LONGWALKABOUT

I’m getting old. My oldest son went on a southern college tour with my wife this summer. They went to four schools in two states and apparently only had two fights along the way. Not physical fights. My wife would have dominated those. I’m scared of her. You should be too. No, it was verbal sparring. I figured that just two was pretty good seeing as they are virtually the same person. I know that if I was trapped in a car with myself for extended periods of time I would probably get into numerous arguments. But then myself and I would have hashed it all out at a Mexican restaurant. My son is so much like his mom that they even look alike. They have the same nicely tanned Puerto Rican skin. The same eyes and nose. He has many of the mannerisms of my father-in-law. You have no idea how many times I’ve heard these kinds of things as he was growing up.

“Hey Marc, did you have anything at all to do with that kid?”

“Marc, it looks like your wife made him in a lab from her own DNA.”

For all of you who have said that to me over the years,,,,,,,, it’s completely annoying. Like cyclists in the middle of the road. Like all that watery mess that comes out of a mustard bottle before the mustard. Like someone putting a 5PM meeting on your calendar. 

It’s ok, though. I forgive you all. (Not Really)

Before I started rambling my main point was supposed to be that I can’t believe I have a kid old enough to be going to college next year. The only time I feel that old is when my right knee acts up. Hopefully he’ll be ready for the challenge next year. He already is very familiar with Top Ramen and remembers to put deodorant on most days. So we’re off to a good start.

Memes I, umm,,,,,,,, harvested.

I’ll preface this post with the fact that I am emphatically not a city person. My personal space bubble usually extends to somewhere around half a mile. When someone asks if I would like to go to New York my usual response is, “Why? You haven’t smelled urine and three day old garbage in a while?” Now that you know that, I’m going to hit you with conflicting information. I love New Orleans. I am a contradiction seasoned with inconsistency wrapped in a tortilla.

A few years ago my wife had a conference in New Orleans and on the recommendation of some friends, I decided to join her. Since then we’ve been back two more times. I’ve never had a bad time. In a sea of cities that try to be something they’re not (I’m looking at you Philadelphia) New Orleans is comfortable in it’s own skin. It’s completely unique as an American city, having a slightly European feel without the pretentiousness. In 2019 it was reported that one out of every seven adults in the city had a warrant out for their arrest. I admire this group tactic. Like, “What are they gonna do, arrest all of us?” The place has a vaguely lawless undercurrent that stokes a sense of adventure in those comfortable with it.

A lot of places claim to be somewhere you can go and “be yourself.” In The Big Easy that just might be true. I’ve seen well to do party goers dressed to the nines walking barefoot down Canal Street in the rain. I’ve seen out of towners hammered out of their minds on Bourbon Street. I’ve seen drag queens and families and junkies and millionaires. I’ve seen that one dude who dresses like Darth Vader and dances to Cher and Milli Vanilli. No one pays too much attention to any of them and the reason it all works is because it feels like when you enter the city limits, you enter into an unspoken pact to not take life too seriously.

The city has preserved a lot of the feel of the old south, mixed with the Caribbean, mixed with the new south. A subtle magic floats in the humid air. The food is amazing. The people are welcoming. But most of all good music is everywhere. It is the birthplace of jazz, a natural home to the blues, which also originated in the deep south, and a welcoming adoptive home to many other genres, and it is around every corner.

If you’ve never been, it should be high on your list. If you have been, don’t you think it’s time to go back?

Click here for the full Bob Dylan quote. It’s worth it.

In our time on this earth we’ve all had to deal with a lot of nonsense. State run Motor Vehicle Departments, bags of potato chips that come only one third full, tiny rocks that somehow get into our shoes, people who put those really bright blue headlights in their cars. I could go on and on. Ask my wife. In the interest of time and keeping your attention, here is my personal top three.

1. Putting in contacts. I almost lost my mind the first time I tried to put contacts in. For decades I trained myself to not let things touch my eyeballs. Then in one afternoon, I had to teach myself to ignore that training. The contacts stuck to everything but my eye. My finger, my eyelashes, the sink when I dropped them. Every time I thought I had it, I didn’t. According to my family I was ranting and raving like a lunatic. I could hear them laughing at me two rooms away where they felt safe.
2. Pepper stems. The large convenience store chain in my area has decided that they want to prepare all kinds of food for their customers. In fact, they now have a more extensive menu than most diners in my area. I was in there several weeks ago and I swear I heard someone order foie gras. The problem with this is that I’ve always maintained that if your menu is too large it just means that you make a lot of food, not that you make a lot of food well. I knew that this particular chain was going to have problems because back in the day when they mostly made sandwiches, they couldn’t even get that right. Every time I ordered a sandwich it came with at least one pepper stem in it. EVERY. FREAKING. TIME. If you can’t put enough love in a sandwich to remove the pepper stems, I really don’t want you making foie gras.
3. That liquid in the ketchup bottle. Look. When I reach for the ketchup bottle it probably means I’m already pretty excited. There is probably a plate in front of me that contains french fries or onion rings, maybe a hot dog or a burger. I don’t have the time to clear the ketchup chamber of some mystery liquid before I eat. Some people are probably saying to themselves, “He could just store that ketchup upside down. The bottle is kind of designed for that.” NO! I don’t want to have to put that kind of thought into my ketchup. I just want it to be there at the ready when I need the perfect compliment to my waffle fries.

It was really good to get all of this off my chest. I feel a little better. That will last until I have to pick another pepper stem out of my sandwich after having to eat soggy onion rings which will frustrate me so much I’ll forget to wash my hands before putting my contacts in with pepper fingers. What a day that’s going to be.

Yes. It is true. I have vanquished the dreaded coronavirus. If we’re being honest here, it never had a chance.

I would blame my wife for bringing it into our house, but that could be more dangerous to me than the actual virus, so I’m just going to say that I’m not sure where I got it. For four days my body ached, my chest felt like an elephant was sitting on it (not a large elephant, a small, cute elephant), and I suffered from more general malaise than normal. Then, right before Thanksgiving, the worst happened. I lost my senses of smell and taste. Normally I wouldn’t have complained about losing my sense of taste for Thanksgiving. My feelings on the spice quality of Thanksgiving food have been well documented. It is the worst food holiday. I much prefer Cinco De Mayo. But this year we were moving away from traditional “bland Colonial food” as my son calls it. Our menu included eggplant parmesan, spanakopita, pasta, and homemade jamaica juice. I could taste none of it. Don’t get me wrong, I still ate too much. I just chewed and imagined how good it was.

Three days later all of my symptoms except for loss of taste and smell are gone. You’re probably asking yourself, “How did this guy beat the dreaded virus?” Don’t worry, I’m going to tell you. I must preface this advice by telling you that I am not a doctor, so take it with a grain of salt. I am, however really good at Googling things and as a result I have beaten self diagnosed tuberculosis three times. Anyway. Here is my homeopathic prescription to beat the coronavirus. First, order a pizza topped with hot peppers. This pizza must be ordered from a local pizzeria with an Italian name like Guisseppe’s or Geno’s or Enzo’s. Chain pizzerias are much less effective. It is a scientific fact that viruses hate spicy food. Really. I Googled it. Second, I prescribe one bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. This way you will be attacking the virus with one naturally spicy food and one completely unnatural spicy food. Third, you have to watch Rambo First Blood and First Blood Part 2 back to back, preferably finishing the second one sometime after 1 in the morning. These tasks have to be completed in this order. By no means should you involve essential oils. That stuff doesn’t work, and you won’t be able to smell it anyway.

There you have it. A firsthand account of my battle with the dreaded virus, and how I beat it. Knowledge is power.