Tornado season
Swirling thoughts leave a trail of debris and damage...
It’s tornado season in the Heartland and it’s tornado season in my brain. Thoughts spin out of control, leaving a path of emotional destruction in their wake. Time for some rebuilding, for demonstrating some resilience.
First things first, though, to anyone dealing with the aftermath of or who is perpetually prepared for an actual tornado, I send every good thought your way.
Second things second, a collection of the rubble left by the thought storms in my brain:
As summer approaches and temperatures warm up, I wonder—as I seemingly do every year—why is it so hard to find women’s shorts with an inseam longer than three inches? Men’s shorts have a multitude of advanced properties, like 17-way stretch, adjustable length, chameleon colors, pockets big enough to hold a cellphone, wallet, and a case of cold beer, can go from the beach to dinner, dry in seconds, and as a bonus they have a cool, compression short liner. Women’s shorts are micro. Same coverage as your average “granny panty” only with an inner “pocket” for a single credit card. You’re on your own with your car keys. And fuggedabout your cellphone. Lord knows I’m neither a seamstress nor a fashionista, but I am confident that I could design a line of shorts for women that are both age and gender appropriate, stylish, functional, and flattering. These micro-shorts are bullsh-t.
As much as I love when Canadian hockey fans belt out O Canada before games, I’m also glad I don’t have to hear the Toronto contingent sing it again. And a game like Game 2 last night is something I hope to never see again. Go Bs.
Speaking of other countries, and I don’t want to get too political here, but I need to comment on a few things about the pro-Palestine protesters—and up front I will say I am woefully uneducated on the details, intricacies, and nuances of the issues (and am open to reading a good unbiased book on the matter if anyone has any recommendations). Anyhow, for starters, I take issue with people calling protesters “leftists.” What does that kind of vague generalization mean? Surely they’re not all Democrats, so it can’t meant that, right? I’d argue against assigning them any broad sociopolitical identity based solely on the fact that they are protesting this issue in this fashion. I heard one pundit call them overprivileged leftists, but then wondered: How do you know who they all are? Though, in fairness, I’ll give them this—the PhD student at Columbia who called for “basic humanitarian aid” to be delivered to the students who voluntarily barricaded themselves in a building on campus definitely came across as overprivileged. But leftist? How would I know that based on that request alone? Hungry? Walk to the dining hall for chrissakes. I wonder whether all of them even know what they protest and how can anyone donning a hard hat and a gas mask can claim that they plan to peacefully protest. And on’t get me started on the claims that the Israelis are carrying out Palestinian “genocide.” The Jews know what real genocide is. I know innocent people are being killed. But as I see it, it’s not genocide. Also, given how these “leftists” are behaving, it tracks that they would all be supporters of the Cheeto—decidedly *not* leftist. That said, I think this is what the Trump presidency taught America, that violence and petulance and doing whatever the f-ck you want whenever you want it, without worrying about facts or feelings other than your own is what it takes to “make America great again.” I think that kind of behavior is both n-American and not ok. To be clear: what happened on October 6 is not—nor will it ever be—ok. And sweeping unfounded generalizations are to be avoided at all costs. What a f-cking mess.
But while I am speaking of politics (and f-cking messes), I’m not convinced that the worm RFK, Jr. is claiming died in his brain is actually dead. Seems quite likely that the worm is voraciously chomping its way through Bobby Jr.’s gray matter as I type, very-hungry caterpillar style.
Seeing Marjorie Taylor Greene getting rid of Speaker Johnson is a classic case of deja vu all over again. 🤦🏼♀️ (Speaker McCarthy anyone?)
Sometimes I feel like a mushroom cloud and a very linear, organized, and clean world. Kind of disorienting.
I don’t remember the exact context for this one but the other day I heard someone say that “the optics of (whatever)” were really bad. When “the optics” of something are really bad it’s because the associated reality is also really bad. Can’t put lipstick on a pig. Well, you can, but then all you have is a pig with lipstick. Not sure why people act surprised when the optics of a sh-tstorm even remotely resemble a steaming pile of sh-t.
Anyhow, speaking of sh-t, I have a (weird) tic about people gingerly carrying bagged dog poop, happily swinging it in step with their walk as if it were, well, something fun. I know I have a disproportionate negative reaction to it…but I swear to God yesterday I passed a lady walking a cat-dog and whatever was in the poop bag was bigger than the actual dog at the end of the leash. I sh-t you not. (Rimshot. Here all week. Try the veal.)
Speaking of dogs, when your dog actually is on a leash that’s great, but when the leash is long enough that it can—and you let it—roam far from you such that it can, say, jump on other people or barrel into the side of my leg when I pass by, uh, you might as well just let the beast roam free. Seriously, my knee buckled. His handler was sorry. I was annoyed.
Speaking of getting hit by things, last week I mentioned I was following the Karen Read trial. Seven days in and the prosecution has proven nothing that even remotely confirms that she hit John O’Keefe with her Lexus SUV and left him in the snow to die. What a circus. Day 5 of testimony focused a lot on evidence collection “techniques” employed at the crime scene—techniques that involved using a leaf blower, borrowing red solo cups (for scooping and storing blood-drop snow cones), and a brown paper Stop & Shop bag (for storing said snow cones). All I could think of was the Toby Keith song, “Red Solo Cup”. “Red Solo cup, I fill you up, let’s have a party.” Only in my mind it became “Red Solo cup, I fill you up, let’s move a body.” For the record, if ever there’s a (dead, well, an almost-dead) body on my lawn AND I’m innocent, I’m coming out of the house and I am talking to the cops. The OJ trial has nothing on this one. For real.
Speaking of the Karen Read trial, I was called to report for jury duty in February and I had to postpone on account of the fact that I was going to be in Florida at the time; I put it off until Fall. Hindsight being 20/20, maybe if I had pushed it out a month I’d have been seated for this one—leaving me to winder whether getting selected would’ve been the absolute perfect way for me to spend my unemployment. We’ll never know—so you’re stuck with me.
Speaking of trials, the judge in that Idaho murder trial is named John Judge. Judge Judge. 🤣🤣🤣 (It really is the little things for me.)
Looping back to me and my walks…it was kind of ironic that that lady who almost ran me off the walking path the other day was talking about the Bible as she barreled past.
Here’s a random (not scientific) observation about roadside trash. The number one discarded item is nip bottles, number two is those plastic “Plackers,” and, in a very distant third place is cigarette butts. Give a hoot. Don’t pollute. Never be a dirty bird.
Speaking of birds, I feel my dad’s spirit in birds, most strongly in hawks. (That’s a long story, maybe for another time.) Anyhow, I’ve been thinking of him a lot lately, for a lot of reasons, but definitely in part because I have seen a lot of birds on my walks lately.
Seen around town, own foot: Cardinal, American Goldfinch (?), Red-winged Blackbird, White Heron (?) Speaking of my dad and me out walking, the other day I passed an Edible Arrangements van and saw a driver making a delivery…triggering an instant flashback to the days after my dad died, when delivery after delivery of fruit bouquets arrived at my mom’s door…because nothing says “I’m sorry” like a cantaloupe flower on a stick.
Speaking of sticks, let’s stick with the subject of dad…his birthday (his 83rd, but the last one he lived to celebrate was his 73rd) was this past Tuesday (May 7th). As I was thinking about and missing him, I was wrestling with the contradictory truths that he’s with me all the time yet his absence has left a perpetual gaping hole in my existence. Always here, never here. That’s sometimes hard to reconcile. We went to his favorite pizza place Tuesday night, the one he and my mom went to every Thursday after his hockey game, and celebrated with pizza and beer. It’s a great way to have fun remembering him.
Coincidentally, yesterday I went to Pilgrim Arena, the place where he played hockey 2-3 times a week, to get Kerri’s skates sharpened, and so I enjoyed a quiet moment while I waited, just kind of feeling his presence there. I could picture him moving about, carrying his bag…tapping on the glass as he skated by during warmups…I love remembering him like that, happy…in his element…alive…sigh…
Speaking of yesterday (May 8th), it was my dad and mom’s 59th wedding anniversary. It’s rough having those two milestone events on back-to-back days. Even almost 10 years later, it’s still a lot. Obviously, he can’t celebrate it but it’s still a special day for my mom. So she, my aunt, and I went (to Costco and then) out to lunch where we ate good food, drank good drinks, and toasted their marriage. It was a great day. ❤️
Speaking of my mom…my middle niece is out of the country for a special college program and before she left my mom asked her if she had a charge card to take with her. My niece looked at her with a confused stare and said “I don’t know what that is.” My sister chimed in: “credit card.” And we all had a good laugh. Which escalated when we recalled a very similar exchange they had a few years ago, when my niece was visiting, it was cooler than expected, and my mom asked her if she had packed “dungarees.” The generation gap is real, and it can be funny.
I think I get this from my mom so I’ll talk about it here. I’m the kind of person who flips the bottles (of shampoo, body wash, etc.) over to get every last bit out of them before they get recycled. But this situation with the toothpaste is next level. Pic on the left is from April 21st, when the average person might have deemed the tube empty. Pic on the right is from yesterday (May 8th), after I conceded. (P.S. Best gadget ever.) (P.P.S. Never give up.) (P.P.P.S. It’s not over ’til it’s over.) 🤣
The other day when I was walking I randomly heard back-to- back songs with an overlapping mini-theme. First “Don’t Matter Now” by George Ezra, containing the lyric “shut the door, unplug the phone” and then “Vienna” by Billy Joel including this one: “Slow down you crazy child, take the phone off the hook, disappear for a while.” I took some time to think about this seeming coincidence…and for me the words tell me to focus on shutting out the external noise, being in the moment, not pushing for change I can’t make.
Speaking of “Vienna”, hearing it got me thinking about a great cover of it (which I first mentioned here), which inspired me to make a playlist of emo covers by men, so I started one yesterday, and this is it. At first I was thinking covers (by men) of songs originally sung by women, but that feels too limiting, so I did open it up to originals done by men…but I’m leaning toward this one being exclusively male voices, because men and emo sometimes are a nice juxtaposition. Though I’m open to changing my mind, so feel free to make a case.
Send me any contributions you have by replying to this as an email if that’s how you get it, commenting, or DMing me. I’d love to hear your suggestions. (FWIW I’d put “Linger” by Royel Otis on it if I could but that’s not on Spotify rn.)
The Sunday Scaries hit different when I’m out of work compared with when I’m employed in some capacity. Who knew angst came in so many forms and variations?
I don’t like when media companies regurgitate old stories with no context or anything but this one in The New Yorker from 2023 about the death of the English major (the subject not the person) caught my eye and then took up temporary residence in my brain. Maybe it’s (part of) why I can’t get a job—critical thinking and generalism have fallen out of favor. (P.S. I have an MBA if it helps.)
I’ve been trying to do some professional development and taking some (free) online classes…this was one of the “expert instructors.” Guess you get what you pay for. 😂😂😂 (Button up, buddy.)
I think that going out with my laptop and working someplace else (not in the house) might unlock something within me, if not unlock an opportunity for me. I felt this when I was tapping away from the waiting area at Sullivan Tire and think there might be something to it. But where will I go? (And don’t suggest a local brewery. 🤣) And what will I do, actually? Anyhow I think the impact was two-fold—focus was “forced” and it made me feel “legit.”
Ok, so not to belabor the point about me having no labor to labor over, but I’m definitely out of sorts because of it. What else explains how this happens when I’m out back in the yard on a gorgeous pre-Summer day, in a tank top and shorts, stretched out in the antigravity chair, and have just woken up from a nap? 🤦🏼♀️
I recently heard a news story about the Apple alarm randomly not going off. I don’t even need to get up in the morning and still it gives me anxiety.
I also heard a news story about Ozempic changing people personality and not for the better. Who wants to be a skinny bitch?
Sticking with news stories, Boeing is in the space travel business??? Of course there have been “engineering missteps and close calls” along the way. Of course the latest mission was aborted. What’s the space travel equivalent of “measure twice, cut once”?
Speaking of travel, what is up with all the Americans getting arrested with ammo in their carry-ons in Turks & Caicos??? The reporter commented “what a nightmare.” I’m thinking “how about you don’t break the law”? 🤷🏼♀️ (What hunter carries bullets in a carry on? That doesn’t feel rugged enough. Or actually appropriate. But what do I know?)
I also saw a segment on the Today show about people who want to move up at work but the people who are in the jobs they want won’t leave. Al Roker said something to the effect of “Dylan (Dreyer) knows what that’s like.” At the end of the segment as they were cutting to commercial, Dylan said, half under her breath but through a smile, “I can’t miss you if you don’t leave.” 😂😂😂 (One here in favor of Al retiring. Hell, I’ll host the party if that’s what it takes.)
Speaking of morning shows, here’s feel-good story #1 for you (make time for this one):
And here’s feel-good story #2 (if you can find the time; but not until you watch the one above):
(Make sure you don’t miss the pics from the photo shoot they did together here. Totes adorbs.)
I’m out of control today, and I’m sure I’ve worn out my welcome with you. I’m gonna stop because I realize if I hit three dozen thoughts that’s completely off the rails. Living proof of what happens when there’s a tornado traveling along the synapses. 🤦🏼♀️
Thanks for being here always and for bearing with me today. It was a lot. I can be a lot. I appreciate it, and you, so much.
Happy Friday Eve.
Love you too.