Getting Back Out There.

Springtime at last.

After everything that's come to pass, here's hoping that you're feeling well and that things are progressing at a steady rate toward a more December-of-2019 type of lifestyle. Baby steps, is what they're saying, right? And that's fine, except the baby seems to have been shuffling along in size 22 Timberlands. 

Let's face it, COVID just keeps being an asshole. It's hung around longer even than Bruce, that guy from the dorm who never seemed to pick up on when it was time to leave the party. Remember him? He'd start looking wobbly around eleven, eventually stumbling down the hallway to puke with the bathroom door open. He'd pass out on someone's bed for a couple hours, only to freakishly materialize in the living room next to the record player, smoking cigarettes, scraping out the last of the spodie punch and trying to talk to Stacey about UFOs. Ultimately, Stacey's best friend Janis would come over and tell Bruce he needs to run along, usually somewhere around four-thirty.

Is there some Bruce in all of us? Maybe, but the novel coronavirus has proven itself to be a class above. Scourging for over a year now, it's altered our daily mindset and with that, our behavior. We might be the same people that we were fifteen months ago, but we don't behave the same. It's going to take a minute for me to quit:

1) Fist and elbow bumping. Actually, I've never been big on fist bumping and as for elbow bumps, the target is deceptively small. A miscalculation from either party can result in an awkward "tricep rake." And alas, while I'd overwhelmingly prefer co-mingling the antipasto platter of bacteria in the palm of my hand with the microbial casserole in yours, nob thumping may very well be here to stay.

2) Experiencing day terrors when I can't find my go-to mask, the one that fogs up my sunglasses 30% less. Of course, there's a backup lying around somewhere, but when it's been a while, chain of custody can be questionable. Prior to COVID, I never realized how quickly a mask can be rendered icky and require the finger-tonging once reserved only for driveway garbage and third-party athletic supporters.

My wife and I went through our masks this weekend and kept only the best of the best:

The gaiters are convenient but get pretty disgusting less than a minute into a low-impact jog. And the "face" mask at the top left? It's my wife's. For teaching your children. That's all I have to say.

Additional stubborn habits nouveau include daily hoodie wear (including weekends), devouring podcasts like Chex Mix, taking the garbage cans to the curb in socks, borderline unhealthy fascinations with people's Zoom backgrounds, walking aimlessly through the neighborhood, disinfecting my Visa card after trips to Safeway...

In my post from March 6 of 2020, I encouraged you to stay safe during this "flu thing." Yeah, a bit off, there, Nostradamus. If COVID-19 is a "flu thing," the Titanic was a boat accident. No one on the planet has lived the past year-plus unaffected by the pandemic. It's taken a collective effort to curb the spread, and now science has provided us with a weapon to finish it off. 

Please, get yourself vaccinated. I know there are people reading this who are reluctant or even unwilling, and I do understand. Of course there are risks, but holy shit, if you're around my age, you drank from the garden hose, rode in the truck bed and ate the old Ding Dongs—the ones before 1973 with lead in the cream filling. Poor kids these days don't know a real goddamn Ding Dong.

My second Pfizer shot happened a couple of weeks ago. The aftereffects weren't terrible; just a sore arm and a case of acute couchiness for a day. Some aches here and there. Once the swelling subsided, the microchip implant is barely noticeable. And if you still have reservations, please consider that Bill Gates isn't learning anything about you that Facebook and Google don't already know. 

Take care of yourself.