For any “Catch-22” fans, the breaking news I woke up to this morning inspired me to write my own Yossarian quote: “Having tried nothing proven or reasonable, the administration decided the only way to keep the foreign country safe was to bomb it.”
If I behaved like this administration behaves, I would be fired, exiled, vilified, and hated, and deservedly so.
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It’s 2:00 a.m. and I’m sitting on the landing watching traffic. It wasn’t until car number six passed that I could say with certainty that the driver probably drank too much and shouldn’t have been out on the road. The first clue was that only their running lights were on. The second was going past the intersection and then reversing erratically to make the turn.
As Philomena Cunk quipped, “Things got worse before they stayed the same.”
Just for amusement, anyone who texted me Happy New Year got a reply text from me first thing when I woke up. You’re welcome.
When I went back inside to make my first cup of coffee of the year, Güino stood at the door, caterwauling in protest, informing me that he wanted to go outside and explore. He did the “penguin call” repeatedly, much like he did in the animal shelter when I got him in 2008. That’s how he got the name Güino, a shortened version of the Spanish word “pinguino.”
Not many people saw the British/HBO show “Years And Years.” It was on my mind this morning. The TV show was made in 2019, but the parallels for our current state of affairs are unmistakable.
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It was 70° at 1:30 a.m. The wind howled, finding breezeways and crevices to make metal groan and heavy dumpster lids slam over. My weather app claimed that the wind speed was 20 mph, but I’m certain that a few of the gusts were easily twice that speed.
Even though it’s December 28th, the insects accompanied me on my walk. Surreal doesn’t cover it. I can’t be convinced that Christmas was a couple of days ago or that 2026 is just around the corner.
If you did like me and watched clouds race overhead, you would get vertigo. They raced overhead fast enough to create the illusion that I could see the planet spinning.
There were a lot more people out than should have been. I’m sure it was the weather that brought them out or kept them out, even though they would not know that some primal or instinctive drive contributed to their decision to be out.
When I exited the inconvenience store after getting a soda, I laughed as a car of young guys drove up. Each of them had on a shower cap. Not your grandma’s shower caps. These had designs on them. I burst out laughing.
The driver popped out, still smiling.
“Are you laughing at me?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Surely you realize how unusual you guys look. I think it’s cool, but you can’t blame me for being caught off guard.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Styling though, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” I agreed.
As I headed back toward my apartment, I couldn’t believe it was still four and a half hours until sunrise, or at that time tomorrow it would be 40 plus degrees cooler.
It was a beautiful walk on a December morning that should have been bitterly cold. I think I’m going to remember this one.
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Güino hasn’t been feeling his best the last couple of days.
I knew he was okay when he pawed at the door this morning at 1:00 a.m. I took him out yesterday evening without a leash and let him wander.
Even though I haven’t been feeling my best, I went outside to catch a few of the meteors, which were peaking early this morning. They were beautiful as I stared up between the gaps in the clouds.
By 3:30 a.m., he was registering is dissatisfaction. So I put a leash on him and we went out into the bitter cold so that he could high-step it through the fallen leaves and sniff the bumpers and tires of all the vehicles he wanted to. The wind and sub-20° weather didn’t bother him.
I did notice that he retreated to one of his favorite blankets directly under the heat vent though.
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I sped it up. It took 1 minute and 45 seconds for the moon to touch the trees on the horizon before it disappeared entirely.
A closed door holds our focus much more than an open one ever could. Looking backward brings comfort because at least it is knowable.
I started the walk trying to protect myself against the cold, rain, and blustery wind. I gave up and let it try to win the war of wills. There was magic out there early this morning, because I had a little bit of it trapped in my head before I went out there.
Don’t get me wrong, I would have preferred the weather that allowed me to walk hundreds of miles in the dark during the summer. But that’s the kind of stupid thinking that convinces us we need to wait until everything’s perfect before we do anything.
By the time I entered the inconvenience store and got another delicious cup of hot coffee, I’ll admit the walk had me chilled to the bone. That’s why I call these stolen moments. I stole this cold beautiful walk from all the excuses I could have easily given to skip today.
The prose of it comes from the exercise.
But the poetry of it is a private thing.
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It ain’t always peaches and cream.
Yesterday morning, I got angry and couldn’t shake it. Rationalizing it, my attempts to set it aside failed. It was disrespect, coiled inside repetition.
When I finished work, I walked out into the cold breeze and stood in the middle of the trees, watching the crows berate each other.
Paradoxically, what gave me peace is that someone sent me a funny video. At its heart, it was a nihilistic reminder of the stupidity of how important everything seems. The cause of my anger hadn’t dissipated but I did succeed in punting it into the future.
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The Campbell soup controversy is both fascinating and amusing.
I had a can of Campbell’s tortilla soup last night, with a can of Mexican tomatoes, sliced potatoes, and a ton of hot savory spice added. It was delicious.
I’ve worked in food facilities. Y’all are out there eating all sorts of things you don’t want to know about. If they are 3D printing chicken or beef, that’s fine with me. If they throw a horse leg in there, I don’t care about that either if I don’t know. Doubly so if it’s treated so that I won’t get sick.
I survived my childhood. My dad forced me to eat things that were featured in the Temu edition of National Geographic. Other than some observable brain damage, I survived. These symptoms allow me to either be the Secretary of Health and Human Services or the President.
The amusing part of it all is that an executive got caught with his pants down, spouting what we already know. I’d rather be eating oysters right now than working in the Campbell marketing department. (And oysters are just repackaged mucus.)
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There are a couple of streets that sometimes inspire me to get spooked, despite not being superstitious. One of them is Oakland. Not the Oakland y’all know when the sun is up. It’s a different place at 2:00 in the morning. It has some beautiful houses on it, even the older ones interspersed among the modern narrow profile ones that are becoming common.
This morning I zigzagged to wander the dark streets for long stretches in the dark, I could hear booming music. As I drew closer, I watched the completely dark house. Although it was my imagination, I could almost feel the old boards vibrate from the inside.
I walked a long way south and decided to walk back. I wasn’t even thinking about cutting East and ending up on Oakland again. This time, I was hearing a thunderous muffled voice emanating from the house with the loud music. The house was still dark.
The video doesn’t do it justice because my camera brought light that wasn’t visible to my eyes.
Also on Oakland, there was a vehicle running with its lights on when I first passed it. Way over an hour later when I looped back, it was still there, its headlights beaming into the growing fog and mist. Sometimes I check on the vehicle to make sure someone hasn’t passed out in there, or worse. Other times, I will shut off the lights or turn off the ignition. If I had not been on Oakland, I might have done that today.
The mist was thick this morning, coating everything, including me. The lights of course were more beautiful because of the diffusion.
It was astonishingly quiet. In places, my footsteps sounded like cans of biscuits being opened and dropped. I kept forgetting how hard the mist was, but each time I pulled my glasses on my face, I was greeted with droplets of accumulated water.
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P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 