At some point, as I was cleaning carpets Saturday, I raised some kind of allergen in the dust that laid me out like getting punched by Will Smith.
Don’t worry, I’m not going to dwell for too long on the infamous Oscar slap–just a little.
I’m allergic to dust, or something in dust, or maybe I’m allergic to dusting. In any case, our house had cats living in it for many years, and I’m highly allergic to them. It’s not easy getting dander out of every nook and cranny. I don’t even know where the crannies are. (I’m also allergic to dogs, but sometimes you just have to suck it up, as in sucking dander into your lungs.)
|“Bombardier to pilot, dander away!”
I have a lot of allergies, but for some reason dust is the worst … maybe it has all the other allergens in it? I should wear a mask, but I’m a man, and men are stupid. So for the second half of the weekend I laid on the couch, in a medicinal stupor, and watched a marathon of How the Universe Works.
The great thing about the weekend is that I didn’t watch the news for three days (or the weather, which pretty much spoke for itself). But I didn’t stay completely away from social media, which is sad.
This explains why I had a dream, narrated by Mike Rowe, in which Jupiter insulted Saturn’s rings, so Earth crossed through the asteroid belt and slapped Jupiter right in its spot.
|“Now, that’s what I call a close encounter.”||“Memes, uh … find a way.”|
For those of you who, like me, don’t really care, at the Oscar ceremony Sunday Chris Rock made fun of Smith’s wife’s baldness, which is caused by a medical condition. Smith then smacked Rock and said, “Welcome to Earth”.
Or something like that. I don’t watch the Oscars after my doctor advised me to cut down on stress-inducing political speeches. Besides, I haven’t watched the movie that won Best Picture since 2002.
You know, there should be an awards show for low-brow fans, like me. Best Picture, 1977: Smokey and the Bandit! (Actually, that year it was Rocky–which I did watch, so never mind.)
|My allergies made me feel like Sylvester Stallone punched me. At this rate, I’ll need a TV on the ceiling. (This is actually from a sleep study. I couldn’t. Sleep, that is.)|
Seeing the reaction to the Will-Rock incident made me realize I truly am from an older generation. If someone got up in front of a national audience and made fun of my wife’s medical condition, I’d break their nose. The speaker, not the national audience. I recognize this is hypocritical, considering I’m such a fan of Don Rickles, although in my defense Mr. Personality never made fun of my wife.
But it’s the 21st Century, and although you can’t swing a cat without offending someone (which would offend someone), apparently it’s no longer allowed to be offended on behalf of a loved one. “Violence never solved anything!” Which isn’t true, but it’s a nice thought.
But I’m a man, and men are stupid. In any case, Emily doesn’t need my help: She could punch out both Christ Rock and Will Smith. I’ve seen her push around horses.
Although she never made fun of them.