Friday meditations

1) Today is annual physical=fasting cholesterol=black decaf coffee for breakfast day. My self-deception regarding decaf has reached the point where I almost think it has enough calories black to see me through lunch.

2) Pursuant to advice to support the image of Perky Old People everywhere, I agreed to a Levitra scrip this time. I get along with my PCP quite well, and she pointed out with a smile that some carriers cover only four doses a month. While I agree that women's contraceptives ought to get equal coverage, I have to assume that the Congressional health plan doesn't include this provision. I mean, that's rationing health care, is it not?

3) Early in the week I found a large and growing fracture in my 15-year-old bike helmet, so by today I was able to assemble time and money for a replacement. My abnormally large skull from Powys makes buying any headwear an ordeal, but especially things that don't yield. Further, I'm not a fan of the current style in bike helmets. I gather they are supposed to be more aerodynamic. The style is allegedly post-apocalyptic. To me, they look pretty much like an angry Donald Duck, especially when they're white. So I bought the one that more or less fit, whose sunshade/brim/scoop/whatever it is comes off, and was not white. That is called compromise.

Note: as soon as I find an angry Donald Duck image that isn't riddled with malware, I'll include it.

4) I am not from the seaside town I inhabit; I just sleep here. I draw the distinction because those who know this town also know that many of its residents suffer from an overdeveloped sense of entitlement. This frequently extends to both driver and pedestrian behaviour. Tonight, I discovered another virtue of my spouse's Scion. I went downtown on an errand and found the destination's parking lot totally full, except for the narrow space between two SUVs. They were of course deliberately parked to prevent anything from parking in the space between them: anything larger than a Scion, that is. It fit into the space with abundant room to spare, and I'm only sorry one of the behemoth operators hadn't shown up to see that they'd been shown up.

Then there was the guy who left his piping hot boxed pizza on top of his car while he took his kid to get ice cream. He probably suffers from the pleasant illusion that you can get away with such rash acts in hyper-privileged seaside towns. However, I once lived in a part of said town where, had you done this, the locals wouldn't have left you the crumbs, much less an embossed thank-you note. They might have even taken it as a sign that you also wanted your car stolen.