Greetings From The Rear

I was reading a news story speculating that shaking hands may become a victim of the pandemic because it is a prime way of transferring germs, that in the future we won’t want to randomly touch people we’ve been staying a healthy six feet away from. 

Shaking hands dates, some historians say, back to caveman times as a means of showing each other that you didn’t have a weapon, the club you held behind your back with your other hand notwithstanding. So if we are going to do away with the historic handshake after all this time, we need a worthy replacement.

Fist bumps won’t work, because they’re only marginally less dirty than shaking hands. Ditto high fives. Elbow bumps are a collision of funny bones waiting to happen. European cheek-kissing … obviously not. Even hugging might be relegated to the dustbin of history.

Bowing is an option, but we’d all have to learn the intricacies of how low do you go. Curtsying? Please. A Namaste or wai form of greeting, or some other variation of placing your hands together with or without a slight bow, would seem a reasonable alternative, but these carry a lot of implications of societal behavior and social standing that, let’s be honest, are way too subtle and sophisticated for Americans who think that slapping someone on their back hard enough to dislodge dentures is a sign of affection.

So, what are we to do?

May I suggest … butt bumping?

Hear me out. I’m not talking about patting someone on the butt with your hand; that greeting is reserved for athletes, parents of bratty kids, and boorish oafs. No, what I’m suggesting is just a gentle coming together of rear ends with a bit of controlled contact, preferably more of a fleshy rump tap and not a bony hip check.

This interaction wouldn’t be considered sexual in nature or some form of mild physical assault since it would become the standard greeting and a perfectly acceptable social convention. After all, lots of people who are not natural huggers recoil in horror when enveloped in another person’s arms and many construe it as a mortal embarrassment, if not outright sexual assault. 

But butt bumping has all kinds of possibilities and permutations. You could have your casual I-don’t-really-know-you barely brushing of buttocks, your firm yet brief derriere press for more formal occasions, the lingering fanny-to-fanny rub between intimate friends, and the full double-cheek backside bounce when you’re really glad to see someone. Of course, manly men who now crush your hand in a vise to demonstrate their testosterone levels would be throwing their butts around like, well, asses. 

Plus, this method leaves your hands free so you don’t even have to stop texting some other friend on your phone while you greet someone.

So, the next time you see someone coming up to you with their hand outstretched to shake, don’t be rude, just shake your booty instead like a civilized person should.


A Plague Upon Our House

I’ll admit, I don’t know how much more of this I can take. It’s just not normal, it’s just not natural, it’s just too much to bear. Sitting in your house, day after day, having to deal with this … this massive imposition, this daily disruption, this insidious invasion. Changing your life, always on edge, constantly on the lookout, wondering when or if it will go away and life as we know it will resume.

I mean, where did all these stink bugs that have taken over my home come from? Outer space? Hades? China? New Jersey by way of Florida? 

For those unfamiliar with the brown marmorated stink bug (Halyomorpha halys), or shield bug as we also call the little monsters, it releases an odor when squashed or threatened. Therefore, you can’t just step on them or swat them, you have to handle their disposal in a most delicate manner.

They creep, they crawl, they fly, they flitter. They land on your pillow at night. They crawl around on the floor and the windows. They buzz around lamps and lights. Worst of all, they land in your evening cocktail and it’s so disgusting I, for one, am not just going to fish the little sucker out but have to pour the whole drink down the drain.

They’ve been infesting our house for the last couple of months. Just how you have bugs in the dead of winter is beyond me. And don’t get me started on their little bastard cousins, the ladybugs, who have tagged along and doubled our misery.

Halyomorpha halys, or spawn of Satan

I’m hoping that now it’s spring they’ll all go outside and, I don’t know, soak up some rays or something, or do what insects are supposed to do outside. As I said, disposal of the critters to date has been problematic. Sometimes I give them the traditional goldfish burial at sea, but usually I just release them back into the wild. And sorry if it’s 24 degrees out there and you don’t like the snow but hey, life is tough all over.

Why don’t I just call an exterminator and be done with them? Well, I’m not sure I want chemicals sprayed all over my house and I’m not sure it would really do them in. I’ve researched a variety of home remedies, but they all conclude that you have to seal all the tiny cracks and openings in your house to keep them out. Have you seen my house? It hasn’t been effectively sealed since the Christmas Day storm a few years back that completely coated everything in a solid sheet of ice.

I don’t know if anyone else is experiencing this apocalyptic nightmare, but we should probably quarantine ourselves so we don’t involuntarily transfer these pestilential spawn of Satan to others. Can you imagine if these things spread uncontrolled throughout the neighborhood? Or beyond? What would we do?

I can see it now: Shortages of bug spray. Fly swatters flying off the shelves. Air fresheners disappearing as people combat the smell of crunched stink bug. And you certainly couldn’t expect the government to handle an outbreak of something like this; officials would probably downplay the problem and remind us that, oh, it’s not like you have an infestation of skunks in your house so go buy some stocks or bonds or something.

No, I guess we’ll just have to ride this out. In isolation. By ourselves. Just us. Helpless. Hoping they’ll just one day magically go away and we can get on with our lives.

In the meantime, I need a drink. Preferably one without any damn bugs in it.

A User’s Guide To Self-Isolation

Since it appears we might all be self-quarantining ourselves sooner or later, I thought as a public service that I would offer a few tips on how to keep from going stir crazy sitting at home for an extended period. Here you go:

  • Watch TV. Regular readers know my thoughts on television in general and binge-watching in particular, but I’m willing to concede that there are exceptions even to my opinions. Since there are no sporting events – get ready for endless “classic” games, also known as reruns, on all the endless sports channels that suddenly have no content to show – I suggest watching some good movies. I recommend some of the timeless, thought-provoking, literate classics such as Citizen Kane, To Kill A Mockingbird, Casablanca, or Caddyshack. Another option is, yes, binge-watching your favorite shows, such as they are. Avoid the news; you’ll just get yourself worked up over nothing. Or check out some of those other 835 channels you get that you never watch; you’ll be amazed at the diversity of, um, programming.
  • Read. Yes, I know most people don’t regularly read books, but it’s not your fault. That boring “character-driven” (literary-speak for having no discernible plot or point) crap they made you read in high school is enough to turn anyone away from reading. If you’re wondering what kind of book you should start with if you haven’t read any for a long time, mine is available on Amazon.
  • Listen to music. Sing along. Dance along. Get your groove on. Go on, turn it up … no, a little bit louder now.
  • Have a conversation. Just sit and talk with your significant other and remember why they are so significant. If it’s just you in the house, hey, no problem. Who better to talk to than someone as fascinating as yourself? This is a great chance for a little introspection, some soul-searching, a bit of contemplation. And no one will think you’re crazy talking to yourself because you’re self-quarantined! But since we’re all on edge a bit, try to avoid getting testy and into arguments with yourself about trivial matters. You know how it goes: The argument escalates and leads to recriminations, accusations, profanity and words you’ll regret later. You’ll end up not speaking to yourself and going off to another room in a huff, and then where will you be (other than in a room you don’t want to be in)?
  • Start in on spring cleaning or some other home-improvement chore you never have time for or don’t want to do, such as cleaning out your closet or that kitchen drawer cluttered up with all those baffling utensils whose purpose are a complete mystery but which you keep anyway because you might use them one day – as if you’ll suddenly have an epiphany and go, dammit, Jim, of course that’s a strawberry stem remover, now where can I get some decent strawberries.
  • Start a hobby. Take up knitting or painting or tuba playing or – I’m not afraid of a little competition – writing. Do something you enjoy, something fun, something you’ve always wanted to do. Which leads me to…
  • Do a jigsaw puzzle. This is a favorite activity in Smithworld; they’re fun, come in all sizes, shapes and degrees of difficulty and are wonderful at disengaging your mind from the real world, which is what we all need to do more of. They also allow you to multi-task, so that while you’re puzzling you can simultaneously listen to music or carry on a conversation, sometimes with the puzzle pieces themselves. For those at home alone, it’s also a great way to let your mind wander and forget that you’re mad and not speaking to yourself right now.

So have fun. Be happy. You’re at home. Chill out. Live life. Quit worrying, don’t panic and, please, stay healthy.

Holy Moly

I know some people are not taking this coronavirus stuff seriously, but a recent trip to Costco kind of put things in perspective for me. The store was out of Kleenex and their own brand of facial tissue, and were running low on toilet paper.

Is this like when people make a run on milk, bread and bananas before a big snowstorm is predicted? Are people really thinking they’ll hunker down for days and weeks, not going to work or to shop, until the danger is gone? Are we living in the Dark Ages? (Don’t answer that.)

Health officials are begging people to stop buying masks because of fears health professionals won’t have enough to do their jobs. Really? Hospitals buy their masks from Wal-Mart and CVS?

The coronavirus is a scary disease, indeed, but we should all remember not to panic. What we should panic about is the fact that, according to polls, apparently one in three people think the virus is somehow linked to Corona beer. And I thought I had destroyed a lot of my brain cells with all those martinis.

Then I saw a headline saying that Catholic churches are emptying their holy water fonts because of fears of spreading the virus. Um, isn’t this the stuff that supposedly kills vampires? Next you’ll be telling me some fairy tale that bottled spring water isn’t really from some pristine babbling brook but is just filled from an industrial-sized faucet in a factory in Flint.