V-Day Part Deux

         Almost miraculously, my sinuses did not act up all morning, so I did not sneeze at the vaccination place and cause a panic. I have returned home and await the side effects. 

        Once again, I applaud the Jackson County, Missouri, Health Department for their excellent implementation. 

Yeah, I know.  Everyone knows my last name.

V-Day

         To get right to it, today my intrepid lady partner and I get the second of two Moderna Covid-19 vaccination shots. I had a very modest reaction after the first shot and have been told this means my reaction to the second shot will be more severe. I don't care. 

        We are already talking about what restaurants we want to go to, what places, etc.  These conversations always end with our admitting that neither one of us is going to feel totally comfortable in small, crowded spaces.  It's going to be awhile. Now I'm no Howard Hughes, but I was glad to eliminate the custom of hand-shaking, and I hope that is one of the changes from the pandemic that remain, my hopes based on the observation that such a custom was originated at a time in antiquity when life expectancy was about 24 years. In other words, "I'm too old for this shit."

        To get the shot today, we will go to a large, arena-like building the next town over, show the appointment cards that we were given after our first shots, and then get in a long, serpentine line delineated by theater lobby type barriers--the kind that consist of poles sitting in lines and connected by either velvet ropes or flat nylon belts. Last time it was well organized and didn't take too long. 

        The problem is that for the last several days I've been having an allergy attack which, at times, causes me to sneeze in multiples of four or five. This would not inspire confidence if it happens in this large building full of people waiting to get their Covid shots. It will scare the crap out of everybody, most likely.

        I woke up this morning feeling better, so, fingers crossed.

A Blog Post From 16 Years Ago

Well, then . . .

        I seem to have given up my plans to focus my powerful intellect on the craft of writing real stuff, in favor of blogging. But I read a book that explains it. I am "percolating." That's right. My subconscious is apparently busy, even at this moment, formulating exciting story lines and characters which will eventually emerge in the fullness of time, like cat puke on the kitchen floor.

        Today I was emailing someone about my old car. (Pictured below. The color added this evening is fairly accurate--maybe it was more toward the gunmetal gray thing.) I was saying that in a particular fantasy I would get a kick out of transporting people in a time machine back to Palo Alto in 1969, where my younger self would give you a ride in my car. You would be given instructions to approach me and just tell me what happened, and that you would like a ride in my car. I would probably then give you a ride, maybe go out for a burger, or cruise around with a six pack or two cooling off in the rather spacious cavity between grill and radiator found on all 1957 Chevrolets. I'm sure I would not question your story, although I might have internal doubts that I would not quite dignify with positive action. (It's called lack of impulse control.) Consider that this may have already happened, in fact. Or that it will, and then it will have. Ouch. Headache.


        We will not go to Foster Freeze on El Camino, because everything there is suffused with this same, weird taste, like stale ketchup or something. Can't quite put my finger on it. I recommend a steak sandwich at Lyons.
        One last thing. Mention Yahoo, Apple or Microsoft stock.

A Spring of Sorts

        In five days I get my second Covid-19 vaccination. Since I had the first shot, and it has been more than two weeks now, you could say I am, maybe, as immune as I'm going to get. I can, if I am courteous to others and wear a mask wherever I go, go places. I can sit down in a restaurant, or walk among others of my kind without fear. 

        Well, I guess I could still catch a cold. But I can take my car to Jiffy Lube now and let other people touch my steering wheel, I can take receipts that are handed to me and put them in my pocket.  I can go to the dentist and get my teeth sharpened!  I could even get in an airplane and fly somewhere, if that weren't so obnoxious even in the best of times. 

        It has been a year now, roughly, of being cautious, washing my hands frequently, not getting too close to other people, not letting my breath touch anyone, nor let anyone's breath touch me, being consciously aware of something that I cannot see or feel or smell, but still exists to harm me, like the Commies, or the aliens with their mind control rays, and the robots whom I suspect are busy at night stealing single socks and moving cell phones just out of sight, and sometimes unscrewing milk bottle caps. 

        I can return to the world that has, for a year now, belonged to someone else, it seems. Did the Covid deniers think we would never return? 

visual

Office space.

 

On Formatting Issues Within Blogger.Com

     After reading the Monday Rant at Light Motifs (Platinum Edition) I have given some thought to Blogger's formatting style within their compose window. It seems limiting, and I was whining about how some Millennial programmer at Google has decided for us all what style we should use when we blog. 

Flash Fiction

It's a slow day here at Villa DiGregorio and due to boredom or old age words are hiding from me. Seeking inspiration, I started digging around my hard drive. 

Some time ago I entered a flash fiction contest. The rules were that the theme of the story be inspired by the supplied picture, and the story must consist of exactly 250 words, no more, no less. This proved to be much more difficult than I imagined, but it was fun. The picture was of a stormy sky with black, roiling clouds above a couple of telephone poles. 

I believe I posted this once a long, long time ago. My entry: 

    Far out. I was just talking to Rainbow and Moonbeam about the very idea--but after awhile I couldn't concentrate because Rainbow had a fly in her hair and Moonbeam was saying here use my hairbrush and brush it out, and Rainbow was all, hey I don't want to hurt it and Moonbeam was like, hey, it's a FLY, and Rainbow said well that's the trouble with you because you don't have strongly held BELIEFS like I do, and Moonbeam started crying and I was all SHUT U-UUUP!!!! and then because it was raining our VW bus slid off the side of the road and we drove sideways through the front window of a grocery store and knocked these Hostess cupcakes off their display and they were, like, everywhere, so we got out and ate a bunch of them before the cops came, and so that idea that the universe will take care of us, that was really heavy. We were just talking about that. 

    So the cop is sitting at his desk with a cup of coffee and half of this dried out doughnut and says hey, we still had our one phone call, which I made. It was dark now, and the weather had gotten worse, and I could barely hear the guy, who is shouting over the buzzing phone line, “What?? What??” 

    I say, “oh yeah, and some of those cinnamon dessert stick things.” I glance down at my jailer’s stale doughnut. “Better make that two orders.”