A Covid Rant

I noticed, to my great surprise, that I recently recorded three 1960’s Italian science fiction movies; this would’ve hardly been surprising if I liked 1960’s Italian science fiction films or could remember more than five minutes ago; but, I prefer my science fiction without a bossa nova sound track. And, there’s the slapping. For some reason, Italian films always had to have a woman getting violently slapped… if you didn’t, the public would surround you and demand their lira back. Many years ago, I had made peace with my decision to stop watching Italian science fiction films; so, why had I recorded three of them? And, while going through covid last week, I lost my sense of taste. So WHY DID I BUY A TWENTY-FLAVOR BAG OF JELLY BELLIES??? They all tasted exactly the same… generic jelly bean flavor… which, it turns out, is my favorite flavor, now…

I finally figured out about the movies. I like to give things I don’t like another chance. For example, every ten years, I reevaluate French toast and, so far, it still tastes like a poorly disguised mistake. “I dropped the bread into the eggs but they’ll never find out if I fry the bread and pretend it was all on PURPOSE”. Everyone I know loves French toast… I keep feeling like I’m the one in the wrong.

Every year, I reevaluate several aspects of my life such as Arby’s and interacting with other people. I buy smoked kippers once a year because I crave something more than meat… sexual satisfaction and an optimistic outlook require too much car travel; but, a little can of fish you can buy at your local grocery. It’s more than food… it is a SYMBOL. A symbol that sits at the back of the bottom shelf of your pantry until the can rusts through and you get a smell that you mistake for your cat who left you for a family that has French toast more frequently.

I don’t reevaluate my “look” anymore. When I was younger, I had a sense of style… tight jeans, kiona shirt… moccasins. I’d restyle my hair, grow different facial hair and just resolve to carry myself differently. At this point, my look is more “terrifying old shut-in” and it gets me through the day. I do occasionally browse golf shirts because I AM NOT made out of stone.

I reevaluate my chosen career every so often. I’ve been an engineer, a draftsman, a programmer and a telecommunications consultant. Once I had a job writing bad metaphors for movies, such as, “He ruled the house with an iron fist… an iron fist made of sadness”. I could come up with seven bad metaphors a day; but, they suddenly decided that they wanted GOOD metaphors and THAT was NOT in my skill set. I found work coming up with quips for professional boxers. I wasn’t paid much but sometimes I doubled my salary because the boxers often could not remember paying me the first time.

What has all of this gotten me? Well, I do like Bossa Nova music, now. And, I still hate 1960s Italian science fiction films. I will probably do Arby’s next year once the nightmares about the bad tasting burps stop. Maybe I’ll substitute smoked oysters for the kippers next year. But, one thing is certain:

French toast and I are DONE.