Blog #204

 

It was Groundhog Day Tuesday and Punxsutawney Phil came out of his burrow looking for a Covid vaccine.  He didn’t find one because his dose had been given to Baghdad Benjy, one of the masterminds of the Nine-Eleven attack.  That’s right, last week the Pentagon approved a plan to give Covid vaccinations to the remaining Guantanamo detainees, many of whom were instrumental in planning the Nine-Eleven attacks.  This is the worst idea since the Edsel.  Under the plan, the prisoners will get the vaccine before the husbands, wives, children, mothers and fathers of the victims who were slaughtered on 9-11-2001.  How do you think that is going to make those families feel?  But hey, maybe I’m wrong.  Maybe the Guantanamo prisoners are really good guys after all.

 

I really should get your vaccine

So I don’t get Covid-19

I planned Nine-Eleven

But I swear to Heaven

I’m really a nice Fellaheen.

 

Another famous groundhog, Schenectady Stu, stuck his head out, saw Governor Cuomo and went back in for six more weeks of lockdown.  Ok, good joke, good limerick, but it doesn’t change how angry I am that someone could come up with such a horrible idea.  Maybe I should calm down and have some breakfast.

 

Except, I don’t eat breakfast – never have -- and Carol makes wonderful dinners, so that leaves lunch.  I eat a small lunch which consists of one of three choices which I buy at Walmart.  First, there are those wonderful, frozen PB&J sandwiches called Uncrustables – soft and sweet, no mess, pop two or three in the microwave.  Yummy.  OR, Campbell’s Chunky soup – I like the Gumbo.  OR, Hormel Compleats, meal-sized, vacuum-packed servings of meaty stuff that are loaded with preservatives and probably decades old.  But they’re delicious.  I had the Turkey and Dressing today and noticed that on the package it said, “Packed during the Johnson Administration.”   That didn’t bother me so much until I looked closer and noticed it was Andrew Johnson.

 

Well, it works for me.  They’re all delicious, all under $2 a serving and all microwavable.  Forget the wheel, forget the steam engine, forget the cell phone – the greatest invention of man is the microwave oven.  Can you imagine living in the stone age when bringing in meant killing an animal and dragging it to the door?  When fast food meant too fast to catch?  When warming up the leftovers meant gathering sticks and building a fire?  What would you do if you didn’t know how to build a fire out of sticks?  Look it up on Stickipedia?  Thank goodness for my microwave.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  ‘Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers (Romeo and Juliet).  I only get cat food to eat.  It’s fine.  Sometimes, he gives me a little cheese and I like that.  It doesn’t take me very long to lick my fingers.  I only have one front paw, you know.  Of course you do.  Purr.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you are safe and well and warm.  I know many of my readers are in sunny and cozy climes – Florida and Georgia and North Carolina, Arizona and Nevada and California, even Mexico.  But I, your tireless guide, am here in St. Louis, the lint-filled navel of America, where last week it snowed.  The snow is beautiful, of course, but it has confined me to my house and stifled my ability to go to the grocery store, an activity which I call hunting and gathering.  Today, I was planning to hunt and gather a Sumo Orange.  I don’t know what that is and neither does Carol, but Hoda Kotb said we had to have one, so there you go.  If Hoda said you had to have a moose, Carol would sit on the couch and yell, “Michael, get me a moose.”  And I, dumb and loyal schmuck that I am, would do it. 

 

The only time my sweet little groundhog exits her burrow is for her monthly pilgrimage known as Senior Day at Walgreen’s.  And I assure you that no snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night would have stayed my little Princess from her appointed discount.  Did I call you a groundhog, Honey?  No, I didn’t call you a ground hog.  I did?  Oy, am I in trouble!  Can a husband be impeached?

 

Sometimes, do you feel like you’re losing it?  You can’t find your reading glasses or your keys or your bathroom?  You forgot where you parked your car or the license plate or the color or whether you even have a car?  I’m pretty sure I can’t be losing it.  I don’t even remember what “it” was.  But I do have trouble with passwords.  Who can remember a password you were forced to create for some obscure website you set up two years ago?  And if you can’t remember, you’re up Schitt’s Creek without your Netflix. 

 

Name That Password!  Yes, Name That Password, the show that tests your skill in remembering the one word you chose because you knew you’d never forget it and then promptly forgot it.  Was it your dog’s name?  How about your mother’s name?  Or your Mother’s dog?  Or your German Nanny’s barber’s sister’s dog?  Berlin-Tin-Tin!  That’s it!  Congratulations!  You win.

 

But what do you do if you can’t remember it?  You do what I do.  You submit yourself to the most degrading and embarrassing torture imaginable – you call your grandchild and beg for help.  To avoid such ignominious groveling in the future, I have written all my passwords on an Excel document on my computer and snapped a picture of the spreadsheet.  So now, I can look up my passwords on my computer or my phone.  But that’s not safe, I hear you grumble.  Who cares!  What’re they going to steal – my library card number?  My frequent movie-goer balance?

 

Our Weekly Word is ignominious which means deserving or causing public disgrace or shame.  Kind of like the decision to publish this blog every week.  But I can handle the shame and I can handle the disgrace. I just can’t handle The View.

 

I’m about finished, but I’ll be here next week.  Until then, stay well, count your blessings and come right back in seven days.  I’ll leave the light on for you.  See you then.

 

Michael                                             Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com