Grandpa, Is That You?

 

Virus

Part 14 of 30

Here’s the problem with too many killer diseases, too many people getting killed all at once. It’s sort of the opposite of killing, like too many people being born at the same time or taken. We remember hearing about the Baby Boom, of course. It wasn't that long ago but it’s receding more and more into the vastness of the distant past. You get enough people doing humpa-humpa without protection and next thing you know there’s another million people going “Here I am, deal with it.” Then one by one dropping off.

I don’t think, on average, that more and more people being born is a huge problem. It might be a bigger problem if there were all born the same day. Say there was a big conspiracy of a million couples to plan and plot to have their babies all born on the same day -- December 25 -- just to put a famous birthday out there. With enough math skills and maybe some computer help, you could figure out precisely the best day for their common conception. It’d take someone smarter than me, and of course that pool is minuscule.

OK, let's assume that’s all accomplished and a million would-be mothers are taking care of themselves, not lifting more than 500 pounds at any one time, etc., eating right, getting all the nutrition they could, bulking up in the various ways, the right foods, the fetus waxing stronger and stronger, taking up his or her given room and encroaching even further to be ready-teddy out the chute when the time’s right. The hospitals are at their wit’s end, complete facilities tearing their hair out, doctors calling in sick but then compelled by an act of government, all hands on deck, whether right or left handed. Going by your personal preference.

The hospital parking lots are full to overflowing. There’s doctor’s cars illegally parked through the neighborhood, which is often a big problem at the hospital metroplexes we have today. But given the nature of the crisis, and an edict put out by the president, affirming the governor’s consternation, the illegality of parking for any length of time on these side streets is negated, sidetracked, overturned, and maybe just simply ignored for the sake of those precious ones, the baby boom to end all baby booms, millions of little crying mouths, families overrun with new responsibilities, and while not given to putting their hands out, are embarrassed by their lack of planning and receiving stipends.

I like it. I always like it when we’re working together, with decent ends in sight, the common good, mutuality and goals. What’s that have to do with Grandpa’s ghost? Just as it’s hard to keep track of millions of souls -- computers would help -- so it’d be tough keeping track of the millions of people who’ve died, were they to start reappearing. It’s a tenuous thing, identifying those you haven’t seen for 40-50 years once they’re passed on. I worry about it a little, What if Grandpa or even Grandma showed up in my bedroom. I’d have to wonder, Is it really you?

Midnight, Where's My Gun?

 

Virus

Part 13 of 30

I may have touched on this theme -- my every other thought is on guns and my right to pack heat -- and it may come up again. Because we’re such a gun-happy society. If it threatens us, let’s shoot it, that kind of attitude. It’s long been my argument that we’re better off without so many guns, but, on the other hand, don't take mine. If I needed a gun and didn’t have one, that’d be bad. Even as it is, with the whole rack of guns in the back window of the truck, and those locked, it'd be hard to get one in the event of an actual shootout. But no matter, we had countless societies going back to the Garden of Eden when we didn’t have guns, so who knows. I can well imagine, though, in the old days everyone was a lot more trigger-happy, like back when continental drift was a big thing, they might’ve said, “Pa, the continent’s 5 foot farther out than it was yesterday, where’s the gun?”

With this virus scare, though, who knows? People get desperate and know you have a bottle of aspirin or paper towels or a couple garbage bags and they want it. You cry out, “I have no aspirin!” And one of the mob finds the receipt from yesterday in the garbage. You think fast, “I took them all!” Then they point out the side effects, you would’ve bled to death by now. So the jig’s up. You step out with the gun, your short wife holding you back. You even look at the gun and down at the wife and say something like, “I knew the gun was sawed off, but what happened to YOU?!” (Really, a little height would come in handy against the virus, since it’s my understanding that even germs are subject to gravity.)

Anyway, whether she’s of adequate height, there’s nothing you can do about that when the crisis is plum crazy. Whether she comes to your knees or the top of your shoes, it’s too late to worry about it now. She’s better than nothing, and maybe half the mob will trip over her, although their own lack of height could be such that you’ll both trip over them. The gun goes off and accidentally blows away their leader, they disperse and you’re both saved, which is about the best you can hope for.

They do know something, though, that the virus is no way to die, nothing anyone wants for themselves. And that’s the way it is today. Each one of us, holed away behind our door in our homes, knows that a crowd perplexed can go plain loco if they think you have an edge on survival that’s somehow escaped them. And one thing is certain when it comes to the human race, Without the good sense of some species, giving up when the jig’s up, mankind wants to hold on to survival against all odds, even if it means taking someone else out to do it. Is that the way I’d be? I’d like to say no, no, hell no! But probably, at least maybe. I’d try to do right by everyone, but, I guess so, I might rush your door and take a bullet through the head.

It’s nothing to brag about, naturally, but it’s better to try to save yourself than die like a dog, no offense to them.

Super Criminals & This Virus

Virus

Part 12 of 30

This virus -- are you with me so far? -- is not just happening, OK? That’s a big statement, and probably one I'll get a lot of flak over. I understand that. And I can deal. But I’m just concerned about those out there -- a lot of people -- who won’t deal with it if we don’t take it completely seriously. So I’ll put it out there again, it’s not just happening.

Is it a huge conspiracy? I don’t believe it's that huge. It’s just like this, that in particular localities there are agents -- it’s tough to prove because a lot of these shady characters stay in the shade. But it makes complete sense how these agents are acting. Doing their dirty work (1), then slinking back into the shadows to look out from the shadows and behold the evil fruit of their doings.

And you see how effective their plans are, at least in the short-run. Because we will get them. This is something f I can see it, our leaders can see it, and they'll shut down the whole thing.

So we are indeed looking at local agents and national agents and probably global agents at their filthy task, whoever they might be in the particular places. It's a lot easier to see in local situations because the networks on the larger scale, while like the local in many ways, have a lot more ways of disappearing, and shifting blame.

And I haven’t merely been sitting here writing this, OK? I’ve been out, particularly at night, listening at doors in alleys, exchanging certain goods for certain information. Then filtering it through the software in my massive VIC-20 brain. It takes a lot of doing, but I've got all the time in the world (to do good).

So far, then, I’ve narrowed the local scene down to four agents, perhaps one of whom is the biggest threat, while taking into account that if they're in cahoots they’re even more powerful. I’m going to sketch them out with the helpful apparatus of four aces, and we’ll be going the typical left to right in the all important list of their identities and motives. First, we have the town drunk, Skidrow Sal. There’s nothing that’s not observed by Sal. Sal sees the weak links in every scene and gets his booze by reporting to Mr. or Ms. Big.

Second, there’s furniture store owner Martin Van Bureau. Who's really the point man on information, very useful in the ‘hood. It seems that Bureau has run up quite an electronics bill for eavesdropping equipment; he shut down the last few electronic stores in the area. If you’ve said anything about anything, or have bought furniture in the last few weeks, Bureau has you pegged.

Third, we can't leave out the owner of the Third Reich Bar, Alois Himmler, aka “Big Al,” who started out a WWII re-enactor but is now head of the local Nazi protectors. Not only is there a lot in it for him, the virus, the virus is this ace’s ace in the hole.

And lastly, we can't leave out Baby Face Walter and his child bride Lucinda. Baby Face isn’t just a baby in the face, but baby all over, wiry, slippery, able to show up unnoticed, always keeping his crying down lest he be caught. With Lucinda satisfying him continually, his mind is completely free of carnality, making him a super computer of information.

So there we have it. Sal and Bureau have their necessary role in this cabal, but it’s Himmler, virtually bottle-fed by Baby, who’s the number one purveyor of the virus. I’d say bring the pillars and walls down around Himmler and we’ll finally catch a break, spelling the last days for his viral reign of terror.

Crowds Looking At Crowds

 

Virus

Part 11 of 30

This is the before picture, before the virus took hold, but to be perfectly frank it could easily be confused with the after picture.

Of course it was entirely safe to be in the public concourse before, when we dwelt in ignorance, the virus fully present, infecting the first few crowds.With that taint, however, it was immediately obvious that we should shrink back, with the crowds to be diminished and possibly never restored, depending on the scope of the pandemic.

But anything that’s anything has to be witnessed, otherwise how would we know there was no one there. I know when it happened, my first thought was I should stay home, but then I thought, "How will I know if everyone stayed home unless I go see?" Well, great minds think alike. And the neighbors saw me pulling up my truck's anchor and shoving off. They all know how careful I am, probably, so they figured, ‘If he’s going to see it, it must be safe.’ And really, how will you have bragging rights in the future unless you're bold now? Who wants to rely on secondhand gossip?

Just the sight of the concourse, the pavilion, filled to overflow proportions gave each of us a renewed confidence. It was just another false alarm. The word went out, “It indeed IS another false alarm!” Meaning, anyone paranoid enough to stay hunkered down with their little supplies of toilet paper and canned soup is a sucker of the meddling government! When you put it like that, what choice do you have? Plus, the wind was blowing the germs out to sea, or whatever islands there are betwixt hither and thither.

You can sort of see it in the way our noses work, filtering out the germs of our immediate presence with the tiny hairs. On the macro scale, that’s what trees are, nose hairs without a nose. The wind blows from one tree to the next, each with its marching order -- germs incoming! -- and the filtering both begins and ends like inhalation and exhalation, the next breath cleansing the previous breath.

That day has passed by now, of course, and we’ve had some iffy days since. A number of the people I knew that day have fallen victim to optimism or stupidity, even now flitting about in the afterlife, living with regrets on those virus-free shores. It may not have been the best behavior but I’m still alive, my nose a little plugged up but my left leg's fine. I’m still kicking...

I implore you -- my entire healthy left side implores you -- be socially responsible in this time of terrible virus. You may live to see tomorrow, or, equally possible, you might not.

Serial Killer's Regrets

 

Virus

Part 10 of 30

Full Disclosure: I’ve never been a serial killer, not even a suspect. I’ve never known a serial killer, and I’ve never known anyone (knowingly) who’s known a serial killer. It's possible just by the phenomena of coincidence that may have unknowingly been in the same place as a serial killer, because I go out in society, to the grocery store, other stores, parades, and other events, and a serial killer, unknown to me, may have been there. Hell, he or she may have stood right next to me, and for all I know may have sized me up as a victim in a particularly desperate spree. I just don’t know, although I definitely hope not. Oh, if only serial killers were a little more open about their intentions and their whereabouts, without actually killing us it'd still be useful for law enforcement. Note: I do live in The Big City, so it could be that every other person I see is a serial killer, but so far they’ve been apparently very secretive.

Even now, I could look up online for the basic character and methods of operation that the typical serial killer has or uses. But that would not fit the purposes of this blog, since that’s information anyone could also look up if they’re interested. If you’re the type of person interested in such things, and maybe a little too interested, I will offer a friendly request to you not to try to get to know me. Let’s just part as friends, and not really even friends, two strangers bound to stay that way. I’m happy on my own with my own interests, and the fact that I’m writing this blog doesn’t mean that I have any abiding interest in the subject.

One could, however, well imagine some of the personal distinctions of a serial killer. Whose personalities would no doubt have quite the range, everything from the newbie serial killer, who meant merely to be a one-off killer but it got the best of him and he went too far, to the more hardened hombre, who watches scary movies while laughing, then goes on his rounds much like a plague but with a human purpose and drive. Scary stuff.

The virus is a kind of serial killer, but naturally, insofar as we know, without a purposeful drive to kill. It’s a combination of factors of that which kills coming into contact with that which can be killed. Bacteria, chemical combinations, body parts susceptible to molecular conflicts, a quick-acting or slow-acting agent that attacks without discernible purpose but appears to have but one goal, the complete break down of tissues, sinews, vessels, bells and whistles, and the other body parts that doctors know about but the rest of us are clueless concerning. It’s disgusting at one level -- body parts on the fritz -- naturally, but it’s technically nothing other than the breakdown common to beings with finite life, where eventually one thing or another gets you.

The big difference between our misunderstood friend, the human serial killer, who may have at least fleeting regrets such as “Why? Why? Why?” and nature, is nature has no qualms about doing its thing, regardless of how we feel about it. And probably usually the human serial killer -- being a nasty sort -- is more like nature in that regard.

Drive Carefully, Should Go Viral

Virus

Part 9 of 30

Are you traveling the fatal track? For sure, I hope my trajectory isn’t on the fatal track, although of course we’re all going to die. (This is an unproven statement that still could be false, but don’t bet on it.) I myself have missed many of life’s pitfalls and troubles, and sometimes against all the odds, but I’ve noticed old age is inexorable and when they say, ‘It’s only a matter of time till you’re worm-food,’ I've come to believe them.)

The key thing on the fatal track is just to avoid wrecking as long as you can. Just like driving a car on normal roads. You can be on the interstate and make a fast, drastic right hand turn and take out yourself and any number of other victims, but usually there’s not a good reason to do so, and certainly no great call for it to happen. When I go somewhere, helping friends to the hospital or whatever, I drive responsibly and with the best awareness I have, making sure we make it there safe and the same going back. It's a thing that comes with old age.

But in fact, it always seems like people are intuitive enough even when they're going 70 mph to notice my good example and emulate it right then and there in real time. I can easily imagine them saying, “Wow, that guy’s one heck of a driver. I think I’ll be more like him.” I notice them thinking this and double down on my game, very vigilant with the turn signals, tapping my brakes when called for, and so forth. One of the things I’d absolutely love, and it’ll probably never happen, is for my car insurance agent to just happen to be on the road at the same time, see my carefulness and complete maturity behind the wheel, signal me to the shoulder and cut my rate in half right then and there. These are the things I yearn for.

But there’s plenty of incentives to be a careful driver. If you’re incautious and reckless, you know that if you collide with someone they can sue you for everything you have? We’re always hearing people complaining about the number of lawsuits there are -- and some of them are superfluous, entirely unnecessary -- but I have to concur with legal experts on the validity of most lawsuits when it comes to traffic fatalities. Running someone off the road, squarely colliding with someone pulled over with a flat tire, or even seeing people on the sidewalk and willfully leaving the road to track down and take them out, these are things good people don’t do. And if they sue you down to your last pair of underpants, you deserve it.

There’s similarities with the virus, which are probably so elementary and obvious that to explain them would be a clear waste of space and time. But the prize is often withheld from the timid, so I'll get into it. The virus is always looking for victims, so are psychotics behind the wheel. The virus could affect anyone, so could psychotics behind the wheel. And the virus, as terrible as it is, will someday fade away. Would that it were the same for psychotics behind the wheel! My one plea, Don’t be like psychotics behind the wheel. And don’t be like the virus, for that matter. Instead of fading away, if you’re doing something wrong on the road, please stop it immediately or sooner.

Note: I may have gotten a speeding ticket yesterday. I still don't know. The guy had one of those speed guns tracking everyone, and I was at least a smidgen fast.

The Chair's Chair Virus

Virus

Part 8 of 30

Anyway, as I said yesterday, my once-nice-brown-haired Pa had the virus known as cancer and died. Immediately having gone to heaven, his soul, we later buried him on the hill back home, with his mortal remains remaining there with his hopes of being resurrected someday. My own thought on the religion of it all is that the body will likely remain there till the end of time but that his soul/spirit did indeed majestically flit-flit-flit its way to his reward, a fast flit and more or less instant.

He also had a nasty cough. I seem to remember it was in his lungs, a terrible way to die. Which might be like the virus today, since we’re all afraid of being touched, having the breath of strangers or loved ones on us, I think. I know they put up plexiglass dividers at the grocery store to keep the nastiness of customers off the checkout people. It’s all extremely serious business, and even when the virus is no more, I would guess the plexiglass dividers will remain forever. They're industrially fastened. So no more handshaking even after this is over. The new greeting upon meeting someone will be to step back three feet and bow, but not such a deep bow that we’re breathing on anything that’s settled near the floor.

So Pa died, with his light brown hair, around 20 years ago, leaving behind a bunch of furniture that Mom (still alive at the time) wanted to get rid of. Dad’s personal den had a chair and ottoman that were gorgeous in their time, procured by my family after another guy died and they were on sale at a garage sale where he lived. Dad knew they were used but accepted them anyway, having no scruple at that time about sitting in a chair that a potentially infected person sat in. (These days, with the virus, we’ll avoid all floor models that aren’t sold or even sitting in them for a test.) As for Pa, it was never known definitively whether his lung cancer was a result of a prior infection of his chair or something to do with an old ashtray he used to use.

Once Pa flitted off to his heavenly reward -- my inspiring post yesterday, and I’ve already heard that a few souls have been saved based on it -- that left us with the quandary of what to do with his filthy old chair. You sell it at a garage sale, you’re open to legal action if someone gets lung cancer from it. Or who knows what other kinds of cancer! I do remember one of the dogs sleeping on its back, then wriggling around in a dream, and falling out and getting hurt. The dog's attorney tried to make a federal case of it, but they settled for a few biscuits and a red squeeze toy.

Sorry to tell you now the chair’s gone. We did indeed put it on the curb with a sign, and it was snatched up actually before the ink on the sign was dry! So there’s someone out there -- no doubt now dead -- willing to live dangerously, with basically nothing left to live for.

My Heavenly Visions

 Virus

Part 7 of 30

I do a lot of meditation. And I’ve had vivid images of heavenly glory, most of them involving gigantic tables of great food, spread out as far as the eye can see: big roasts, salads with lettuce that doesn't wilt, and of course spaghetti, the most delicious cheap thing you can make. Mostly I see things from when I was a kid, when I was learning about life: Wars, plagues, cleaning fish, Grandpa clearing his throat, Grandma talking flea market dealers down on canes, and of course vivid dreams of Heaven.

The last one, I’d love to have dreams like that now that I’m old, but it just never happens. One of the reasons, probably, and I’ve mentioned it before, is that like Jimi Hendrix I might have a vision and slip into the alpha jerk state and slip into the hole and die before my time. Although, whereas he no doubt had future classic albums that were never made, what have I got? Nothing, just this blog, which, while it’s extremely influential on all seven continents, I'm “just not fed” by the constant acclaim. My time is near.

Still, if I could recapture the glory of my youth, these dreams of Heaven, I think I’d appreciate them now even more. Back then, they were so vivid -- I saw the whole judgment! -- I’d wake up with cold sweats and my mom thought I was peeing the bed. I told her no, I wasn’t, and tried to blame the sweats on God, but, you know moms, the supernatural always escapes them.

The graphic today portrays something of Heaven without quite showing it in its fullest accurate detail. I do concur with the graphic on one point -- and this is a major truth -- there are no broom closets in Heaven. You don't see a single one. So nowhere to hide. The rest, except for nonessential details is basically true. And who’s this I see? Pa! The old man, his cancer a thing of the past, with even his bald head covered with the light brown hair. That’s so good to know, illustrating what is clearly portrayed, Justice, sweet Justice, among the other golden trappings of the grand hallways.

It’s a great vision to have in these days of the virus. That filthy thing, that devilish virus, seen under the microscope in its full hideousness, a lot of jagged edges and tiny little infecting handles, has no place in this grand vision. The fear that people have -- including me, naturally, in my weaker moments, almost 24/7 -- will not be sustained in that vision's fulfillment. The way it brings people low and just outright kills them around the world cannot stand in the grand vision. I see the numbers. And more importantly I can picture in my mind the terror -- again, 24/7 -- and know that it’s no good. Like the cancer that took down Dad. And whatever it was that took down Grandma and Grandpa, heart troubles and miscellaneous, respectively, these filthy devils shall not stand.

Please be encouraged, the comfort and best wishes are real. But if reincarnation turns out to be the afterlife, buckle down next time and set a few goals for the next go-around. Buy paper towels early, toilet paper, cheese, whatever.

Softening My Image

Virus

Part 6 of 30

These viral times are indeed trying times. I went out to mow my yard for the first time since winter and it took 30 pulls at the handle, nearly to no avail till, finally, it turned over and started. I was starting to sweat from embarrassment, not wanting the neighbors to see me in such a state of futility. Then there’s the virus, and children perhaps in all kinds of trouble, I don't know the full extent of the danger, but, forget about it, it's not good.

But it's not all bad. I give thanks for my neighbor, one of the Pavlona sisters from the old country. She used to travel quite a ways, not just around the three county area but out in the pretty far flung areas in a carriage. Her dad was one of the good old traveling minstrel types who could con the gullible out of their life savings, a fascinating thing. So Marie's one of the few neighbors I trust intrinsically, because she was totally upfront about her scheming thieving past and said indeed it was past. I put a 5 dollar bill on my dresser once in a while to test her, but of course she’s on to that old ruse.

These are the people, some of the neighbors -- the children and Marie Pavlona -- I have in my heart in these depressing days of this terrible virus. The children, naturally I want them to walk freely and to run and play freely. And Marie, she holds me in her prayers, she says, and someone with such a checkered past, if she says she’s praying for me, I believe it. That’s really the way it goes with folks like her. They may lie through their teeth when it comes to conning someone, but when they’re your friend they’re as good as gold. And kids can be the same way, usually conniving little monsters, but these kids, her extended family -- they’ve had nothing for so long -- they’re simply good. But offer one of them a fudge brownie and you better have one for the others! Fudge brownies are always a hit.

I mention all these children and Marie not so much for their own goodness, etc., but to soften up my image for you the readers. A few of you, according to the comments, think I appear to be “cold and aloof," I guess when it comes to stuff like that, and things about the virus, which I do take seriously. I have a mask, true story. And I want to assure you and put your mind to ease that I’m really an old softie. Which you about have to be when east European Roma are your friends; they’ll do anything for you. And then, naturally, the kids, every one a born thief but lovable as pumpkin pie.

Anyway, in these sad days of the virus -- dire days! -- it’s good to keep your friends close, etc., and look out for one another. Remembering, it should be remembered, to wash your hands and use about a gallon of antiseptic on everything they touch. It’s actually better to keep the kids outside or at least at arm's distance, wiping down any touched surface and all the rest to keep them from infecting me. These are things I’ve learned at the grocery store, which just recently put up an industrial strength plexiglass wall between the cashier and the customer. Prayers for them too.

Politics Rears It's Ugly

Virus

Part 5 of 30

For such a tragic affair and life as we know it up in the air, it was wonderfully inspiring to know that some things are locked in place, secure, and just as we knew them to be. Part of the inspiration is having certain things we can count on, no surprises, the foundations we take for granted securely set.

After all, what would it be like if we couldn’t count on anything staying the same? It’s hard to imagine, really, that anything could be in such disarray that all of our suppositions would be in question. The facts of life as we know them. Were it that bad we would’ve given up, thinking there’s nothing we can do about it, the foundations have crumbled.

But as it turns out, we needed not fear that all hope was lost. Those among our betters came through just when we needed them. Throwing off all restraint -- and they could’ve been so tightly held down as to be unable to breathe -- they muscled their way through the pain and suffering toward, perhaps one last, free-for-all for their most ardent supporters, not to mention themselves, putting Number One ahead of all and reminding us how things stand.

This was great, because the crumbling foundations -- aforementioned -- might not have held long enough for their great task to be accomplished. And to think of them going at it with the diligence they had, we’re reminded of what a potential sacrifice it was to muscle their way through -- with all the stick-to-it-tiveness of baby pigs seeking those life-giving nipples of the mother sow that their nourishment should not be denied. I used to see it at farms in the neighborhood, actually to great extremes. Did you know that if you slip in a pigpen you can be eaten? It’s true, I lost two classmates like that, a downer for the birthday boy who had us out to his farm for the party.

But when you have a party -- getting back to our topic -- that’s when you can really have a party. “These are desperate times! If we don’t act now -- and I mean with everything we have -- it’ll be too late.” And God forbid anyone get in their way. If the confusion of a viral plague isn’t enough cover to suck up whatever there is to be had, there will never be cover at all. This is the time to rise up, and with everyone’s sight obscured from the confusion of seeking shelter, managing the ins and out of quarantine, and scheming to get just one more roll of toilet paper, the time is right for government to quench their thirst (temporarily) for more more more.

Stand back, there’s more incoming, a turgid blast, nothing held back, obscuring the way, and like we said, providing cover for whatever rapine there is to be had, basically whatever is left to claim.

Still A Dangerous World

Virus

Part 4 of 30

I’ve given a lot of thought about what a dangerous world we have, and that was before the virus. And if this wasn’t the only thing we had, I’d say check out Option #2. That's what they used to do when they got sick and tired of where they lived -- Columbus. They sailed off to find something better. The big trouble with that approach is that after you've found everything here, there’s nowhere else to look.

I watch a lot of space shows on YouTube and there’s literally nowhere else to go, with a couple caveats. There’s the moon, which is essentially uninhabitable unless you want to live in an 800-pound spacesuit, with one advantage being the gravity is so horrible 800 pounds is manageable to get around in but completely lacks comfort. And there’s lots of other planets, but they're all so far away that just getting there is pretty much a death sentence. Our hopes of a space federation, a federation of planets, at this point is just crazy talk.

Even if we found a decent planet, and gone so many light years away to do it, it’d be the 100th generation of the people who left earth who’d govern and inhabit it once the mission was complete -- they’d no doubt be pining for the green green grass of home they never knew and spend a hundred generations getting back. I myself am already past my prime and couldn't make it. At this point I’m just a fizzled out nothing, barely able to crawl out of bed, especially with this virus creeping around The Big City.

So outer space is off the table. The best we can do is settle back into the local vibe, the things of earth, and tune into it as best we can, with the mystic OM underlying the whole thing, and the ever-fascinating mother and father the earth has been for millennia. If it weren’t for this virus, and the last virus, and the virus before that, and the virus we’ll have a few years from now, it’d be paradise. But it gladdens me that we’re doing our best. At least I hope this is our best. If we could do better but we’re not on purpose, that’d be sabotage, and I don’t know, we’re not going to get anywhere that way. Try harder, people!

Think of our society as the folks on that that exploring boat. They needed a common goal: “We’re going THAT way. If you’re not going THAT way, we’re going to throw you overboard, and save our provisions, including toilet paper.” The dangers of the world when it comes to sea serpents, monsters of the deep, and all lurking monsters of any size, even microscopic, like viruses, are such that we need the same spirit. Because viruses are not discriminating when it comes to trouble. But I'm sure we'll all make it! We hope for the best.

I guess I’ll say no more on this doctrine, a form of government among the more dangerous elements. (It’s not really a doctrine but a riff.) You’re on this mission to outer space (even though we’re staying here), get with the program, or … Next Stop, The Deep. You must have known the terms when you were born here. You stepped forward and made that decision. Again, get with the program.

Perfect Strangers

 

Virus

Part 3 of 30

So far we're early in the virus coverage and I don’t know anyone personally that’s succumbed to it. I don’t even know anyone who’s had it, at least that I've heard. But the fear is always that someone you know will show up, coughing, hacking, and complaining of it. Or you yourself.

I’m like everyone, just trying to avoid it as best I can. But I see the statistics on TV like everyone and know that most of those people were also responsible people. They weren’t doing stupid things, the equivalent of running into traffic without looking. They listened to the advice of how to watch out for it. They were probably avoiding as best they could people who might breathe on them and all the rest.

I don’t even remember all the rules. I just figure if I get in a situation and it raises red flags, either this, I’m too late, or if I make tracks and might still be free and clear. To the extent that common sense will make a difference, I have some. But mistakes are hard to avoid. With many thousands infected, with the numbers going up everyday regardless of precautions. I’m technically not any better than anyone else, although I have massive paranoia generally speaking. I’m banking on some of that helping me. Anything that takes 5 minutes could be done in 3 minutes which could probably also be done in 1 minute. Time is of the essence. When your paranoid red flashers are going off, listen to them.

But they’re even having trouble in Congress! Suddenly it’s going to be hard to get a quorum, if that’s an actual thing. I’d guess it’s like everything else, the rules always stretch pretty far if it’s a terrible danger. But if even Congress is in danger, what hope is there for the rest of us? The carts at the grocery store, infected. The door’s are automatic, so that ought to be OK. You have to touch the debit card machine, and I haven’t seen anyone wiping it down. The old gold hoarders and cash guys were right after all. But cash might not be that safe, unless someone’s cleaning it. Just thinking of it’s scaring me.

So far, though, so good. I feel fine, cough cough. Nothing seems to be running completely amok, just a little throat-clearing. There’s a few dead birds on the porch, but are we susceptible to avian flu? And … other problems … up the yin-yang.

When Disaster Strikes

Virus

Part 2 of 30

I’ve gotten a lot of nice messages from you, the readers, and I thank you: “Stay healthy, Mr. Slump,” “Hope Grandma’s OK during this challenging time,” and the number one comment, some variation on “If there’s a scam for making money on this thing, cut me in,” that sort of thing. First, I’m not a Slump, that’s my mother’s side of the family. Second, Grandma died years ago of unrelated causes. And, third, any “scam” you may be thinking of, I’d never be part of any such thing. I learned my lesson during the chlamydia scare in the '80s and I swear I’ll never sell another brass wristband. They send you away for stuff like that.

Please don’t get me wrong, I’m not “dissing” any of you or “pissing” on your hopes for a quick profit. So don’t be so sensitive. But if there's any value in diseases and viruses it's to bring out our compassion for one another in suffering and pray to the saints that we don’t catch it. There indeed is a certain built-in economic thing, but it’s not for questionable sideline businesses to spring up to take advantage of it, only necessary things pharmaceuticals to make good medicine, etc. You could be helpful, though, if you see any of the big pharmaceuticals selling brass wristbands, let me know. But I seriously doubt that'll happen.

Instead of hoping to profit, I hope all of us will have the kind of feelings that do people good in the days of disasters. That’s what I hope for. I haven’t taken that path yet -- I’ve spent a lot of my time studying up on the issues in order to give you good counsel through these blog posts. Between now and the end of the month, I hope to put enough good information out there that perhaps -- just perhaps -- can help save the world and do a lot of other good, no strings attached. It’d do me a lot of good to hear our brave leaders -- and I accept tweets -- letting me know it was these posts that pulled everyone through.

So that’s what I mean when I say, "When Disaster Strikes -- It’s usually someone else’s problem." That’s true. The average citizen steps back and lets “someone else” take the lead. And we think that’s always effective, useful. But what if “someone else” doesn’t show up. What if “someone else” is busy feathering his own nest? Or what if “someone else” is in over his head without a clue in the world? That’s when we need a different “someone else” to get the job done, and hopefully not be up to his nuts in graft while doing it.

So join me in wishing the world well in these tough times. Of course it’s a disaster, and of course it’s someone else’s problem, but what if I catch it? I’m not Superman, it could happen. Like everyone, I hope not.

Follow The Light

Virus

Part 1 of 30

Everyone knows nature doesn’t mess around. When particular combinations of things come together, there’s consequences. In many cases, the combinations are great for us or OK or adequate, fair to middlin', and sometimes pisspoor. Beans, sauce, and chili powder make chili, the prime example of a combination that’s great. Put in a little hamburger and it’s to die for. Then there’s a whole range of OK or adequate combinations: Stripes and solids in clothing, air and lungs in breathing, pencils and pens in schools, and steves and dores in loading or unloading ships.

Our lives depend on good combinations of things coming together in a good way. At Grandma’s place we used to go out and manually pump our water and bring it in the house for everyone to drink. Back then we either didn’t have viruses or were just too dumb to realize we did, but everyone drank with a common ladle out of the same bucket. It’s still interesting to me that no one ever got sick or died. But who knows? If the wrong person had come in and taken a drink, then died, they might’ve sued us big-time. (That was the same house I later lived in with Grandma, but since then it’s rotted away and was hauled to the dump and now I live in the Big City. But one day I was back in the old ‘hood and the pump’s still there, now as a decorative item.)

The combination of things we’re interested in these days involve the virus and making sure we don’t come into contact with it. Certainly no one’s drinking from the same ladle. We’re a lot more careful now, and no one more so than me. Now, I'm a huge germaphobe -- virus or no virus -- but I wasn't as a kid. But a guy gets a little bit of knowledge and it makes a huge difference. Anytime I’m with anyone I’m very watchful of them. If they touch something, that registers. Not so much because of the virus, but that’s just how it is. But now with the virus, of course I'm more mindful. I hate going to the grocery store or really anywhere. I don’t mind taking a walk, but if I meet anyone, or see them coming a mile away, I’m busy making preparations for how I’m going to get the hell out of there.

One of these days, though, whether the virus is still around or not, there’s going to be something, hopefully just internal normal stuff and not a combination of good and bad that could’ve been avoided that’s going to take me, your faithful scribe, out of this good old earth. But don’t worry, I’ve got enough life insurance for a fit burial, a small combo, trumpet and kazoo, the best cardboard urn money can buy, and incongruously a few phone numbers for the most economical crematories, with their great mottos: “We Put The Ashes in ‘Ashes to Ashes’” and my favorite, “This Ain't Hell, Just A Cremation.”

Later, the soul is busy flitting its way to its reward, upward and onward! Ride like the wind! All a guy has do is “Follow the Light, They'll Get Me There.”