#ObamaGate: My theories, your conspiracies

(542 words)

I think it would be beneficial if scientists devoted their efforts to enlarging the coronavirus. I don’t mean statistically or theoretically. I’m talking about making each actual virus larger.

Like the size of a kickball.

We’re talking bigly.

See, one of the problems I see with coronavirus is you can’t see coronavirus. It’s invisible. Hidden enemy.

That means about half you bastards out there feel justified in denying it even exists. And that’s making those of us who believe in people like scientists and things like microscopes bat shit crazy.

I’m friends with about a dozen cranks who if they were diagnosed, hospitalized and done in by coronavirus would as their dying wish have their tombstone chiseled to read, “I STILL say it’s a hoax!”

Add their names to the roster of the dead, 92,258, most in the world and a ghoulish twist on the 2016 presidential boast “we’re gonna be so sick of winning.”

Will any of us be well enough to attend the traditional White House hamberder victory feast?

Kickball-sized viruses would unify this tragically divided country, reduce the virus population, and become a healthy, productive way for truth-doubting skeptics to blow off homicidal steam.

Right now, the coronavirus is 125 nanometers, that’s 125,000,000,000. It’s a really big number that denotes a really small menace. How small?

It’s about the size of the brains of most of the conspiracy-theorists who think they know what they’re talking about. 

We’re talking microscopic.

And it just takes one if ‘em to kill you. It can enter through your open mouth or eyes, etc.

You’d think that would be incentive to keeping our mouths shut, but no. In fact, people can’t seem to shut the hell up.

The dominance of one pandemic has unleashed another that misleads people into thinking they’re informed and the rest of us care what they have to say.

A kickball-sized covid would bounce off the heads of most people but if you, say,  refer to Dr. Fauci, as “the chief buffoon,” as Tucker Carlson does, any nearby virus will magically resize to Tic Tac dimensions and make a bee-line for your esophagus where it will latch on and have really tiny babies. 

And if they were kickball-sized they would bestow existential meaning to the lives of couch potato conspiracy theorists. 

If they saw a herd of the ball-sized viruses stampeding down the street, they could separate from the sofa and — cardio! — render pursuit. But not before strapping on the firearms!

It’ll be open season on the virus and our 2nd Amendment romantics will be able to open fire on anything covid-color running through the neighborhood.

They won’t even need to wait to see if there’s any security video of the target virus wandering unattended through an open construction site.

I mention this now because I’m fed up reading the conspiracy theories that end with the annihilation of people who think like me.

We believe the experts, think the suffering is legit, think a reasonable recovery doesn’t require sacrificial body counts. We think we should be working to wipe out the virus, not contrary Democratic governors in battleground states.

Sick of all the winning?

Man, I’m sick of all the dying.

Related …

A theory on conspiracies

Trump’s no jackass; he’s under-qualified

Trump vs. Fiorina: Who’s our ugliest president?

Who’ll take on Trump (& what Cher has to do with it)

Reduce gun violence: Enforce 2nd Amendment

Stuff I'll do if I become Last Man on Earth

(645 words)

I was wondering what I’d do if things take a bad turn and I wind up being the last man on earth, which was the premise of an often-hilarious Will Forte show (2015-’18, Fox) called, duh, “Last Man on Earth.”

That’s how it feels some days. I miss both the refined and the rabble.

Here’s what I’d do assuming certain logistics left the joint reasonably functional and I become LMOE.

It’d be petty and makes zero no sense, I know, but the first thing I’m going to do is go around peeling Trump bumper stickers off all the cars. I’d engage in more political yapping if I believed I could change even one mind, but I don’t believe that’s possible.

So why prioritize removing Trump bumper stickers in a world devoid of all but me?

I have no idea.

I guess it’s just one of those itches that must be scratched.

After that I’m breaking into the library and assembling the old water bed right there by the circulation desk. I’ve always reveled in the cerebral peacefulness of of feeling at home in a good neighborhood library. Might as well take it to its logical extension.

I think I’ll continue to try and blog every other day or so. I’ll do this fully aware there’ll not be a single other person on Earth left to read the stupid thing. But there’ve been entire years when readership statistics made me feel like I was the only person on the planet so what’s the difference?

I’m going to tastefully loot the crap out of my favorite men’s stores, scooping up posh suits and other fine garments by the trunk load. I’ll awaken every morning to a proper grooming and spend the day dressed like a royal dandy.

Why would the last man on earth care how he dressed when there’ll be no one around to admire the finery?

He assumes there will there will still be plenty of mirrors.

I intend to joy ride the Gateway Clipper Majestic up and down Pittsburgh’s three rivers. And by “joy ride” I mean sink. I’m a big Titanic fan and will enjoy recreating scenes from the movie and pretending I care as the waters rise.

I plan on playing a lot of golf at a lot of golf courses like Augusta and Pebble Beach and, depending on the weather and the skeeters, playing naked because, well, why not?

One place I won’t play is Latrobe Country Club. Remember, I’ve been banned from the grounds (me and Ben Roethlisberger!) and I will abide by the ban (see link) until club officials come to their senses and apologize, which given the mortal logistics of sudden global depopulation, I just don’t see happening.

Just for kicks, I’ll head to Canton and the NFL Hall of Fame to do some creative rearranging that’ll emphasize the dominance of the Pittsburgh Steelers over the rest of the league.

Not sure what kind of vandalism will occur, but the bust of O.J. Simpson will not go undisturbed. 

One of my happiest experiences in what I’ll call my “crowded life,” was a honeymoon hot air balloon ride over Napa. I intend to take a solo balloon ride and hope I can figure out how to land the contraption before it blows out over the Atlantic.

I’ll run the bases barefoot at Yankee Stadium, bungee jump off the Golden Gate Bridge, and pin the speedometer as I cross the finish line at Indy

Oh, and I plan to learn to speak French so when I talk to myself  I’ll at least sound like a friendly stranger.

It’ll be a life so hollow it’ll have an echo all its own.

Maybe it’s getting to me. I miss seeing my friends. Heck, I’m starting to miss seeing my enemies.

It wasn’t uncommon a few short months ago to hear people complain how people can drive you nuts.

Some of us are learning the absence of them can, too.

Related …

Banned from Latrobe C.C … Me!

When will I see you again?

If I should die before I wake …

Help me name my shoe shine business!

(946 words)

This isn’t the first time I’ve had a proprietary hand at naming stuff. Throughout my life I’ve helped or outright named three businesses, two humans and one canine. Some have prospered better than others.

Our first dog was a sweet-souled Golden Retriever with near-zero evidence of having a brain. Val suggested we name him Casey. I suggested we name him Peev because sooner or later even the best in-home animals become pet Peevs.

Lost that one.

We’re were wisely old-fashioned about our babies. We  waited until they were below-the-waist popped out before the real-time gender reveal. Those were two of my most intense and bewilderingly wonderful moments of our lives. 

I named the youngest, primarily after alt-country troubadour Lucinda Williams and the middle name because it rhythmically fit between the other names. 

She is Lucinda Grace Rodell and she today is showing a darling affinity for stringed fretted instruments.

The first baby was trickier because we were convinced baby’d be a boy. 

Amazingly, I had Val convinced the perfect boy name was Buzz Sawyer (it still is).

I said Buzz to honor Buzz Aldrin, the second human to set foot on the moon and the least boring of them all. Sawyer for the Mark Twain allusions and because she at the time was into the hit show “Lost” and she had the hots for a character named Sawyer.

The core of my reasoning, however, was the kid would pick up the obvious nickname that the announcers would seize on, “… and here comes Buzz Saw Rodell ripping another hole in the beleaguered Patriot defense!”

It should come as no surprise that Val was heavily sedated when she nodded her agreement to my scheme.

Either way, we wound up with the precious baby we named Joselyn Rachel for reasons I now struggle to recall.

Business-wise, the results of my naming efforts have been spottier, which could explain why the results of those businesses have been mostly catastrophic.

My first travel writig business was almost called “Postcards from Paradise,” a name meant to evoke lovely destinations, but was, in fact, a shady cover for trying to get free trips. But a savvy older friend said the name was a giveaway for the fraud.

So at the last second I changed it to “Palm Features,” a name meant to evoke lovely destinations, but was, in fact, a shady cover for … Why Palm Features? Because my hands were always up-turned and reaching out for freebies.

Worst name ever? You’re reading it. “Eight Days to Amish,” a reference to how soon my precarious income will lead to exclusively fundamentalist lifestyle options. It’s hard to remember, a joke nobody gets …

I still love it.

That brings us to our latest professional enterprise: Shoe Shine Boy!

I’m totally serious.

I’m reaching out to contacts at law firms, doctors’ offices, etc, — any place prosperous men with feet gather to earn their livings.

Many of these men have nice shoes, but are too busy or indifferent to give them a proper shine. I believe on any given day these men would be willing to pay about $12 to get their dress shoes cared for.

I also plan on doing local pick-up.

I do think it could lead to handy pocketfuls of cash. Plus, it’s a hook I can add to the book proposal I’m putting together about men who appreciate fine footwear or as one friend put it, “male shoe whores.”

So I put together a top-of-the-head list for a bottom-of-the-leg business. Let me know what you think:

• I’m always drawn to the deep inside joke. Only maybe 1-out-of-10 would find this even mildly amusing. But I could see me using this as the introductory joke no matter what I pick …

“The Shining”

Heeere’s Johnnie ….

with your good-as-new shined shoes!

• Until I started this. I’d never known any man who shined his own shoes, much less an actual shoe shine professional. But the practice conjures real homey feelings. I was buying some polish at the Walgren’s and the check-out clerk just about came apart, “Oh, that takes me back to watching my grandfather shine his shoes. Such a happy memory.” I think it all stems from the idea that everything is disposable and seeing someone care for something others discard is heartening. This one plays off that …

“Front Porch Shoe Shine”

Out the door by breakfast, 

Shining by supper or sooner!

• I prefer the tagline to the main name, but you can’t have one without the other …

New Buddy Shoe Shine

Making Friends One Shine at a Time

• This one refers to my Parkinson’s with the idea word will get around the office I have the disease and customers will think, gee, let’s give the poor kid an extra buck. But it sounds too much like an ice cream shoppe …

Shakes ’n’ Shines!

• Another Hollywood reference. Most guys’ll get this. It would make a good T-Shirt with Joe Pesci on it …

Goodfella Shoe Shine

I Got My $#&%-in’ Shine Box!

I’m most fond of this one because it’s clever, like 8days2amish, perhaps too clever. It’s a play on the still popular 1983 Bonnie Tyler hit. Changing the spelling of the first word in the title so it would have a foot reference is just plain stupid but there’s no  one here to talk me out of it so I just did it anyway.

Toe-tal Eclipse of the Shoe

 Shines so Bright They Blind

So what do you think? Like any of these? Have any shoes that need shinin’?

Well, heeere’s Johnnie!

Yes, we need testing, just not the kind you think ...

(523 words)

So much of our tottering economy’s hoped-for rebound is pegged to testing. It’s all we’re hearing.

The states need tests. The municipalities need tests. The hospitals need tests.

I see many restaurants and businesses are looking to gun-like devices that when pointed at a potential customer’s forehead will light up when that person is registering a telltale fever.

My fear is that in these contentious times when you point a gun-shaped device at anyone’s forehead many will in court-sanctioned self-defense draw a real weapon and come up blastin’.

America 2020: Where you don’t need a fever to act like a hot head!

Still, by all means, let’s test. Let’s test the elderly. The young. The polite social distancer and the in-your-face protester. Test the city dweller and test her country cousin. 

Test! Test! Test!

But let’s be sure we have a test that determines the outcome that matters most.

PATIENT: “I thought this coronavirus test was a swab up the nose and we’re done. Why am I hooked up to these monitors and why’s my right hand on this Bible?”

TECH: “This isn’t that kind of test. Now just please truthfully answer the questions. Do you post political upper-case rants on FaceBook?”

PATIENT: “If I see a situation that needs a little homespun common sense then I exercise my 1st Amendment rights and,  yes, I sometimes for emphasis use ALL-CAPS.”

NURSE: “Have you ever stepped in front of an elderly shopper to snag the last roll of toilet paper when you knew you already had sufficient toilet paper at home?”

PATIENT: “Well, there was that one time — but that was before the Don Patron was closing up!”

NURSE: “Do you ever watch the COVID-19 death toll demographics and secretly cheer when it momentarily seems like it’s wiping out a larger proportion of your favored presidential candidate’s opponents?”

PATIENT: “Hey, it’s God’s will …”

NURSE: “That’s enough. I’m afraid I have bad news …”

PATIENT: “Yes?”

NURSE: “Our tests indicate that unless you change your core behavior, there’s a 96 percent chance your soul is going to Hell.”

PATIENT: “Ninety-six percent? Jesus H. Christ!”

NURSE: “Uh, taking the Lord’s name in vain just bumped it up another point. Oh! And you’re also testing positive for coronavirus.”

PATIENT: “Mother-&*%#!!!”

NURSE: “ … 98 …”

Imagine how much better people would behave if they took a test that would within reason relate a percentage likelihood that their soul was headed for eternal damnation. 

All but the most irredeemable would undergo overnight personality transformations that would make old Ebenezer seem like a spiritual stoic.

They’d shelter the homeless, nurse the sick and year-round spread the cheer of the Christmas season.

God bless us, Everyone!

We live our lives like there are no consequences to our rampant incivilities.

A simple test calculating the chance we’ll wind up in Hell might change that. And who wouldn’t welcome even a little more civility?

Because my fear isn’t the results of tests that calculate the chances we’re all going to Hell.

My fear is we’ll all wake up one day and realize Hell’s here.

Related …

The Bible needs exclamation points!!!

Words in Bible but not in my “Last Baby Boomer” book & vice versa

How old will you be in heaven?

Hats in Heaven

Will getting a harp help me get into heaven?

Random thoughts on baseball's longest game & Tin Lizzy lawn care

Looks like it’s yet another day at The Tin Lizzy where it’s just me and Buck — and you know what that means.

Every toilet seat in the building is UP!

Because you just never know …

• I’m about finished with the best book I’ve read in 10 years. It’s “Bottom of the 33rd: Hope, Redemption & Baseball’s Longest Game,” by Dan Barry (2012). I’ve read a lot of great books during that time, but this is the first one since Tony Horwitz’s “Confederates in the Attic” that makes me want to buy by the box to hand out to friends. It’s that good.

• If you happen to see Buck, be sure to tell him how nice The Tin Lizzy lawn looks. It was mowed over the weekend and he takes great pride in its appearance. That’s it in the picture.

• The longest game in professional history happened April 18, 1981, at McCoy Stadium in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, between the Rochester Red Wings and the hometown Red Sox. The game included future Hall of Famers Cal Ripken and Wade Boggs. It was supposed to start at 7:30, but was delayed 30 minutes to correct a lighting malfunction. Once it “finally” got underway, it went for the next eight hours until it was suspended in the 32nd inning at 4:08 a.m. It was so cold that players began burning bats and benches in trash barrels to warm their hands.

• Some day I’m going to take a lawn chair, a blanket, a beach umbrella, spread ‘em all out on the Tin lawn and have a little picnic.

•Pawtucket pitcher Luis Aponte was pulled from the game at 3 a.m. He went home to find his wife was furious and, suspecting he’d been out drinking, wouldn’t let him in. “She said there was no way a stupid baseball game would ever go that late on Easter morning,” he said. Refused entry and with everyplace closed, where did Aponte go? “Back to the ballpark to watch the end of the game.”

• The Tin lawn would make a newsworthy offbeat cemetery for maybe three guys all nicknamed “Slim” or one freakishly tall dude nicknamed “Stretch.”

• My gypsy parking lot book sale can be deemed a success. Sold 14 books and was cheered by all the friendly encouragement.

• You can protest the quarantine closures etc., but you should sign an affidavit stating that if you catch the coronavirus you will agree to not seek treatment in a hospital until those who adhered to recommended considerations have been treated and all the doctors and nurses get to stay home for two weeks until they’re relaxed and caught up on NetFlix.

• It was my turn to pick the movie the other night. I took a chance and picked “Terms of Endearment,” 1983 best picture winner. It was generally well-received. I like it alot. I’d forgotten it was written by “Lonesome Dove” author Larry McMurtry.. I can never think of McMurtry without recalling him saying when he was growing up in West Texas it was so desolate his phone number was 10.

• When Boggs, regarded as a selfish show-boat by Pawtucket teammates, drove in the tying run 21st inning, he said, “There was all this commotion in the dugout. I couldn’t tell if they wanted to hug me for tying the game or slug me for tying the game.”

• Rochester outfielder Dallas Williams set a still-standing record for futility by going 0-for-15 at the plate causing sportswriters to say “he had a whole bad month in one night.”

• For the record, my phone number growing up was 412 561-0410. I still call it once in a while to see who has it now. No one’s ever answered.

• Only 17 fans remained through the entire game. Major League Baseball rewarded them each with lifetime passes to any game. The gesture caused Pittsburgh broadcaster Beano Cook to remark, “Haven’t they suffered enough?’

• After a string of frantic calls, the league president suspended the game after eight hours. The game resumed June 23 with Pawtucket needing just 18 minutes to win in the 33rd inning. Future Met star Bob Ojeda was the winning pitcher; Rochester’s Steve Grilli was the losing pitcher. He’s the father of former Pirate standout Jason Grilli.

• Sorry, this went on a little longer than I expected, but these things happen in bloggin' and baseball. 

How come it took COVID to get to warp speed?

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I think we’re all excited to learn efforts to vanquish coronavirus will now proceed at warp speed because it seems like real action’s about to commence.

Set phasers on disinfect!

It’s all hands on deck. We’re ramping up. Fasten your seatbelts. Get in the fast lane, Grandma … the bingo game is ready to roll!

(Oh, what I wouldn’t give to hear Mike Lange broadcasting a Penguin playoff game tonight!)

One question: What the hell took so long?

I’m not talking about government’s response or lack of preparedness.

I’m talking about the way the pharmaceutical industry conducts business.

How come they’re not always on warp speed?

The most pessimistic speculations say we should have a vaccine — a cure — for COVID-19 in 18 months. And this week we heard Dr. Anthony Fauci say the results of some “highly significant” tests mean it could be ready by January.

That’s good.

But at what speed have our life-saving researchers been operating up ’til now? Because we’ve been dying by the millions from things like cancer, stroke, heart disease, diabetes.

Where’s the warp speed urgency for those deadly scourges?

As many of you are aware, I myself suffer from an incurable disease that degrades my quality of life, makes me sad about the future and fills me with soul-sickening despair every time I look in the mirror.

I’m talking, of course, about male pattern baldness.

I’d think that would be an easy cure if all the baldy researchers pulled together and shared breakthroughs without regard to competitive profit. I mean there are side effects from other drugs that cause hair to grow in remote and unwelcome places.

You mean to tell me if they all pulled together they couldn’t come up with a pill that had forehead effects?

I’m not belittling the coronavirus response. In fact, I’m exalting it.

I read stories where, say, a French firm has a breakthrough and holds a press conference — not to boast, but to share. Then researchers at Pitt take what they’ve learned and build on that.

I realize the suggestion risks getting me labeled a pinko Socialist, but doesn’t that in matters of life-and-death make the most sense? 

I’m not a fan of the movies, but don’t the superheroes save the world after they agree to work together?

If we’re on track to vanquish through teamwork the most horrifying health crisis in 100 years how long would it take researchers to rid the world of hay fever allergies or insomnia or simple chronic halitosis?

Or Sudden Infant Death Syndrome?

What have they been doing prior to shifting into warp drive? Playing Ping-Pong?

It’s like they’ve been living inside stereotypical Far Side cartoon panels.

How about once we put this coronavirus behind us (I say vaccine distribution will begin in mid-September), we have a celebrity telethon where advocates promote why the disease they’re representing should next get the “Operation Warp Speed” treatment. 

Montel Williams could advocate a cure for Multiple Sclerosis; Selena Gomez, Lupus; Pete Davidson, Crohn’s Disease, etc.

Then caring Americans can pledge their dough to prioritize our disease cures.

Me, I’ll take every dollar I have (right now that’s about six of ‘em) and put them all on the need for comprehensive mental health care.

Because it seems to me we’re in a race to see which will wind up being the more potent killer: COVID or crazy.

Go back to work or stay home? Wear a mask or don’t? Believe Fauci or believe MAGA?

At a time when you’d think we’d find ways to pull together we’re coming apart.

We’re driving one another nuts and we’re getting there at warp speed.

Related …

Martin Shkreli patents the sun

When will I see you again?

“If I should die before I wake …”

COVID now worse than DISCO