s opinion, I could be persuaded. For example:

ME
“I’ve been up four hours now and I think the two mugs of tea I’ve consumed so far are making me delusional.”
YOU
“Yes, but think of all the fun you are having click-clacking away knowing you have all day to do absolutely nothing … abso-freaking-nothing!”

Aside from me asking why you are sitting next to me and I can’t see you, get my point? As a reply, it is ok. After your own idea, though, I’d avoid it like the Covid-19 virus…especially on social media. You’ll confuse an already stressed, red-eye-ball popping public whose tolerance for anything less than a two-seconds meme is already stretched thinner than the skin of a …. _______ (fill in your own descriptor here). The above examples are fine for humor’s sake, BUT when politics get involved, nasty-nasties comes out to play. I’ve seen it. To my shame and pity, I’ve engaged in such malfeasance to such a degree … forcing my play shovel into the sand … causing me to say…

… Here I sit. Watching Atlas and Ayn lob and volley. There are consequences of good intentions. One of them being my ability to not sleep during the night. Another, a willingness to share deep, profound knowledge with you, my loyal reader. So, here it is:

“This whole Covid-19 virus could be a once in every 100 year plague, or a simple over-hyped common flu bug, but maybe neither one. Could be somewhere in between the two. What do I know?”

Let’s hold hands in agreement as we sun bathe together here on my Superman towel. Oh, by the way, could you put some SPF 50 on my back? I’m starting to burn here.

I Had Other Plans Today

“I never thought in a million years this could happen to me. When I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong. We are guilty of not taking this serious enough from Day 1. For that, I have learned such a valuable lesson about life.
Last night we found out that I tested positive for Covid 19. I am the second case in Blair County.
This has been the worst 8 days of my entire life. I feel like I couldn’t possibly survive all of this for many more days but I need to find the strength.
If I can use my experience to help save a life, I’m happy to be honest about this with my family, friends, coworkers and community.
The good news for my coworkers is that because Jordyn was sick last week I only worked one day. I had no symptoms until 3 days later. So after speaking with the Dept of health today. They say you all are safe. ❤️
The same is true for Mikes coworkers as well. You are all safe ❤️
Once my symptoms started I’ve been home.
All it takes is ONE person that has a slight cough and thinks they are fine to go in public and touch a product at the store and not buy it and the next person comes along and touches it. Wildfire!
My symptoms started with
* severe headache
* High fever (102-103.8)every day and still going
* a cough so bad that if I had to guess I’m coughing thousands of times per day sometimes until it makes me sick or takes my breath away
* loss of taste and smell
* sick stomach
* dizziness and cloudy brain
* it’s hard to walk unassisted.
* The pneumonia has taken over every movement like how I breath and talk and use my energy sparingly.
I’m not going to feel any better for awhile. This isn’t something where you just wake up and feel better the next day.
Anyone that knows me well knows we weren’t very understanding at first of everything being cancelled. WE WERE WRONG! I am 37 years old and there are moments I feel like I won’t survive this because I feel so horrific. I can most definitely agree that an older person would have an extremely hard time with this. Do your part. Please stay home. HELP SAVE A LIFE!
Mike and Jordyn are doing well. We are under strict quarantine. I hope someone takes this post seriously and it can help change even one persons mind about staying home.
It has been impossible to keep up with messages so I’m sorry if I wasn’t able to get back with each of you. We appreciate the support so much.”

I didn’t plan on copying and pasting the above Facebook quote from our 2nd COVID-19 case in Blair County, but it moved me. Rachel’s words needed to be my words – replacing what I had planned for today’s reading. I intentionally allowed her “million years” to be your door into this experience today. Enter into a new world of us – a small western Pennsylvania county with, now, two positive cases of coronavirus.

I didn’t plan on unfollowing a Facebook friend a few minutes prior to writing this entry. A friend I’ve known over 30 years. I suspect today changed the cart path of our friendship that’s weathered far worse than one, yes one, nasty exchange. Over what? Stupid actions of guys playing golf when they should be at home … social distancing … being smart about all of this. You have two guesses as to my friend’s position on the matter. He’s all-in hoax, I’m all-in responsible “don’t know, better safe than sorry”.

I didn’t plan on being extra lazy today. It just happened. All my stuff took way too much time to not do. So many tasks undone. Minutes labored on … and on. The soup I did manage to heat up for lunch was extra slow as it turned in a forever’s time of 3 minutes. I watched with fascinating fancy as the chicken pot-pie-pea something soup spun around and spit itself into the wax paper cover. Eventually counting the dough balls as I ate them passed the time. Didn’t count the peas, though. Peas don’t deserve that kind of recognition, even on a lazy, do nothing kind of day.

I didn’t plan on convincing an elderly, close relative the virus isn’t airborne – as much as it is person-to-person contact – and he could have been outside enjoying a nice 55+ degree day. (As an aside, I do believe air can carry sneeze droplet molecules 45 minutes … if that’s accurate). He has been under this misunderstanding – mainly through watching too much TV – and self-isolated under this condition. Big props to him for “over-cautioning” (if that’s a thing) and I’m glad he did. Pleased, however, to be able to clear up the confusion and give him some breathing room outside of the rooms he has been looking at the past week or so. I believe he actually cut his grass today. Wonderful when eyes are open to what is true.

I didn’t plan on finding out one of my best friend’s sons has a birthday today. Josh would have been twenty-five if I read the Facebook comment correctly. Without knowing Josh, you’d have little awareness of his struggles in life. No need for me to give details of his life leading up to his exit from this world. Be advised he had a family who embraced his physical and emotional challenges with more love than is – almost – more than you would believe possible. I am humbly embarrassed to admit I did not know today, March 27th, is his birthday…

…Which, in a so sweet and caring twist, leads me into what I did plan for today … a memorial for another special candle day person.

My mom is, as well, no longer sharing in life’s journey with us. She died in 2012. Her long partnership with cancer gave us insight into her character as she never once complained or fought against the eventual outcome that was to be. Her joy overwhelmed us all. Her love continues to be missed.

Today was to be her day. Her 82nd birthday – to be shared, as I now know, with Josh, Rachel, and soup. Funny how things go.

I had other plans today. So did the universe. Happy Birthday, Mom. 🎂💕