Roller coaster withdrawal—I have it

The very last time I squeezed my big, fat, oversized body into the seat of a roller coaster car was waaay back in early January. If memory serves, that ride was either Goliath or Full Throttle out at Six Flags Magic Mountain. SFMM, as it's known among fellow park and coaster enthusiasts, is my home park. Like all other parks in the state, SFMM has been closed since mid-March due to the COVID-19 situation. (Knott's Berry Farm down in Buena Park recently had a food tasting event in the Ghost Town area of the park, but no rides were open. I didn't attend this event, but from what I know, face coverings were required and social distancing measures were taken.)

With local parks closed, there haven't been any roller coasters open, so no one's been able to take a ride. Strangely, parks have reopened in other states. Guests' temperatures are taken before entry, and everyone older than two years old is required to wear a face covering while in the park. Everyone must observe social distancing guidelines. Queue areas have been set up with markers to keep people apart, and seating on ride vehicles has been modified to limit contact. These measures do reduce capacity. But at least people can still go and enjoy the parks. Interestingly, some of these other states have had high infection rates, but went ahead with reopening amusement parks anyway.

Then there's California. While I agree that we should not just haphazardly throw open the doors and resume business, we should be able to do so carefully as other states have. Parks were set to open on a limited basis in July (I know SFMM was going to use a reservation system), but that never happened for some reason.

I really shouldn't have to explain that this isn't about Eric not getting his beloved coaster rides...*BOO HOO HOO HOO!!1!*. There are 40 million others in the state who also want to get back out to pick up and resume their lives. I guess the big question is how are other states able to reopen and California is not? Is it because of our huge population? Number of COVID-19 cases? Some of each? In the end, the final say in the matter lies with Governor Newsance. But who knows what a different governor would have done? We just have to wait for an all-clear from health officials and the government.

Whether I get to climb aboard a coaster any time during what's left of this year remains to be seen. I'd sure like to. But we'll see.

YAAARD work!?!?!

Back when I was but a wee li'l boy kid, the worst thing ever—or so we thought—was having Dad tell us that we couldn't go out to play because there was work that needed to be done in the back yard. Whenever Dad had us get out the yard tools, I always thought, "YAAARD work!?!?!" And, hence, the title of today's post.

"YAAARD work!?!?!" meant weeds to be pulled, grass to be mowed, leaves to be raked, and all of it had to be put in the trash barrel. In Los Angeles, there were no city-issued yard waste bins back in those days. And working hard out in the hot sun was definitely no fun in the summer. For even less fun, my older brother and I got to do this work. I don't recall my sisters or younger brother being made to be a part of this forced manual labor brigade, but I could be wrong.

What's kind of funny is how I despised having to do this kind of work when I was growing up. It wasn't just because the work was tedious and boring. It was also because it took us away from what we really wanted to do, which was playing with our friends or going somewhere.

During the years in between growing up and when we rented a house, I didn't do any yard work because we didn't have a lawn. At the house we rented during most of the '90s, we had a small front and back yard to mow, rake and trim. It always felt good to get out there and do a little work. The yards looked so good all neatly mowed, and the smell of freshly mown grass was a nice perk.

Fast forward to now. We have weeds to be pulled, grass to be mowed and leaves to be raked. It has to be put in the barrel, but we have a city-issued yard waste barrel that is collected every Thursday along with the regular trash and the recycle barrel (every other week).

Whenever it's time to mow the lawn or do a little trimming, the words, "YAAARD work!?!?!" don't come to mind anymore. It feels good to be outside and give your yard something of a makeover. I have a corded electric mower that does a good job. It never needs gasoline and oil. It's not as loud as a gasoline mower and never puts out any smoke. The only negative thing is that I have to mind the cord or I'll run over it and the blade will cut the cord and everything shuts off. Without a cord, none of my yard tools work because all of them are electric. And I don't like having to stop everything for an impromptu trip over to Home Depot for a new cord. How do I know this? We'll just say that I have a little, um, experience...

Earlier today when I went out in front to get the mail, I took a good look at my front yard and realized that I've been putting off a session of yard work that desperately needs to happen. If I can get my body to cooperate, then I'll get out my tools and go at it. The weather is just right now, which makes it all the better.

Let's get ready to RRRAMBLE!!!

Given that I've been cranking out blog posts as of late like Ma churnin' butter down on the farm, you could come to the conclusion that either: A) I'm incredibly bored; B) I have a lot to say; C) I'm stuck at home; or D) All of the above. If you chose D, you're absolutely correct! Should I write for the sake of writing, or because there's something that I want to discuss? Eh, I'll just keep going. Something will fall into place or off of a shelf. You never know...

Like regular people, I have some things that could be classified as "nitpicks"─you know, those little things that bug you to the point of having a fit and embarrassing yourself if you don't get a grip on them. My own list is kind of long, but I mostly keep it under my hat. (That's probably why I have a bald spot.) Writing a post here about that list of peeves might make me feel good to get it off of my chest, but would probably make anyone who read it close the page and run out into the street, screaming into the night. (With that reaction, maybe I should wait till late October when people are doing that anyway for Halloween.)

OK, so nix on the nitpicks. When you think and stop about it, who really likes to read about things that annoy someone else? They tell their tale; the longer it goes on, the whinier it gets. Just toss 'em a hunk of cheese so they can have it with their whine. Hide their car keys so they can't think and drive.

It's a warm Friday night out here on the coast. The house is quiet. Diana's doing her artwork, Chimi is chowing down in his cage, and I'm writing and trying to make sense. I think tomorrow will be a yard work day. While I'm pushing my corded electric lawn mower─and hopefully NOT tripping over the big fiberglass rock─I'll let any thoughts I have run freely through my head so I will come up with more to write. Stay tuned...

The write time and place to right

Believe it or not, I have actually been asked when and where I write my blog posts. I'm not sure why anyone would need to know that─let alone want to know. Everyone already knows why I write (it's a creative outlet) and how I write (fairly straight forward with a twist of cuckoopants crazy). To be honest, I needn't disclose anything about this planet that I've called home for so many years. Not even where the 7-Eleven is.

When all is said and dumb, there is no rhyme or reason to putting a post together. An idea floats into my head and is quickly assaulted by the TSA to assure that anything trying to enter isn't carrying more than 3.4 oz. of intelligence or common sense, and has a valid Real ID. We certainly wouldn't want anything capable of showing signs of common sense or producing chuckles, snickers, guffaws or all-out laughter to get in here. Nor do we want anything that might cause liquids to suddenly and rapidly exit the body through the nose with a giggle or a snort. (That happened once back in the '70s, but we don't talk about it much.)

Anyone who's been reading my recent posts may have noticed that while I do write some...interesting...stuff, I have also taken a look at some of the real stuff going down as of late. This world is most certainly changing─and not for the better. There are people who have chosen to destroy what has taken so long to build just to suit their very misguided ideas as to what society should be. The racial protests do need to happen because one segment of our society has received less than dignified treatment for far too long. Such protests need to be peaceful, however. Some folks have chosen to destroy property and hurt or kill innocent people in the process. That's overstepping the line and does nothing good. And such actions may even go so far as to undo any positive accomplishments that were made. Writing about this brings it to the forefront of things to think about─and to talk about and take productive action. I'm not the most knowledgable person when it comes to writing about social or political issues, but I do what I can.

By the way, to answer the main topic of today's post, I write when something is knocking at the door to my mind, and I choose to answer that door. (If it's that woodpecker again, I just slam the door in its face. If the beak gets stuck, TOUGH!) As of late, I write while sitting in the family room under the skylight. It's a very comfortable place to be and quite conducive to reading and writing. And it's only a few steps from the kitchen.

2020: two-thirds down but plenty more to go

As we all know, the year 2020 has turned out to be something of a catastrophe. The COVID-19 pandumbic that has gripped the world and turned it on its edge (yes, the world has an edge─in a figurative sense, anyway) hasn't helped matters. This crazy, cockeyed, cuckoopants disease has made short work of messing things up. Who knows where we're headed? And how long is this going to continue?

Two-thirds down means that we still have four months to go. A lot can happen in those four months. We have the big holidays coming (Christmas and Thanksgiving). The Summer Olympics have been delayed till next year. And we have an upcoming Presidential election that's going to be...interesting.

In optometrist-speak, "2020" (correctly written as "20/20") refers to perfect vision. At my last appointment, my optometrist said my vision was at 20/30─not too shabby for a sugar-challenged person such as myself. Maybe that means 2030 will be my year. We'll see if I'm still around then. If so, I'll be 70 and will probably still be driving my then 28-year-old Honda. I'll be in my 22th year of writing this blog, and my readership should double to about four.

But where will the world be then? The way things have been going this year, our entire country will lie under the rubble of destroyed buildings; COVID-25 and COVID-28 pandemics will ravage the nation; and the world will run out of chocolate.

For the remainder of 2020, I've set a few goals for myself that are somewhat attainable. In no particular order, first, I need to get back to work. Job openings are slowly coming back and I should be able to find...something. Second, I need to lose a lot of weight. At my doctor appointment last week, I tipped the scale─over─at 265 lb(!). That's the most I've ever weighed, and it's not good. I owe it to not moving around enough or going anywhere. With so much closed, I can't really go anywhere, but none of us can either. Third, my doctor recommended and I got an approval from my health insurance to begin seeing an endocrinologist to try and figure out why I'm having issues with balance and light-headedness. In general, I'm kind of a mess right now and I need to get it cleaned up before someone steps in it.

I've picked on 2020 because so much bad stuff has gone on this year. The health issues began prior to 2020, so I can't blame the year for those. However, aside from what I mentioned above, I will continue writing whatever I can, whenever I can. We'll get through everything, and will likely emerge even stronger.

You learn something new every day

Who on earth would have guessed that this lean, mean oversized, sugar-challenged, belly-jiggling, body-dragging writing machine did not like to write at one point in his existence? Maybe no one who reads this blog, but them's the facts, folks. So what life-changing event could have possibly occurred that would have completely turned this guy's life upside down? I'll get to that eventually, and you will eventuallyer. I know I've mentioned this a few times over the course of writing this blog. But to date I have never devoted a post exclusively to this fact. So here goes...

Waaay back in the '70s when I was but a mere student in the Los Angeles Unified School District (LAUSD), we received writing assignments from our teachers as did school kids since time began. No one was exempt. At that time, personal computers and printers didn't exist as they do now, so we had two choices: use a typewriter or write out assignments in longhand, no doubt using our finest cursive script. My own script was among the unfinest in the land, so I actually went back to printing around fifth grade. Strangely, none of my teachers ever said anything.

However, there was the occasional teacher who told us to write a XXX-word paper about some obscure historical event, and we were required to write it by hand   no printing or typing allowed. Pure drudgery. And your essay had better not have had fewer than the required amount of words or your grade would suffer. Sometimes I couldn't write enough to fulfill the requirements because I couldn't think of enough or there just wasn't enough to write. So much stress and agony for something that doesn't matter anyway. Can you see why writing was far and below my least favorite thing to do in school?

Many years later, I read a book (the title escapes me) that was essentially the author's daily journal kept during his junior year of high school as an assignment in one of his classes. After reading this book, I thought, why don't I try to keep a journal for a year? For Christmas, I received one of those blank Hallmark books that were designed for just that purpose. My journal began on January 1, 1989. Each day, I recorded what I did, any dreams I had, my work day, and any other significant info like noteworthy things I did or places I went. It just so happens that in August of that year, we learned that we were expecting a child. When 1989 was over, I continued writing my own journal. The 1990 journal covered our move to a larger apartment (well, our family was growing), Diana's birth and first Christmas. Continuing the journal into 1991 was a no-brainer. Many noteworthy things were recorded over the years.

Eventually the journal was kept in Microsoft Word on a computer and kept going till 2006 when I went to Walt Disney World and then found myself in the hospital. By then, I was too sick to keep it going. I did miss updating it for awhile, but managed to put it out of my mind.

Or did I?

A few years later, I learned that one of my friends had her own blog. Terri gave me the website where her blog is based, so I looked it up and found out that it's a Google application, and free. I wasted no time in getting my own page, and all I had to do was...create my blog.

Eleven years later, I haven't looked back.

I don't know what I would do now if I had nowhere to write. In many ways it's been therapeutic. A few people have told me that this creation of mine brings a little joy into their lives. And I have some good fun writing it. As my last few posts have indicated, I'm not as well as I'd like to be. Such are the consequences of chronic diseases. All I can do is the best I can do. I'm 61 now. Let's see if I can still be doing this at 70 or even 80. Y'never know...

Why are we yelling at one another?

Most of us are human; that is, we occasionally make mistakes, be it verbal, a misaction of some sort, or just about anything else. We're not perfect; not one of us is.

Most people are able to let go of a minor slip in judgment, intent, language or most anything else on the part of another who errs in some way. Such folks are kind and understanding and generally all around nice.

Enter "Karen." Not an actual person, but a persona that has sprung up in current culture. A "Karen" is a stereotypical nasty, complaining woman who isn't happy unless she's yelling at someone because she's not getting her way, usually in a public setting like at a grocery store, shopping mall, traffic/transit, etc. Sadly, innocent children aren't exempt from the wrath of a "Karen." Oftentimes any children involved are "Karen's" own. Men are not exempt from the "Karen" stereotype, and may also be referred to as a "Karen," but increasingly, I'm hearing the term "Ken" used instead. That's fine with me because I worked with a guy named Ken at my last job and he fit the image to a tee.

A little note before I go on: for the rest of this post, when I mention "Karen," I'm including "Ken," too. It'll save time, repetition, your nerves and repetition.

But stereotypes aside, there's a deeper issue here─why are we yelling at one another in the first place? Easy. It's a means of getting the attention that some of us need because apparentlly we didn't get enough as children. It's really a form of bullying. The louder you are and the harder you push increases the odds of getting what you want, whether you rightfully deserve it or not. Like bullies, Karens tend to target those who cannot fight back─people of physically smaller/weaker stature, employees who would lose their job if they confront a customer, someone who's disabled, and so on.

It is indeed a victory when a Karen is shut down. Not because s/he was defeated, but because what was right most likely prevailed over the probably unreasonable demand that Karen had. While it is normal to blow off some steam by yelling at someone who may deserve it, learning to let go of things that won't matter in an hour would benefit all of us in the long run. If all of us─Karens and Kens included─would simmer down and take a deep breath, we all just might enjoy life a little more.

Tipping the scales...over

I'll get straight to the point. If this worldwide COVID-19 pandumbic were a food, it would be best described as:

"You're a three-decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce!"

Recognize those words? Yes, from How the Grinch Stole Christmas. A very adequate description, I'd say.

So where might I be going with this, you fear. Weight! I have an idea. In my last post, I didn't give out too many details about my visit to the doctor. Doctors can't give out details about patients because of a privacy act called HIPAA. (Google that for more details. If I get into the habit of explaining such minutiae, my blog will become a laughingstock.) But since I'm the patient in question (a questionable patient?), then I can blab all I want.

When we visit the doctor, we all look forward to stepping on the scale so the nurse can record our weight. I always joke that she should just slide the weight all the way to the highest notch to save time. However, once she slid and adjusted the weights, then figured in the tax and tip, my total was a mind numbing 265─the highest amount of poundage this body has EVER weighed!

I could blame the COVID-19 situation. I could blame Diana for working in retail. I could blame Chimi because he's soft and fluffy. But the real culprit is yours truly. Get up, get out, get busy, get moving. Easier said than done, though. Why? Because I have many other issues. Getting back my physique and looking like Adonis again is going to be a project akin to Metro getting all of their rail projects done in the Los Angeles area. This is why I will be seeing a specialist in the near future.

In the meantime, getting out and walking, even if it's one or two trips around the block is a start. It's a new month, so it's time for a new attitude. And it's time to quit moving my mouth and start moving the old body. If I can get that 265 down to 150, I'll be much better off. I don't have to wait for COVID-19 to go away to take better care of myself.