Two words: Cinnamon rolls.
Three words: Lasagna for breakfast.
Actually, I decided if I were to ever write a memoir about this pandemic, I would entitle it White Bread for Breakfast. Lasagna for Lunch. Fat for Life.
My sister, Marcia, is enabling the whole family’s future diabetes diagnoses. Each afternoon just about, she sends her teen son to our houses to deliver whatever she anxiety-baked that day. Homemade soft pretzels. Burnt almond cupcakes. Snickerdoodles. Margarita cookies. Homemade bagels. An entire tray of warm iced cinnamon rolls as big as your mustachioed watermelon face, Wilford Brimley.
It’s easy to forget about the state of the world when you’re on your couch listening to the cellulite attach itself to your ass. (EMBROIDER THAT ON A PILLOW AND SEND ME 75% OF YOUR PROFIT*)
*Toilet paper also accepted as payment.
Let’s get to it!
So, let’s talk about the puzzle! You thought I was joking didn’t you — that surely my parents weren’t THAT obsessed with the missing puzzle piece. Surely they’ve disassembled the puzzle and moved on with their lives. Surely I was just exaggerating for content.
Well, my mom sent me a lasagna (eh, I’m starting to think maybe my family is trying to kill me with carbs?) and taped to the dish, I find this note from my dad:
HE TRACED THE PIECE FOR MY SON TO PAINT.
The lasagna wasn’t to feed me, their precious spawn — it was merely a delivery mechanism for the note. So I texted my mother and I was like, “How is he supposed to paint the piece when he doesn’t even know what picture surrounds it LOL?”
Hah hah. Funny. The end, right?
No. The next day my mother SENDS ME A ROAST WITH POTATOES, DAN QUAYLE**. And attached to the roast dish? A little baggie of cocaine.
Okay, not cocaine. But the actual puzzle section for my son to use to paint the missing piece.
They are not letting this go. This is their white whale. On one hand, I want to give them relief from this angst. On the other hand, will completing the puzzle leave them with nothing to live for except front-porch-delivered sugar-rich carbs? I’ll keep you posted.
**If you understand this joke, please email me, fellow oldster, so I don’t feel so decrepit.
Guys. GUYS. GUISE. Remember how two editions ago I joked that the Pirates’ theme for 2020 should be Who the Hell is That?
Well, I’m pleased to inform you that the Pirates have begun a new recurring Twitter contest called…
Ready?
Wait for iiiiiit…
Today's "Who's That Bucco?" is... Bryan Reynolds! Congrats @lyssaaa_22, you won our signed baseball.We have another round of "Who's That Bucco?" for ya! ✔️ He participated in the 2017 Futures Game ✔️ He made his Major League debut in 2019 ✔️ He hit four triples last season Know who it is? Reply to this tweet for a chance to win a signed baseball. https://t.co/GaXng4eqBEPirates @Pirates“WHO’S THAT BUCCO?”
They are, as I suggested, giving people prizes for knowing who their players are!
It’s a shout-out. Shut up. Call me, Pirates. I have some really specific ideas on how to deal with woo-ers and only two of them involve high-velocity fire.
If you’ve ever wondered how I stumble upon the Pittsburgh history stuff I stumble upon, the answer is that once a day I open the Post-Gazette archives (I have a paid subscription) and I pick a random edition from my favorite period (1850 to 1930) and I just start reading. Today, I was in 1910 when I stumbled upon this ad for weight loss:
I have never seen a woman shrink AND grow at the same time! That’s remarkable! Also, she apparently lost like 300 pounds in four months. Seems doable and healthy.
That ad led me to researching other weight loss ads which gave me this one from 1918:
Whatever damage this quarantine does to me, I’m just going to refer to myself as a “fleshy person.”
That ad led me to searching terms like “reduce fat” and then I hit the forking jackpot. Would you look at this ad from Liberty Baking in 1925, please?
LOSE FOUR OR FIVE POUNDS A WEEK BY EATING SIX SLICES OF BREAD A DAY IN ADDITION TO YOUR MEALS??
First, was there cocaine in this bread? I’m seriously asking.
Second, I’m going to try this diet. Two slices of bread before a plate of lasagna sounds doable. I’ll let you know how it goes.
I then went to the 1980s to see how bodies getting fit were portrayed and well …
The Post-Gazette had a recent piece on how landlords in the city are handling the economic equivalent of the sun collapsing and swallowing the Earth, and I’d just like to cheerfully and helpfully point out to the local landlords some things you DON’T want to say to the media in case doing so makes you look like the human equivalent of a trash panda.
Her tenants usually pay on time. But this month, she said, about half of them have already let her know they recently lost their main source of income due to the COVID-19 shutdown and they may have trouble paying the April rent. She said she asks them if they have applied for unemployment yet? Or have they applied for a bank loan, since rates are low?
“I try to give them other options,” said Ms. Whitesitt, 28, of West Deer. “Because not paying rent isn’t an option.”
Yes, file for unemployment. Good. Yes, be a decent human being and have empathy, good. TELL THEM TO APPLY FOR A BANK LOAN TO PAY THEIR RENT?
Oh, Karen, honey, no. Don’t say that to your renters and then certainly don’t turn around and say it to a reporter.
What bank is giving an unemployed renter an unsecured loan during a near total indefinite economic shutdown? You might as well say to your renters, “Did you plant your magic money tree beans yet? Have you tried pooping out gold turds?”
The second thing you don’t say to the media in case it makes you look like the human equivalent of a sewer rat:
For the most part, he doesn’t expect to see a severe decline with April rent collections.
What he does see is opportunity to expand his business.
“I’m prepared to acquire more property from people who can’t handle their portfolio,” said Mr. Schaltenbrand, 37.
“I see people mismanaging property and people who are over-leveraged and I’m hoping to be able to capitalize on that. There will be a lot of people who can’t manage their portfolios and looking to liquidate. That is one of the upsides I am patiently waiting for.”
Don’t, regardless of how you view their management style or abilities, use an indefinite economic shutdown as a reason to tell the press that you are excited to use other people’s misfortunes as a forklift to elevate your own financial standing — eagerly lying in wait like Joe Exotic’s tigers watching for the first sign of weakness before springing in attack.
Did you two learn NOTHING from Mister Rogers? As he would say, “Don’t be a selfish piece of —”
What?
NOTE: I realize I should put this newsletter on some kind of regular schedule, but in my defense, time doesn’t exist, therefore schedules don’t exist, therefore dates don’t exist, therefore bill due dates don’t exist, therefore mortgages don’t exist, therefore money doesn’t exist, therefore we are all rich. Unless you run out of toilet paper, then you are very very poor.
Or as that landlady up there would say, “Have you considered robbing a toilet paper factory? Have you tried planting your toilet paper seeds?”
Oh, hey, speaking of the Pirates, if you’re a Broadway fan, pitcher Steven Brault (“Who the hell is thaaaaaat?”) released an album of Broadway covers called A Pitch at Broadway, and it’s a good listen.
I’ve had “Music of the Night” and “You’ll Never Walk Alone” on repeat while scrolling Twitter and stuffing my face with Swiss Rolls.
That’s a shame.
And let’s call it for this edition. The world remains afire, but there is good news to be found in the chaos. Some flattening. Some reduction in hospitalizations. Some lines curving.
Remain vigilant. Remain helpful. Remain hopeful. And most importantly …
Stay home, jags.