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A few days ago, finding myself short on refrigerator-door shelf space, I realized that my last bottle of Starbucks Frappuccino Iced Coffee had been there longer than I could remember. I’d bought it long ago after really enjoying the first one or two I’d tried, but then I’d been able to resist drinking it, knowing that anything that delicious couldn’t be healthy to drink every day. It’s shelf-stable, so I’d had it in a cabinet for a long time, but that meant it was never ready to drink when I had a craving for it, so eventually I put it in the fridge so it would be ready. But I’d resisted it for so long I could’t remember how long it had been there.

In 2020 I’d gotten into the habit of drinking other bottled beverages containing coffee almost every morning (because Starbucks and Peets and other coffee places were shut down for awhile and when they started reopening I waited until I was vaccinated before going in one). All a little healthier, and all of which I’d discovered (well, and the manufacturers invented) while that bottle was gathering dust. So I finally moved the bottle to the top shelf with the others and vowed to make it my coffee drink the next day and finally free up the space.

The next day I was all set to open and drink it when I thought to look for an expiration date. I peered at the tiny lettering (which I swear had shrunk since I’d bought the bottle) and it started out “Best Taste Before…”. A reassuring sign, I thought. At least it doesn’t say “Danger: Discard Immediately After…”. The next line said “S E P 1 1 0 0”. “September, 1100?” I thought. “I don’t think Frappuccinos were even invented then. It was long before Melviille even created the character the company got its name from. Oh, wait: this is from when years only had two digits. This is a non-Y2K compliant coffee. It’s from September 11, 2000! This was bottled in the 20th century and technically expired before the current century began. Also, this is a pre-9/11 coffee and pre-3-1-1. This coffee is so old, if I’d put it in my backpack and taken it on a trip while it was still fresh, I would have been allowed to carry it into the plane to drink. Also, given its current age, this bottle of coffee is actually _old enough to drink!_

I got a good laugh out of some of those thoughts. As I was placing it in the trash unopened, it occurred to me: “This bottle made me laugh. Technically, it ‘sparked joy’. Does that mean I should keep it?”
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 We generally don't get to trace the effects of our actions, but because I just happened to read @vixy's latest journal entry, her generosity about donating leftover N95 masks made me feel guilty enough to dig out the ones I stashed away after the 2018 California fires ended, and figure out how to donate them to the nearest hospital, which I might not have done otherwise.  But as soon as I thought about it, I realized that the chance of my needing them while stuck inside with my air purifiers and no fires currently raging, when I haven't been within a few feet of anyone for three weeks and so am unlikely to get sick, and there's no one around to infect if I do get sick, the chance it will do any good if I keep it is infinitesimal to the chance a hospital could use it, where they have infected patients and staff who have to get close to them.  It's impossible for anyone to know whether Vixy's donation or mine will save a single person from getting ill; most likely all nine of mine will be worn for one day by healthcare workers who treat patients who turn out not to be contagious after all.  Still worth a try.

In contrast, I can directly trace Vixy's message to my being able to finish my second COVID-19-related song.  My errand to drop it off at the El Camino Health Foundation's next collection time (they have a facility comfortably far from the hospital and during those hours a table to drop them off at so I didn't need to hand it to anyone -- a nice long table) took me on a very nice bike ride away mostly on trails and through a park.  It was my second time out where I had a destination.  Before that, I'd ventured outside to take out the trash and recycling and get a tiny bit of exercise and sunshine, but I found I'd played too many seasons of Zombies, Run! over the years and it had eaten into my brain.  ("A woman pushing a stroller!  That''s two of them, and they're only eight feet away and closing!  I think I can outrun them, though.")

And then on Monday I'd walked to the drugstore because I couldn't wait for a delivery of a product I'd suddenly found a need for.  I'd recently learned the hard way one of the benefits of walking and biking every day like I'd been doing all of my adult life:  as soon as I stop, I suddenly understand all those TV commercials from my childhood with old people needing products they never quite explained.  And I buy everything online but now I needed to go to an actual brick-and-mortar store because Amazon is no longer able to do two-day delivery. Most irregular.  As I was holding the product in my hand, I became conscious for the first time of the soundtrack playing on the drugstore speakers:  Matchbox 20's "Unwell".  Very appropriate title for a drugstore, I guess.  And suddenly there were a lot of obvious congruences to the current situation, and I started writing the song on my walk back.  (Apparently there's some kind of weird connection between my songworm and my body, because just holding that product in my hands instantly loosened up a flood of ideas; I actually started working on a parody of the song that followed it too.)

But I was only able to finish the "Unwell" parody the next night (in one long intense sitting... in front of my computer, if you must know, same spot I've been working and attending virtual cons from for three weeks) after a bike ride that would have been very pleasant if I hadn't been concentrating so hard on social distancing.  There were a lot of people out biking and jogging, many side by side.  And that gave me the second verse.  (I haven't actually been on a train or bus for many weeks.)

Here it is, in more or less finished form.  I can't wait for a chance to do it next time at a filk circle, which after two weekends in a row will have to wait until ... what, _this Saturday_?!  The filk world has short-circuited.  I never would have flown to Portland for a house filk or Germany for a filkcon, but so far it's beginning to look like there's going to be a filk circle every weekend for the foreseeable future.
 
 

“Unwell” parody started 3/30/20

©4/1/2020 by Bob Kanefsky

 

All night

Nestled in my desk chair making

friends with thumbnails on a screen.

All day

hearing voices streaming and

it makes me feel all right

because at least it’s like my mind

went somewhere.

 

Holed up.

Hopefully we’re heading off the

Outbreak.

Too early to tell.

 

(I’m) not infected; I’m just a little unwell.

I think!

No tests; I can’t tell.

But nonetheless it’s always best you be

At least six feet from me.

I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unnerved.

I think

Right now, you’re best served

To wash your hands and heed the CDC,

And stay six feet from me.

 

Please.

I’m paranoid enough in public:

Dodging strangers on the train.

And I see,

I see them sitting close together

Just like people used to

It’s as if some folks refuse to even try,

I guess,

Suppose they could be roommates, maybe

Lovers, under one roof.

 

(Chorus)

 

I’ve been workin’ from my home!

My commute is, like, six inches!

All my friends have been laid off...

 

(Chorus)

 

Yeah, at least six feet from me.

Stay six feet from me.

I’m just a little unnerved.

Stay six feet from me.

Stay six feet from me.

I'm just a little on edge.

 

[finished?! 3/31/20 11:20pm, finishing tweaks 4/1/20]

 

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The virtual con effort led by Blind Lemming Chiffon following the last-minute postponement of Consonance is going amazingly well as far as I can see.  The open filk that I hosted (one of two rooms running in parallel yet) was objectively successful even by the standards of physical cons that are announced with more than a few days notice — a peak over over 16 households, around 20 people I think, and it was 3:20 PDT by the time the last four of us in the “room” called it quits.  (The Consonance Interfilk guest dropped in briefly from Sweden near the end, and much longer and there was a danger the East Coast of North America might have woken up and new people joined, and I wasn’t prepared to host wakeful people.)
 
My workshop this morning went reasonably well considering I had no time to prepare given hasty planning and the fact I'm fortunate enough to be working from home.  (Yes, I signed up to give an 11am workshop after a late night of filking, thus reproducing the true con experience of lack of sleep.  It really does feel more like a con to me than like I’m stuck at home in the same chair I’ve been working from for days.)
 
Events are listed on filkstreams.org and the Festival of the Living Rooms group Facebook page.  I eventually discovered that the live streams on Facebook were accessible to me without an account after all (just requiring a Not Now); I’d given up when previous links seemed to require login.
 
—Kanef
 
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I don’t recall telling anyone I was planning to attend Conflikt this year, but in case anyone is wondering — given that I’ve attended more than half of them and haven’t skipped any in recent years — I thought I’d mention it.  I was sort of half planning to go this year, but in the end decided not to.  Mostly due to lack of time this month (year?).

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I've finally posted lyrics for my latest six parodies.  http://songworm.com/search.html
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Valentines Day 2018 (Thinkin' and Prayin')

Parody of “Wishin’ and Hopin’”, words by Hal David , music by Burt Bacharach
Parody ©2018, but maybe I should think about granting one of the Creative Commons licenses




Wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’
Talkin’ and tweetin’, and not taking stands:
That won’t keep the gun from his hands.

So if you wanna protect kids, schools, and more,
What you gotta do is write it, debate it, and pass it,
And bring it to the floor.

Chorus:
Next time someone kills several kids,
Ban the things that he had to use.
Pass a bill for those kids,
’Cause you won’t save ’em
Thinkin’ and a-prayin’,
Wishin’ and bemoanin’

Just grievin’, condolin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’
Wishin’ and hopin’ these killings abate:
That won’t change his firing rate.

So if you’re shocked every time school kids die,
What you gotta do is write it, debate it,
Amend it, and pass it.
Just do it.
And after you do,
Then you can cry.

(Chorus)

’Cause wishin’ and hopin’, and thinkin’ and prayin’
Tweetin’ and flauntin’ the sorrow you showed
Won’t force him to pause to reload.

So if you must imitate one who cares,
What you gotta do is write it, debate it,
Amend it, and pass it.
Just do it.
But what do you do?
You send thoughts and prayers.