With too many people still refusing to get vaccinated, I may keep isolating, doing my own thing, and thereby obtaining the benefit of nerd immunity.

I just found out, after 15 months of continuous use, that Zoom has a “hide self view” feature, whereby others can see you, but you can’t see yourself, you know, like real life.

The birth year cutoff line for generation Alpha is 2024. Then, apparently, we move on to generation Beta, which seems like an unfair moniker that might cause millions of children to think that they are subservient and weak or merely part of a testing phase previously reserved for firstborns.

The Department of Defense’s Space Surveillance Network is currently tracking about 27,000 officially catalogued objects (space junk), as small as 2 inches in diameter, in orbit around the earth. And the number of discovered near-Earth objects (asteroids or comets that can pass within 30 million miles of earth’s orbit around the sun) is more than 20,000. But sure, there must be hundreds of flying saucers, with little green men inside, eluding us on their nightly spins around the neighborhood.

Before COVID, as my faithful readers (both of you) know, it was not uncommon for me to participate in several, disparate, cultural events in a single day, and find a way to tie them together in a logic-defying exposition.

Then, during the height of the pandemic (before my LEGO epiphany), my routine daily achievements included getting out of bed, eating, and streaming (not necessarily in that order), but not blogging, which led some followers (okay one), concerned about the communication blackout, to worry about my well-being.

I alleviated that disquietude through a chance in-person contact during today’s first big step toward normalcy, as I started this morning by helping to clean the park across the street, for which several passersby thanked me. The adulation was transformative, but not anticipated.

Not knowing in advance how successful my efforts might be, or the boatloads of praise from imperfect strangers that might be forthcoming, and concerned that my return to society be as triumphant as possible, I came out late last night and surreptitiously scattered some of my own garbage in places where only I would look for it.

Not satisfied with that one victory, today’s second adventure involved a visit to a friend’s yard sale, where, after establishing that the yard itself was not for sale, I practiced the essential skill of saying “no” that will become increasingly important as human interactions increase. The parachuting clown was tempting, but I remained strong, and left with all the cash and bitcoin that I brought with me.

Worried that my lack of side effects to the COVID-19 vaccinations may mean that my immune system is underperforming, I’m considering going in for a third shot, despite the fact that neither hypochondria nor paranoia qualifies as an underlying condition.

I had my first mask incident today, not an argument about whether someone should or shouldn’t be wearing one, but rather about my bold choice to wear a white one before Memorial Day.

In the latest step of the sexual revolution, the CDC has announced that it’s okay for small groups of consenting adults to be within six feet of each other without masks on, angering purveyors of the S&M trade, who are concerned about the effect on business if masks are removed.

 

Now that I’ve received a second shot of laced mRNA, it’s time to turn my attention to my next goal in life.

I’ve already made a hole-in-one, albeit on an indoor simulator.

I’ve conquered LEGO, as you all know, though a Master Class might be fun.

I’ve walked around a renaissance fair dressed in medieval garb, eating a very large turkey leg, while people addressed me as Your Majesty.

I’ve learned to play the piano. I can’t actually play, but now I know how to.

I ate a peanut, once. I ice skated, once. I did chair yoga, once.

I’ve been questioned by the FBI. Unrelated to that, I’ve had my picture in the paper.

I’ve burned the hair off the back of my hand with a cigarette lighter, even though I’ve never smoked.

I’m not sure what’s left. I’ve never seen Gone with the Wind. Maybe, looking back on the last year, I’ll enroll in Le Cordon Bleu, to be ready for COVID-22.

According to Lifehack (whatever that is) these are the top ten reasons, with notation added, why New Year’s resolutions fail:

1. “You’re treating a marathon like a sprint.” Speaking from personal experience, doing so in the last two-tenths of a mile of a marathon may result in not being able to walk for a week.

2. “You put the cart before the horse”, and the horse is full of Greek soldiers (1184 B.C.?).

3. “You don’t believe in yourself.” Cogito ergo sum (Descartes, 1637).

4. “Too much thinking, not enough doing.” Back to the ancient Greeks, circa 1988, when Nike, goddess of victory, famously first advised, Just Do It.

5. “You’re in too much of a hurry.” Isn’t that the same as number 1 and the opposite of number 4?

6. “You don’t enjoy the process.” Are we having fun yet? (Zippy the Pinhead, 1979)

7. “You’re trying too hard.” This seems like a red herring. I’ve never met anyone who tried all that hard to keep a resolution.

8. “You don’t track your progress.” How do you expect Fitbit to stay in business?

9. “You have no social support.” Add another Zoom meeting. Have a glass a wine during the call so that you can enjoy the process of tracking your progress, unless the resolution was to give up drinking.

10. “You know your what but not your why.” I don’t know – third base (Abbott and Costello, 1936).

I would add that limiting your number of resolutions helps. Zero is a comfortable goal.

Breathe (in and out), in public, without a mask on
Touch my face, a lot
Hug a random stranger on the street (and then take a 3-hour shower)
Don’t order from Amazon for at least 2 days
Don’t eat my own cooking for at least a year
Burn all my clothes (but remember to take them off first)
Delete my Zoom password
Cancel all fourteen of my streaming subscriptions, unplug my TV, and hide my computer and iPad
Go indoors somewhere other than a grocery store or pharmacy (maybe walk into a bar with a duck and a three-legged dog)
Pay Lacuna, Inc. (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind) to erase my memory of the last 9 months (or better, 4 years, except for the hole-in-one)

Running out of new destinations for my daily Covid constitutional, I walked over to the local Armed Forces Recruitment Center today, but was surprised to find that it was closed, given how many people are out of work. So I couldn’t ask anyone there why they had a sign posted on the window that said No Weapons Allowed. I would think they could save a lot of money on training if they saw the wisdom of bringing in people who were already predisposed to violence.

On the other hand, the nearby public library had no such prohibition posted. I guess they assume that no self-respecting weapons addict would be caught dead, idiomatically, in a library.

A little further down the block there was a large advertisement on the side of a building promoting the services of a doctor in regard to medical cannabis consultations. I mention this only because, by the time I got home, it took me (and my worthless laptop spellcheck) three tries to spell cannabis correctly, and I hadn’t even had a consultation, though I can’t speak for the computer program.