Thoughts from the front lines:

This weekend, I had planned to go grocery shopping Monday afternoon. I needed to complete my "stock up in case I get sick and can't leave" cupboard. When I went to bed Sunday night, though, I was feeling woozy, my mouth was dry, my heart was racing, and my muscles felt like bricks. Oh no! I thought. It's too late! I'm already sick.

After a few minutes, I realized: I'm not sick. I'm panicking. Panicking at the thought of leaving my house to go to the grocery store!

See, I'm one of the lucky ones who work at an entertainment facility that has cancelled its upcoming performances until further notice - which means I can hole up in my apartment without fear the wall will cough on me. (that also means I have no income right now... but that's another rant) As the popular meme floating around says: "Your grandparents were called to war. You're being called to sit on the couch. You can do this." Yes I can!

But after a week and a half of answering that call, the idea of going out there felt like I was bracing to race the zombies to the last can of Lysol spray. I realized I needed to get a hold of myself. I knew that if I took the recommended precautions, it would (probably) be okay. That, and I remembered I got some touch-screen compatible gloves as a wrap present from a tv show I had worked on a few years back - so now my bare hands need not touch any surfaces, not even the self-check out screens, in my supply mission!

Flip side to the news: people continue to party on the beaches for Spring Break.

Don't they know I'm sacrificing my sanity as ordered over here? What's it all for if yahoos are allowed to extend the duration of the war with their pettiness, conspiracy theories, and egocentricity?

So, I say look to wartime for inspiration here, too. Air Strikes.

Start hitting them at the edge of the beach and drive them into the water. Keep randomly strafing the beach to keep them dog paddling in the water for their two week self-isolation. If sharks cut the duration of their isolation short... well, they made their choices.

It's war, people. We need to be in this together, or weeded out into the oceans to take your chances alone.

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A Picture Puzzler

A friend sent me another picture from the wrap party. As I looked at it, and recalled the good times, I was struck by something really unusual. See if you can spot it: I'll give you all some time to guess...

And they called me mad when I bought the bunker in the woods!

I had heard that one way of thwarting telemarketers was to make them think the number they have dialed is in fact a fax machine. I've tried different tones on my cordless phone, all to no avail. Then I had an epiphany: When I turned sixteen, my sister bought me a new-fangled telephone. It had push buttons, but it was still just a rotary phone - when you pressed each button to dial, you still heard the rotary "tat-a-tat-tat-tat" with every number. I had held onto this phone ever since. It's cute. It works. There was no reason to get rid of it. I was willing to bet that, in this day and age of advanced technology rendering yesterday's device obsolete on a daily basis, a telemarketer - who is likely going to be decades younger than my phone - would be unable to even identify a rotary phone by sight much less by sound. And voila! Answering the phone with my rotary phone, and constantly pressing the buttons, the telemarketer kept repeating "Hello?

Batten down the hatches -- we're in it for the long haul!

Given that the weather reports for Edmonton this weekend are grim grim grim (lows of minus 33, highs of minus 25 -- with wind chills of around minus 35 to 40), I woke up early this morning to get all errands for the weekend out of the way in one fell swoop. I barely needed a coat this morning as I headed out to my car to embark on my mission. With each passing hour, the thermometer dipped a degree or twelve. By time I was done driving around (and paused to catch a movie at the neighbourhood googolplex), it was chill-lay outside. I am now snuggly boarded up in my apartment, with no plans to so much as peek my nose out my window until Tuesday (when the temps shall return to a balmy minus 15). Groceries? Check. Toiletries? Check. Magazines to curl up with? Check. Christmas Presents? Check. Lessee, I got my father what he's been asking for since I was old enough for him to give me his Christmas wish list: And I think my mother will enjoy her bungalow by the stream: For my sister and he

A Skewed View

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