I'm posting these vacation photos in response to Q's privileged white boy post. Here's my vacation. Boogie, not boujie. I'm a man of the people, a man in the streets. Here, we're just taking a cigarette break and chillin' for a minute. No spacious A-frame window view, no chi-chi rugs and a fireplace. Keepin' it real.
I can't vacation here in my own home state which is the nations vacation destination this time of year. From what I understand, y'all been seeing this on your local news back home in those dark, damp, and cold places where you dwell.
This is the first year in my life that I can't find a cheap mom and pop motel room on the beach in some tucked away part of the state. Double and triple the price and no vacancy. YOU PEOPLE are ruining everything. All you want to do is party and make trouble for people and spread Covid far and wide. And all our governor wants is the money.
Actually, studies show. . . my home state has a lower Covid rate than 2/3s of the states and we never really closed down. I think it is due to the weather, but it is a curiosity. That in spite of having one of the oldest populations in the country. One third of the deaths here were in nursing homes. We'll see what happens after you uncouth Visigoths go home, but according to some experts who are not on CNN or MSNBC, we should be reaching herd immunity numbers by April as the number of actual Covid cases have been underreported.
Saturday was one of those days here that you would like to bottle and keep, and so I was excited to get out into the world and feel the sun on my face. I took a backpack with me on my walk so that I could cruise the Farmer's Market and buy some things. The Farmer's Market is just off the Boulevard, and I can tell you that I was not the only one who thought to get out. Both were packed. You would not have guessed that there was a pandemic if not for the face masks. Liberation was in the air. My cheese guy was not at the market, though, and without that, I didn't care to buy bread, so when I got home, I showered and headed up to the little hipster market that has stalls for both good cheese and good crusty bread. When I got there, however, parking was impossible. The hipsters were out. From the hipster market to the new hipster donut shop many blocks away, there was a solid ocean of cars. I decided to circle the neighborhood a second time just in case I might get lucky, and I did. But the market itself was packed with long lines in front of every stall. It just wasn't worth it to me, and so I bailed on the project.
The scene was repeated everywhere I went. The whole town had exploded.
I don't think I'll even attempt a trip to the beach.
Whatever. Staycation for a retired boy is not as exciting as it used to be, but I am in the national paradise at present, so I will find some ways to enjoy it.
Well, that was a boring post. Dull life, dull boy. Now, with the time change, we'll see what other changes take place. Perhaps I'll stop cooking elaborate dinners and just snack on tapas dishes. Is that redundant--tapas dishes? I need to. I went to an REI yesterday and tried on a shirt. Under the dressing room lights in front of the dressing room mirror, the full measure of my Falstaffian figure was on display. My god, I thought, look what they've done to me!
I bought a brand new pair of running shoes instead. They were expensive, and I bought them even though I can't run. I don't know. I was in shock. I thought they would help. I even thought about not drinking, but now I think just buying the shoes will be enough.
I will put them on now and see what happens. I'm sure I will feel like I'm getting thinner as soon as I step out the door. Hell, soon I may fast walk instead of waddle.
If you EVER see me fast walking, shoot me. I don't wish to ever be in the Museum of Crazy Walkers.
O.K. It is an hour later. . . no. . . an hour earlier. . . . I'll figure it out. But now I gotta get on them golden shoes and run.