LIMERICK OYSTER
Blog #267 April 21, 2022
I was at a fancy
restaurant recently, relaxing in my comfortable seat, sipping chilled water
from immaculate and expensive glassware and listening to the daily special
described by our highly professional waitperson. Is that the right term – waitperson? It describes the job, but not much about the
person himself or herself or itself or themself. Isn’t this getting sillier and sillier? Our waitperson was a lady, so must I say a
lady waitperson? I know that I was born
a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, but I have trouble with this
linguistic contortionism we practice today in an effort to de-genderize our
language. She was a waitress. Must I first strip her of her gender, turning
her into a waitperson and then adding the gender back to make her a lady
waitperson? Even Lewis Carroll couldn’t
invent such absurd gyres and gimbles.
But that’s not what I
wanted to talk to you about. The
specialty of the day was – get ready – Decomposed
Lobster Lasagna. “Decomposed
lobster?” We all gasped. Were they joking? Was there also Spoiled Salad, Fetid Fruit,
Decayed Dessert and, as the main course, Foul Fowl? I inquired and learned that “decomposed”
meant that the lasagna was separated on the plate into its constituent parts,
but the name was so off-putting that I bet no-one ever ordered it. Who came up with such a disgusting name? Probably the same clown who came up with waitperson. I hear there’s a fancy new restaurant opening
on the Moon – great food, no atmosphere.
Hi
there and welcome back. I hope you’re
feeling peachy. “Peachy” is not actually
a good thing for me, for you see I have haptodysphoria. No, no, don’t get out the hand
sanitizer. It’s not contagious. It just means that I hate to touch
peach-fuzz. Really! I like the taste of peaches, but the fuzz
makes me shiver and cringe! So what did
my lovely children used to do when they were growing up? They would toss me a peach. I would catch it instinctively, screech and
drop it like a – like a fuzzy peach!
Kids!
To
celebrate Passover, Carol and I climbed into an airplane and passed over
Illinois, Kentucky and Virginia to drop into North Carolina and my daughter
Jennifer. If you celebrated Passover, I
hope your seder was delicious and your services meaningful and not
inappropriately lengthy.
During which we
beseeched our Creator
That the length of
the Service
Would not make us
nervous
‘Cause we’d rather
eat sooner than later.
The prayer worked
and the meal arrived. And a glorious
meal it was -- an eponymous conglomeration of delicious traditional
dishes. Boy, that was a mouthful, wasn’t
it? So was dinner. Eponymous, you may recall,
means named after someone. There was
Heideman Brisket (named after my daughter Abby’s mother-in-law), Grandma’s
Chicken (named after Carol’s mother), Nonnie’s Matzo Ball Soup (named after
Carol) and Gefilte Fish (named after my Uncle Gefilte who was pretty salty and
a little smelly).
Message from
Shakespeare: Now I am past all comforts here but prayers (Henry VIII). The only prayer I
have now is that Pops comes home soon.
Don’t tell him I missed him. He gets all full of himself. Purr.
I
played pickleball with my daughter and son-in-law and a friend. Raise your hand if you have ever fallen
playing pickleball. What? You can’t raise your hand because you broke
that arm playing you-know-what? See, I
told you it was dangerous. I don’t want
you to play. And why am I playing, I
hear you ask? Because I’m just as damn
stubborn as you are. I told my wife I
don’t want her playing pickle-ball. I
put my foot down. The last time I put my
foot down to Carol was during the Ford Administration and she promptly dropped a
Vegematic on it. Ouch!
I
also got a rugby lesson from my granddaughter who plays in college. I admit I don’t understand the game. To me, rugby resembled 30 people trying to
buy the last 50%-off television on Black Friday.
And
then there are the chickens. My daughter
currently has nine chickens and two roosters, and for the life of me, I cannot
understand what these birds do all day. Maybe
they watch television – maybe NetChicks or T-Hen-T. Chicken jokes are so easy. Their favorite shows are The Eggs File,
F-Coop, and Wings. See, they’re easy.
Our
first morning in North Carolina, I went to the McDonald’s I always visit when
I’m there. It had been converted into
one of these modern McDonald’s where you could not order from a person. You had to order from a computerized kiosk. You also could not get a refill and you
couldn’t pay in cash. I could go on a
rant about old people using these new-fangled machines and all, but that’s not
the point. The sadness of the place was smothering
– there was no-one to talk to. I used to
go in there and talk to the lady at the counter. She would complain about the weather or how
long her shift was, but she would always make me smile and call me Sweetie. There was often a gregarious, elderly man
sitting with his friends at a corner table, and I would say hello and exchange
useless morning phrases with him. But he
wasn’t there anymore. In fact, no-one
was there. Not one person was sitting in
the restaurant where before there had been dozens. I missed the jocose banter among the staff
and the customers. The absence of human
contact and the banishment of friendliness was striking. I left without making a purchase.
It's
the same at grocery stores and banks and so many other places. We either can’t find a real person to talk to
or we simply stay away from people because we are afraid of Covid and of crime.
Even if we wanted to talk to someone, everybody
is wearing a mask. Our entire society is
suffering from a lack of friendly contact.
Except
on Thursday mornings when I can hopefully give you some of that jocose banter I
mentioned. Jocose (Weekly Word)
means playful or humorous, and I am always playful and sometimes humorous. So stay well, stay healthy and stay playful,
except pickleball. See you next week.
Michael Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com
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