Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Safety Feature

I’m still learning all the things the new Mini can do. For one thing, evidently if the weather’s cold, I can stay in bed, get on my iPhone, and start it up and heat it while I stay in bed.

I was picturing that, and of course I was concerned because, my God, a fatal flaw, I’d still have to get up to open the garage door, because if you leave a car running in a closed garage you will die of carbon monoxide poisoning.

Only, of course, not with an electric car.

I can’t see how you could die by electric car. You could put a fork in the charging outlet, I suppose.

When we were considering the electric car, I suggested we could instead wait for the hydrogen car to be available in our area, given that I’ve had to hear about it at every State of the Union for a dozen years, but Gary said HYDROGEN IS WHAT THEY USED IN THE APOLLO ROCKETS DO YOU WANT TO DIE.

And no, I don’t want to die, but it seems that given how hazardous gas-powered cars are, there must be some unknown danger hiding under the surface of electric cars.

Weekly Paint Progress: 4/29

This week the salt shakers went from this:

...to this:

Well, that rear’s too dark, but she’s taking shape.

The town went from this:

... to this:

 That’s it, I am done.

This was the goal:

Clearly not enough brown, but that’s okay. It’s acceptable.

New Technology

This happens to us every 16 years or so: we go from the old generation of a vehicle to the new one and experience the wonder of what’s happened to vehicles recently.

I wanted to turn on the lights because it was overcast, and I couldn’t, but then when I got home the lights were on because, I guess, it knew it was overcast. Gary said the new cars know when it’s overcast, and they car puts on the lights for you. I tested that this morning when it was overcast - in fact it was raining, and the car turned in the lights while it was in the garage, and then the car turned on the wipers when I backed out into the rain.

I said, that’s too much magic for me today, and pulled back in. I’ve decided I can accept one weird thing each day. Yesterday it was the realization that if you leave it alone in the garage for a few minutes it entertains itself by throwing a illumination advertising on the garage floor.

That was yesterday’s magic. And, honestly, that was a little scary too. “It knows its name! It’s sentient!”

Speaking of scary, I was initially interested in the fancy wheel covers that resemble a UK electric outlet. I had no idea they were initially called the “Corona” model.

Imagine being reminded of the virus every day for the next 16 years.

 

Mute

I was really late to a Zoom meeting with, oh, 100 people. You’d think no one would notice, especially my department leader. 

Nope. He noticed because he’d been waiting half an hour for me to join so he could ask me questions on the chat about the status of another project I’m on. The chat said, “Can you give me a percentage complete?”

I typed, “Of the 8,000 courses I have received I have completed about 400.”

He immediately typed back, “So, 5% completed. Thanks for the update!”

That number sounded odd to me, so I asked Alexa. “Alexa, what is five percent of eight thousand?”

Alexa confirmed my department leader’s math was correct.

My department leader typed,  “You’re not on mute” in to the chat.

SO humiliating. A trifecta of humiliation. Doubling down on the shame of being late, now the Department Leader knows I don’t trust his math, that I’m so bad at math I have to ask Alexa, plus the person running the meeting knows I’m not listening at all. 

Not a good meeting.

Unworthy Vessel: In Which Canada Disappoints

I reached in a box of soda and extracted this entirely empty yet still sealed can of ginger ale.

Zero sugar? Zero soda, more like.

The odd thing was, while the sealed top was distorted, I submerged it in water and no air bubbles came out. No leak or opening. 

Jeremiah 51:34

‘Nebuchadnezzar the king of Babylon has devoured me; he has crushed me; he has made me an empty vessel; he has swallowed me like a monster; he has filled his stomach with my delicacies; he has rinsed me out.’

 

Wee, sleeket, cowran, very wet and tim'rous beastie

I don’t know how this happened. It rained gently last night, but no torrential gully-washer that might sweep up a wee beastie.

Perhaps he lost his footing o’n the roof in the rain. Or maybe it was just despair. If you or a mouse you care about is considering suicide, call a medical hotline.

I’m actually looking forward to a gully washer, just so I can test out the swale / rivulet / Six-Flags-lazy-river-Rube-Goldberg-device that I have constructed above the basement puddle. I sacrificed the sunflower bed: now it’s all chopped up and piled against the siding, then sloping down a channel cut into the yard leading to the drainage system we paid way too much for. Bricks and concrete divert the water collecting on the patio so it cascades toward the neighbors. 

Maybe the mouse was trying to belly flop off the roof and land in the rapids below, then body surf past the day lilies into the raccoon feeding area. He lived for danger, wee beastie he. Not timorous at all.

It Went as Expected

The new all-electric Minis:

• are four inches bigger than the old ones. (We went without our trade-in, and they suggested we donate it to a good cause instead.)
  
• are an odd color of blue/black (they still make red, but of course Gary couldn’t wait)
• look non-plussed now
• drive exactly like the Moon cars at Six Flags - when you lay off the accelerator they just stop
• have white leather seats, which scare me, because I think we all know I will pee on them or worse.

 

 

I Might Leave the House

Today, we might go test an electric Mini Cooper. Or - Gary might test a Mini Cooper; I don’t relish the thought of being in a Mini with a salesperson who probably snacks on raw bats. No social distancing in a car that is itself barely six feet long.

The dealership promises they are clean, and masks are required. They don’t know this, but we’ll be meeting outside. 

Gary thinks we’ll like one of the two the dealer has in stock and come home with it. I’d rather wait six months for one that’s exactly right. 

Gary usually gets his way in these things.

Weekly Paint Progress: 4/22

Oh, it was the worst day of painting ever.

The salt shakers went from this:

... to this:

I don’t know what I’m doing. Trying to get the values? No idea at all. 

The town went from this:

Almost done, right? In fact, I thought I’d finish it. And then I dragged the sleeve of my smock through very dark blue paint. Now the boat and the fir tree have some unintentional shadows.

Sigh. No joy. Why am I doing this? 

Mini Update

One nice thing about the pandemic is that we really don’t need two cars. It’s entirely possible we just take the sick Mini off the insurance and leave it in the garage ... well, forever.

But, Gary’s Honda Fit has as many miles as the Mini, and if it goes out then we have zero cars, and then I think, you can buy a lot of taxi rides for what a new car costs. 

But thinking ahead, in a year or so, there will be concerts and museums and visits to other cities, and potentially there won’t be the $7,500 tax credit for the electric Mini. 

I think we just need one more thing to tip us into car buying mode. A discount, which Mini evidently doesn’t do. A good price on our trade-in.

“OR, WOULDN’T IT BE COOL IF THEY DELIVERED IT RIGHT TO OUR DOOR?” Gary said. “WE LOVE GETTING THINGS DELIVERED.”

True. That would do it.

I Continue to Shrink

Gary noticed it last week. “What shoes are you wearing? You’re short now.”

Confirmed at the doctor’s office: I’m down another half inch. After years of 5 foot 8, I went to 5 7 a few years ago and now I’m 5 feet 6.5 inches.

I also have a bone density test coming up now. I can’t imagine how I could have weak bones: I’ve never broken one, my favorite drink as a child was milk, my labs have me over the top of the recommended range for vitamin D, and I am right in the middle for calcium. 

What I can’t get over is that I am now literally less of myself. Very disheartening.

Signs

One thing about Gary: he doesn’t like to be told what to do. I know, no one likes to be told what to do, but Gary hates it so much he even resents road signs.

We were in the car together for the first time in months, and he encountered two road signs he felt were trying to oppress him. 

The first sign that stepped outside its station and dared to tell him what to do was a “NO OUTLET’ sign. 

“I HATE THAT SIGN. NO OUTLET. STUPID SIGN TRYING TO KEEP ME OFF THAT STREET.”

”I think it’s to keep you from getting stuck  — “

”NO THOSE PEOPLE DON’T WANT ANYONE TURNING AROUND IN THEIR PRECIOUS STREET.”

The next sign was worse: it didn’t just boss him, it tried to play mind games. 

It was a digital sign that said our exit was going to be closed for construction starting at 9 that night. 

”I DON’T READ THOSE ELECTRONIC SIGNS. WHO KNOWS IF THEY’RE EVEN RIGHT.”

I thought, “Of all signs, the electronic up-to-the minute signs would be the most accurate: no one has to come out and unscrew the sign,” but I didn’t want to be seen as defending the double-plus-ungood signage mind control plot.

Rewriting the Novel: Halfway Begun

Well, I looked at my outline and I’ve hit the midpoint, and I counted the words, and I’m at 30,000. Thirty thousand very very poor words, but exactly half of what’s expected. 

It’s almost all dialogue that could be pared down to make room for pithy descriptions. 

I think I’ll be hard-pressed later  to find the right number of words for the second half, given that in parts the outline truly says “Something happens here.” Maybe this is where that inspiration thing kicks in.

Vaccine 2: Giving it My Full 74%

I got my second vaccine. This time it was a drive-through, just as organized and efficient as when I came for the first shot. 

As you know, the doctor said if Covid vaccines act like flu vaccines, this will protect me against 74% of the covid viruses I encounter. I suppose that means there’s a 26% chance I will carry it to others and infect them.

The first military person to review my form said, “Now, I see you’re immunocompromised. Did they discuss with you that you will have reduced immunity?”

I thought, “They? Who is they?” I agreed that “They” had anyway.

Five minutes later the next camo-clad woman said, “You take a medicine to reduce your immune system?”

”Yes, Mayzent, for MS.”

”And you have discussed with your doctor that you will have reduced immunity?”

Damn. It. Asked me twice, this time specifically about the doctor. Poof, gone, any hope my doctor was just being overly cautious. I am NOT going to DisneyWorld. I’m not going outside until that curve bottoms out entirely.

Took 15 minutes this time before I got the shot, 15 min wait, took an hour overall with travel.

Side effects? None so far. Will there be any? I’ll have to add 25% to any I have to get an idea how others are suffering.

Fauci Fight

The news is full of this feisty exchange:

The Wall Street Journal says Fauci should have just answered the question, which I imagine would sound like, “We think 500 people can die per day then we start opening for business.”

Still, Jim Jordan is pressing that these constraints are standing in the way of our liberties. Well, sure. The Declaration of Independence lists the original God-given rights, with life the first on the list. If we started with the pursuit of happiness, liberty, and life we’d have a different country. 

So, yes, shut your mouth, Jim Jordan.

Weekly Paint Progress: 4/15

This week the salt shakers went from this:

... to this:

Bleeehhh.

The town went from this:

... to this:

Cadence

I am almost done with MSNBC. My problem with MSNBC? 

• My problem with MSNBC it the way they have this annoying three-part cadence.
• My problem with MSNBC is the way they repeat everything three times.
• My problem with MSNBC is how they speak as if there’s an audience ready to stand and applaud when they make the same point three times in a row.

I think it’s called Anaphora. It’s most obvious on Morning Joe. The commentators and the pundits do it, and they all do it poorly. We do not have a dream. We do not fight on the beaches. We grow annoyed. We grow annoyed at Mika. We grow annoyed at Joe. We grow annoyed at the daily talking head. 

Rachel Maddow’s already too repetitive  but not to this degree: if she starts this nonsense I’m shunning the entire channel.

Sick Car

We dropped off the Mini at the mechanic because it’s been oddly doggy. Not quite enough pep to get up a hill easily. Not enough pep to go from zero to anything easily. If I’m at a stop sign at the bottom of even a slight hill, then I am doomed unless if I stomp on the gas and roar the tachometer up to 6.

 I am going to transcribe the remarkable conversation I just had with the mechanic at Dobb’s.

”Hello, Mrs. S_____? I’m calling about the Mini? We got one of our mechanics to drive your car, and I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you what’s wrong. It’s something wrong with your transmission.”

Gary had suggested that I had just forgotten How To Drive a Car, so I asked, “So there IS something wrong?”

“Ooooohhhhh yeeeessssss.”

Then he recommended that if I had to maybe I could find someone who would rebuild the transmission entirely. That’s already happened; it was still under warranty when Mini rebuilt it the first time.

So, it’s been 13.5 years since the last car hunt (begin the journey here, then skim to here). This hunt might be easier, Gary wants an all-electric car, and we actually could reincarnate the current Mini in electric. Subtract the rebate and it’s only a few thousand more than we paid for the Mini 16 years ago. And, while the Mini I bought in 2005 wasn’t reliable, evidently in 2015 Mini got religion and they are now loyal and true. 

Or, we could get the transmission fixed. That “Oooohhhhhhh yeeeeessss” really scared me, though.

Not News

This is not news.

Why doesn’t this headline say “Son Behaves Like a Human” or something similar? Why has People magazine been shoving this at me all weekend?

This Is Why We Don’t Use ‘One’

I visited the Wikipedia pronouns page because we’ve hired some Southerners  which stemmed a work discussion about “you all” filling in as the second person pronoun, with “all y’all” meaning a specific number of “you all”.

Pronouns are just a mess. We’ve given up the fight on “his or hers” and went with “theirs” (or rewrite).

Seriously, One The Pronoun? I’ve always explained that you don’t punctuate the passive pronoun it as “it’s” because you wouldn’t write, “The man trained the dog to put it’s paw in hi’s hand.” And now you give me one’s as the possessive pronoun.

And on top of that it isn’t Oneself? Or Onesself? It’s onself? Really?

Of course, I’m using Wikipedia as a reliable source. That’s my problem. Of course, I have too many books to find my Chicago Manual of Style.

Basement

Well, even after we got the drainage fixed, the puddle in the basement welled up on the New Year’s Day ice storm, but it was an ice storm, and there’s expansion and blockages that go with it, so I let it slide.I just cursed a lot.

The ice storm cursing was nothing compared to the cursing last week. I read in the paper that parts of the St. Louis metro area were flooding because there was so much rain and no place for the water to go. Our puddle hadn’t show up for three months, so I decided to go down to my dry basement and feel smug. 

Puddle. Epic cross-basement puddle. Usual corner puddle combined with stair landing leak trickling all the way to the drain.

Before the drainage work, we’d have a puddle every time it rained. Now it has to be a newsworthy event to prompt a puddle. I need to remember that that’s still an improvement, and no one in this neighborhood of rabbit warrens and river clay has a totally dry basement.

The smartest thing I could do is rearrange the basement so my art area is no longer on the border of the puddle so I don’t even look at it (on the now rare occasions it makes an appearance). But that would require more electrical outlets in the basement, and the moving of light sources. I did suggest we put Gary’s drum kit in the wet corner, just to see his reaction, which was very satisfying.

So, a puddle every season is better than a puddle every week, and at least the puddle is contained. And at least there IS a basement, given the current tornado season. Time to mop it out of my mind.

———— one day passes

Only ... that was yesterday. There’s a puddle again, and frankly, it barely rained. Time to rearrange the basement. Or to put in a new back porch. Or to meditate every time it rains.

When the Abnormal Feels Normal

I was driving with Gary, returning from the only other stop on our bubble path, when I said, “Hey, do you want to go out to dinner? We haven’t gone out to dinner in ages.”

And then I remembered, there’s a reason we haven’t gone out to dinner, there’s a global pandemic, hello.

So strange that I’ve become so used to the pandemic that I’ve forgotten there’s a pandemic.

Weekly Paint Progress: 4/8

Okay, here’s a new reference photo for the salt shakers:

...and it’s this far:

I don’t have high hopes for this one. I think it will just be fun.

The town went from this:

... to this:

 

Things to Burn on the Barbecue When the Pandemic is Over

When it is all over, I am seriously lighting up the Weber grill and burning these things:

• A paper mask
• A roll of toilet paper
• A symbolic pair of roomy sweatpants 
• An Amazon box

What else goes on the fire?

 

Watch

I know it’s all just material crap, and I should be more enlightened, but if the material crap talks to me I do get attached in all senses of the word. I’ve mourned every Roomba that died on me, I delight in Alexa’s asides, and I do love the many ways the Mickey Mouse app on my Apple Watch giggles and tells me the time.

Behold, the fate of Mickey:

I put my watch back on after a shower. I was fastening the strap on the back of my wrist, it slipped out of my hand, and Mickey took a gainer directly to the wood floor and landed on his face. 

And of course, I’ve already heartlessly exchanged him for a newer model. Old watch too wrecked up to trade in. I still have it, and when I’m emotionally strong enough I’m going to do an autopsy. I’ve already peeked at his guts. It would be interesting if I could use tape to reconstruct his glass and get him back again. He does show his face for a moment on occasion if I poke at it enough.

The watch is dead. Long live the watch.

(Note the Velcro wrap strap designed to ensure no further Mickey suicides.)

Obligatory Easter Post

Remember Gary’s Easter preparations in years past?

Remember 2012?

Or even 2007?


Not so much anymore. I didn’t even recognize this years paltry patch of mummified bunnies.

Three bunnies! Bubble-wrapped and tucked in the fridge.

(Minutes later - ah, I see on Amazon he bought three more.)

Oh, Back to Hating the Pandemic Today

I had a doctor’s appointment a few days ago.

I arrived ten minutes early at 8:20 and texted “ARRIVED’ in response to their text of that morning. 

At 8:40, ten minutes after the appointment time I again texted “Arrived?” Because I didn’t want to be pushy.

I made excuses - Good Friday, early appointment, significant people might be late —- and at 9:10 I called the phone number. 

Shock. Apologies. Go ahead and go right in.

I explained to the receptionist that I had texted twice and got no response, and she checked and they had received no text. She said that I was late, and even past my 15 minute grace period, and I had missed my appointment.

I showed her the texts, again, and she said they hadn’t gotten the texts.

“Will I be charged for this visit?” I asked.

”No.” 

“Then I would be glad to reschedule my appointment.”  (Remember that for later.)

She said, “I’ll check with the doctor and I’ll see if she can fit you in.” 

I had things to convey to the doctor, mainly tidying up some errors in my family history, like my biological father’s cause of death, and I didn’t want to be fit in.

Instead, I said, “I would be glad to reschedule my appointment.”

“Let me check with the doctor.”

I paced over to the glass door and read all the signs backward and tried not to fume. 

She came back and said, “She says she can fit you in.”

I said, “I would be glad to reschedule my appointment.”

She looked surprised, and then said, “Oh, so you want to reschedule your appointment.”

This time I paused before I said “Yes” very significantly.

And I understand, she wanted to make it all right, and was focused in getting me fit in, and was unaware I didn’t want to be there, double-mask or not, and “I would be glad to reschedule my appointment” isn’t the same as saying, “Screw this noise, I am rescheduling my appointment.” And it was partly my fault for waiting so patiently. 

And I would have left thinking that, only I was still in the parking lot when a different person called and explained what happened: “Sometimes that system just loses texts.” 

So I rescheduled with her, which, as you know, I WAS GLAD TO DO, and then I asked if when I returned next week if I should wait for a return text, and she giggled and said, “Oh, no, don’t do that.”

I would have been fine without the giggle, but the giggle suggested to me that this was just a great lark we’d had, so i just said fine, thank you, goodbye, and hung up. 

So I can’t really blame the doctor’s office, and I can’t blame myself for being extra polite for once in my life, so all I can do is blame this cruel pandemic so screwing up the simple task of visiting the doctor.

And Now Today I Don’t Hate the Pandemic

Okay, so evidently I have to stay in my bubble until the herd is immune. I am jealous and pouty. 

But still, it’s been a few days now since Thursday’s doctor told me, and I’m feeling better about it. 

I’m fine being alone.

I like working from home.

I LOVE wearing the mask.

I like having someone else do the shopping.

I’m not traveling anyway for the next few years. 

I know other people miss hugging their friends, but I’m no hugger.

Really, my only complaint is that other people are free and I am not, but that said I do really like my prison.

I’m sure I’ll get stares if I’m in a mask in public in the fall - but why would I need to be in public? What would tempt me out? And stares would let me test out my old-lady-don’t-care persona, anyway.

Don’t know how old it will get by this fall, though.

Vaccine

So, virtual neurology appointment yesterday. Standard questions, and then at the end he mentioned a November study of Mayzent users who were vaccinated for the regular flu.

There was no data specifically for covid, but for the type-A flu, 92% of the control group got protective antibodies, but only 74% for Mayzent.
Type-B: 43% control, 26% Mayzent.
Pneumonia: 100% control, 100% Mayzent. Cool.

So that explains why we weren’t in the early trials — we would have dropped the numbers.

(If you are curious, Gilenya numbers are worse.)

I believe his recommendation was “Be vigilant and wait out the Covid.” So, I can’t relax even after I get fully vaccinated. And I’ll have to be a fragile flower. 

Maybe there are enough fragile flowers that we can get an extra booster shot? Maybe?

Weekly Paint Progress: 4/1

This week we start the salt shaker still life.

So it begins.

I scooted the salt shakers around: the original positions are confusing. I also added some salt to the one in the foreground. 

I told myself I wasn’t going to compare my drawing to the photo, because it has no bearing on my perspective when I am sitting, but the background leg is so wrong I must. And these new canvases don’t allow for hand erasing: I’ll need to get the gum eraser.

I didn’t think I could make myself draw the bosom accurately, but I did.

The town went from this:

... to this: