The Return of COVID

Just about the time you’re starting to imagine what life will be like after COVID, the virus returns with a vengeance. Yesterday morning I learned that someone at work had been exposed to someone with COVID. This person is someone who I work closely with and he was at that very moment getting a rapid test to determine if he was positive. Thirty minutes later we got the answer...yes. 

Pam and I have spent a lot of time in the last 24 hours on various governmental websites trying to sort out the impossibly complex rules and protocols of exactly what it is that I am to do. We have learned the meaning of the word close contact, and the even more problematic notion of qualifying exposure. Measuring my qualifying exposure with this close contact, we have determined that I must begin home quarantine immediately, wait five days to be tested, and then if that test is negative, I can exit quarantine after seven consecutive days have been completed in isolation as long as I have no symptoms. If I test positive the quarantine has to last either ten or fourteen days, depending on what phase the moon happens to be in on day six of the quarantine. A more nuanced reading of the rules might suggest that technically I have not even been exposed since I was never closer than six feet from the close contact for more than fifteen minutes at a time during my exposure. Of course, estimates of time and place are very subjective things and men are notoriously bad at estimating length...I’m told. So, here I am, beginning my isolation on the 19th of March, a day that promises high winds and snow flurries. Interestingly enough, my close contact got COVID from a guy who he played golf with over the weekend...someone who “doesn’t believe in the vaccine.” Beautiful. You know what I don’t believe?? I don’t believe that the impeccable comic timing of irony is a coincidence.

So, I will be confined to my home for a while, which means I will be slowly losing my mind, like Chinese water torture, wait...like going crazy one drop of water at a time over the next several days. Every body ache, sniffle, or dull throb in my head will send my imagination to places it shouldn’t go. I will be on pins and needles until I get a negative test next Monday morning. To celebrate my confinement, its time for an Irish  limerick:

There once was a man named McBride...

Who fell in an outhouse and died...

His heart broken brother

Soon fell in another

And now they are in turd side by side...

Wednesday Trifecta

JUDGE: You know, I must say I’m disappointed in you. I saw you in my courtroom two years ago for the same offense, stealing a pair of shoes.

DEFENDANT: I don’t know what to say, Your honor. They just don’t make shoes like they used to.

###

Luke and Obi-wan walked into a Chinese restaurant. ten minutes in to the meal, Luke was still having trouble with his chopsticks, dropping food all over the place. Obi-Wan finally snapped at him and said, “Use the forks, Luke...use the forks...”

###

Irish Jokes

A doctor asked an Irishman whether anyone in his family suffered from mental illness?

The Irishman answered,  "NO, We all seem to enjoy it.”

I bought an imitation diamond engagement ring to propose to my Irish girlfriend on St Patrick's day. I just hope she doesn't notice.

...the sham rock.

Why are the Irish so wealthy?

Their capital is always Dublin.

So, today is St. Patrick’s Day and I have to say...in the day and age in which we live how can this still be a thing? After all, today is a day where an entire nationality becomes the butt of jokes. We celebrate the day by wearing green and cracking jokes at their expense, despite the fact that at one time in our country’s history they were most definitely a persecuted minority (SEE...Irish Potato Famine, Irish-Catholic Immigration to America, reaction to same). And yet, Irish jokes are largely celebrated even in the most polite circles in a way that other ethnic jokes are not anymore. Google Irish Jokes and you will discover a treasure trove of humor playing up the their legendary fighting nature, rampant Irish alcoholism, and their fondness for being on welfare. Something tells me that St. Patrick’s Days are numbered.

Something to ponder today as you sip your green beer.

A Miracle

I am finally scheduled to receive my first COVID vaccine Saturday afternoon at the Speedway. The process was easy enough after I was able to find the email from the CDC which was conveniently stored in the spam folder of my work computer! Be that as it may, I am grateful to be officially in the queue. I think my vaccine is from Pfizer, but I’m not sure. Actually, I don’t care which one it is. I will take whatever is available. I just want this to be over and done with. The fact that we have multiple vaccines that are 70-90% effective against COVID in less than a year is nothing short of a miracle, and people who manage to find nits to pick about them are simply non-contributing zeros who would bitch and moan about winning the lottery if they had to drive down to the headquarters building to pick up the check! I mean seriously, can we just this once actually be grateful for something for a change? Oh, look...scientists, chemists, and other highly skilled humans spent the past 10 months working 20 hour days trying to find a needle in a haystack, a vaccine for an outrageously complex virus, and against all odds found not one but three! And in clinical trials these miracle vaccines were not 50-60% effective like the normal flu vaccines we get every year, but 70-90% effective. Then, somehow, these drug companies were able to speed up the manufacturing and incredibly complex distribution of these vaccines to a country of nearly 300 million people at a pace that nobody thought humanly possible mere months ago. And what do some of us do? Complain. It’s the new national pastime...

- No way I’m getting a vaccine. Bill Gates has slipped a microbe in it that will control my brain.

- Are you kidding? I’m not getting that Socialist shot. It’s a plot to control us by the government.

- My cousin knows a guy who’s brother once dated a girl who died after getting one of those vaccines.

- Wait, I’ve got to drive all the way down to the Arthur Ashe center and stand in line for thirty minutes? Hard pass!

- Why should I have to get a vaccine for a virus that doesn’t even exist??

- Everybody says that afterwards your arm gets really sore.

I swear, these days its hard to believe that our ancestors actually crossed the country in freaking covered wagons!! Now, if our stimulus checks don’t get deposited in our checking accounts this very second, we’re organizing bank boycotts. 

No. I count myself among those who still possess the ability to recognize the miraculous when I see it. Multiple vaccines being made available for a virus that has so far killed two and half million people qualifies as a miracle in my estimation. I am grateful for all the hard work done by everyone involved in making it possible for me to get in my climate controlled car, drive 20 minutes to a private business that has been transformed into a mass vaccination site manned by hundreds of people working around the clock to accommodate me, and to receive a vaccine that will render me virtually immune from this pandemic, the entire process having taken all of 45 minutes of my time.

A Miracle.

How Dad Are You??

I have heard it said that every day teaches a lesson. Here are some from yesterday:

When its your turn to volunteer at Hope Thrift but your back is still giving you problems, so you decide to go anyway with the condition that you “can’t lift anything,” ....you probably shouldn’t have gone at all. It is virtually impossible to be any help to anyone at a thrift store if you can’t lift anything. It was pathetic basically, me asking women to move this or haul that while customers gave me the side eye, wondering what the heck is wrong with this guy, His arm broke or something?? So, what did I do all afternoon? Well, I rearranged the book shelves, which were horribly picked through and disheveled. I broke down cardboard boxes to put in the recycling dumpster, and generally shuffled around asking customers if they needed help finding anything, hoping that they wouldn’t ask me to lift something. If it was a paying job I would have owed the store a couple hundred bucks!

Last night it occurred to me that I have never in my entire life had a bad dish of shrimp and grits. That is not the same thing as saying that all shrimp and grits are created equal, but rather that it seems virtually impossible to screw it up. In that way its akin to the fact that nobody can screw up a BLT. There are dishes that I gravitate to when at restaurants. My wife will tell you that when I don’t see anything I like on a menu I simply read the descriptions of each dish and pick the one that features the word sausage prominently. Another rule of thumb when eating at a restaurant for the first time is to order one of two dishes if they appear on the menu...jambalaya or shrimp and grits. That way I know I won’t be disappointed. Again, some places are better than others. But simply no such thing as bad shrimp and grits. Last night it was Tarrant’s West. Delicious.

The same cannot be said for Dad Jokes. Some days are very much better than others...

Do What Zog Do

Teacher Arrested At Pearson Airport 

A high school teacher was arrested today at Toronto's Pearson Airport as he attempted to board a flight while in possession of a ruler, a protractor, a compass, a slide-rule and a calculator.

At a press conference, Premier Kathleen Wynne said she believes the man is a member of the notorious extremist Al-Gebra movement. 

She did not identify the man, who has been charged by the OPP with carrying weapons of maths instruction. 

'Al-Gebra is a problem for us', the Premier said. 'They derive solutions by means and extremes, and sometimes go off on tangents in search of absolute values.' They use secret code names like "X" and "Y" and refer to themselves as "unknowns"; but we have determined that they belong to a common denominator of the axis of medieval with coordinates in every country. As the Greek philosopher Isosceles used to say, "There are three sides to every triangle." 

When asked to comment on the arrest, Prime Minister Trudeau said, "If God had wanted us to have better weapons of maths instruction, He would have given us more fingers and toes." 

Fellow Liberal colleagues told reporters they could not recall a more intelligent or profound statement by any Prime Minister.

Have a great weekend everyone and remember...always do what Zog do.

Stuck In My Head

Today’s blog will be about one of the annoying particulars of the human mind...getting a song stuck in your head. How does it happen? WHY does it happen, and how does one make it stop?

First, on the subject of how it happens, most of you are thinking it happens when you hear the song on the radio. Most of the time, I would agree. But this particular song has been in my head for over 24 hours now and I did not hear it on the radio. I didn’t hear it referred to in conversation and I didn’t even read about it in a story. I was just plugging along at work and the song popped into my head out of the cold blue. To make matters infinitely worse, the song in question was maybe my all time least favorite hit song of all time, a song that I used to hate with an unhealthy passion when it was all the rage on AM radio back when I was 13 years old. Yes, I am speaking of that most annoying pop standard from 1971...Joy to the World by Three Dog Night.

Jeremiah was a bullfrog, was a good friend of mine indeed! The first line tells you all you need to know about what kind of drugs they were on when they wrote this dreck.

I never understood a single word he said...Well, that makes 20 million of us.

Then there’s the insipid chorus...Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea...Perhaps under the influence of acid the plural of fish can be anything you want it to be.

If I were the King of the World, tell you what I’d do....I can tell you what I would do...ban this song from the airwaves forever.

In the last verse, the writer informs us that he is a high life flyer and a rainbow rider. Today, there are entire rehab facilities dedicated to this problem.

So, you can imagine how annoying it has been for me, ruminating over these lyrics for the past 24 hours, and I’m quite sure that dedicating an entire blogpost to it hasn’t done me any favors in this regard. I probably need someone to jump out from a closet and scream at me...or sneak up behind me and bang a gong or something.

...WAIT!!! That’s a great T-Rex song...you’re dirty sweet and you’re my girl...Now, That’s more like it!