Blog #412                                January 30, 2025

 

Here I am, spending another week in cold and boring St. Louis.  At the Zoo, one time, I had a couple from Denmark.  “Ah,” I said, “I have been to Copenhagen and I thought it was a truly beautiful city.”  They looked at me as if I were as crazy as Marjorie Taylor Greene.  Of course, to a tourist, Copenhagen consisted of the old, charming port area with the multi-colored houses, the classic old boats and the wonderful outdoor restaurants.  But it’s a big city and this couple probably lived in a row house by the train station and think the city is dirty and old and boring.  Perspective can be everything.  A tourist to St. Louis sees the Arch, the Old Post Office and the Zoo and they come away thinking the town is magical. 

 

Did I tell you it was cold?  Man, is it cold!  It’s colder than a witch’s tin whistle.  It’s colder than my Neptune or Uranus.  It’s colder than a stethoscope.  But wait, what did I just see?  It’s sunny!  O, joy!  Whoopee!  No, I’m wrong.  It’s not getting warmer.  Carol just turned on The View.  How can women with such happy names like Sunny and Joy and Whoopi be so angry and aggravated?

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re not angry and aggravated.  I’m not.  I’m so happy, I’m ready to tell you a joke.  Our friends, the Goldmans, just hired a housekeeper from Sweden named Inga.  Last week, Mrs. Goldman told Inga to set the table for four because the Schwartzes were coming for dinner.  When Mrs. Goldman returned later that afternoon, she noticed the table was set for eight people.  “Inga, I told you the Schwartzes were coming and to set the table for four.”  Ya, Miss, Inga replied, but Mrs. Schwartz called and said they were bringing the Blintzes and the Knishes.”

 

I do Wordle every morning.  It’s part of my morning routine, and the morning after I wrote the paragraph about Sunny, Whoopi and Joy, the Wordle was SUNNY. That’s pretty spooky.

 

And speaking of spooky, my cough just won’t go away.  The doctors can’t figure out what it is, so I went to the most revered resource of knowledge available.  No, not the Internet; I’m talking about the Yenta-Net, specifically the YNUD, the Yenta Network of Untrained Doctors, which consists of my wife and all her friends who think they know everything.  Their consensus diagnosis is that I have Long Covid.  I looked it up.  It cannot be diagnosed, has a list of symptoms that everyone in the world has, and cannot be cured.  That’s just great.  Can you imagine hearing that from a real doctor?

 

You’ve got a condition, I hear

It must be Long Covid, I fear

I don’t know for sure

And I don’t have a cure

So suffer and call me next year.

 

Maybe it will go away by the end of Award Season.  Are you enjoying Award Season?  The Golden Globes, Critics’ Choice, Grammy, Tony, SAG, Oscars.  I don’t know 90% of the nominees anymore.  I mean who is Mikey Madison?  Is that a person or a Musketeer?  My wife and her friends watch every award show, mostly just to see the ubiquitous Red Carpet.  Who are you wearing?  What kind of question is that?  Actually, Joan Rivers introduced the phrase in 1994.  But tell me this -- why is it that all the guy interviewers on the Red Carpet are 5’3” and all the girl interviewers are 6’3”?  Once I saw Ryan Seacrest interviewing Charlize Theron; it looked like a squirrel trying to climb a giraffe.

 

Carol and I don’t always see eye to eye.  That’s because I am 5’10” and she is her little 5’3”.  Ok, I lied -- I may no longer be 5’10”.  I’m getting shorter it seems.  I don’t feel it; I don’t see it, but the nurse tells me I’m shorter every time I have a physical.  I always thought my grandchildren were getting taller, but now I realize it was me getting shorter.  It’s inevitable, I suppose.  I can just picture the future as I continue my vertical vanishing act and go from Munchkin-sized to Hobbit-sized until, eventually, I will qualify as a Happy Meal toy.  Or an interviewer on the Red Carpet.  Charlize, would you like fries with that?

 

We need an award show for old people, but all the good names are taken.  The Grammys would have been an apt name or, at our age, SAG is reasonably descriptive.  Maybe we’ll just call it the Oldies.  We could get Dick Clark to host it.  He must still be alive somewhere.  Oh, he’s dead?  Perfect!  They could give awards for the Oldest Tie or the Most Organized Pill Carrier or the Longest Number of Days Without Losing Your Reading Glasses.  And “who” would all these famous oldies be wearing?  Probably Donna Medi-Karan or Oscar de la Yenta.  I don’t know who I’ll be wearing, maybe Jewish Dior, but I know who I’ll be eating – Colonel Sanders.  And I know what movies I’ll be rooting for – No Closet for Old Men and the unforgettable I Remember Whatshername.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them (Hamlet).  I could be an actor and win an award.  I could be in Slum-Cat Millionaire and A Few Good Cats and, my favorite, Shakespeare in Love.  Purr.

 

Don’t forget that Sunday is Groundhog Day.  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 groundhog.  I did?  Oy, am I in trouble!  Can a husband be impeached?

 

I’d better go.  It’s time for a hiatus.  That, our Weekly Word, is a pause or gap in a sequence or process.  Stay well, count your blessings and don’t trip over any groundhogs.  See you next week.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com

 

Here’s a puzzle for you while you’re waiting for next Thursday to arrive.  What one number, when spelled out in English, has its letters in alphabetical order?  Answer next week.