I'm not sure who created the corona virus. God, man, an evil genius, or some poor sap in a lab who accidentally let the genie out of the bottle when he reached for his coffee and hit the test tube by accident. I just want to say one thing: While I wouldn't want to wish pain and suffering and death on anyone, I do want to thank you for the "voluntary" stay in place that our leaders have placed on us. Why? you ask.
What is better for a grump than being alone? Really, it’s my passion to seek alone time and now I’ve gotten it via government fiat. I have books to be read, models of World War II bombers to build, part-time work in an essential business (more later, but let's just say I work alone as I travel throughout the city for my company - it's great), a list of movies and tv shows to catch up on, and a host of other things that I can do and not be bothered. For some from a certain era, I feel like Burgess Meredith (Rocky's trainer Mick and Jack Lemmon's dad in "Grumpy Old Men") in the "Twilight Zone" in post-apocalyptic New York, I think, who goes to discover the books at the library were all in tact. Now, he muses, he has all the time in the world to just read (as he drops his glasses and shatters them - typical "Twilight Zone" twist). I liked that one, BUT I always knew he'd find another pair of glasses and end his despair. Unlike Burgess, I’ve got the time, and nothing to shatter except empty glass beer bottles after I toss them over my fence in my neighbor’s yard.
I am amazed, however, at how restless our fellow natives have responded. Can't get too much toilet paper if we are going to be locked in for awhile (is that behavior shaped from doing time in prison?), oh, and grab as much disinfectant, hand sanitizer, paper towels, assorted canned or prepackaged food, a few hundred pounds of meat, and a host of other items our little minds suffering from scarcity can cook up. Yeah? Well while you were there, I was at the liquor store stocking up on beer and bourbon for myself (wine for the Mrs.) because I know your pathetic hoarding self will be dropping by (on hands and knees at that) at some point asking to negotiate a deal because your family, your kids specifically, are under your skin so deep that you need something to relieve your mind that's getting claustrophobic being cooped up all day, so can I trade you a few rolls of toilet paper, some Lysol, and some Clorox wipes for a case of beer?
Some of us in our connected society have chosen social media to show how deep our dysfunctional nature runs as we move further into our daily count of time served. Now there is a great idea - "Hey world, I'm messed up, so let me show you during these dark times just how messed up I really am!" We use this medium as a source of chatter and to share our "educated" thoughts on how to handle this, why we should listen to the experts, what makes this virus the worst ever or nothing more than a common cold, why Trump is a genius or idiot, and the politicians that trickle down from there are either his lackeys or idiots in their own right. Don't get me wrong at all. I, too, post and post frequently. I share some I read too. Some are funny, and some that are really funny either make people laugh or make them angry. I tend to share the ones that make people angry but make me laugh. Why? Why not?
Of course, I look at my dad (my grumpian hero) and his generation. They didn't hoard, they shared. They "took what they needed." They walked the streets during polio, scarlet fever, the Depression, World War II, outbreaks of the flu, mumps, measles, chicken pox, and a myriad of other maladies. I can see my dad with his thick eyebrows furrowed shaking his head mumbling to himself as he drew his large hand drawn back to feign a slap upside my head. That entire motion was usually in place of words, such as, "Boy, what did I tell you?" In this case, he'd have told me, on more than one occasion, to not shrink in fear.
My immediate answer, other than covering up from the blow that never came, would have been simple. "Hey dad," I would say, "I had it tough when I grew up too. I've survived disco, the 70's, the Carter presidency, the Houston Oilers debacle in every decade they existed including a melt-down in Buffalo, and I've fought the flu and strep throat (with medicine that is, not by getting my throat "painted" with mecurochrome)." My addendum to that with dad now (even though he's no longer with us) would be surviving the ever-evolving Astros and the 2017 World Series debacle. More on that down the road because that makes me grumpy too.
Yeah, our first big illness in generations, and we are running like Godzilla came to shore, all scattering like mice when the lights come on, but in the same direction - away. And that's what makes me grumpy this day in history, 2020.
What is better for a grump than being alone? Really, it’s my passion to seek alone time and now I’ve gotten it via government fiat. I have books to be read, models of World War II bombers to build, part-time work in an essential business (more later, but let's just say I work alone as I travel throughout the city for my company - it's great), a list of movies and tv shows to catch up on, and a host of other things that I can do and not be bothered. For some from a certain era, I feel like Burgess Meredith (Rocky's trainer Mick and Jack Lemmon's dad in "Grumpy Old Men") in the "Twilight Zone" in post-apocalyptic New York, I think, who goes to discover the books at the library were all in tact. Now, he muses, he has all the time in the world to just read (as he drops his glasses and shatters them - typical "Twilight Zone" twist). I liked that one, BUT I always knew he'd find another pair of glasses and end his despair. Unlike Burgess, I’ve got the time, and nothing to shatter except empty glass beer bottles after I toss them over my fence in my neighbor’s yard.
I am amazed, however, at how restless our fellow natives have responded. Can't get too much toilet paper if we are going to be locked in for awhile (is that behavior shaped from doing time in prison?), oh, and grab as much disinfectant, hand sanitizer, paper towels, assorted canned or prepackaged food, a few hundred pounds of meat, and a host of other items our little minds suffering from scarcity can cook up. Yeah? Well while you were there, I was at the liquor store stocking up on beer and bourbon for myself (wine for the Mrs.) because I know your pathetic hoarding self will be dropping by (on hands and knees at that) at some point asking to negotiate a deal because your family, your kids specifically, are under your skin so deep that you need something to relieve your mind that's getting claustrophobic being cooped up all day, so can I trade you a few rolls of toilet paper, some Lysol, and some Clorox wipes for a case of beer?
Some of us in our connected society have chosen social media to show how deep our dysfunctional nature runs as we move further into our daily count of time served. Now there is a great idea - "Hey world, I'm messed up, so let me show you during these dark times just how messed up I really am!" We use this medium as a source of chatter and to share our "educated" thoughts on how to handle this, why we should listen to the experts, what makes this virus the worst ever or nothing more than a common cold, why Trump is a genius or idiot, and the politicians that trickle down from there are either his lackeys or idiots in their own right. Don't get me wrong at all. I, too, post and post frequently. I share some I read too. Some are funny, and some that are really funny either make people laugh or make them angry. I tend to share the ones that make people angry but make me laugh. Why? Why not?
Of course, I look at my dad (my grumpian hero) and his generation. They didn't hoard, they shared. They "took what they needed." They walked the streets during polio, scarlet fever, the Depression, World War II, outbreaks of the flu, mumps, measles, chicken pox, and a myriad of other maladies. I can see my dad with his thick eyebrows furrowed shaking his head mumbling to himself as he drew his large hand drawn back to feign a slap upside my head. That entire motion was usually in place of words, such as, "Boy, what did I tell you?" In this case, he'd have told me, on more than one occasion, to not shrink in fear.
My immediate answer, other than covering up from the blow that never came, would have been simple. "Hey dad," I would say, "I had it tough when I grew up too. I've survived disco, the 70's, the Carter presidency, the Houston Oilers debacle in every decade they existed including a melt-down in Buffalo, and I've fought the flu and strep throat (with medicine that is, not by getting my throat "painted" with mecurochrome)." My addendum to that with dad now (even though he's no longer with us) would be surviving the ever-evolving Astros and the 2017 World Series debacle. More on that down the road because that makes me grumpy too.
Yeah, our first big illness in generations, and we are running like Godzilla came to shore, all scattering like mice when the lights come on, but in the same direction - away. And that's what makes me grumpy this day in history, 2020.
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