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Monthly Archives: March 2020

I post this image/poem despite huge worry about being misunderstood. It seems obvious to me that it is meant as anti-Trump political commentary, and meant to raise awareness of the criminally misleading messages Trump had for the citizens of the United States in the first crucial weeks of the US outbreak–but people are sick and dying EVERYWHERE, and this may seem insensitive. I regret that I find it necessary.

A friend my age has a nephew who informed him some days ago that the COVID-19 was referred to among millennials as “Boomer remover.” Since I was born in 1954, right in the thicket of Boomer births, that struck a nerve, then a chord, and this poem/image happened.

Heaven knows I wish this pandemic weren’t happening. Since it is, though, I’m determined to a) live through it, and b) not cause anyone to NOT live through it. Raising awareness via this card is a (howbeit remote) chance to help “flatten the curve.”

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THIN That Herd

Typhus strep and tetanus all tend to dine & dash
Hepatitis C may choose to have much less panache
Influenza scleroderma–and a touch of choler
Nestles in our systems like an evil Michael Pollard

Last ironic note: The United States of America has been grappling with another issue of epidemic proportions: that of rampant obesity. A healthy and non-fatal way to “thin that herd” is with controlled, sensible weight loss. Tighten Your Belts,. Friends!!

 

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There’s a plan this evening for my former wife Joni and our daughter Kate to bring me a green corn tamale with green sauce from La Piñata, a restaurant we’ve frequented since last century.

Kate will knock on my apartment door. I will wait ten seconds, then open the door. Kate and I will wave to each other, and then she’ll get back in the car with Joni while I take the meal they brought me inside.

Until this crisis is over, we must be ultra-cautious. We want to stay alive.

And yet two weekends ago there was a barbecue in the South where no restrictions applied. And just yesterday law enforcement had to chase thousands off a Florida beach.

Americans have been badly misled by our 45th President, Donald Trump. His ill-chosen words–“new hoax!” among many–lulled the US into inaction at a crucial time. Yet he still feels entitled to point his finger at a journalist and say “You’re a terrible reporter” when the reporter invited him to say something to reassure the American people.

HE is terrible. He should not be President. He should be behind bars for, at the very least, reckless endangerment which is costing lives.

Mis Led

Megadeaths will seal the deal

If/Thens à la Jordan Peele

See us lack both Sword and Shield

Are YOU on a journey? Of course you are. You’re on several. Each day is one. Each year, each relationship, each there&backagain.

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You may have heard that sometimes you choose the journey, and sometimes the journey chooses you. But please let me commend the final couplet to a Theodore Roethke villanelle to you:

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

I learn by going where I need to go.

I have been living alone for going on five years, and working for a restaurant for more than four, so it is cost-effective for me to do cooking for one. But just this March the procurement of ingredients has become more problematic. There’s been unbelievable panic-buying at Phoenix-area grocery stores due to the Coronavirus, and I found out when I went shopping today that not only were people buying the shelves bare of toilet paper and hand sanitizer, but gone also were eggs, bread, peanut butter…and RUSSET POTATOES?? And yet, at the Sprouts where I shopped, they had a fully stocked meat section, and plenty of yams. They also had some of my favorite potatoes, those funny-looking little purple ones. I bought a bag of those, a nice 9-ounce sirloin, an outrageously-priced semi-loaf of sourdough bread, about a pound of steel-cut oats, and a half gallon of 1% milk.

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A new sign along the Sprouts aisles told customers that due to the shortages they could not guarantee the quality of the merchandise. So I made sure to hand-scrub the bejabers out of the potatoes. I caught some of the water I’d rinsed them in, and the potato skins had imparted a lovely Virgin-Islands-tidepool blue to the water.

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The water I boiled the potatoes in was a different story, though. Rich forest green.

I thin-sliced half the sirloin just as if I were slicing a tomato. The other half I salted, peppered, and wrapped in aluminum foil for a midday meal tomorrow.  Sautėed my slices in salted butter, ladled the slices on paper towel and then onto the plate, and took this picture after condimenting the meal with butter, sour cream, ketchup, and minced ginger:

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My beverage was a 22-ounce can of Sapporo Premium Beer. I would cheerfully and with great gluttony have cut up the rest of the steak and more potatoes, eating twice as much, but I have a feeling we’ll all be tightening our belts, right soon.

 

 

 

Artists will tell you that their creations “talk” to them. And my experience has been that with many of the things I make, it feels more like a collaborative effort than something entirely my own.

So it is with this series. The woman I am drawing has been at me to let her be more herself. Let the look, the conversation, and the philosophy be less me and more her.

Weird, isn’t it?

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