Blog #297                                November 17, 2022

 

We spent part of last week in North Carolina.  The flight was fine, but here’s something I don’t understand:  the airplane is a miracle of design and engineering.  It can lift two hundred people into the clouds, defying the laws of gravity, while keeping them warm and safe.  It contains every modern electrical device to determine altitude, speed, weather, air pressure and a hundred other things I cannot even conjure.  And yet -- you knew there would be an “and yet” – and yet, when the flight attendant lifts the microphone to speak to the passengers, all we can hear is mwafszitzuperflaningsg.  Couldn’t they have spent a little more money on an intercom so we could understand what they say?  It’s so flangztsinfl.

 

But, they managed to get us to RDU safely, comfortably and on time and the only glitch was Carol convincing the TSA people at STL that she was over 75 and did not need to remove her shoes.  Nobody questioned me.

 

In fact, nobody ever notices me.  I feel unseen and ignored, as invisible as a Trump supporter in San Francisco.  I programmed my SIRI to call me “Darling”, but she doesn’t do it.  Pretty much the same result as when I tried to program my wife to call me “Darling”.

 

The only people who seem to want me are on-line busy-bodies trying to sell me extended warranties for my car or asking me to help them retrieve their settlement from a Nigerian bank.  One even wanted me to subscribe to some new pornography channel. This one had puppets.  It was called Sodomy Street.

 

Welcome to Sodomy Street

Where Ernie and Bert have turned sweet

Watch Oscar the Grouch

Get laid on the couch

And Kermit and Piggy in heat.

 

And you thought I was sane!  Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well and having good weather.  The weather in North Carolina was fine.  We were expecting bad weather from Hurricane Nicole, but it didn’t materialize.  Did you know that in 2018, there was actually a Hurricane Michael?  I have a serious problem with the name.  My daughters will not allow me to use the terms policeman, fireman or waitress.  Instead, I must use police officer, firefighter and server.  Ok, I get it, it’s a gender thing, but it works both ways.  If they’re going to name a hurricane after me, the least they could do is call it a Himicane.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench’d our steeples (King Lear).  When are they going to have a Hurricane Shakespeare?  It would be a CAT-egory 3 (for three legs).  Purr.

 

I’m embarrassed to tell you that my thumb hurts.  With all the horrible things wrong with some of our friends – well, complaining about my thumb sounds silly.  But it hurt, so I went to Dr. Thumb.  The nurse grabbed my hand - does it hurt here - does it hurt there – tendonitis - the doctor’s going to give you a shot - you ok with that?  So I told her all about my vasovagal reactions.  According to the official dictionary of the American Medical Association, a vasovagal reaction occurs when an intelligent, grown man behaves like a whiny little baby just because somebody sticks him with a needle.  I’ve had this reaction many times, and it is most unpleasant.

 

When she left, a young doctor walked in.  He was tall, dark and handsomer than George Clooney.  He was Dr. Thumb’s assistant.  Does it hurt here - does it hurt there – tendonitis - cortisone shot.  I asked him how long the needle would be in my thumb.  Six seconds, he said.  Then Dr. Thumb arrived.  We talked for a few seconds, after which he said, “You’re going to hate me for about 10-12 seconds while I give you this shot.”  I said, “McDreamy over there told me it was 6 seconds, let him do it.”  We kept talking while he put the needle in and I never felt a thing or had a reaction.  I loved him.  I’m looking for more things that hurt just so I can go back.

 

Doctors have messed with pretty much all of my parts at one time or another, except my gall bladder.  A gall bladder is something that’s just kind of there, but not necessary.  Like a Senator.  Or a Jewish husband.

 

And speaking of Senators, now that the election is over, we can begin moaning and crying that the Good Guys - who lied to us and then lied about their lying – didn’t lie enough to defeat the Bad Guys.  And instead of settling in and running the country, our politicians will resume their real task of insulting the other side so you won’t vote for them next time.  Unbelievable!

 

Carol and I do the grocery store every week.  She shops, I push.  And believe me, it’s work keeping up with her.  She moves faster than a Kardashian heading for a camera, and I move like a silk worm.  Did you hear about the two silk worms that had a race?  They ended in a tie.

 

One young woman at the grocery, dressed in some too-tight slacks and a variegated sweater, actually screamed at me.  “Hey, Old Man, move your asparagus.  The Ensure’s in Aisle 13.”  At least I had the good sense not to talk about her Hawaiian buns.

 

Women talk a lot, don’t they?  Well, maybe not.  A study published in Science says both women and men say about 16,000 words a day.  That just didn’t sound right to me, so I tested it out, counting my words and Carol’s for an entire 24 hours.  And you know what, they were right!  She said about 16,000 words and I said “Yes, Dear” 8,000 times.

 

Weekly Word:  Variegated means exhibiting different colors in irregular patches or streaks.  It’s kind of like ungapotchkit, a Yiddish word meaning – well, ungapotchkit.

 

And ungapotchkit we have certainly been today.  Some of this, some of that.  A little sodomy, a hurricane, my thumb, some politics and a lot about my wife.  Ungapotchkit!  And now it’s time to go.  Thank goodness.  And Thanksgiving.  That will be next Thursday, don’t forget.  We’ll talk about it next week.  See you then.  Count your blessings, stay well and always remember to fasten your shnawzsterjuk.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com