I am sad and a little cranky.

When I got my first shot of the vaccine, I was waiting the requisite observation time when the reality of the situation hit me: this is a miracle! I smiled broadly enough that the nurse came over to check on me. I told her I was simply amazed that this day had finally arrived. My time expired and I nearly skipped back to the car.

Before I got my second shot, a friend got hers and posted a blurb on FaceBook about how relieved she was, and how happy that so many lives would be saved. “Ouch,” I thought to myself, and scrolled down to view the wreckage--not as much as I expected, but still it was there, the condemnation. I sent her a private message, congratulating her and letting her know, privately, that I shared her appreciation for the marvel of this vaccine. She was surprised at the number of people that did not, revealing that she had also received many private messages castigating her for taking risks with her life. I sighed. 

I got my second shot and was giddy at the prospect of fewer and fewer restrictions. I did not share these details on FaceBook--it was simply not worth the energy or the heartache. Energy in the form of responding to nonsense about the dangerous vaccine, and heartache at being disappointed science had escaped the grasp of so many. 

In the fullness of time, I judged myself fully vaccinated and began resuming social interaction. A small party, breakfast with a beloved neighbor...delights, but there was still a pall of the pandemic; I couldn’t just switch it on and off. Just this past week, we took a short trip to Laughlin. With new advice from the CDC and the fact that Nevada is not California, I finally experienced some normal. Afterward, I realized I was a little blue. We should be celebrating the miracle of this vaccine, shouting from the rooftops, dancing in the streets! So many grandparents saved! So many senseless deaths averted. Post-pandemic life… but we can’t really do that, can we? If I shouted from the rooftop, the fool in the street would shout back: “Put your tinfoil hat back on, you idiot!”

 

Why I don't discuss politics on social media:

Short answer...because I am an elitist.

I can explain, but you probably won't like it.

Buckle up, Buttercup.

I have no problem discussing politics under certain circumstances, like, if you're smart and open-minded. If you're not, you are either a waste of my time, or a waste of yours. From my perspective, there are certain logistical considerations, also. Allow me to walk through them with you.

Who reads my posts? My friends. Collectively, my friends are well above average in intelligence, so, if I were to write my political opinion about a topic, the readers are likely to be above average. Unfortunately, my friends also tend to be kind; kind to others, including stupid people. Without my draconian elitism, my friends might inadvertently share my opinion with stupid people. That is exactly where the problem comes in: when, precisely, do we add the first idiot to the discussion? If you can pinpoint that very moment, exactly, and magically delete my post 5 seconds earlier, oh what a joy social media would be!

(I pause for a chuckle at the almost-smart person catching a glimpse of my text disappearing before their very eyes! Bwahahaha!).

You may ask: why are stupid people a problem? Don't they deserve to be heard and educated? In short, no and no. Deserve to be heard? No, smart people endeavor to engage their brains BEFORE they engage their mouths, (or keyboards). I want intelligent conversation with people that have something to offer. I want to learn, I want to welcome new perspectives and consider things I have not considered before. The same old nattering from CNN or Fox News interests me not at all. I know the party line, an idiot's reinforcement is not appreciated. Deserve to be educated? Perhaps, but not by me. My pay comes in terms of your unique perspective. Without that, if you learn from me, you owe me $5. One never improves his chess game by constantly battling halfwits.

I guess I really didn't answer the question. More to the point, stupid people cheapen the conversation, dragging it down to their level. Yuck. If you waste my time with remedial discussion, we'll never get to truly challenging topics--the kind of thing that would actually keep me from slipping into an intellectual torpor (that leads to decline and Alzheimer's, [personal opinion]). There is an old adage: "Children should be seen, not heard." Have you ever wondered why that was? Buttercup, I'll tell you: it's because kids are stupid. When adults are talking, kids, like stupid people have nothing to offer and their lot in life would be greatly improved by them closing their mouths and opening their ears.

You know, one of the most insidious aspects of social media: it makes you think you are smarter than you are. The proof is everywhere. You know this to be true, and I will readily admit, I am not impervious to it. (I hate myself for it; I must remain vigilant!). I think that is why social media is so addictive--there's this huge dopamine rush that comes from people proving their intellectual inferiority to you. Sadly, I think this effect is more pronounced in stupid people. Have you ever noticed how quickly the comments section deteriorates? At most, you will see one or two useful comments before that first idiot cracks his knuckles and unleashes the demon, Stoopid, all over the screen. Me, reading my FB feed: "That's interesting! Oh wait, comments got stupid." "Hey...oh, nevermind." "Awww..." There are times I wish computers costed $20K each--it might cut down on the riffraff.

The bottom line: I would greatly prefer to see pictures of the fabulous meal you just prepared, or that hysterical selfie of you with your sweet, little Mittens, or even that Garfield rerun about coffee on Mondays or lasagna on the weekend. Just anything except the Red Plate Special or the Blue Plate Special...leave those to the dolts.

I am a handshake person.

This was pointed out to me by several business colleagues. The comment caught me by surprise, as shaking hands is almost instinctive, and I never stopped to observe that other people were not doing it as often. Come to think of it, I initiate the handshake most of the time. 

I can think of no clearer way to communicate, “I respect you,” than to shake hands. When I shake hands at the outset of a meeting, it is, “Welcome, I respect you.” At the end of the meeting, it is, “Thank you for meeting with me, I respect you.” Congratulations, I respect you. When a deal is struck or a bet accepted, Agreed! I respect you and I respect our bargain.

In business, women are sometimes surprised when I offer a handshake. That catches me a bit off guard--again it is mostly instinctive for me, but a little nod of encouragement and a smile has smoothed things over. (I work in an industry where women are often managers, but rarely engineers and almost never the “graybeards.” There are notable exceptions, and I do so enjoy watching the young guns learning about the female graybeards; but I digress). I have never had the opportunity to mentor a young woman in business, but this would be an early lesson.

 If I met a celebrity I respected, I would appreciate a handshake more than an autograph or even a selfie. (The selfie would really be for FaceBook, I suppose, but the handshake would be for me). 

As the Time of Covid progresses, I had my first face-to-face meetings with the new wisdom. It is going to be a problem for me, I’m afraid. Not shaking hands feels a lot like a slight. I tried to mitigate this by pointing out, “I would shake your hand, but we live in a time of plague.” We all understood, but it was vaguely disappointing, and the meeting progressed slower than I expected. I am an old dog and this will be a difficult new trick.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Handshake

Last weekend was Labor Day, and it was surprisingly autumn-like. Every year, there is that first day that heralds summer’s passing. Most often, I notice it in October, but it was early this year. The change is not here, but the whisper has me thinking of the future. Yesterday, I ordered 5 cases of my favorite candles--at least a year’s supply. I ordered whole cloves, too...a new project for fall: pomanders.

I once read, “A woman marries a man hoping to change him; a man marries a woman hoping she won’t change.” I am that man, veritably obsessed with maintaining what I enjoy so much. I am a creature of the unending summer. Recently, however, I have come to appreciate change, much like the slide from summer into autumn. My relationship is maturing, changing, and I find I like it. What did I fear? Why? Of course, like the transition of summer to fall in Southern California, I like my changes SLOW. I guess the only constant is change. I feel lucky to enjoy changes these days.

often

Missing my girlfriend today...

Fiji

Bula!

My recent vacation was fabulous. No lie. 

The vacation started when Jenn arrived at LAX. We had a few days before traveling. We foolishly tried to acclimate to the time difference, pretty much failing. We had some Ambien, what was I thinking? I graciously helped Jenn lighten her load before departing--she was thankful later...

The flight was actually nice! We were both dreading the 10-1/2 hour flight, but the Fijian flight attendants were sweet beyond words, the seats comfortable, some movies...and Ambien. Woohoo! We arrived in Nadi refreshed and mostly acclimated to the time difference. Our first day was spent at a nice, family-oriented resort on Denarau Island. It was a great transition day. I bought a very nice sulu--I like going native. 

The next day we grabbed the ferry to Tokoriki. I was surprised the island had no dock, so we hopped aboard the resorts tender for a short ride through the reef, beaching the boat in the white sand. Walking up the beach, we were greeted by Fijians, 20 or so exuberantly singing a Fijian welcome song, one with a necklace for us, and another with a cold, tropical drink! After a delightful check-in process, we were showed to our room. Wow! It was amazing! We were shown around: a gorgeous bedroom with an incredible view of the sea, the trademark outdoor shower, a cabana, sun deck, plunge pool and a living room. No TV, no clocks, no telephone, no kids...ahhhh. 


We were surprised to discover that about 75% of the guests were newlyweds...well, there are only 30 or so rooms; the resort is intimate and lovely. We swam and snorkeled, had dinner on the beach. Our rhythm when vacationing is not typical. We were each morning before sunrise with Special Coffee....mmmm. Siesta in the afternoons; that sort of thing.  

The highlight of the first week had to be the "honeymoon picnic." The staff packed a cooler with a delicious lunch and a bottle of champagne then we were whisked off to an uninhabited, secluded beach on a nearby island. "Totally private," we were reminded several times, always with a wink and a smile. Sure enough, we had a half mile stretch of white sand beach all to ourselves for about 5 hours. We laughed and frolicked--it was amazing; an experience of a lifetime!  

Our second week was back on Viti Levu, the big island of Fiji. Catching a transfer from Denarau back to Nadi, we jumped on a bus a couple of scenic hours before arriving at Pacific Harbour. There, we had a rousing lovo dinner at the resort, visited the cultural center and took the whitewater rafting trip, which was the highlight of the second week. Our guide was outgoing and friendly by Fijian standards, and that is really saying something! Moses told us stories and shared details of village life inland on the river. I know how to catch fruit bats for lunch, now! Moses was fascinated by our travel stories and descriptions of life in LA and Florida. It was a delightful cultural exchange. Another real friend in Fiji! 

After Pacific Harbour, we traveled another couple of hours by bus to Suva, the capitol city. There, we visited the national museum where we saw something Moses had told us about...the shoe of Thomas Baker. Baker was a missionary to Fiji in the 1800s, completely ignorant of Fijian customs. He proceeded to help the local chief remove the combs from his voluminous hair to the horror of the entire village. (Even today, you do not touch Fijians on the head). In response to the grave insult, the missionary was reduced to his component parts, cooked and eaten. Realizing this did not appropriately include his shoes, they gave them a bit of a roasting, then tried to finish them off. The soles of the shoes were a bit too tough and you can see the remainder of the meal in the museum, complete with teeth marks. Afterward, we wandered the city, had some wonderful meals and got some tanning in. (Well, one of us, anyway). 
  

Saturday, we took off on the long busride back to Nadi, on the west side of the island, arriving at our resort just after dark. It was a friendly, little place with just 10 rooms and very nice beach access. The following day, we walked on the beach, luxuriating in our last day in Fiji. Our flight left late in the evening, and, oddly arrived back in Los Angeles earlier the same day. Such is the magic of the International Date Line, and perhaps, Ambien, too.   

again

This time of year is all about the small things for me. Wow! Did I just close the window before going to bed last night? It's been a while. That was a couple of weeks ago. A few days later, I woke to fog--inland fog. I rode my bike to work that day. Gloves tomorrow, I told myself. By 10 AM, I went outside to find the sun shining and the temperature rising. I must have imagined the fog, I thought. The following morning, the gloves were a good call.

As a Southern Californian, I know a secret that other folks do not. "What do you know about the seasons? You are in Los Angeles--it is summer all the time!" Well, I think to myself, I'm not in Maryland, where Fall is color-coded, like Garanimals. Seriously, do you need autumn to slap you in the face and ask, "who's ya momma?!" In winter, we Southern Californians are quiet. New Yorkers, among millions of others, will scoff at us. "Winter!?! Let me tell you about winter! Snow up to my bahoogies, I tells ya!"

Ummm, duh.

The fact is, I don't need ice cubes touching my bits to know when winter arrives. Likewise, Nature puts on a technicolor display in New England. I think she suspects no one would notice anything subtle. I would. I'm the guy that just put a bedspread on my bed for the first time in months. Yes, Mother Nature, I feels ya...