I can't remember what the phrase on the menu was that had Comrade and I discussing Worst Possible Drag/Porn Star Names, but my contribution was "Squelchy Donuts".
Not only is that NOT a Googlewhack, it's both a description that an actual bakery uses to entice people to buy their actual donuts, and also, unsurprisingly, part of adjective noun spam for adult sites that will absolutely steal your personal info.
But also, a porn star whose work one should never have to encounter. Or, a drag performer who is probably utterly delightful.
Employment is challenging right now. I bet it's damn near impossible to find work if you don't have experience, but calling up businesses at random and saying "Hi. This is totally strange, you know, but if you guys are hiring, I think you found your next employee."
I can guarantee you, we are not, but if we were, we wouldn't have.
On our way home from our first night out since the pandemic hit (Rosebud Diner for delicious night time breakfast foods), an SUV rolled by us, and the driver stuck their head out the window and just screamed like they were on fire.
Dude: "ME, TOO!"
The driver gave us the thumbs up, and kept driving.
Did he ever return / No he never returned / And his fate is still unlearned / He may ride forever 'neath the streets of Boston / He's the man who never returned.
No, thanks MBTA. I don't think I'll be sitting near the seventy year old white guy, with no mask, reading from the book of Revelation.
When talking about people moving away or wanting them to move away, I often talk about how they're going to "On the moon, or whatever" and we'll never see them again.
Today, I was talking about friends who moved during the pandemic and Comrade said "You'll probably see them again."
"Yea," I said. "It's not like they moved to the moon this time. They couldn't. Our passports aren't accepted there."
Comrade furrowed his brow. "But our flag is there. That's Our Moon. We shouldn't need a passport to go there."
My favorite part of Pandemic Mask Wearing is that it enables me to yawn repeatedly while someone who is Never Going To Buy Anything From Me tells me the complete history of every comic they've ever thought about purchasing.
"Do you come here often? Would you like to come here now?"
I'm lucky that I've had a job throughout the Pandemic. I go in four days a week, taking the T to meet my coworker, and then we drive to Beverly.
In March, I lost my Charlie card. The cards save about forty cents per trip. Experience had taught me that, short of going to Downtown Crossing during business hours, you can't get a Charlie Card anymore. For years, I've asked T attendants and been shot down.
Since it's just one short trip a day, and I don't currently have to shell out for the commuter rail, I've just accepted it.
Today, I bought my ticket, and In was stopped by a guy who was cleaning the windows. "You take the T every day, don't you?"
"Pretty much." I said.
"You're always reading cool graphic novels."
I smiled but he couldn't see it because I was wearing a mask.
He reached into his pocket. "Take my Charlie card. Do you know how to use it?"
"Yea. I just lost mine a few months ago."
"If you lose this one, let me know. I have dozens. They each have a couple of rides on them. And thanks for getting me to read Hellblazer."
I had never spoken to this person before.
It's been incredibly hot in the apartment (no AC, just a bunch of fans of various sizes), and today Comrade and I were both feeling particularly lazy. Like most people, when we get hot and lazy, our vocabularies dwindle, andwe communicate through vague nouns and random hand gestures.
He was working at his desk making a Pokerarium while I was confirming that just because I really enjoy most of Jonathan Hickman's Image work doesn't mean his Avengers run wasn't a tedious drizzle of continuity porn disguised as an interesting event comic.
One of the giant fans was pointed at him and his desk. The other was pointed at me on the bed.
Comrade got up and headed over to the bed, so we could watch the last Capaldi episode of Doctor Who on my continuity ("Twice Upon A Time" doesn't exist, after it aired it was eliminated from the time line so no one would ever have to suffer through it again).
Me: "Oh yea. Hot."
He goes to lay down. I point at the fan. "Uhhhh. Hot?"
He squints at me.
"Hot." I say. Point at the fan, and then make a twirling gesture.
Comrade turns around and begins to shimmy as some form of erotic dance. After about ten seconds, he smiles and begins to lay down.
"That was great." I say. "But could you turn the fan around so we don't get too hot while we watch the show?"
He turns the fan around "I. Am. Mortified."
"And hot." I offer.
Many of the people who came out to stores on the first day retail was open in MA were exactly the people nobody in retail wanted to see. Aggressive, arguing about mask policies, not respecting social distancing, not actually buying anything, just there to remind employees that people, at their core, are terrible.
This weekend, however, has been an absolute delight so far. Lots of parents with kids who are excited about being able to rejoin society (such as society is), everyone with masks and optimism.
So far, my favorite interaction was a mom and her eightish year old kid. She had told him not to get too excited, and to carefully look at the books unti he knew exactly which one he wanted.
Less than ten seconds later I heard. "OH MY GOD! THEY HAVE AN 'I AM KIRK' BOOK! THIS IS THE GREATEST STORE EVER. WE HAVE TO GET THIS RIGHT NOW!"
It was the mom.