Some Inspiration For a Monday Morning

Today was supposed to be the day that my friend had reconstructive surgery. She had been preparing herself mentally, emotionally and physically for this day for months. So, because this is 2020, last night, while she was outside watering her plants she gets a call advising her that her surgeon has come down with something that might be COVID and is consequently quarantined for two weeks!! One more blow in a long and relentless series of blows that she has been forced to endure. This morning, we talked about it. I was nervous. I didn’t know quite what to say. I had no idea what kind of state she would be in after pondering it all night. Here’s what happened:

Me: Morning!

Pam: Good morning 

Me: ..stupid COVID

Pam: I know Johnny was disappointed too but I try to look at it this way... maybe it was Gods blessing or protection from something.  I just had chemo last Thursday.  It’s a lot for me body to endure.

Me: Thats true. I wasn’t too crazy about you having surgery so soon after chemo. Now you’ve got a couple weeks to get stronger.

Pam: I know so this gives me a week to rest. PTL.  I have a colonoscopy next Wednesday and echocardiogram on Thursday.  9 th an 10th so this week I plan on resting.

Me: I just hate this!!

Pam: Me too!   I was hoping to get this week an next behind me, chemo on 17th an then one more chemo on Oct 8   Now this puts everything 2 or more weeks behind so it will be late October before I’m through. But the end is in sight.

Me: Sometimes I think it would help me if you just lost it every once in a while and started screaming obscenities at me. I know that sounds stupid...but it’s true. Its all so unfair. I don’t understand why God is allowing this to happen to someone like you. I know that God’s ways aren’t our ways and all that but still...it makes me angry.

Pam: Lol won’t happen not my nature. I believe something good will come of it one day. I do a lot of walking an talking to God  and that’s how I hold myself together.

Me: Maybe there’s a reason I got involved in this...maybe he’s trying to teach me something. Who knows?

Pam: You never know.  I agree why in the world would you an me be talking every day for over a year.  Eventually we will know!   I appreciate you an all you have done more than you will ever know!...On a lighter note one of my neighbors brought me an Asian pear cake last night. OMG!!!  I bet I ate 3 pieces last night while slicing it to be stored in a Tupperware container.... already had a slice this morning.  So I am headed out for a morning walk to try and erase some of the damage I have done to my body. Happy Monday my friend to God be the glory!   Great things He has done!!!

Me: THAT’S IT!!! That’s why the surgery was cancelled!! So you could get the curative powers of Asian pear cake in your system!!!

Pam: 🙌🙌so I should eat more??

Me: YES! Oh..and you’re a pig. Three pieces while you were cutting it up??? Oink!

Pam: Yes horrible I know.  We never have cake in our home.  Johnny is a type 2 diabetic.  Sugar feeds cancer too so I never make them. Love cake,  pie, ice cream, milk shakes anything bad I love it.

Me: Well, that may be true, but when was the last time you had a neighbor show up at the door with a plate of asparagus?...“Here, I know you’re battling cancer so I thought you would like some vegetables!”

Pam: LOL! Exactly!!

And, just like that, she’s off to battle another day. She will go for her walk, talk with God, find her bearings, and keep grinding.

Jacob Blake

Jacob Blake. Kenosha, Wisconsin. Seven shots fired, point blank, in the back. Three nights of riots. Seventeen year old vigilante with a rifle murders two. NBA and MLB players cancel games. Blake paralyzed from the waist down. Trump to send National Guard to Kenosha.

Those are the salient facts of this latest racially charged encounter involving the police, a young African American, and someone with a cell phone. I believe it also is the issue upon which the 2020 election will be decided...are the American people more fed up with policemen using deadly force, or are they more fed up with watching their cities burn? 

The reaction to this latest shooting has been identical to every other high profile case of its kind. One side bemoans the use of deadly force against an unarmed and outnumbered citizen and asks questions like, seven shots in the back? Couldn’t three police officers have subdued one skinny guy without resorted to gunfire? The other side points out the criminal record of Mr. Blake, the fact that he had just recently been arrested on a sexual assault charge, that he was dangerous and may have been reaching for a knife, and who are we to criticize the police who do a dangerous job in terrible circumstances every day? Nothing ever changes. Nothing seems capable of moving the needle, even high profile multi-millionaire athletes, playing in front of cardboard cutout crowds, walking off the job in dramatic fashion. We become further entrenched. Their tears are immediately branded as of the crocodile variety. Meanwhile, Tucker Carlson suggests that we shouldn’t be surprised that teenagers emerge with rifles to restore order since no one else seems willing to do the job.

Joe Biden and the Democrats point to Jacob Blake and say, See? See what will happen if you re-elect Trump?

Donald Trump and the Republicans point to Kenosha, Wisconsin and say, See? See what will happen if you elect Joe Biden?

So, what do I think? 

I think that to shoot a man in the back seven times is an abomination and the fact that it continues to happen is a disgrace, representing a complete failure of training and temperament and an abuse of authority. I think that the continued destruction of our cities, the looting and burning of businesses brave enough to locate in our inner cities in the first place is also a disgrace. For any of this to be fixed will require a combination of empathy, resolute action, and brave leadership. I see little of these qualities on the political horizon. Accordingly, it will take men and women of good will and good faith to step up, filling the gaping leadership vacuum of the moment, ordinary citizens reaching out to the other side in humility and grace, saying...We are tired of the hate. We have grown weary of the violence. We’re tired of politicians pitted us against each other. Come, let us reason together. Let us find a way out of this dark place. Some are doing just that, but their voices can’t be heard over all the screaming.

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

In my continuing effort to raise awareness of the dangers of COVID, today I have a word for all of my friends who play the game of golf. Precautions need to be taken by all golfers at all times to prevent the spread of this deadly virus. To that end, let this timely tip serve as a warning and a reminder:

Hat tip to my friend, Tom Allen, for this public service announcement.

“Doug, what’s with all the jokes?”

It would be easy to write a post about Jerry Falwell this morning. For someone with my gift for irreverent snark, that post would practically write itself. There’s a part of me that would take great pleasure in doing so. But that’s the part of me that I don’t like very much. So, I will leave that blogpost to others. 

Instead, I would like to address a subject that I have been asked about in subtle and not so subtle ways of late...How come you post so many stupid jokes on Facebook and on your blog when there are so many horrible things going on in the world? Let me begin by answering the question. I do so precisely because there are so many horrible things going on in the world.

I don’t live in some hermetically sealed bubble. I am fully aware of the severities of the moment. COVID, racial unrest, politics, our poisoned discourse...all of it. But, my understanding of history is that every generation that has ever lived has experienced their own difficulties, most worse than this. Frankly, most far worse than this. If you don’t believe me, pick up a history book and read about what daily life was like 100, 200, 500 years ago, or if you’re not into reading, watch a show like The Last Kingdom for a taste of what it was like to exist in the 9th century...then get back to me on how horrible we have it in the United States in 2020.

Here’s the thing, when you’re in a mess, sometimes all you can see is the mess. It’s so easy to be blinded to the opportunities right in front of your eyes. Here we are in 2020, most of us carrying around the accumulated wisdom and knowledge from over 6000 years of the human experience in the palms of our hands. In America, food is cheaper and more plentiful than it has ever been in the history of civilization. We have access through any internet connection to products from literally every corner of the globe at our fingertips. We live and work in buildings with central air, heat and indoor plumbing, all things non-existent a mere 75 years ago and for all of human history that has proceeded us. Diseases that routinely killed hundreds of thousands of people in the past are treated with over the counter medicines that cost less than five bucks. The vast majority of us have the ability to get in a car and relocate ourselves from one side of the country to another, without a dangerous and often deadly three month slog through the wilderness. We open the taps of the lowliest kitchen sink in America and clean drinking water comes out (unless you live in Flint, Mich.). Any idiot with a cellphone can conceive of the lamest idea for a video, watch it go viral and start making a living on the internet, all without even a high school education. So, while America is certainly a screwed up place at this moment, it is still, by almost any definition, a land of great opportunity. And, I’ve got news for all of you doom-sayers out there...it will continue to be so no matter which guy wins in November. 

So, yes, we can and should do better as a country. We can and should do better by each other. But, sometimes, the amplifying power of the 24/7 news cycle and the omnipresent stream of bad news and bad faith arguments on social media can turn even the most ardent optimist into a weeping prophet. When I feel it beginning to happen to me, that’s when I break out the jokes. I don’t do it to escape the unpleasantness, but rather to remind myself and all of you that there is something better just beyond the mess. So, the next time you see some lame dad jokes here, take a break from whatever it is that has you so vexed and remind yourself how lucky you are to be alive.

It’s Complicated

COVID and all of the related angst and upheaval it has visited upon the world has turned 2020 into the dark punch line of a joke that nobody laughs at or understands. It has touched every corner of our lives in one way or another. When combined with the racial unrest and resulting violence and destruction in America’s cities that it has spawned, a dystopian stench has attached itself to 2020 and it becomes stronger every day. But...it’s not the Great Depression, it’s not World War II. Heck, it’s not even 1968 Newark, New Jersey. But, it’s something.

Much is currently being made of a poll that was taken about the “acceptability” of the number of deaths from the Coronavirus. Seems like a strange question, and I would love to see the exact wording of the question, but nevertheless, 57% of republicans say that the current number of deaths via COVID are acceptable. This has prompted a great hue and cry from many quarters. I am awfully glad that I was not asked this question, because it would have left me in a gigantic quandary of conflicting thoughts. The pollster would probably have fallen asleep before I was able to answer the question. I would have peppered him or her with many questions of my own, primarily, compared to what?

Last year, in the United States there were 170,000 accidental deaths, ie deaths that were unintentional, many job related, most of them motor vehicle accidents. I would imagine to the families of these 170,000 souls, not a single one would have been acceptable. But, what about to the nation as a whole? Considering how much physical work gets done in this country every year, considering the millions of miles that Americans drive every year, 170,000 deaths would be considered acceptable as a natural consequence of human activity. I doubt there would be any calls for parking our cars, or avoiding work because of the potential for fatal accidents. However, nobody would object to precautions taken to lessen the number of such accidents through things like seat belts, airbags, driving slower, and work place safety measures.

When it comes to COVID deaths, 174,000 deaths over the past six months is a lot of death. Moreover, unlike car accidents or falling off os a scaffold on a construction site, COVID is contagious. Anything that is so seems scarier. But, to those who say, this amount of deaths is unacceptable, what does that mean exactly? Do they mean that 174,000 deaths from COVID could have been avoided with some different policy provisions? Perhaps if we had followed New Zealand’s example, we could have saved many lives? New Zealand is home to 4.5 million people, similar to the population of Kentucky. Yet, its land area would cover the east coast from Florida to Pennsylvania. New Zealand isn’t a financial center of the world. New Zealand doesn’t have people from all over the world traveling to and from its shores. Maybe what worked for New Zealand is impractical for us, maybe not. But isn’t context important? 

If the point of the poll question is How many deaths from a currently incurable disease is acceptable in the context of a free society with a trillion dollar economy, then I might be inclined to answer...yes. One has to answer another question, it seems to me...what amount of destruction of businesses, increased domestic violence, increased suicides, along with rises in mental health problems are acceptable as the alternative? The question of risk always involves trade offs. If you shut down a nation as large and economically consequential as ours, attempt to quarantine 300 million people as volatile as us, you are basically accepting the above risks as more desirable than the loss of 174,000 people from COVID. That’s an entirely fair and justifiable position to take, and I’m not saying you are wrong to think so. But, the question seems over simplified. Perhaps some of the folks who answered the poll question had these trade offs in mind. Maybe some of them thought the question a strange one. Or, maybe some of them are heartless money-grabbers who care nothing about deaths. Who knows? What would have been my answer? Probably something like....it’s complicated!!

Greatest Headline Ever

Every now and then I see a headline on the Drudge Report that gets my undivided attention. This morning it was this one:

Pecker Out At National Enquirer 

I think, Well sure...its the Enquirer! Then I read further and decide that this might be the greatest headline of the year. CEO of the National Enquirer, David Pecker, has stepped down after a merger of the company with A360, LLC.

These days we have to find laughter anywhere we can.

So, the Democratic convention is over, and from what I have read Joe Biden gave a good speech. The Obama’s gave speeches, as did the Clinton’s. Lots of other people gave short speech-etts. The consensus opinion seems to be that the first virtual political convention was pulled off rather well, considering the fact that it had never been tried before. Next up will be the Republicans, who will attempt the same thing, albeit with far inferior star power. They won’t have any beautiful actresses, handsome actors and hip entertainers to glitz up the proceedings, unless you still consider the dude who played Chachi on Happy Days glitzy. But, the Republicans have never been able to compete with the stranglehold that the other side has on Hollywood. All of the beautiful people are always Democrats. Nevertheless, it hasn’t stopped Lincoln’s party from winning elections, so maybe it doesn’t matter. 

As of this morning there are 80 days until Election Day.

It’s going to be excruciating.

Revolution?

In August of 1968, Americans were jolted by two disturbing images on their television sets. The first was from Chicago as policemen violently clashed with protesters in the streets outside the Democratic National Convention. The second was the appearance of Soviet tanks rumbling through the streets of Prague, Czechoslovakia crushing the nascent Prague Spring movement. It seemed that the world was coming apart, the streets filled with discontent and blood. Three months later, The Beatles released Revolution, John Lennon’s reaction to the violence and chaos. Some on the left praised his commitment to peaceful protest and non-violence. Others were shocked and disappointed. You be the judge:

You say you want a revolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world
You tell me that it's evolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world

But when you talk about destruction
Don't you know that you can count me out
Don't you know it's gonna be 
All right, all right, all right

You say you got a real solution
Well, you know
We'd all love to see the plan
You ask me for a contribution
Well, you know
We're doing what we can

But if you want money for people with minds that hate
All I can tell is brother you have to wait
Don't you know it's gonna be 
All right, all right, all right

You say you'll change the constitution
Well, you know
We all want to change your head
You tell me it's the institution
Well, you know
You better free you mind instead

But if you go carrying pictures of chairman Mao
You ain't going to make it with anyone anyhow
Don't you know it's gonna be 

An observation or two 52 years later...

First of all, how in the world has it been 52 years since this song was released? Secondly, in my opinion, it’s remarkable how well these sentiments have held up. I’m still not interested in—giving money for people with minds that hate. My attitude towards destruction remains—count me out. And frankly, I’m still waiting—to see the plan. But most of all, I still turn away in disgust for people who do the 2020 equivalent of—go around carrying pictures of Chairman Mao.

But, aside from the lyrics, Revolution was a rocking great tune that still makes me want to crank up the volume, roll down the windows and sing at the top of my lungs!

Why My Church Runs a Thrift Store

This is going to be a long but fun day.

My church runs a thrift store in the West End that Pam and I have been volunteering at for a couple of years now. It’s a typical thrift store in many ways except it has really nice stuff priced really cheap, so they move merchandise like nobody’s business. The store makes a lot of money and  plows it back into a wide variety of charities and ministries here in our city and around the world. The stories I could tell about what a blessing that place has been to people down on their luck are incredible. It’s been a great place to volunteer our time, along side people who want to make a difference in the lives of people who enter the building.

Well, today, we are opening a second store over at the Belgrade Shopping Center south of the river. Pam and I took a shift from 11:00 to 3:00. I haven’t seen the place yet but I’ve heard the stories and can’t wait. I blame Renee Norton for getting me hooked up with this thrift store gig. She is, for lack of a better term, the general manager of the operation, the boss lady who happens to be in our small group at Hope. But she isn’t the only passionate cheerleader of the store, I could rattle off the names of at least a dozen others who have devoted large chunks of their time to make the place work. There are only a handful of full time employees of the store. The vast majority of those who work there are volunteers like Pam and me. You can imagine how difficult it has been to get the nearly 190 such volunteers to venture back out to work once again after the shut down caused by COVID. I mean, this isn’t exactly what anyone would call a sterile environment. (There are dumpsters involved!!). But, here we are, opening a second location in the year of a pandemic. 

One story...a year or so ago there was a young mother with three elementary school aged kids. She was clearly struggling with the enormity of the task of getting three young children ready for back to school with very limited resources. As she got to the register she laid out a ton of cute clothes that looked like new clothes, enough to give each child several outfits for the new school year. When the order was rung up it was an insanely small amount of money. The look on her face...the relief, the gratefulness that she had found so much for so little shown from that face like a beam of light. Tears welled in her eyes.

That’s exactly why my church runs a thrift store and why we are opening a second one in the middle of a pandemic. Stop by if you get a chance.

The Conventions

There will be a virtual political convention this week for the first time ever. The Democrats will nominate Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. It will all be live-streamed and covered on the networks and many cable channels. I will read reports about what happened later but I won’t be watching. Whenever it’s the Republican’s turn, which I assume will be sometime later this month, I won’t watch that either. It’s not that I don’t care what goes on at these things. It’s not that I don’t think it’s important and all. The thing is, I just don’t have the stomach for it anymore. Whenever I see a high profile politician giving a speech at a high profile television event like a convention or, even worse, a debate, part of me really does want to watch. Sometime, I even start out watching. Then after ten or fifteen minutes I start getting sick on my stomach. Not throwing up sick, but more like a queasiness that you know won’t end in vomiting, but will still be quite uncomfortable. I find myself sitting there offering my silent objections after every third sentence or so...that’s bullshit...that was taken out of context...that’s a half truth...what a lie...that’s a deliberate distortion...and that’s just when the journalist are talking! Once the politicians start in, these silent objections become not so silent. My blood pressure starts going up, and before long my entire week gets ruined. So, no. I will not be watching.

Another reason I won’t be watching is that these things never—-and I mean never—change anyone’s mind. Political conventions are for the party faithful. It’s like a pep rally for the already converted. If I was a partisan Democrat or Republican, I would love a convention. What partisan wouldn’t, right? There you are surrounded by like minded people getting fired up about the man or woman you are convinced is the only person who can save the country. Back when I used to tune in, from about 1968 thru 2000, the delegates all looked like they were having a blast, well, except for the Dems in ‘68. Some of them would dress up in crazy patriotic costumes and stuff, parade around with huge elephant hats and carrying donkey shaped purses, all looking ecstatic to be there saving the world.

Then, there was the big balloon drop on the last night after the nominee’s speech. When I was a kid I thought it was so incredibly cool watching those red, white and blue balloons filling the arena, a sea of color and fun. It all seemed so magical. 

Now everything seems poisonous. Where once these events radiated a sense of joy and possibility, now they seem angry and out for blood and revenge. The other guys aren’t just wrong, they’re evil. They’re not just mistaken on policy, they want to destroy the country, strip us of our freedoms, turn us into a communist state, destroy the environment. It’s all so overwrought and pompous, their comportment about as self absorbed as it is possible to me. 

Somebody once described politics as the art of the possible. Nothing could possibly be further from the truth. There is no art, and the only thing possible is whatever we have enough votes to pass and then shove down the other guy’s throat.

Nope. No sale.

Missing Pam

So, Pam’s girls weekend has been extended for another day because of this rain. She doesn’t feel comfortable making the drive carrying three of her family with bladders the size of thimbles. She also has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from the the time we drove to Maine in a driving rainstorm a few years ago. It took very little coaxing to convince her to stay another night with Kaitlin. Of course, this means that I will have to actually cook something for dinner tonight.

Now that I think about it, this is the first time I have been separated from my wife for three consecutive nights in I don’t know how long. It’s been a strange experience. Lucy and me alone in the house...while it rains outside. Lucy has been discombobulated by the lack of women. She wanders around, looking out the front door windows waiting for Bernadette to come for a lunch time visit. When Bern didn’t come yesterday, she was quite put out. Once she remembers that it’s just the two of us, she sighs heavily and plops herself on the floor at my feet, dejected. Even now as I write this, she sits at the front door waiting patiently for someone more interesting than Dad to show up...

So, what have I been up to since Thursday? Gallivanting with the boys, drinking copious amounts of adult beverages at a sports bar somewhere, making inappropriately large wagers on a golf course?? A. My gallivanting days are over. B. COVID and C. It’s pouring down rain. Instead, I have busied myself doing a few things around the house trying to distract myself from missing my wife. I spent nearly an hour inside our large shower scrubbing mildew stains and disgusting grout. I vacuumed the house. I cleaned the bathrooms. Then, I flipped the mattress, changed the sheets and dusted the furniture. Which brings me to the task at hand...making dinner.

So far, I have gotten by with left overs and a hearty dinner of tuna fish and crackers. Tonight, it’s time for me to actually cook something, and to that end, Pam left a handy suggestion for me...

That’s right, a Dunnevant family standby...beef nacho Casserole...only Pam has substituted chicken for steak, owing to what she knew would be my horrible eating habits while she was gone. I have taken the time to set out all the ingredients in preparation for the job...

If Pam were here, this meal would be served with a salad to provide vegetables. But, Pam is not here, so tonight’s dinner will be served only with two fine beers that my son bought while in Maine. No vegetables, unless you count hops. Wait, that’s a grain. Yeah, no veggies. I will post an “after” photograph once this comes out of the oven.

As far as the missing my wife thing goes, listen I make no apologies. Can I help it that I would rather be with her than anybody else? She’s smart, pretty and fun. So, shoot me for missing her after only three days!

Six Months of COVID

It’s been six months since I first wrote the word Coronavirus on this blog. Six disturbing, unprecedented months. The sum total of inaccurate predictions about COVID made by very smart people in this country has been staggering. Almost all of us, smart or not, have been spectacularly wrong about everything from how long it would last, how many people it would infect and how many would perish. Wrong. Consistently wrong. The World Health Organization, the Center For Disease Control, and politicians from Bill de Blasio to Donald Trump...wrong. In six months we have been told that mask wearing did little to protect against the virus, only to see mask wearing become ubiquitous as well as a symbol of both virtue and rebellion. Almost weekly some new development shakes our understanding of the thing, and calls into question past assumptions, leaving all of us feeling battered by conflicting and inscrutable data. Some point to the constantly changing official narratives as evidence of some grand conspiracy on the part of either Donald Trump or the Democratic Party to advance nefarious unarticulated agendas. I propose a different interpretation for all of the tumult.

Has the government response been a third world dumpster fire of incompetence? Yes. Has some of the incompetence been intentional and politically motivated? Probably. But incompetence and treachery should to a certain extent be expected when you’re dealing with A. An unprecedented pandemic and B. Politicians who have long traded in the currency of treachery. A better explanation of the constantly changing narrative has to do with the fact that every single day of this fight we are learning something new. Right now, not just here but all around the world, the very best minds on Earth are working on the science of COVID 24/7. Doctors, scientists, researchers, pharmaceutical companies, think tanks, universities, all delving into the nuts and bolts of this virus, scrambling for a vaccine and in the process, the universe of knowledge about COVID-19 continues to expand daily. With all of this brain power, money and institutional focus, we are discovering that earlier information we thought to be true was not true. This isn’t the result of some convoluted Rube Goldberg conspiracy, rather, its the result of the scientific method of trial and error yielding new information. What do you do when you obtain new information that calls into question what you thought to be true in the past? Hopefully, you use this new information to make smarter decisions going forward. Or...you could just say, “what the hell? I’ll just keep doing things the way I’ve always done them.” I personally expect the government to adapt to this new information, even if it means contradicting a previous position. Heck...especially if it means contradicting a previous position. That’s not weakness, that’s simple intelligence.  

So, hearing one thing from leaders one week and something else a couple weeks later might be frustrating and confusing, but it’s the nature of what we are up against. For someone like me, who instinctively distrusts politicians of all stripes, this has been a very difficult six months. It has taken much effort for me to guard against easy cynicism. But there’s nothing easier or quite as intellectually lazy as the false comfort of conspiracy theories. If something goes terribly wrong in the world it’s so much easier to blame it on your political enemies, even with thinly sourced and unverifiable plots undertaken by some shadowy confederacy of dunces on the other side of the aisle. It’s far harder and much less emotionally reassuring to acknowledge that highly contagious and deadly viruses are complex and devilishly difficult to overcome quickly and painlessly. 

So, I’ll wear the mask. I’ll try to socially distance myself from those outside of my circle. I’ll wash my fingers to the bone and use hand sanitizer whenever appropriate...right up until the moment I’m told that new and credible information is available that says these things are unnecessary. What’s credible? I would say, scientifically tested and peer reviewed data produced by someone other than the Daily Kos or World News Daily.

Happy Weekend...

It’s Friday. Make of this what you will...

Back in the day, I took my 8-year old girl to the office with me on, "Take Your Kid to Work Day." As we were walking around the office, she starting crying and getting very cranky, so I asked what was wrong with her. As my coworkers gathered round, she sobbed loudly...

“Daddy, where are all the clowns you said you worked with??”

I looked my Pops straight in the eyes and with my best poker face said, “If I had a dollar for every time someone over forty told me my generation stinks...

...I could afford to buy a house in the economy they ruined!”

I was going to tell a joke about COVID-19...

But there’s a 99.42% chance you won’t get it.

Girls Weekend

My wife is leaving me today. No...it’s not what you’re thinking. She has organized a trip to go see Kaitlin down in South Carolina. She has recruited her mother and two sisters. The four of them haven’t gone anywhere overnight together in years. All of them have been driven half crazy by the isolation and monotony of COVID-life. So, my wife hatched a plot to travel down to see Kaitlin for three days and two nights of girl stuff, which I’m told will include such ghastly things as pedicures and the like, long lazy gab sessions where they will talk about whatever it is that women talk about when they are allowed to assemble without the annoyance of their husbands. Sounds dreadful to me, but she is thrilled to be able to spend some times with her girls. This will also be Kaitlin’s last hurrah of the summer, since next week her school year will be revving up.

Of course, any trip that involves two or more Dunnevant women must have a functioning snack table. Long time readers of this space have been treated to photographic evidence of the many snack tables of past vacations. They are a monument to high blood pressure, cholesterol and diabetes, and represent the complete and total abandonment of all self restraint, and without them we would all perish. So, despite the fact that this particular trip is only for three days and two nights, a snack table still has to be erected. To that end, Pam spent much of yesterday preparing an assortment of trail mixes and cookies. Because she is Pam, she didn’t forget me, or Bernadette and Isaac...

Since this is 2020, planning for this getaway had to include a whole host of safety protocols. (For the record, the word protocol has become my least favorite word in the English language). Pam has packed enough masks, hand sanitizer and Clorox wipes for all of Columbia. The hotel rooms she has booked have already been chosen and set aside for maximum safety and convenience. The next three days will be as COVID-proof as it is possible to be. 

Special prayers should be lifted up on my son-in-law’s behalf, as he must face being the only man in the house with five female members of the Dunnevant /White family. No prayers necessary for Jackson who will think he has died and gone to heaven as soon a Lolly walks thru the door!

As for me, Pam has left me a couple of idiot proof recipes for my consideration. I will miss her. More important, if there is a thunderstorm here while she is gone, Lucy will miss her even more!

Kamala Harris

Joe Biden announced yesterday that he has chosen Kamala Harris as his running mate, making her the first African American woman on a major party ticket, this despite the fact that neither her Mom or Dad were African American, but rather, Indian and Jamaican...so I’m throughly confused. But, add to all that the fact that her husband is a Jewish white guy, and Ms. Harris certainly checks off all the identity politics boxes. So, unless Donald Trump kicks Mike Pence to the curb in favor of Kanye West, the 2020 contest is set. A match for the ages.

I’m told that Kamala Harris’ religious upbringing was split between a Baptist church and a Hindu Temple...think: teetotaler who dreams of being reincarnated as a Confederate General. 

Look, I know that I should have an opinion about this, something erudite and thoughtful, appropriately serious for the momentous moment in which we find ourselves. But I just can’t come up with anything. At a time of such great peril, a time of pandemics, a time when our national finances are as underwater as the Titanic, a time of great racial strife and social unrest, we are running two old men for President, two profoundly compromised old men. Our choices don’t seem to fit the moment. But here we are.

Now, for the next three months I will be bombarded with endless greater of two evils arguments. I will be warned by some that if I don’t climb on the Trump Train, the Republic will be lost. Others will assure me that should we re-elect the sitting President, civil war will be the best case scenario. My facebook feed will soon be crawling with clever memes, grave warnings, over the top fact-free broadsides, and lots of fire-breathing ALL-CAPS screeds from the motivated partisans out there. Part of me envies them their motivation. Part of me wishes I could find a sliver of their confidence. Instead, I wake up every morning, read the news and hope that, like Bob Newhart*, I’ll suddenly wake up and realize that it’s all been a dream.

* For all of you Millennials, Google “Newhart Finale”

August Sucks

I have written more than once in this space about my distaste for the month of August, which, along with February, competes each year for the status of most hated month. February’s sins are obvious enough. It’s the dead of winter. But why should August be singled out for ridicule? It is, after all, a summer month, a time when many people vacation. It should be a time of lazy days and memories.

But, there’s this...

To my friends in Maine, these may be curious images indeed. Why are the windows of your house fogged over with moisture at 6:15 in the morning? Is it raining outside? It looks like the sun is shining. Correct. The sun is shining. In fact, there isn’t a cloud in the sky. No, no...this is August in Short Pump, that delightful time of year when the simple act of walking to the mailbox causes you to sweat off a pound. You will never hear anyone from Virginia begin a sentence with the phrase, “Remember that delightful August day when...” No, August is something to be endured, like gout or diarrhea. There are no holidays in August. What would be the point? 

The conditions under which I took the above photographs were as follows:

6:25 am

Temperature: 73

Relative humidity 97%

Wind: 1 mph

How on Earth can the humidity be 97% if it’s not raining? Excellent question, the answer to which no Southerner knows. All I know is it will be this way until the middle of September. My Mosquito Authority guy is coming today to treat the yard, possible the most pointless exercise of all time, since there isn’t enough money in all of Christendom to make me sit outside on my deck during the month of August. August nights around here are for inside sports...like walking around the house naked lifting prayers of praise and thanksgiving for the invention of Air Conditioning. Speaking of which, why isn’t this man on Mt. Rushmore??

Wills Carrier. Inventor of Air Conditioning.

Is This The Handsomest Man in China?

Li Haotong is a professional golfer from Communist China. At the beginning of the third round of the PGA tournament, he was in sole possession of the lead, a first for a player from his country. The philosophical contradictions of a communist playing the game of golf for insane amounts of money is just one more thing to chalk up to the Twilight Zone that is 2020.

Mr. Haotong, unlike most professional golfers, seems to have a personality, in that he has proclaimed himself the most handsome man in China. Apparently he has the claim etched on the back of his sand wedge. Here’s a picture of him. You be the judge.

 I’ve never been to China. Maybe he is that nation’s handsomest man. I’m the last guy in the world you would want judging a male beauty contest, and handsome is most definitely in the eye of the beholder and all that, not to mention the fact that different cultures have different standards of what makes a human being handsome. But I’m thinking that he looks like a simple doofus, nothing more. Wait...I found a more flattering picture...

Nope...doofus.

Of course, who am I to judge?

Unfortunately for Li, the white hot glare of the spotlight took its toll on his golf game in yesterday’s third round when he lost his lead by shooting a 73, winding up in a tie for 13th place. But, at least he has his good looks to fall back on.

Worst Dad Jokes of the Week

Friday can only mean one thing. That’s right, it’s time for the very worst Dad Jokes of the week, compiled here for your reading discomfort:

Why did the mexican push his wife off a cliff?

Because he wanted...tequila 

What do you call a painter who loves running through the grass?

Jackson Frolic.

Where does virgin wool come from?

Ugly sheep.

How many ADHD kids does it take to change a light bulb?

Let’s go ride bikes!

How do we know that Matt Damon is a religious man?

Because he’s always...Bourne again.

I think I know why people get so angry when you call them “average”.

It’s a...mean...thing to do.

I told my wife, “Don’t get upset if people call you “fat”

...”you’re bigger than that.

A Day of Dread

Men of a certain age will totally understand this post. Younger guys either won’t or will smugly roll their eyes. But, today is a day that I dread every year...my annual medical exam.

It used to be that I never had an annual physical. I only went to the doctor when I was violently ill or leaking bodily fluids. Now I’ve become a regular, not just with my family doctor, but a host of specialists. I have a couple colonoscopies under my belt at this point, and one prostate exam, I think, so I got that going for me. Today is the annual physical, that appointment that my wife started insisting on after my heart thing 18 years ago and the mini-stroke misunderstanding of a few years back. Each year it’s the same. I set the appointment far in advance, forget to write it down in my appointment book, then get that frightening phone call a week out reminding me of the appointment I made six months ago. The friendly nurse reminds me to show up thirty minutes early, (not gonna happen—I have no intention of taking five minutes to fill out a form, then waiting in a room full of terminal germ machines for 25 minutes for my appointment), and that I can have nothing except black coffee and water eight hours before my arrival. Pam always gives me a helpful list of things I need to ask the doctor. It’s a good thing too, since without her list I would just sit there holding my breath waiting for it to all be over.

My doctor is great. Very personable. He occasionally even glances up from his laptop to make eye contact. Some of his helpful comments are:

Doctor: Wouldn’t hurt you to lose a couple pounds.

Me: Yeah...

Doctor: Does it hurt when I do this?

Me: Yeah. Stop doing that.

At some point he sends me down the hall to have blood taken out of my arm by a perky group of nurses in a small room where all of them are going on and on about something that happened last night at Bojangles like I’m not even in the room...

Nurse: Anyways, this cow starts yelling at the cashier—make a fist for me, honey—and I had just about had enough so I yell at her, “Yo, b**ch, shut the f**k up ‘for I come over there and mess you up”—-little pin prick now—I’m telling you, she was craaazy!

Then I am instructed to donate a urine sample into a handy little cup thing. Be sure your aim is true!! When I hand the specimen back to the nurse it always gives me the creeps for some reason.

Of course, no annual physical would be complete without the obligatory anal exam, which is a whole other level of awkwardness. Doc pulls on his gloves with an authoritarian snap, then begins his probing all the while trying to make conversation:

Doctor: So, how about this weather, huh? Hot enough for ya? Cough for me now. How’s the family?

The basic problem with the annual physical is the fear that this year will be the year when he finds something...

Doctor: Everything seems to be totally fine...wait, Hello...what have we here???

So today I will do my duty. I will faithfully ask all sixteen questions on Pam’s list...number 14–Why is he so_______? Hopefully, I will leave his office with renewed vigor, energized by his positive view of my overall condition, pending return of all blood work results.

Of course, every woman over the age of 40 is reading this thinking...what a baby! You want awkwardness? Try a mammogram and a gynecologist appointment every year buddy boy!!

Child of God

My friend has been battling cancer for a year now. Our text-correspondence began in earnest in August of 2019. It’s been a year of pain, agony, joy and miracles. It has also been 12 months of truly terrible jokes. This morning’s exchange was pretty typical...

She’s been through just about every set back you can imagine. Every single side effect you can possibly imagine from chemo has been faced and endured, if not overcome. This month will be a particularly difficult one for her. There are tons of tests and another surgery, plus more chemo. If it were me, I would probably have given up by now. But, Pam is a rock star of fortitude and faith. She just battles, grinds, does what needs to be done. 

Yes. She has had a few bad days, where she gets down on herself. Every once in a while she gives in to self pity. But it’s rare. When she is in one of those moods, she has been able to count on me to talk trash to her, give her hell for the bad attitude, etc... What she doesn’t know is that I always feel bad for being mean to her. Even though she always thanks me for my “straight talk” and assures me that it helped, I always feel rotten for doing it. I compensate with extra horrible jokes.

The truth is, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never gone through having a friend with cancer. Half the time I don’t know what to say. What I do know is that any difficulty or awkwardness that I might experience can’t be compared to the truckload of difficulty that has been dumped on her. There’s another thing I know...she is going to beat cancer. In many ways, she already has. But she will beat it for good one day, and that day is getting closer and closer.

Here’s a picture of her on her birthday a couple of years ago pre-cancer...

Here’s one of her from a couple of weeks back after a year of fighting...

Cool hat. Same smile, and as she would say, “Same child of God.”

Yay or Nay??

For over 17 years I have been a three times a week workout guy at American Family Fitness in Short Pump. Or, at least I was until it was closed down back in early March due to COVID. When you’ve done something for that long it becomes an integral part of your life. The reasons that I have been so committed to working out three times a week are complicated. Yes, exercise is good for my health, but it’s more than that. For me the primary benefit is stress relief. I always go around 3 o’clock in the afternoon when the crowd has thinned out. I do 45 minutes of cardio, then some light weights, hit up the sauna and pool, then take a quick shower and head home. Takes an hour and fifteen minutes. Three times a week. For almost 18 years.

Back in March, April and May AmFam was good enough to forego my membership dues. But for the last two months they have started hitting up the checking account for the fee on the first of the month. In June, Pam and I were still in super cautious mode, not wanting to catch anything that might jeopardize Maine. In July, we were in Maine the whole month. Now that I’m back, it’s time to consider returning. To that end, I thought I would head over and check the place out yesterday afternoon, to see what changes they had made. They were gracious enough to allow me to take pictures, a practice they normally frown upon, since they knew that I needed to convince the COVID police, ie...my wife! Here’s what I found:

No steam room. No sauna.

No basketball.

Social distancing at AmFam is 10 feet, not 6 feet.

No more free water.

Literally every machine of every description has it’s own disinfectant spray bottle.

Upon entering the facility, everyone must take and use a blue wiping off equipment towel.

Don’t get too close in the locker room, fellas.

Only use the equipment without the red cones!!

I went over right around lunch hour which is normally a busy time. On the entire first floor I saw maybe four and five people. I asked Al, the manager, about the crowds. he pointed to the nearly empty floor and said, This is about how it is all the time...

So, what say you? Should a 62 year old man with more than his share of risk factors go back...or not?

The Wages of Fame

Since my return from Maine I have gotten back into the rhythm of my normal life, which includes a daily dose of news with my first cup of coffee. I’ve learned of Donald Trump’s plans to cling to office after the 2020 election, even if he loses. I’ve been brought up to speed on the 60 day protest lalapalooza that is Portland, Oregon. I have learned about the nine women who are being considered as Joe Biden’s running mate. I’m all caught up on the latest leaks from the Jeffrey Epstein case, including the shocking news that Bill Clinton was seen on the premises of Pedo Island with not one, but two underage girls on his arms. But, honestly, the story that has captured my imagination the most is the Fall of Ellen DeGeneres. Holy Crap.

Ellen has been on an unprecedented roll for what seems like decades now. The heiress to the vacated Oprah throne, Ellen had it all. She was funny and cute. Her show featured super fun stunts and gags. She was reliably progressive, famously lesbian, and all of the beautiful people adored her. What could possibly go wrong? I mean, seriously...if anyone in Hollywood was bulletproof it had to be her, right? Sure, Harvey Weinstein was powerful, but he was a man, and a Jewish one at that, in the age of #METOO. But, Ellen DeGeneres?? Untouchable, one would think.

Confession, back in the days before COVID when I was a three days a week American Family guy, I would find myself on the treadmill during the airing of her show, so I watched it quite often, sometimes with subtitles sometimes without. Either way I always found her incredibly charming and funny. I particularly liked her sign off line...be kind. Now, if I understand correctly, her show was a hot mess of racism, and sexual misconduct and Ellen herself was a diva-tyrant.

I have no idea what to think about it all. Does it really surprise me that a Hollywood type would wind up being an epic phoney baloney? Of course not. But on the other hand, isn’t this always the way? Isn’t this what we do to every big shot in this country? We love our stars...right up until the moment when we don’t. We applaud them during their ascension, then watch, transfixed, when they crash back down to Earth. It’s like a parlor game with us. Most of the faux friendships that Ellen cultivated when she was Queen vanished into thin air at the first whiff of scandal. She has become untouchable. That Quick.

Fame is fleeting, they say. But in America, too often, when it exits your body it leaves you with nothing.

I think I’ll pass.

Back To Church

On Sunday morning, March the 8th, 2020, Pam and I attended the 11:00 worship service at Hope Church. We didn’t know it at the time, but it would be the last time we walked through the doors of our church. The following week Hope announced a temporary suspension of Sunday gatherings because of the COVID outbreak. This morning, 21 weeks later, we are headed back to church. Much has changed.

For one thing, we had to RSVP online to secure a seat in this limited reopening. The gathering has a limited number of openings. The main auditorium is closed to the congregation, those attending will be gathering in three different spaces on the campus, watching the live service taking place in the main auditorium via Live stream screens erected in The Lodge, the movie room in the children’s department, and the multi-purpose room. Seats will be grouped for families and couples, but in a socially distant configuration. I’m not sure what the mask protocol is but I would imagine we will be wearing them. No physical offering will be collected. No coffee service.

It’s going to feel very strange. During this 21 week layoff Pam and I have watched many services on Hope’s live stream. Although they were better than nothing and they consistently improved week to week, we quickly grew tired of them. They were clunky and flat and I suppose they couldn’t possibly have been anything else. Our pastors didn’t sign up for preaching in an empty television studio, which is what our auditorium had been transformed into, and it showed. But, at least we could see their faces, hear a word from them. That helped. But something was missing...the rest of us, the church.

Today, I will see people, I will recognize pairs of eyes peaking out from the top of these accursed masks. I will strike up more conversations than I ever do on any other Sunday. I want to hear from others in my church. How have they been? Are they holding up? There won’t be any hugs on hand shakes. Will there ever be again? But I will elbow pump a few folks, air hug a few others. I will send my offering using the pay portal on the Hope app. Much has changed.

But today is a great day. I get to go to church. Inside a church building. Along side a collection of wonderful, kind, nervous, and flawed people who are, every one, just as wonderful, kind, nervous and flawed as I will be.

Can’t. Wait.