Today is Cinco de Mayo. It seems to come out on May 5 every year, and 2021 is no exception. I find this reassuring.
Finding things to reassure us has become a mandatory quest following The Year of Living Pandemically. I realize we’re still not entirely out of the woods, frying pan or hot water (pick your operative cliché) but at least, if we’ve been vaccinated, we don’t size up everyone we pass on the street as a member of a dystopic horror-movie race of zombies called The Carriers.
“BP” may stand for British Petroleum to many of us who still drive non-electric cars, which could be as many as 284.5 million, according to this column’s intrepid fact-checker, Wayda Seck. BP is that place you pull into when you can’t find a Shell, Union 76 or ARCO station and are afraid if you buy the gas at a mini-market it’ll have the same horsepower as the Twinkies and Coke Zero you impulse-buy there.
As this month wends its way to a conclusion—or, if it’s been an especially bad one for you, winds its way to a concussion—I’m reminded that in his best known work, “The Waste Land,” American poet T.S. Eliot wrote, “April is the cruelest month.”
As we travel along life’s highway, we learn there are some questions better left unasked, such as, “Why is life called a highway? Is there a sudden metaphor shortage?”
I’ve been a fulltime member of what’s now called the Gig Economy since 1984. From 1970 until then, I held genuine jobs but also had a number of what are now call “side hustles”—which, when you string enough of those together, pretty much comprise the Gig Economy.
We’re learning that moderate alcohol drinking may help you avoid cataract surgery. In just four words: Now ya tell me.
A few years ago I underwent cataract operations on both of my eyes, separated by a few months (the operations, not my eyes) to allow my normally slow recovery time to enjoy a luxurious convalescence.
I watch as two waiters stand together, back-to-back, surveying the dining room at The Sutter Club’s “L Street Bistro,” the cleverly converted third floor of the institution’s parking garage. It was created to keep serving meals and cocktails to the club’s membership when COVID requirements forced restaurants to serve only al fresco.
A growing group of activists, mainly Democrats, think Washington, D.C., should be our 51st state. I’m all for it. And while we’re at it, let’s make Puerto Rico #52, Guam #53 and talk to Israel to see if it would be interested in being #54.
It was reported recently in every conceivable news outlet, on all social media websites, via carrier puffins and by zombie Pony Express riders that Prince Harry—aka, the Duke or Duck of Sussex, depending on how badly you suffer from Anglophilia—has been hired by the Aspen Institute’s Commission on Information Disorder.
Through a complicated process involving a fair amount of bribery, physical threats and, above all, remembering to say “please” and “thank you so much,” Sylvio Sylvie, The Goldman State’s chief enforcer and thief, has managed to cadge a sneak preview of apps due for summer 2021 release.
