Day 123

Day 123, self quarantine:

Wednesday, July 15, 2020

Yep, I’m posting the date now because I really can’t believe we’re four months into this thing and I have no idea what day it is otherwise.

Though not to rub it in, today is really my Thursday since I’m off Friday.

So yesterday I woke up with a serious craving for a soft pretzel.

“You want what?” Gary asked.

“Soft pretzels with mustard.  Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a lunatic.”

“I don’t think you’re a lunatic,” he said.  “It’s 8:00 a.m.  I haven’t even had coffee yet.”

Oh.

So I took an early lunch and we hopped in the car to procure some hot out of the oven pretzels.  I realized we hadn’t had them since quarantine which is a sacrilege if you live in Philadelphia.

They were really good.

But then, as I was upstairs working, basking in my after pretzel glow, Gary appeared in the doorway of Julie’s former bedroom/my office, white as a ghost.

“What’s the matter?” I asked him, alarmed.

“I just got stung by a bee.”

Oh god, it was so hard not to laugh.  The expression on his face was everything.

He looked like The Scream.

It was like he was shocked a bee would actually do that.

I’ve known him since we’re kids so I wasn’t worried he was allergic.

It really was no big deal.

But he had to tell me the whole story, anyway.

“You know that busybody down the street?  With the short gray hair?”

“No.”

Gary looked at me frustrated.

“Sure you do.  She has a picture of Gritty in her window.  She’s a real yenta, she’s always asking about the kids.”

“Who?”

“At the end of the block.  She’s always outside on her step wearing a mumu.  You know who I mean.”

No, I really don’t.  You’re the one who talks to all the neighbors, Gar.

“Anyway, she walked over to me while I was messing with the flower boxes and she wasn’t wearing a mask and I wasn’t wearing a mask and I tried to get away from her and I wasn’t paying attention and all of a sudden it felt like sharp teeth tearing into my finger...”

I know I am a terrible person but my eyes started watering from trying not to laugh and then I tried fake coughing to cover it up.

“I got the stinger out and sprayed my finger with Benadryl and I also took a Benadryl,” he added.

Oh god.  I coughed and laughed at the same time and then buried my face into Jake, who was snoring on Julie’s bed behind me, so Gary wouldn’t see.

No worries.  He didn’t notice, he launched into the story of how it happened again.

By the time he was finished, I was able to manage some sympathetic  clucking.

He told me the story fifty more times before bed, though each time adding new details.

There were a swarm of bees in the final version.

Maybe a hive.

And of course he kept showing me his finger.

“It doesn’t look swollen at all,” I told him.

“I know!  It’s because I treated it with Benadryl right away! Spray and pill!”

Oy.

So this is retired life?  A bee sting is an exciting event we talk about for hours?

It was hilarious, I’ll give you that.

And who am I to talk, I just excitedly wrote about it.

And eating a soft pretzel.

Also, I have been sitting here laughing like an idiot for the past half hour over the “boobee” joke.

😂😂😂

Ah, getting older is grand.

Yeah, yeah, I know.  It beats the alternative.

Okay, I’m gonna end it here. There’s a lot of darker virus stuff on my mind this morning but I’ll keep it light.

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do today.

Day 122

Day 122, self quarantine:

Tuesday, July 14, 2020.  

So I blew the 35th anniversary of Live Aid yesterday.

https://www.phillymag.com/news/2020/07/10/live-aid-history/

Naturally, Gary and I were there at JFK Stadium to see it live in Philadelphia.  I was three months pregnant with Julie and had the morning sickness from hell - actually, I  wish it was morning sickness, it lasted all freaking day for all nine months and I couldn’t go anywhere without a bag to throw up in.

So of course I had to go to Live Aid, how could I miss standing in a three mile long

line for the ladies room every five minutes in 95 degree heat?

I was pregnant, I also had to pee every five minutes.

Damn straight I played the pregnancy card, screaming like Throw Momma from the Train from the back of the line, “Coming through, coming through, I’m with child!  Coming through, I’m gonna be sick!”

And the wall of wasted females magically parted.

I tried to time my bathroom trips while bands I didn’t love were on stage.  Haha, my first trip was right away as soon as we got there that morning during Joan Baez.

If I remember correctly, I planned lengthy bathroom

trips during Run DMC and REO Speedwagon, too, but nature also interfered and I still weep over missing Tom Petty when I threw up my water ice.

Ugh, it was red, white and blue water ice.  I’ll never forget it.  Gary bought it for me in a panic when I told him I was passing out from the heat.

I know, right?  But I had to be there.  And I’m so glad I stayed for the entire concert.

It was spectacular.

Is it a coincidence Julie, born six months later, is a musician?  I think not.

So last night we passed on the fancy dinner we planned yesterday.  Jake was “off” and Gary and I stressed and overreacted all day.

He’s fine.

But man, I wish someone would invent a translator for dogs so they could tell you what’s wrong.  It’s just brutal when they’re sick or when you’re neurotic and think they’re sick.

Anyway...

I think that’s it.  I’m actually too freaked out about what’s going on with the virus to talk about it today.  But fear not, I’m reading enough about it for all of us and if I think it’s time to eat whatever the hell you want whenever you want, I’ll let you know.

As if I’m not there already.

As if I’m not always there.

😂😂😂

Oh well.  I should get to work early today,

Okay.

Peace out.

Day 121

Day 121, self quarantine:

It’s Monday, July 13, 2020.

Most of us began our quarantine at the close of business Friday, March 13, 2020, a whole ‘nother lifetime ago.

Happy four month anniversary.

Oy, one-third of the year indoors.  I thought we were a couple of weeks away from that auspicious milestone.

That’s four months without:

Human contact other than whoever we live with.

Live music, movies, theater.

Museums.

Professional sports.

Eating in restaurants.

Going outside without a mask.

Etc. etc. etc.

And there’s no end in sight for most of it.

But hey, at least I got a haircut.

How long until we shut down again?

Florida just recorded 15,000 new cases in one day and what did they do?  Reopened Disneyland so that every idiot who visits comes back and infects all of us.

Goddess grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.

Okay, I’ll try. 

What choice do I have?

It’s too scary to think about
so I won’t.

In other news, because I was off for three days and I was feeling chill, I cleaned the house and then Gary picked up a couple ridiculously gorgeous bunches of flowers at the farmers market, and everything just looked so pretty to me I walked around with my phone snapping pictures and here they are.

The food you know about, though as you can see, I got a surprise of white raspberries on my plate and I wait all year for their once a year only appearance in July so despite soft scrambled eggs with cheese and spinach and sweet almond biscuits, those raspberries stole the show.

The pics of me’n’Jake and the inside of our car were taken yesterday while we waited for Gary outside Trader Joe’s.  I tried to capture the bored millennials standing in line waiting to shop and the nervous, over zealous employee who kept trying to squirt hand sanitizer on everyone but I think I blew it.

Oh well, you can imagine the whole scenario, I’m sure.

The tomatoes I will tell you about tomorrow.  If you’ve ever eaten at Village Whiskey or any of Jose Garces’ other restaurants, I got my grubby little hands on his recipe for herb tomato pickles and Gary made them yesterday for a large  component of tonight’s dinner.

Tomato pickles, you ask?  Maybe the most delicious way you will ever eat a cherry or grape tomato.

Wait until you see what we’re having.  This may be Gary’s finest accomplishment yet, with the menu created by me.

The pic of Jake is Jake giving me a not so subtle reminder he wanted dinner last night even though he knows Gary is the chef.   Haha, I’m Jake’s medium.  He implores me with those eyes and I shout out to Gary.

Gary makes him a grass fed burger every night.

I know.  I want Jake’s life, too.

The vegetarian version.

Wait a sec, I kinda have it.

When I retire, I will have it!

Haha when I spoke with my accountant on Saturday after he had a chance to review all our tax stuff, the first thing he said to me was, “I see Gary’s retired!  Why aren’t you?  You guys are in great shape, what are you waiting for?”

Haha, welp, my birthday on August 17 for one thing.  

After that I’ll let the virus dictate.

Goals, people.  

You gotta have them, now more than ever.

Sigh...I know.  Trust me, I know.

Go forth and conquer anyway.

Day 120

Day 120, self quarantine:

How is it Sunday already? How is my three day weekend going so fast?

Good thing I have another one coming up this week.

So yeah, everything is horrible.

There’s 1,000 new cases in PA this morning.

And the press is falling all over themselves because the orange turd finally wore a mask yesterday.

He wore it to a fucking hospital so HE wouldn’t get sick, following a night where he made the extremely unfortunate choice to commute the prison sentence of a fellow criminal pal who threatened to flip on him IN BROAD DAYLIGHT if he didn’t, AND HE NEEDED A FUCKING PHOTO OP.

Even the Washington Post bought in.

I’m so disgusted this morning.

I want out of this country but guess what, it’s too late, everyone has closed their borders to us.

We’re stuck here with a raging madman who doesn’t care if we die.

As Julie remarked yesterday, we’re lepers.  

Donald Trump has turned the United States of America into a leper colony.

Think about it.

Look at him in that mask.  

He looks like an angry top forced to be a bottom.

Or a mental patient.

Okay, I’m done.

Seriously.

So what’s everyone doing today?

I am about to wake Gary for our bimonthly in and out at Trader Joe.

We’re in the mood for a decadent brunch today and inspired by a friend who asked for fresh spinach recipes, we’re having soft scrambled eggs with spinach and cheese stirred in.

One of my favorite meals.

“Ooh, can you make biscuits, too?” I asked my personal chef.

“I thought that was a given,” Gary said.  “What kind do you want?  Sweet almond, cheddar pepper, or original plain?”

What, I can’t have all three?

I’m going for sweet almond.  I love the mix of salty and sweet when I eat.

Wah!  Whenever Julie and I went out to brunch, one of us would get a salty dish and the other something like over the top  pancakes and we’d split both.

Memories.

Brunch at Parc with both kids comes to mind.

https://parc-restaurant.com/menus/brunch/

Oy.  Why am I doing this to myself?

Okay, I’ll stop.

Hey, but if this journal is to reflect what’s going on during the pandemic, I have to be honest.

And Gary can duplicate anything on Parc’s menu while I FaceTime with the kids if I’m that desperate.

I’m not.

Okay, I’m going to get dressed for my big car ride to Trader Joe’s.  

I really have nothing else to say except:

May your Sunday be peaceful and filled with happiness.

Day 119

Day 119, self quarantine:

Happy Saturday!

Today is music day at Casa Slick.  I have it in my head that Eric’s song is going to get a little special attention on the radio this morning so we’ll see if I’m right.

Oh man, Natalie and Eric’s concert broadcast last night was so much fun! Hopefully they’ll put it on line and yeah, Gary and I were watching and saw ourselves several times and Julie was watching from Seattle, too.

I miss my family so much.

I miss live music so much.

And speaking of music, if you tuned in to see Natalie last night, hopefully you also got to see Kingfish Ingram, who was broadcast first.

Oh my fucking god.

https://youtu.be/k3nOV7mBC3k

It’s as if B.B. King and Jimi Hendrix had a love child.

I never heard of him until last night and I just went down quite the rabbit hole on You Tube.  His version of Purple Rain is extraordinary.  

Time to buy some new music.

So I’ve been working on my “perfect song” playlist and Gary wants in on it.  Even though our taste is almost the same, nope, it’s not.  We love prog, blues and rock, but Gary likes stuff like AC/DC where, as you know, I go the other way with Miley Cyrus and even folk music.

Okay, yeah, it’s true, I fucking love folk music.

Don’t tell Gary.

Haha he knows.  I think he likes it, too, but he’s never going to put on a Tom Rush record when he’s listening to music.

I fucking love Tom Rush.

I’m listening to his cover of Joni Mitchell’s Urge for Going right now.  If that doesn’t bring you to your knees, I’m sorry.

Urge for Going is a perfect song.

So now we’re preparing dueling lists.  Mine is finished...I think...and I will get Gary to give me his this weekend.  I’m curious to see if we have any the same.

Yes, we are music nerds.  I’m going to post our lists so you will be suffering along 😎

In other news, I’m too disgusted and furious to say anything about the criminal squatting in the White House other than I hope a lifetime of eating gross, greasy food catches up with him in the bigliest way possible.

Today, please.

Make it painful.

And double it for his supporters.  Triple the agony if they’re fans of Rand Paul, Lindsey Graham, Mitch McConnell, or that tool, Matt Gaetz.

All of you burn in hell, but wait, not before suffering debilitating strokes which leave you drooling and pooping in your wheelchairs.

We’re running out of time if we want to save our democracy from a transatlantic kleptocracy.

Read, people.  Educate yourselves.  Fox News isn’t real.  Rush Limbaugh is a racist pig.  I’d say take action but I don’t know what the fuck to do.  I’m throwing money at some Democratic candidates but at this point I think I would rather spend money on some new original art for my walls.

Any of you selling your work? Email me.  I’m interested.

So I think that’s it for today. My day off yesterday was so enjoyable I could definitely get used to more days off...like permanently.  It was dark and stormy and it was a great day to be indoors.

As if we can go anywhere else.

Oy, what a mess.

Oh well.  As always, let’s make the best of it.  Here’s to a day of good health, good music, and good food.

Hey, everyone should be able to manage at least one of those, right?

Enjoy.

Day 118

Day 118, self quarantine:

Happy Friday and happy day off to me!  I actually slept in today - Jake and I didn’t get out of bed until 6:00 a.m.

I’ve always been jealous of people who can sleep past 8:00 a.m.

Okay, I’m lying.  People who sleep late waste the day!

Omg, it took me years to get over that Gary is “one of them.”  I used to get so frustrated at 10:00 a.m. on the weekends - the sun shining in, me awake for six hours already, and I could literally hear Gary still snoring from downstairs.

I turned that time into valuable “me” space and now I get annoyed if he wakes up before 10.

Go figure.

So yesterday I was all set to begin my three day weekend when my phone rang.  It was our accountant.  He was concerned because he hadn’t received our tax stuff for our no contact phone appointment later that day.

Jfc, I completely forgot all about that.  We had our annual appointment for our taxes a couple weeks before the usual April 15 deadline and just as we were first quarantined.  They extended the deadline to July 15 and my accountant rescheduled us for a telephone appointment yesterday.

Gah!  How the hell did I forget that and now our returns are due next Wednesday.

So we had no choice but to scurry around the house and grab all our paperwork and fly down to South Philadelphia at the end of the day to drop everything off in the mail-slot of his office so he can call me Saturday at 5:00 for our no contact appointment.

You can imagine how enthusiastic I was about that whole nightmare.

I had been up since 4:00 a.m. busting my ass at work since it was my getaway day for a three day vacation and now I had to make sure I had all our tax stuff, get out of my pajamas and drive to South Philadelphia.

I was pissed and didn’t want to go.  

So.  Because I’m a big baby, whenever I have to do something I don’t want to do, I make sure there’s a reward system in place.

We get gifted at Casa Slick every time something great OR awful happens.

The reward/gift is almost always food because, well, food.

Last night we had to go to South Philadelphia.

That just screamed PIZZA.

Gary was instantly on board.

“Marra’s?” he asked hopefully.

http://marrasone.com/

Marra’s is the best.  Except you can’t get Marra’s to go.  I have never seen a pizza go from sublime to terrible so quickly.  The minute you put a brick oven Marra’s pizza in a box, it takes on the taste and texture of cardboard.

So no, no Marra’s.

I had my eye on Mack’s Boardwalk Pizza.

https://www.mackspizzamenu.com/

I mean, the name alone.

It was only blocks away from the accountant.

We had tried that pizza years ago and liked it but at the time, his store was more of a garage and Gary wasn’t thrilled with the set up so we never went back.  Then I read they moved to a real storefront in the Italian Market and I made a mental note to try it again.

And forgot.

“I’m gonna call and order when we get to Washington Avenue,” I said to Gary excitedly in the car.

“Why?”  Gary never understands any kind of planning.

“What if they tell us there’s an hour wait?”

Gary rolled his eyes.

In retrospect, it’s good one of us is a planner because when I called...

“The number you have dialed is not in service.”

Oh, no!

“Maybe it’s disconnected because of the pandemic,” Gary said.  “We’ll drive by after we drop our tax stuff off.”

“Yeah, that must be it.  Google and Yelp are listing them as open,” I agreed.

Because I had my heart set on that pizza and I had no plan B.

We drove up 9th Streetslowly.

“There it is,” Gary said.  “Closed.”

“But...why?” I asked, as if Gary would know.

Actually he did know.

“Uhhh...because there’s a pandemic?”

Wow.  

You know, I noticed during our drive that Philadelphia is far from back to normal.  Half the stores in downtown Philadelphia are still boarded up.  Restaurants are shuttered and dark.  At 5:00 p.m. on a Thursday night, there was no traffic, either vehicular or pedestrian.

It still looks like a scene out of Mad Max.

“So what are we doing?” Gary asked.  “Now that you have Jake and me primed for pizza.”

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking.  Gah, too much pressure.  Wait!  What about Lorenzo’s?”

Lorenzo’s Pizza is an Italian Market mainstay.  I think it’s been around since I was a kid.

http://lorenzospizza.net/

“Okay,” Gary said.  “It’s right up the street.  “Are you sure they’re open?”

“Yeah, they even have Covid-19 parameters on their website.”

We drove to Lorenzo’s and I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Closed.

“But why?” I asked Gary again like a little kid.

“There’s a pandemic, Rob.”

I had one more idea, one I was sure wouldn’t work.

A few weeks ago, Julie sent me a video about a guy eating a pizza from a place in South Philadelphia called Angelo’s.

You really need to watch this.

https://youtu.be/ioaN3xjq1EY

It was one of those small batch millennial “places.”  They only take cash, the only way you can order is via phone but half the time it’s busy, and if you go to their website it says “sold out.”

I told Gary none of this.

He’d never go to a place like that in a million years.

But I was desperate for good pizza though to be honest, I thought they’d be closed, too.

We drove up and not only were they open, there was a parking space right outside where the heavily tattooed young owner was leaning against the wall, having a smoke.

Gary jumped out of the car with his long hair and sunglasses and it was almost hilarious how the owner fawned over him.

“What can I get for you, my dude!”

His reaction was even weirder as we watched about 25 people walk up asking for pizza while we sat in the car waiting for ours and he turned them all away.

“You gotta call and order the dough in advance!” he yelled.

“But your phone is busy.”

“Try harder!”

Gary and I looked at each other.  This guy was the Pizza Nazi but for whatever reason he took a liking to Gary and Gary ended up getting out of the car and talking with him and of course by the end of the conversation he knew we had a drummer son, bass playing daughter and singer songwriter daughter-in-law.

“I knew you were somebody,” he said.  “Enjoy the pizza, Gary! Come back any time!”

So that was cool.

I texted Julie from the car on the way home.

She was suitably jealous.

Look at this pizza.

It’s a thing of beauty, isn’t it?

“Omg omg omg,” I moaned while eating.

And I just realized I wrote an entire post in homage to pizza.

And that’s how it should be.

Enjoy Friday, everyone.