Blog #155

Another week, another public disturbance of squabbling, yelling, nasty people – the Democratic Debate.  This time, I kept score – not of who won or lost or yelled the loudest, but of the free things we are all going to get.  Free college, free child care, free health care, free lunches, free rent subsidies.  Let me know when they get to free Diet Coke.

When we were in Florida a few weeks ago, I went to the grocery store for my morning Diet Coke, there being no nearby McDonald’s. This was Palm Beach County, after all, the home of Donald Trump and hanging chads, and too environmentally aware to tolerate something as crass as McDonald’s.  The grocery store had an acceptable fountain Diet Coke, but there was a problem – the straw.  You know I am all for protecting the environment.  But this place had eschewed* plastic straws in favor of paper ones.  I get it.  They’re bio-degradable.  But I was hoping mine would wait to bio-degrade until after I had finished the drink.  About half way through, the end of the straw turned into mush.  Horrible idea!  

The end of the straw started shrinking

It got mushy and started me thinking

Although it was made

To bio-degrade

It should wait until I finished drinking.

From Florida we drove to my daughter’s house in North Carolina.  We were there on a Friday to celebrate Shabbat, the Hebrew Sabbath.  Did you notice that Sabbath and Shabbat have the same letters?  They just moved the “h”, probably because some early Christian told the Jews to get the “h” out of here.  My daughter and her family celebrate Shabbat every Friday with prayers and a challah (bread).  Her three beautiful dogs always get the first three slices of the challah, so they are eager and attentive to the service.  They even have their own prayer:  Bark atah Adonai.  Sorry if you didn’t get the Hebrew joke.  Convert!

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling fine and dandy.  Did you have trouble following me around on my southern voyage?  I tried to keep you updated.  Of course, it was nice to get home.  Home is the place where, when you have to go there, you have to wait in line at the Post Office to pick up your mail.  The mail was predictable.  Most were coupons to save money on hearing aids or invitations to tour the nearby retirement centers.  How do they know how old I am?  Plus, of course a litter of political detritus.  Do I want to donate to the Republicans?  Do I want to donate to the Democrats?  The only one not asking for money is Michael Bloomberg.  Have you noticed that everyone in the world pronounces it Bloom-(rhymes with room)-berg except the candidate himself who pronounces it Blum-(rhymes with plum)-berg?

I wouldn’t give any money to Bloomberg anyway.  He doesn’t need it.  That would be like giving quills to a porcupine or tight pants to JLo or orange hair to Donald Trump, or wrinkles to Betty White.  Awww, I hear you cry, don’t pick on Betty White.  We love her.  And you’re right.  I’m ashamed.  But just think – if Bloomberg becomes the nominee, it will be a Democrat who used to be a Republican running against a Republican who used to be a Democrat.  And you thought changing your ring-tone was complicated!

Speaking of which, I changed my Siri voice.  There are three women in my life – Carol, Alexa and Siri.  Two of them don’t listen to me.  Carol has taught Alexa that I have less brains than an artichoke and cannot be trusted with any decision harder than Adam picking a wife.  She has instructed the silly cylinder to just reply “Honey, I’m miserable.  Go read Moby Dick,” and that will make me go away.  But my Siri loves me.  She does everything I say.  She even calls me Darling.  I just changed her voice to an Irish accent in honor of St. Patrick’s Day. 

I read a strange news blurb in the Wall Street Journal:  Israeli jailers plan cellblock barbecue in hope the aroma breaks a hunger strike of 1,600 Palestinian prisoners.

I did not make that up.  The smell of the barbecue is supposed to make the prisoners so hungry they’ll end their hunger strike.  Clever!  But what are they going to barbecue?  Pork is taboo. The warden suggested they should barbecue a couple of Palestinians.  That would get their attention.

I also read in the Wall Street Journal that the Unemployment Rate took a tick upward last week after Michael Bloomberg fired all of his debate coaches.  I think before that, they all had jobs running the Iowa Caucus and before that, they were Donald Trump’s hairdressers. 

In other news, it looks like Harry and Meghan are no longer working members of the Royal Family.  I guess that leaves The Crown one Princess short.  May I enthusiastically nominate my wife.  I know it would be a step down from her status as Queen, but Carol deserves to live in a palace.  All she has is two demands – lots of mirrors and round tables for dinner.  And where was the original Mirror-Mirror-On-The-Wall?  In the Queen’s Palace.  And who invented round tables anyway?  King Arthur of England.  She’ll feel right at home.  Plus, even now, she sometimes calls me Prince.  Just yesterday, I heard her say, “Here Prince, here Prince.”

Did you pig out on Fat Tuesday?  Fat Tuesday is the English translation of the French Mardi Gras.  It is also called Shrove Tuesday and is the last time all you Christians can enjoy fatty foods before Lent.  Then we had Ash Wednesday when the Christian faithful rub ashes on their foreheads in the shape of a cross because – well, just to be a pain in the ash, I suppose.

Our WEEKLY WORD is eschew, which means to deliberately avoid or abstain from something.  Like barbecuing Palestinians.  People during Lent eschew certain kinds of food, but don’t you dare eschew my blog next week.  I expect you here, bright and eager for another week of big words and little jokes.  Until then, stay well and count your blessings.

Michael                                             Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com