Coffee heat rising

Fear and…Cleaning?…in the Time of Cholera

Yipes! It’s 10:30 at night and I’ve written exactly nothing at Funny!

One could claim one was busy all day…but other ones would know one was cooped up in the house all day and sooooo… šŸ˜®

Truth to tell, though, the house can keep one busy, if one were inclined to take care of it properly. I laid off WonderCleaningLady at the start of the Corvid scare, and so she hasn’t been around for a couple of weeks. And you could tell: the dog hair was ankle-deep.

So I broke out the vacuum cleaner and filled up its dirt holder twice with poochie puffs. You never saw so much dog hair in your life!

To complicate matters, the penicillin the endodontist prescribed for the endless post procedure caused my hair to fall out. Fortunately, I have plenty of it. Because plenty was on the floor…whence it ended up wound tight around the vacuum’s beater bar. Took some doing — and a pair of needle-nose pliers — to prize that out.

Swiffered up after the vacuuming expedition; then mopped the kitchen floor. Scrubbed the dog paths off the hallway walls. While at it, cleaned the baseboards in the bathroom, where Satan and Proserpine replaced the builder’s dust-resistant, easy-to-keep clean bullnose baseboards with something that looks sort of like crown molding. The worst dust-catcher you’ve ever seen…what on EARTH could they have been thinking? Cleaned the bathrooms. Sorta cleaned the kitchen (it doesn’t get very dirty when most of what you cook is grilled outside!). Fixed an awesome meal of scallops, spinach, tomatoes & tomato sauce (with lots of garlic, o’course) over tagliatelle. Drank half a bottle of wine.

Waited until after dark to walk the dog.

Yes. After dark is the perfect time for a doggy-walk! We ran into only one (1) human with only one (1) dog in an entire mile of trotting along. Hooo-ray! It’s a lovely evening, even if, yes, one could do without the cop helicopter. Mostly he was over Meth Central, though…by the time he came our way, he’d turned off his spotlight, apparently headed back to the heliport.

Otherwise spent most of the day cruising the Net. Gavin Newsom expects FIFTY-SIX PERCENT of California’s population will have come down with the coronavirus in the next six or eight weeks. Meanwhile that idiot in the White House keeps sniping at governors who ask for federal assistance, and his nitwit followers dream up conspiracy theories about his medical advisor, the only one in the whole bunch who can utter an accurate statement. In other (brown…) fields, our moron Sleaze-in-Chief is using the Covid-19 epidemic as an excuse to suspend environmental laws! And also meanwhile, the CDC supposedly came out with a recommendation that all Americans should wear face masks (contravening earlier advice that they do little or nothing to stop you from catching the disease) while medical workers who need face masks are struggling with a shortage…but now denies they said that. Oh, and a tornado blasted an Arkansas town.

Holy mackerel. Thank God it’s past time to go to bed.

Why Toilet Paper? Well…here’s why

So we’re sittin’ around here, contemplating the mysteries of Life, the Universe, and All That, when one of the greatest of mysteries impinges upon our consciousness: Why are vast tribes of people hoarding toilet paper, in the expectation of a (usually rather mild) disease that is unlikely to cause diarrhea? Even with with quarantining a given (which it was not when the toilet paper mania began), what is the fixation on TP?

Welp, I have — AH HAH! — a theory.

Here ’tis…

Funny’s Theory of Toilet Paper Affection

Among the American affluent classes, and the somewhat moneyed middle classes, everybody and his little brother, sister, aunt & uncle has a vacation home in the boondocks: In Arizona, for example, that would mean forest and desert retreats like Pinetop, Payson, Strawberry, Prescott, Yarnell, the North Rim, the White Mountains, Bisbee, Patagonia, and many waypoints north to south, east to west. Most of these second homes are furnished for weekends; some for a month or two of full-time residence during the summer. But by and large they stand vacant and waiting.

So. If you could see Armageddon coming — in the form of a contagious disease that was likely to get you and your family confined to your home for several weeks — where would you rather be held captive? In a plaster and styrofoam hut in a jam-packed eave-to-eave suburb? Or in a glorified “cabin” (more like resort quarters) on three acres of forest or scenic grassland?

You got it.

If we still had the ranch up on the Rim outside of Yarnell, that’s where I’d be right now.

And what are you gonna do if you figure the kids are going to be shut out of school, you’re probably going to be told to work from home (or be laid off), and all of you are going to be locked up together for anywhere from two weeks to three months?

What you are gonna do is load the kids and the dog into the vehicle, turn on the burglar alarm, lock up the shack in the Valley of the We-Do-Mean Sun,Ā  and drive up to your vacation cabin. That’s what you’re gonna do.

And if you’re going to hole up for some period up to, say, 90 days with your three kids, the family dog, the cat, and two sets of in-laws, what are you gonna need, in addition to food? That’s right:

Toilet paper!

Nor would you need an expensive, maintenance-sucking second home to feel the impulse to stock up with necessaries. Many people in our parts have campers — either pickup shells that convert your Ford F-150 into a rolling hunter’s cabin or fancy living-rooms on wheels of various sizes, some as capacious as a small house. What would you bring with you if you figured you were going to be living out of your car or camper for anywhere from three weeks to three months?

Hell, yeah:

Toilet paper!

Even if you don’t have a vehicle tricked out to accommodate the Life of Riley, plain old camping is just not that hard — even over the long term. SDXB and I did it for three straight months, trekking through the outback of Alaska and Canada. With a camp tent, a propane campstove, a few dishes, and a couple of towels. We slept under a roof one (1) night, when it was raining too hard to cope.

We did it for fun, so trust me: it was no particular hardship.

But…if you weren’t an experienced long-haul camper but you figured you’d better be prepared to stay in the boondocks for a good long while, and you planned on car-camping rather than hiking, what provision (other than food) would you really, truly, NOT want to run out of?


Toilet paper!

heee!Ā So this is the theory. People aren’t buying TP to stock their houses here in the Big City. They’re using it to stock vacation homes, campers, cars, duffle bags full of camping gear. They’re not stockingĀ oneĀ home. They’re stocking two, or even maybe three, if they have a vacation house and a camper.