"I Don't Want To Die For David Sedaris!"

We had tickets to go see David Sedaris, had 'em for a long time. But the closer the show date came, I started having doubts. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

I had no doubts regarding Sedaris, a particularly insightful and amusing anecdotist. But with the show in October quickly approaching, my doubts began to solidify.

The day of the show, I was getting dressed. Kinda hemming and hawing and dragging my feet.

"This shirt feels too small. Does it look too small?" I whined to my wife. Standing in front of the mirror, I looked like a tightly packed sausage, splitting at the casing.

"Does it feel comfortable," she asked in return.

"I guess. If I suck my gut in."

"You can suck your gut in for David Sedaris," she said.

Then it hit me. Jackpot! The answer to my doubts about going to the show that night. "But...but...I don't want to die for David Sedaris!" 

For you see, it was the time of the year and I had yet to get my new Covid shot. Now I know that these days it's practically de rigueur to stop worrying about Covid and move on with your life. But not too long before this October play-date, I had attended a funeral of someone who had passed away from the dreaded disease. And from what I'd been reading, the newest Covid strain was making a dent into people once again. I wasn't quite ready to throw the mask back on (and how did I tolerate that for as long as I did?), but the old creeping, crawling, scary fears were coming back.

Now, don't get me wrong, it wasn't for lack of trying that I'd failed to acquire my shot. I'd been trying for three weeks.

At my grocery store, I thought I could waltz right in, wait five minutes and get jabbed like I'd done in the past.

"Do you have an appointment?" asked the pharmacist on duty.

"Ah, no...I didn't know I needed one."

"Yes. We're kinda short on vaccine this year, so we're only doing it by appointment."

So, I needed to cut a little red tape. No problem. I whipped out my phone and asked, "So...what's your phone number?"

She looked at me incredulously, tolerating no fools. "You CAN'T just call now for an appointment." I could tell she struggled to tamper down an eyeroll. "We don't have any openings until next week."

"Okay. So...can I sign up now?"

"It's best if you do it online." She tapped on a flyer with the website address.

"Fine!" I huffed and screamed on the way out. "But if I die, it's on YOU!" (Note: I only imagined shouting this last line. Not even I'm that big of a jerk.)

When I got home, I prepared for battle with technology. Great, I thought. It says I need good, clear photos of my health insurance card.

So, through extraordinary pains and effort, I took photos of my card. As a cute bonus, I held it up next to my face to show the pharm tech my winning smile. I emailed the pics to my computer and began to complete the process of online appointment setting.

But the mindless automaton behind the process told me, "I'm sorry. We can't find any stores in your area."

WHAT? I was just there! Stoopid, stoopid, stoopid damn automaton couldn't find a grocery store right in front of you, grumble, brumble, grumble...

So, Plan B... While picking up a prescription for my wife at our local pharmacy, I asked the pharmacist, "Hey, do you have to have an appointment to get a Covid shot?"

She said, "No, we take walk-ins."

I checked the time. "Great...but I can't do it now. I've got somewhere to be." (Like she cared about this or something.) "I'll just come back tomorrow! How does that sound?"

"Sounds good," she said in a manner that was decidedly not so good.

The next day there was a different pharmacist on duty. "Hi, I'd like to get my Covid shot!"

"Well, we have plenty of the vaccine on hand, but we're doing it by appointment only," he says.

"What? But...but...but..."

"And we're pretty full up now. I think the first opening is...next Monday."

"Okay," I groused, "Sign me up."

He taps another flyer. "Scan this and do it online."

Once home, I go to work. Photos of insurance card? Check. Did it find my store? Check. Will I be able to sign up for...for...

"I'm sorry," the screen read. "At this time there are no available appointments." To make matters worse, the automated response didn't sound "sorry" in the least.

Out of desperation, I went through all of the local (and near local) pharmacies and grocery stores I could find on my phone, frantically searching for the life-saving vaccine. I struck out time and time again. It was quite a different scenario than when the vaccine first hit here. At that time, the government was actually paying people to get vaxxed. Now you couldn't buy a shot.

Finally--FINALLY--I was able to beat the system and schedule an appointment a week out from the date. Days after my David Sedaris show. Gulp!

You know, I had Covid once before. But mercifully, it was after I'd had the first shots, thus rendering what could've been a death sentence into about four days of misery. I don't have time or patience for Covid deniers. Frankly, I can't even believe there are such a thing. Anyone who believes that Covid isn't real is an idiot and a walking insult to the three million plus people who've died from it. So kindly keep your stupidity to yourselves. Along with your germs.

I survived the Sedaris show (and had forgotten my mask, too, showing how used to life without it I had become!), but the two guys behind me had me scared. The only two guys constantly coughing throughout the sold-out auditorium.

While I'm mulling over stupid people, guys don't get any dumber than Zach, one half of the protagonist team in my comic mystery Zach and Zora series. It's that old cliché of a dunderheaded male stripper with a heart of gold who can't help but stumble across corpses all the time, until his long-suffering, usually pregnant sister, Zora, has to find out who the true murderer is. Be there for all the laughs, murder, mystery, and wicked dance moves you can handle. Start at the beginning with Bad Day in a Banana Hammock!

Greetings From the Magical Kingdom of Covidia!

My wife went on a business trip to Arizona and all I have to show for it is this lousy case of Covid. I would've much rather received a seashell, or a snow-globe, or even an "I'm With Stupid" T-shirt.

After four years of careful masking, vaxxing and distancing, I really thought we were gonna escape the plague. It wasn't so. As a matter of fact, two days before I succumbed, a friend of mine said, "I can't believe you guys haven't gotten it yet." Thanks a lot, "friend," for the jinx.

I suppose I should be grateful we didn't get it in the early days of the pandemic, before vaccines and boosters. Back then getting Covid was a terrifying (close to) death knell. That same friend I mentioned earlier suffered through Covid for four months in the beginning. FOUR MONTHS!

That's hard to fathom. My week of misery seemed horrible enough, walking around coughing until my chest felt hollow and sore like a rock 'n roll tapeworm was pounding a drum from inside. Single-handedly, we kept the Kleenex industry in business. While my sense of taste hadn't vanished, certain foods tasted...funny. Chicken Tortilla Soup was similar to throat-burning barf. Coke Zero tasted like metal, a sort of Coke Zero, Zero, Zero Squared. Wolfing down salted caramel cookies was like gnawing cardboard (yet oddly enough, my wife and I craved sweets throughout the illness).

And I never thought I'd get sick of watching TV. It's true! It can happen. In a high-pitch of fever, I watched an entire season of "Love Is Blind," some trash-heap of "reality" on Netflix that my daughter recommended (hey, thanks a lot!). And none of it made sense, nor do I remember a lick of it (possibly my subconscious preserving my sanity). 

During the first days of my week-long bout, fever dreams attacked with a fiery passion. I dreaded going to sleep because I knew I'd soon get back to work trying to cram a triangular block into a circular hole and not being able to understand why it wouldn't fit. Over and over and over...

Gone were the days of sympathy and empathy and pity and maybe even a little fear. When I'd tell people over the phone (struggling with my voice that had turned into an almost indecipherable frog croak), their response was "Oh, is this your first time?" or  "Yeah, when I had it, it wasn't any big deal really," or "That sucks. Say, did you see the new season of 'Love Is Blind?'"

Yet I wanted people to pamper me, bring me soup, shed a few tears, ask what they could do. Instead, my Covid bout was treated as a "been there, done that" situation. It's become commonplace, at worst an annoyance, and why the hell haven't you gotten it before now?

At least my wife was kinda pleased I had no voice for four days. 

I was even worried my dogs would get it. Stupidly, the day before I fell victim, I was eating a cup of chicken noodle soup and my dogs seemed interested. So, I took a few noodles, sucked off all the spices (being careful, after all), then fed them to my four-legged pals. Two days later when I got sick, I got all over Google trying to find out if I'd polluted our pets. I told my daughter my fears. Her takeaway? "Ohhhh, I see. So you get mad when my dog eats your food off your plate, but you think it's cute when Mr. Loomis eats your noodles. You are a hypocrite."

Whaaaaaa? I have Covid! Leave me alone!

Yes, Covidia is a magical place. It's a place of unreality, sprinkled with magical fairy dust that gets inside your head and lungs and makes you see things that aren't there. It's like Disneyland for grownups, heavy on the acid, but a lot cheaper. (But don't tell DeSantis that; he'll declare war on Covid. Wait...too late. He's already called it a "woke pandemic." Whatever the hell THAT'S supposed to mean. Tell it to the surviving loved ones of the million people who died from it, Ron.) 

Anyway, I'm on the waning days of residing in the Magical Kingdom of Covidia and I can't wait to leave the illness-ridden golden gates behind, once and for all. Yet, I just read that there's a new strain heading our way. I guess it might be a bit too early to defect just yet.

Speaking of "vacationing" in unpleasant places, you might want to stay away from the Dandy Drop Inn, a quaint yet deadly Missouri bed & breakfast. What? You like a challenge? Then your dream trip awaits you right here! That's Dread and Breakfast, axe for it by name!

 

A New Year's Wish

Remember when the atrocious 2020 came to an end and we all breathed a collective sigh of relief? Remember telling everyone that 2021 would be better because things couldn't possibly get any worse than 2020?

Fool me once, bla, bla, bla.

Honestly, I think everyone was hopeful and cautiously optimistic for 2021. We had to be to maintain a semblance of sanity.  Of course things got off to a rather poor start when Trump rallied his good ol' boy troops to go storm the capital and hang Mike Pence. While kinda entertaining in a train wreck sorta sense, I lamented to my wife that we'd picked the wrong month to have a "dry month."

Thing didn't stop there. In fact, the insurrection was sort of the turning point, with Trump making it "cool" to lie, buck our democratic system, and while you're at it, offend as many people as possible and bring racism and hatred to the forefront! 2021!

Let's see... we had one guy making murder anime videos, another guy telling mothers to force their sons into savage rapists, some nutty woman spouting off about Jewish lasers in outer space,  another woman dropping racist statements everywhere she went because she was a "patriot," some knucklehead up on charges of underage sex trafficking, and the list goes on and on. Did I mention this "A-Team" is our politicians? The people tasked with taking care of us, their constituents? No thank you.

Naturally all of these stellar all-stars have been endorsed by Donny Trump.

Speaking of which, let's see a show of hands of who's sick of hearing about The Big Lie.  Lemme count... Quite a few. Trump is like a scratched up record (ask your parents, kids) that refuses to get off the same, tired phrase over and over and over and...   Zzzzzzzzz. Wake me up when he quits making headlines.

2021 also brought about a huge swelling of hatred for current president Biden. I'm just waiting for a grocery store clerk to mention the vile and disrespectful "Let's Go Brandon" to me. There shall be such a righteous hailstorm in the Piggly Wiggly that they'll need more than one sacker to clean up aisle 13. 

It's no secret that Trump wasn't my favorite president but I don't recall any of his critics ever being that disrespectful to him when he was in office. And of course Biden's numbers are failing. You got Trump over there in Mar-a-Lago sucking down shrimp cocktails, conning the rubes, and bad-mouthing Biden every chance he gets and how he could do a better job.

And the grift continues! For a small fee of $10,000, you can go to a Mar-a-Lago Christmas party and have one picture taken with Trump! Cool! Where do I sign up? How presidential.

I won't get into the pandemic because everyone's sick of that, too. Alright, never mind, it's impossible to talk about 2021 without mentioning it. You guys remember that three week or so period at the beginning of Spring when it looked like the dark cloud of Covid was finally moving on? A ray of hope shone down upon us as we slowly reawakened to life as we knew it. My wife and I actually ventured into a (gasp) theatre and restaurant! Without masks! Once you got over the initial shock of being maskless, it felt liberating.

Then Delta came roaring through the world like a rabid lion, shuttling the smarter people back into masks and relative isolation. And now Omicron is moving in. Granted the jury's still out on how intense this variant will be, but if Delta taught us nothing else, be prepared.

Which finally, FINALLY brings me to my new year's wish. I wish we could all work together as a united world to end the pandemic. It's the only way we'll ever conquer it. The variants are self-creating in third world countries because the richer countries aren't sharing vaccines (although apparently South Africa turned down the United State's offer for vaccines). Within our country alone, the highly divisive politicization of Covid is keeping it alive and prosperous. Honestly, folks, shouldn't life be the most important thing to all of us? And for all the cries of FREEDOM to not wear masks, you're keeping the other half of the US captive to the pandemic. The part that really gets me is some people still deny Covid as real. Some so-called "news" anchors have even dropped the despicable theory that Democrats made up Omicron to garner votes. Or something.

It's ridiculous. And discouraging.

We've gotta band together 'cause we're in it together. Once we get through this, then all of you politicians can get back to yelling and name-calling at one another and leave us mere regular people alone.

Happy 2022, everyone. Keep those fingers crossed it'll be a better year. 

Dr. End Of The World

In my never-ending quest to discover the cure to my on-going ITCHY-ASS, ALL-OVER skin problem (about the best medical explanation I've received so far and that was my own scientifically based self-diagnosis), I found myself returning to the charms of my allergist.

I've spoken of this doctor before. Usually, he's very welcoming in a Mr. Rogers sorta way. No, no, no, not the "Hi. Don't worry, I won't kill you" Mr. Rogers, but rather, the Mr. Rogers who invites me into a cozy teaching environment as he painstakingly talks down to me using small words and drawing pictures of what ails me in the most child-like fashion. Sorta like I'd stumbled onto a "kiddy doctor."

Fascinating and rather endearing (if not at all slightly creepy), I almost look forward to our frequent visits. (Emphasis on almost; I'd rather he find a cure to what ails me). Yet he keeps me on my toes and I never know what he's going to pull next. He's making Medical Appointments Great Again (MAGA! Too soon?)!

We'll call him "Dr. Rogers." Can I call him "Dr. Rogers?" I don't care, from now on he's "Dr. Rogers."

On our last visit (and visits they are rather than appointments, because that's just the way Doc Rogers swings), the surprises kept coming.

"So," he suggested while poking me with Popsicle sticks (and I think he might just be pulling one over on me with this method, but whatever), "you should write an end-of-the-world book."

The good doctor has always found it fascinating that I'm a writer, so I humored him. "I already have," I said, referring to Zombie Rapture, my sorta end-of-the-world, pseudo-zombie, satirically religious, darkly comic horror thriller (which is now out of print, because publishers are having a hard time at it these days, but I digress. Dammit.).

Wide-eyed, Doc steps back. "Did everybody die in your book?"

"Um...well, no. But a lot of people do die. There are a few survivors." It's at this point that I begin to realize he may indeed be the scary, serial killer Rogers type as he seems truly excited about mass deaths.

He says, "Well, we're all going to die."

"Yeah, eventually we all die." I shrugged.

"No, I mean, everyone's going to die soon. Whether it's Covid-12 or Covid-74, it's going to wipe everyone out. The end of humanity. Why?" He scoots in closer, now in full professorial, space-intruding mode, then flips out a finger. "Because A) we're more mobile these days. Back in the days of Spanish Flu, we survived because people didn't have the ability to travel everywhere. Now, Covid's spreading everywhere people take it. And B) the political, moral, and social division over the issues of survival."

"Yep, everyone's politicizing this horrid disease, making it their own while everyone's dying. But, with the vaccines--"

"And if Covid doesn't get us, then global warming will."

"That's what scares me," I said.

"It's true. We're all gonna die," he continued. "I heard it on NPR."

"Well...if you heard it on NPR, then it must be true." Couldn't help but get a little snark in, but I think it went over Dr. Doomsday's head as he was on a roll.

Suddenly, Nurse Save-the-Day bursts in.

"He's written an end-of-the-world book." The doc gestured at me. "Now, I'm telling him about my book where everyone dies. It's like that song I was singing the other day, about the end of the world..." He stared off into a dreamy apocalypse, while snapping his fingers hoping to grasp the song that eluded him.

I offered, "'The End of the World As We Know It,' by REM?"

He nods, points at me, and says, "That's it." So he starts singing it. I join in. The nurse rolls her eyes and remains silent. But I didn't want to leave on such a somber note, always leave 'em wanting more!

But as I drove home, I realized how right Dr. End of the World was. But it wasn't really Covid or global warming that was going to get us, but rather people's stupidity and selfishness.

Get your vaccines, people. Mask up. Socially distance. Quit being dumb. Don't make me come over there.

(For God's sake, I went to the doctor for itchy skin and all I got was an end-of-the-world lecture).

Hey, let's jump into the Way-Back machine and visit a time when people weren't as mobile and there wasn't a dreaded plague wiping out the population. I'm talking Ghosts of Gannaway, my historical-fiction, ghost story, mystery, suspense thriller about the small mining town of Gannaway, Kansas where there're some mighty good folks butting heads with some particularly nasty rich folks. Ghosts, too. Lotsa, lotsa ghosts and chills. But no epidemic...wait...almost forgot about the Yellow-Eyed Fever... But don't let that stop you from visiting scenic Gannaway RIGHT HERE.

 

 

The Great Unmasking

Well, as I'm sure you're all aware, it happened.  The CDC suddenly came out and said, "Yo, you vaxxed guys can dump your masks now, yo." BOOM. 

Just like that.

No build up. 

I mean, wearing a mask has become second nature after a year-and-a-half. I began to finally accept it as the new norm, hardly even bothered me after a while. My second skin. Hell, it became so normal, everyone in my dreams wore masks. Now, I feel like I need some time to adjust to the whole masklessness of it all.

Part of it is my distrust of my fellow citizens. The pandemic has made a lot of people and politicians crazier than usual. I guarantee that a lot of the people out there running around without masks right now haven't been vaccinated.

Which just gripes my goat. I don't understand the "anti-vaxxers." They cry about how they should have freedom to not wear a mask or choose not to get the vaccine. And buy assault rifles. What they don't take into consideration is that they're holding the rest of us hostage by refusing to get vaccinated. So much for their ballyhooed "freedom." Thanks, guys!

Not only is refusing the vaccination downright selfish, it just doesn't make sense. The vaccination doesn't carry tracking microchips, for God's sake. Why anyone would refuse to possibly save their--and their fellow citizens'--lives is beyond me. Of course it doesn't help when a lot of our so-called political leaders are refusing the vaccine. In the House of Representatives, only 95 of 212 Republican House members have been vaccinated. What the HELL, guys?

It's all become so tiresome with everything so politicized. The chances of swaying someone from one side of the argument to yours is flat-out rarer than catching a snipe.

But, hey, it's Amurica, dammit! Land of the free! Home of the brave people with assault rifles! And the unvaccinated! I suppose it's everyone's right not to get the vaccine. But your personal "freedom" should end when it puts the person next to you at risk. There was some local Kansas idiot who ran the worst Mexican restaurant I've ever suffered. He refused to have his customers AND staff wear masks because "a man has to draw the line somewhere." Big talk from a little mind. "Would you like a side of Covid with your burrito?" 

Freedom to go out and infect people ain't what America's about. Damn skippy. Can't believe I have to spell it out.

Anyway, back to the CDC's decision... As I said earlier, I've become a lot more distrustful lately (thanks politicians!). This CDC unmasking seemed incredibly sudden. I didn't think we were anywhere close to achieving it yet. I still don't. I suppose there's a level of anxiety about it all. When my wife and I finally reentered a movie theater, it just felt wrong to be sitting there without a mask as we binged on popcorn. (By the way, there weren't very many cinematic options. But, hell, we would've sat through "Barney's Big Purple Blunder" just for the experience.) So, why did the CDC finally have a change of heart? I know there's been political pressure on them (again with the stoopid politicians!) to issue the new order, so I can't help but feel they may have bowed down to the idiot "lawmakers."

I'm still wearing my mask out even though I've been fully vaxxed for some time. However, we've actually eaten at a couple of restaurants, trying to get back to living our lives. But baby steps, man, give me baby steps.

If you haven't yet read one of my books (in or out of a mask), then take some baby steps toward my short story collection, Twisted Tales from Tornado Alley. You'll get a little bit of everything here, including a lot of dumb, stubborn Amuricans who get what's coming to them!