Eerie Air

I am waking up this week to apocalyptic scenes in the sky. Because of the wildfires raging all around us, the sky is dusty yellow and the sun comes up red. The birds are silent. The bees haven’t left the hive. There’s a layer of ash on the cars and on the street. And then there’s an eerie silence, as if no human beings are breathing and living. I’ve never experienced this before, most of us haven’t. With virus spikes continuing and now this, it’s a wonder what else is in store leading to the end of the year.

The weather patterns are wonky too. Wyoming is under a blanket of snow while Southern Oregon is up in flames.

Some states are regretting opening their schools because apparently children are the biggest carriers of the virus. Children have always been the carriers of everything. They’re children. They have no sense of distancing on a playground or in a classroom. Nor do they wash their hands that often. What did these educators in their high-tower offices think?

I’ve heard in some cities Halloween is cancelled. Why I wonder? Our masks can blend in with the costumes. So can our uncut hair and wrinkly faces. If we make sure our candies are wrapped and washed down with disinfectant wipes, where’s the harm in that? Next, Thanksgiving is in jeopardy. We’ll be told we can’t buy turkeys because they might be virus carriers. It will be an opportunity for the vegans to shine this year. Pull out your veggie recipes.

And let’s not even think about Christmas. Christmas trees will be cancelled in favor of fake ones where no human has sweated to cut them down.

Calvin says, “That means no doggy bones for me this holiday. I’ll have to educate my palate to gnaw on a cauliflower ear.” 

 

 

 

A Stranger on the Call

I couldn’t understand the man on the phone.

“What did you say? There’s too much noise in the background,” I said.

“Is this better?” he asked.

“No, now I hear a screaming child. Are you on the street?”

“In the market, on aisle 7.”

“What’s aisle 7?”

“Bed pans, medicine, and cotton balls,” he said.

“In a market?”

“They cater to all needs,” he said.

“Well, in that case I need something for my lower back, my toes, and my right arm. It all hurts,” I said. Then I realized I wasn’t sure who I was talking to.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Alf, your husband. Remember me? You sent me to the store.”

“You’re in the wrong store, I need you in a pharmacy,” I said.

“This is the pharmacy. Do you think I would find spinach and papaya here?”

“Yes, in aisle 8,” I said.

Cavin says, “And in aisle 1 you’ll find the doggie treats. Right as you step into the store. They know how to position the important stuff.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Am I Really Me?

The latest craze is DNA testing to know where you came from. There are a slew of online companies happy to do it for a swab of spit and a fee. Several of my colleagues at work have done it.

Some have been delighted with the results, others not so much. For them their family tree didn’t match who they thought they were. 

“I think I’m adopted,” one of them said to me this week. He’s now making inquiries with relatives to see if they had lied to him to all his life. This is a family disruption on the grandest scale.

My question is, are the results accurate? I can just imagine the warehouses of desks, testing equipment and computers for workers making minimum wage who have been entrusted with your spit. I think your relatives are more trustworthy, that is if they can be counted on to speak the truth.

I haven’t succumbed yet. I’m happy to stay oblivious and believe I am who I am. Besides, what if I found out I’ve been living a fake identity? That I have more Inuit blood in me than I could ever imagine and that my love of Indian food is because…you guessed it.

Calvin says, “Who cares? It’s another form of entertainment to get you off course from your real purpose in life.”

 

Mozart Tickles the Brain

Move over Beethoven. Mozart has claimed the number one spot for memory boost.

According to an article in the Daily Mail, listening to Mozart “showed an increase in brain wave activity linked to memory, understanding and problem-solving, researchers found.”
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-3112339/How-listening-Mozart-boost-memory-Classical-composer-s-music-linked-increase-brain-wave-activity-beats-Beethoven.html#ixzz3cD9MqqY6
If that’s true, I’m listening to Mozart in every room in the house because I can’t find my glasses.

It will be especially advantageous in the kitchen when I try to remember if it’s one teaspoon of cayenne pepper in the chili or one tablespoon.

Apparently there’s something special in Mozart’s music that stimulates brain wave activity directly related to memory.

Sure beats working on those crossword puzzles. 

We should pipe in Mozart in every retirement home and senior center around the country.

When my uncle retired, he moved to a senior living community in Las Vegas and joined a local theater group. Then he dropped dead. I suspect he would have had many more years of acting if he had been listening to Mr. M at mealtime.

Researchers used the ‘L’allegro con spirito’ from the Sonata for Two Pianos in D Major by Mozart as their test music piece. This means they’ll be a rash of downloads to people’s smart phones and tablets if they can remember how to do that. The volume of sales will clog up the system and we’ll be forced to buy entire Mozart collections in order to isolate that one piece.

Oh well.

We needed some musical education.
Calvin says, “Download Elvis singing Hound Dog and play it by my food dish.” 

 

 

 

 

I’m Getting Off

I am glued to the World Cup soccer matches. The European teams aren’t doing very well this time, giving the Latin Americans a chance to score and move up in the rankings. I’m rooting for Argentina, next is Mexico, and after that I don’t care. Brazil of course, being the host country, is determined to win. Good luck.

Already there’s a scandal about rigged games – I’ve been saying that for years – and now here’s proof. Apparently some of the referees can be bribed in order to give advantage to certain teams.

Is there anything left on the planet that isn’t manipulated?  

Our food is full of illness-producing chemicals, but advertised as healthy products.

Our newspapers, media outlets, and radio shows can’t be trusted with accuracy in the news and yet we turn them on every night.

Airlines and car manufacturers are notorious for cutting corners to save a dime, but we’re the first to grab a no-frills discounted ticket.

The medical industry knows of easier ways to cure our illnesses, but suppresses the truth in favor of expensive therapies because they bring in the bucks. Hey, somebody has to pay for those $100 aspirins in the hospital.

Stop! I want to get off and live somewhere else.

When you distill it, it all comes down to making a profit.

Nobody cares about your quality of life, or even if you have a life.

It’s more like where’s your wallet?

Calvin says, “Don’t get me started about our dog food. Have you ever wondered why vet practices are always full? The pet food industry owns them!”

 

 

 

One Flu Over the Oscars

I was hit last weekend with the stomach flu or food poisoning. I didn’t know which. The symptoms were the same, so it didn’t matter.

I was dying.

My bones hurt.

I was nauseous.  

Food was revolving. 

Fortunately there were the Oscars.

While sucking on a Coke, I watched Ellen Tweet her photos, order pizza and force Scorsese to fork over $200 dollars along with Brad and Leonardo. I noticed she hit the men up for the money and passed out the food to the women. And the guys complied like docile little puppies. Except Brad. She had to shame him in front of a watching world to hand over more bills.

What I didn’t understand was the fairy costume. I must have missed the explanation while my head exploded and I floated off into space like Sandra.

I thought the musical numbers were good, the gowns were sensational, and the jewels were to die for, which I was doing throughout the evening.

I noticed the absence of Tom Hanks and Emma Thompson, but then I notice year after year that the truly talented are passed over for the younger, more appealing. I suppose it’s to keep the youth audiences happy. They’re the ones at the box office, not me.

In between slurps of Coke, I forced myself to drink an ocean of water before they announced the best picture. 

Just as the glamour queen opened the envelope, I ran to the bathroom.

When I came back, it was all over.

By Monday, I was several pounds lighter.

I was relieved Gravity hadn’t won.

I felt I was back in orbit.

Calvin says, “You’re back in orbit alright. You still haven’t come down and I could use a couple of pizza slices right about now.” 

Is Your Dog A Relative?

We live in a pet-centric world. For $50,000 dollars you can clone Buster so he’ll keep coming back to you. That’s probably the only way he’ll come back to you, because he’s figured out how to ignore you and turn a deaf ear to your commands.

Have you noticed the progression we’ve taken as a society with our pets?

They started out in the backyard. Some of them were actually working dogs. They earned their bowl of scraps herding sheep or cows. Or went hunting for birds with you.

Then they migrated to the back porch. Still looking in, but getting closer.

Eventually your wife gave in to Roxie’s begging eyes and let her inside your kitchen, then your bedroom was next, and now she’s sleeping on your bed.

The veterinary industry is keenly aware of this trend and has marketed it to the hilt.

Dogs and cats are not animals anymore. They’re hairy people. And because they’re relatives with fur, you’ll spend your last dollar on them. The vets are counting on it.

If Buster needs an MRI or a hip replacement, you’re made to feel guilty if you say no.

What about teeth cleaning, pedicures and doggie furdos? Any conscientious owner would of course make regular appointments for these. If you don’t, you’re the beast, not Tabitha, the cat.

I’m convinced this ridiculousness began with the pet food industry. They convinced us our animals should not eat human food because it’s bad for them, so as a substitute they produced good, wholesome, nutritionally well-balanced sawdust with flavorings. If last night’s leftovers are not safe for our pooches, then why are we eating them?

The more advanced we are in the medical industry, the more these tests trickle down to our vets to use on our animals. What’s good for Fred is good for Fido, too.

And of course since Fred now can live to be 100, he wants Fido by his side, too – at a spry 700 years old.

Calvin says, “Ouch! A little too close to home. Of course I want to carry on sniffing and peeing and chasing rabbits. Don’t you?”

 

Making Music

I called my friend today. She said she was having jaw problems. She said she was out of pain, but her jaw was still clicking.

“Isn’t that what it’s supposed to do?” I asked.

“Every word I say, I hear a click afterward, like a flamenco dancer’s castanet inside my head.”

“Can you make music with it?” I said.

“No, and besides I have a nodule under my right earlobe the size of a large pea that’s not going away,” she said.

“I didn’t know peas came in large sizes,” I said.

“They don’t, but mine does,” she said.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” she said.

“Can you pop it like bubble wrap?”

“No!”

“Then color it and have some fun with it,” I said.

“That’s a good idea, sorta like an earring, except a little farther down,” she said.

“I still can’t gain weight. My friends tell me there’s something wrong. I don’t know. I eat like a horse,” she said.

“You just can’t please anybody anymore. Thanks Hollywood. Those image-busters have ruined it for us. If you’re too thin, you’re not hot, if you’re too fat, you’re invisible. And if you’re just right, there are no real men out there to appreciate it anyway,” I said.

My friend laughed. “I’ve got to go now. I’m clicking, I mean shopping for face paint for my pea.”

She clicked and was gone.

Calvin says, “The day my jaw clicks my reputation as a fierce hunter is over. The rabbits would roll over laughing.”