The Long and Long of Fog

Although we might well leave in-depth discussions of enigma, conundrum and paradox to some future date, suffice it to say that, for our purposes herein, they pretty much mean the same thing. More definitive meanings are mostly typified by synonyms, which, obviously, mean pretty much the same things.

It may be, however, an appropriate time to carefully analyze whether the United States should abandon its representative form of government—modeled on cries of unfair taxation—and adopt a more populist form based on polls. Remarkably accurate—did anyone ever hear the Big Orange question the veracity of the Quinnipiac poll, the efficacy of Roscoe’s House of Chicken ‘N Waffles, or how to pronounce Quinnipiac?—opinion polls could provide a sampling that could be reduced to a singular set of data that would provide Congress with all the information needed to pass legislation that would reflect the will of the people.

For instance: The Senate’s belief that Roe v.Wade shouldn’t be the law of the land becomes enigmatic when noting that 61 percent of the voting public thinks Roe needs codification, not reversal.

Another instance has it that 83 percent of the voting public believes—contrary to Congress—that MediCare should be allowed to negotiate drug prices. This, then, becomes an example of a paradox.

See where I’m goin’ here?

Both legislative tidbits, when combined to accurately represent the will of the people but are denied by a self-serving Congress, offer up a conundrum. And quite a conundrum at that, I might add.

So that’s how our grand experiment in democracy is working out (thus far): The will of the people is being actively misrepresented by those elected to represent us. Legislation that was never written is nonetheless recognized to reflect the majority of voters, none of whom have access to the filibuster, which, I’m sorry to say, sounds like a piece of hardware from a Bill Murray movie.

My friend, who goes by the name of Mr. Politico, explained how governments work the other day. In India (I’m paraphrasing here) the Parliament has approximately 3,496 seats, all of which are filled by impoverished people who believe(d) in reincarnation and dream(ed) of vacationing in Bakersfield, California. Candidates are not allowed to solicit political funds, but once they are elected, it is a race to the top (bottom) of the Corruption Derby, an official event that includes pari mutuel gambling and over-priced concessions.

Mr. Politico might have said other stuff that I didn’t hear because of my preoccupation with other stuff.

In America, politicians are expected to be as corrupt as possible before even throwing their hats into the ring, a practice whose origins came from hats whose hatbands were sweaty enough to offend boxing enthusiasts.

There was a point to all of this. Something having to do with crime and the Lottery which, I presume, I didn’t win. But then how could have I won? I don’t play. I have, however, been in Des Plaines. Ordinarily, I’d just move along as if nothing happened, but I’ve got a couple of jokes that I thought were funny enough to derail the thought train to tell.

Here they are:

Funny, huh?

And just one more: Does anybody else find it disturbing that Jared Bernstein of the White House Council of Economic Advisors looks remarkably like Leslie Nielsen?

In 1999, I came in second out of three in a Kenny Rogers look-a-like contest in St. Louis. In New York, I wore tinted glasses and shoulder-length blond hair. While nobody thought I was John Lennon, more than a few did double takes as I wandered the West Village. And I was frequently mistaken for Martin Mull in Los Angeles, where we both lived and which thereby threw the odds greatly in my favor. Exponentially, one might say.

Speaking of odds…

Chances were somewhat slim that I would get COVID-19, but if I did, according to my infectious disease doc in Denver, the prognosis was “toast.” Once again, I beat the odds. Twice. I got covid and have yet to experience that sensation known as “toast,” with or without quotes.

And just when I think there’s a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, along come two variations on a thematic disease. According to people who know about such things, there is something called “long covid” and its companion, “covid fog.” Though they occur at opposite ends of the covid spectrum, they are essentially the same thing.

“How can that be?” I asked a physician friend of mine. Before answering, the physician looked stealthily around the ED to guarantee that his oath of Hippocrates would not be violated.

“It’s because nobody knows.”

And as if that wasn’t confusing enough, the “long” version usually makes itself known before you get covid, unless you’ve already had covid, it which case it might be “fog.”

Long.01 and long.02 and fog share many things in common, not the least of which are symptoms generally associated with dementia and other conditions including dementia and other conditions.

I’ve been suffering with what is obviously “fog.” I’m forgetful, though no more so than usual. And besides that, I’ve already had covid.

However, I’m not sure that I didn’t have the “long” variant because, well, I’m just not sure.

Of anything.

Photo illustration by Courtney A. Liska

Bellini Cocktail

If you ever find yourself in Venice, Italy, and have unlimited funds, drop into Harry’s Bar & Grill for the signature cocktail, the Bellini. In lieu of that, make your own. It’s refreshing and festive.

4 peaches for the puree * 1/3 cup of raspberries * A chilled bottle of Italian Prosecco * Peach slices for garnish

Skin, pit and slice the peaches. Puree in a blender. Puree the raspberries and push through a fine sieve into a bowl. Pour 2 oz. peach puree into a champagne flute. Add 1/2 tsp. raspberries. Add 4 oz. Prosecco. Stir. Garnish with peach slices.