the quotable mo sheppo, part 28

“It’s sort of like Kenny G, but without the annoying music.”

Posted in margarine | 1 Comment

the nine lives of covid

“Sorry, I didn’t have a choice. Mistletoe!”
— zach to marilee

Having won the lottery, we’re at the joint to get our first COVID shot. It’s been a stressful arrival. A major wreck has shut down the entrance, forcing us to randomly weave around the endless parking lot of the fairgrounds of the Arizona State Fair. There is not a corn dog, funnel cake or ’80s hair band to be had.

Go this way and wait here, the nice man says. YOU CAN’T GO THAT WAY AND WAIT THERE, a nice security person says. Just follow a car randomly, Mo says, and that turns out to be the solution.

So now we’re in the state fair’s sheep barn, waiting either for a shot or a sheep dip. I’m not certain if there have been clinical studies on the effect of a hearty sheep dip on the coronavirus, but you never know. Although I do know that sheep dip doesn’t sound like something I would want with my tortilla chips. Fortunately we have no tortilla chips, so this moral dilemma is left unconfronted.

I roll down my window, and standing before me is a young guy who bears an uncanny resemblance to the hunky firefighter in a Hallmark movie about the rescue of a cat and its ensuing love story. Yes, I watch too many Hallmark movies. We’re in a pandemic, dammit. You do what you must do.

He is Drop-Dead Gorgeous, with huge biceps that make me wonder exactly how hard he’s going to jab me with the needle.

Nice guy. We go through the checklist, he gives me the shot, which hurts not at all, applies my hello kitty band-aid, and tells me that’s it. I swoon (possibly a side effect of the vaccine, mind you), totally questioning my sexuality. My wife, on the other hand, does not question hers.

She’s in the passenger seat and he reaches for her right arm, but she insists that he shoot her in the left arm instead. This, of course, means she has to GET OUT OF THE CAR to get the shot, snuggling up next to the unsuspecting EMT.

“Thank you so much for your help here,” she says, eyelashes fluttering. Looking over at me, she adds, “And thank you for being so kind to my elderly father. As an unmarried female selflessly taking care of her crabby dad, I appreciate your efforts so much. OK, I’m ready for the shot but I’ll warn you that I’m prone to fainting, so please catch me if I start to fall, and never let me go.”

Despite her best efforts, the firefighter assures her she does NOT need to take her shirt off to get vaccinated. He quickly gives her the shot and helps her back into the car. I don’t know if he rescued her cat. Fortunately, there was no mistletoe in the barn. The sheep likely ate it.

We wait the obligatory 15 minutes and drive away in search of Grand Avenue pizza. It’s not quite the same plot line as the Christmas movie, but I take solace in knowing that Hallmark always has a happy ending. I I look forward to ours.

If I’m ever ailing and EMTs are called, I hope they don’t send this guy. I’m worried about what Mo might do. Nine lives, indeed.

Posted in margarine | 6 Comments

yes, we have no bananas

If you’re ever lucky enough to come across someone who will enthusiastically agree to wear a banana suit while holding a sparkler and a pumpkin wearing sunglasses on the track for no particular reason while a team is running intervals around you, hang onto her as long as you can.

And when she decides it’s time to catch a flight to the next adventure, wave goodbye at the gate with a smile, grateful she found her way into your world.

Safe travels, chica. See you in the next incarnation. I’ll bring the banana suits.

Posted in margarine | 7 Comments

conversations with my doctor, part 4

“Life is hard, honey. Everyone finds a way.”
Carla in “Everything, Everything” by Nicole Yoon

Doctor: Hey. How’s the chemo treating you?

Me: I enjoy it a lot. I may continue it on a recreational basis after we’re done. Do you think it’s possible to buy Obinutuzumab on the street?

Doctor (looking at new doctor who’s shadowing him): In all my years, nobody has ever said that to me. Figures it’s him.

New doctor: Confused look.

Doctor: So how are you feeling? Are you running or is this sidelining you?

Me: Oh, shuffling along. Still slow, but I’m feeling better.

Doctor: What shoes are those?

Me: Altra Escalante.

Doctor: Do you like them?

Me: They’re OK. Mostly I like saying “Altra Escalante.”

Doctor: These are the old Brooks Cascadias. Beat to hell. Look at this hole!

Me: Just getting them broken in.

New doctor: Wondering what the hell.

Me: The new doctor is wearing Allbirds, world’s coolest shoes. Super light, environmentally friendly. I like her already.

Doctor to new doctor: Oh, god. Another minimalist. Do you run?

New doctor (embarrassed): No, but I do other stuff.

Doctor: Makes mental note to flunk her.

Doctor to me: Well, it’s good you’re still running, even if you’re getting passed by little girls. And I’m not knocking little girls. In my one and only marathon, I got passed in the last quarter mile on the track we were finishing on by a girl. Went out at 6-minute pace, backed off, picked it up again at 18, and then died at the end. And there she was.

Me: Yeah, when I asked my roommate what his goal was in his first 8k back in 1980 ,he said he had no particular time in mind; only that there was no way any girls would beat him. He never said that again.

New doctor: Ponders career change.

Doctor: Well, your numbers look good. Let’s keep doing what we’re doing. See you next month.

Me: Sounds good.

New doctor: Begins mentally writing resignation letter. Or planning marathon training.

I love my oncologist. Life is hard. But we’re finding a way.


Posted in margarine | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

the day my life changed forever. a photo essay

Don’t cry because it’s over.
Smile because it happened.
— the prophet theodor geisel

The COVID mambo has reduced my life to a limited set of activities.

I wake up, drink coffee, go for a run, edit some newspapers in my little dungeon, watch a Hallmark movie and go to bed.

But then.

Mo, using her superior tech skills and come-hither looks, got us appointments for the vaccine. It’s the new one called “Placebo,” so it must be good.

I cannot wait to get vaccinated and begin my new post-COVID schedule.

I will wake up, drink coffee, go for a run, edit some newspapers in my little dungeon, watch a Hallmark movie and go to bed.

But my arm will hurt.

God bless modern science. And Dr. Seuss.

Posted in margarine | 2 Comments