I am so tired of writing about, talking about, thinking about, hearing conflicting stories about — COVID-19.
“So, write about the Kardashians,” my brother, Ron, told me. “They are a simple lot in life and that should be easy for you.”
Did he just insult me?
“They?” I asked. “I thought it was just Kim?”
Apparently there is a Kim Kardashian, a Kloe(?), a Dancer, a Donner, a Comet, a Sneezy, a Doc, and a Grumpy, not to mention a Jenner or two involved.
“Dang, brother, you know your Kardashians, don’t you?” I asked, expecting to get a “talking-to.”
Like how I never pay attention to popular culture unless I’m making fun of it.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “They’re our royalty.”
God help us.
“Seriously, you say ‘Kardashian’ and you know it’s about someone important,” he said.
You know who’s important to me? The guy who put new tires on my truck and changed my oil. The people who educate our kids.
People like that.
I may not have mentioned this, but my brother once had electro-shock therapy. He might have even had a lobotomy.
I’m pretty sure that’s true.
Seriously, I wouldn’t make this up.
“It was a COVID-19 test,” he corrected me. “Very invasive. And I’ve never had electro-shock therapy. You’re the one who needed electro … ”
See how easy it is to cut my brother off when I write my newspaper column?
Our (The Courier News) Facebook account was “suspended” recently because someone smeared ice cream on their computer screen and made a mess (something like that).
Seriously, it was nothing The Courier News or any of its employees, or sub-contractors, or subsidiaries did.
Some random dude at Facebook was laid off and pressed some keys and made bad coffee and then left and now they can’t find his card key to the bathroom and everyone is standing in a line with their legs crossed, until they can fix this little glitch in their system.
I do love technology.
A dear friend of mine sent me a meme showing a guy looking out a window: “Day Six of no sports on TV. Watched birds fight over worms. Cardinals lead blue Jays 3-1.”
I love it, can’t help it. Wouldn’t want to if I could. It’s just one of those things. It has made my baseball-less spring bearable.
I am not what you would call a real active person on the weekends.
I work. I read. I watch baseball (or did). I eat. I play with my dogs. I sleep.
But this social distancing thing is really getting to me. I mean, what if Sigourney Weaver asked me to a party?
“Sorry, love to smooch with you as an after-party favor (because I am sooooo hot), but social distancing does not allow that. Sincerely, Me.”
Can you imagine that?
Man, Sigourney would be so upset.
I mean, I’ve already turned down a morning run to the Waffle House from Susan Sarandon because she wanted to go “early Tuesday morning, after we woke up.”
Shoot, Tuesday is my press day and I don’t care how early she wakes up, it’s still a trip and-a-half to California to pick her up. I mean, if she were coming to pick me up, that’s one thing.
But still, Tuesday? Ain’t going to happen.
Oh yeah, Susan was beside herself with disappointment.
I could tell because she didn’t answer my calls.
And are we so starved for real-life one-on-ones with people that it reflects in our sleeping?
Consider this dream I had the other night after I saw Carol Moore’s Facebook post concerning social distancing and planting chestnut trees. Long story short, that night I dreamed I was invited to speak at a birthday party for Barry Thacker (founder of the Coal Creek Watershed Foundation, legend, rival for the smooches of Sigourney Weaver — though I have no proof YET), and I was the keynote speaker.
In my dream all I could worry about was taking my hands out of my pockets before I spoke — and you know how dreams are, the more you try, the less likely it’s going to happen.
But I was spared because Mr. Thacker was asked to stand on a table and sing a Christmas song in Welsh.
Which he did, and while he sang he jumped up and clapped his hands.
I’m serious about this. I actually dreamed this.
“Dream” may not be the right term.
It was very disturbing.
But I know things are returning to normal because I received, just this past week, a press release titled, and I kid you not, “Jim Carrey overtakes Nicholas Cage as the world’s most deepfaked celebrity.”
I don’t even know what this means.
But I did get this press release as sure I dreamed about Barry Thacker’s shenanigans in the Welsh language (which, I’m sure he was passing on secret love tomes to Sigourney or Susan), so I know this is a sign.
See folks, if someone, somewhere, is being paid (please God, they didn’t do this for free, did they?) to send out press releases about deepfaked celebrities … And Barry Thacker is dancing ...
Hey, we’re going to be okay. Sigourney and Susan are going to be a little let down. But hey, we all have to do our part.
“You still spoke about the coronavirus,” my brother said. “Sorta like.”
Man, I thought I cut him out.
Stay safe folks, and wash those hands.