Category: Culture

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The Last Days of Mask Mandates are Now

I feel suffocated by the face mask that California requires me to wear in the hospital where our daughter recuperates. The rule applies to healthcare facilities of every ilk. But count the days. Starting April 3, 2023, face coverings will no longer be required. Related: The mandate demanding that healthcare workers to be vaccinated against SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 also ends.

Across San Diego, significantly noticeable number of residents continue to wear masks. Meanwhile, I see more and more of them discarded, each and every day, like the Featured Image. The mask presented for photographing, inside IKEA, on March 1, 2023.

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‘I am Strong!’

For relatives, or anyone else interested, here is another update about our daughter, who has spent 22 days in the hospital—twelve on a ventilator. As she progresses—and more rapidly than anyone on staff would have guessed even a week ago—indications of stroke are obvious. While she can speak, her speech sounds nothing like herself; mumbled and stilted. She is jittery but by no means invalid. Cognition is good, but processes and motor functions are sluggish. That’s not a negative report. She recovers well, and briskly, without an intensive rehabilitation regime.

But that could change soon. Last night, around 8 p.m. PDT, the physical medicine and rehabilitation doctor called, and we spoke for about 54 minutes. He sees our daughter as being a very good candidate for entering an acute care program followed up by more out-patient rehab (which is fairly intensive). So that’s the tentative plan, depending on one of the facilities accepting her as a patient and insurance authorizing treatment.

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This New Nostalgic Photography Trend is Scary

When is really bad good? Let the Featured Image and companion answer. I never imagined that Millennial-generation nostalgia would make blurry photography a thing. Newfound fondness for pics produced by naught-decade point-and-shoot digital cameras focuses (honestly, no pun intended) on imperfections they produce.

Well, hell, I am a master photographer now. Sign me up for the big bonus payout from the Instagram gallery of art and artifacts, because I got a boatload (figuratively) of blurry, grainy, flawed photos languishing to be seen and cooed over.

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Don’t You Believe It

I will never be a fan of that narcistic cesspool called social media. The last light of hopefully meaningful online interaction extinguished with the shuttering of Google+ over April Fools 2019. That said, Elon Musk’s buying and revamping Twitter—and releasing through journalists the so-called “Twitter Files”—brings some hope that a bastion of free speech and reasonably intelligent commonsense dialogue can survive and thrive on the Internet; oh, and have room enough for narcissists and the rest of us.

As such, I now spend some time each day on Twitter. I joined during the early days, in late December 2006. Long time, I know. But until a week or so ago, I also had been mostly inactive. This morning, I had a good object lesson in the kind of misinformation that spreads across any social media platform—and in the most innocuous, likely unintentional, but worrisome way.

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Don’t Be Humpty Dumpty

How rude is that? In the midst of a massive shortage, one of my neighbors flaunts that he has a source of eggs. Just kidding, of course. You could raise chickens, too. If someone can keep them in San Diego, where houses pack tightly together with limited outdoor space, you could do as much with a little ingenuity. Then when online and TV commentators rail about bird flu cracking the egg supply chain, you won’t be Humpty Dumpty all broken up because store shelves are empty.

Returning to the topic of my neighbor’s chickens, if they were mine, I would watch them carefully when pecking about the lawn. Because of the so-called egg apocalypse, some passerby might decide to pluck one of the birds. What’s worse than a porch pirate purloining your Amazon delivery? Someone stealing your birds. Don’t expect them to escape the chase or cluck for help. They are an emotional and financial investment that you don’t want to risk losing.

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Don’t Be Slave to Hysteria

My wife and I set out for Costco Business Center to stock up foodstuffs, today. Our car is going into the shop for a short stint, and we wanted to grab grub from stores that are too far away to walk. But the entrance ramp onto HR-163 was inexplicitly closed, compelling us to abort. Trader Joe’s was nearby, eggs were on our list, and the grocery sells a dozen for the same price as the warehouse.

But would there be any in stock? For weeks, we’ve watched countless commentators warn about a shortage of eggs and skyrocketing prices (like seven bucks a dozen). Bird flu is blamed. If I learned nothing else from all the SARS-CoV-2(severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 insanity, fear is the virus—and, whoa, is it contagious. My advice to you: Don’t be afraid. Judge by what you see, not by what you hear someone say.

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Soon to be as Popular as Grand Ole Opry?

Today, I did an In-N-Out drive-by while other cars were ridiculously stuck in the drive-thru. What’s up with all this vehicular laziness? Park. Go inside and order. Your food will come faster. Shall we time it so you can see, or is your butt so planted you would never consider the freedom and ease found at the counter?

But I digress. The Featured Image, quickly taken from inside my Honda using Samsung Galaxy S22 Ultra, is shared solely to illustrate this post—and opportunity to snark vomit all over the fast-foodery’s homeland. This week, In-N-Out announced plans to open its farthest east location(s). In Tennessee. Why the Volunteer State, you might ask. The company doesn’t really answer, but you don’t need more sense than the drive-thru nutters to rightly reason. That’s where the customers are—meaning California expats and refugees. And you thought they all flocked to Idaho and Texas (yes, where many did flee).

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Better Than Two Barrels of Monkeys

I wouldn’t call 2022 a barrel of fun, would you? But barrel(s) of laughs is appropriate enough, if chuckling at the ironic or insanely non-sensical means anything. There was plenty of that.

For example, Elon Musk made a bid to buy Twitter, then walked away only to return and take ownership. He then started releasing, through journalists, starting with Matt Taibbi, the so-called “Twitter Files”, which shockingly showed a level of collusion between the social media platform and government agencies to influence, if nothing else, U.S. elections. Oh that influence includes the Biden campaign in 2020.

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A Very SoCal Christmas

Christmas Day assumed various nuances that made memories for the Wilcox family and others. For starters, we could celebrate free of SARS-CoV-2(severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 lockdowns and mandates that oppressed the previous two years’ holidays. Summer suddenly reappeared in a magnificently mild and sunny day, with the temperature reaching 25.6 degrees Celsius (78 Fahrenheit). Even as I write, temp is unseasonably 19 C (66 F). Tomorrow is supposed to be nearly as warm as today.

As I will more fully explain in a few days, my wife and I have changed computing platforms—PCs and smartphones. At 12:30 p.m. PST, I met parents and their adult age college student to buy Annie’s 13.3-inch MacBook Pro M1 (16GB RAM, 1TB SSD). I have yet to find a buyer for my 16.2-inch MBP M1, which is a monster configuration that only a crazy man would let go—or swap for something seemingly less. All will be revealed soon enough. There are reasons.

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Oh Holy Night

A few weeks ago, Dad asked about conducting a video call with the remaining (adult) children gathered. My sister Nanette, whose day job is software support, took the request and set up a Zoom meeting. Our father is 81 years old, and his computing device is an iPhone, so some testing was necessary beforehand. Of course, during last night’s final prep, his home lost electrical power (weather is stormy back home). She persevered, as did he.

Following some snafus getting him connected, sometime after 7 p.m. EST, we gathered online—some of us seeing one another for the first time in decades. We all live in different states. Nan’s husband joined and my wife. Our youngest sister is widowed. Missing and sorely missed: The eldest daughter, who passed away in 2016.