Just say NO to Coronavirus

Ol’ Dutch heard something the other day about some new virus that is going around and so I decided to investigate further as malware of any sort is a concern of mine.

When I first heard about this sickness spreading around the planet like a handshake with a snot-nosed kid, I was surprised that no one had noticed it before. For I had many times seen what “Corona” could do to otherwise healthy and intelligent human beings

Many a night I stood in awe and wonder as Corona-imbibed bar patrons got the blind staggers, lost their memory, money and good sense while draining bottle after bottle of the yellow brew.

So it came as no surprise to me to learn that people actually had died from such a thing as according to the comedian Jerry Clower, “too much of anything ain’t good.”

Now Ol’ Dutch never was a fan of beer anyway and gave it up in his younger days which can mostly be attributed to his being a Scotchman at heart and in deed. For you see Ol’ Dutch has often made dimes out of nickels with frugal living and wise investing. Well sort of.

But regardless I just could not believe that anyone would be shocked that drinking Corona beer or too much of any beer would be that serious of an issue. And even though I have seen excessive amounts of the golden liquid cause marriages, divorces, children and buying puppies at yard sales, the lack of said beverage can also have adverse effects on those accustomed to its side effects.

Imagine my surprise to learn that this new Corona thing was not due to missing the AA meetings at all but came out of China. And unlike the proverbial slow boat to China that we have all heard talked about by our parents and Uncle Dan, this Oriental boat is going pretty fast and leaving no shore untouched.

You can rest assured that our fearless leaders will waste no time except yours and mine in creating a panic out of this new virus and I am sure if you dig deep enough you will find something else going on and they are just trying to throw us off the scent of the real news. It's all smoke and mirrors.

Now don't get me wrong, this may end up wiping man off the planet like the Y2K, Ebola, Sars, German Flu, Swine Flu and Chicken Flu did over the last 20 years. Remember when they scared us with those? Except those didn't actually destroy humanity although we were assured daily that the end was nigh.

The one thing all these viruses and scares have in common is they all were started in election years – or at least years ending in even numbers. And if that doesn't send up a red flag I do not know what else would.

But surely they would not do something like that to us. Would they?

But regardless of the outcome man will somehow survive and we will go on with life waiting for the next disaster to befall us thereby ensuring non-stop reporting on our phones round the clock and networks showing babbling pundits with no expertise save dressing provocatively or wearing cashmere suits.

Being the worry wart that Miss Trixie and I are, we questioned our intelligence in desiring to go to South Padre Island, Texas, this week. Taking everything into consideration and hearing that the fish are biting, we find ourselves looking over the beautiful Gulf of Mexico and safely drinking pina coladas instead of beer. Problem solved.

Which shirt are you wearing?

Most men will agree that a relationship with any of the female gender involves a lot of questions.

Not a day goes by that Ol’ Dutch does not feel like he is in a round of reverse “Jeopardy.” In this game instead of Alex Trebeck reading the answer, he reads the question in a lightning fire round. And instead of Alex providing the answers, it’s actually Miss Trixie using her mouth like a machine gun firing off questions left and right.

The questions are not so bad, I guess, but having the right answer is paramount to what they call “harmonious bliss” and being rewarded by what is known as silence.

You don't have to be around partners of the female persuasion very long to realize that most of their time is spent asking questions to lead a man to the “correct” answer.

A friend I know left his underwear in the middle of the floor and his wife pointed at the offending drawers asking “are those yours?” To which he quickly responded “Well I hope so or I have a few questions of my own.”

That question was, as all men know, really a directive to him to pick up the offending garment and put it where it belongs.

In our situation, I think it's more fun for Trixie to ask questions and see if Ol’ Dutch slips up somewhere or maybe she is testing my cognitive ability to make sure I am not bleeding off into early onset of Alzheimer's disease.

Case in point last Sunday we were going to visit son Number 1 and his family. I got up to put on some clean clothes and there was the inquisitor waiting in the bedroom. “What shirt are you wearing?” she asked.

I looked at her probably incredulously as I had not even considered that question and would not until I had my socks and pants on. It was then that I realized that a man picks out clothes in a far different manner than a woman.

A man will simply grab any shirt that is handy and passes the sniff test. That test involves sniffing a seemingly clean shirt to ascertain if it can make one more social gathering before being deemed unfit for human habitation.

Women on the other hand begin to think about what they are going to wear the moment they wake up. Having lived with Miss Trixie these seven years, I can attest the plans for the day dictate how she will dress.

For Ol’ Dutch, unless I am going hunting or fishing, retirement plans for the day are usually formulated after coffee for you see there is no plan. Just whatever the day brings to me. Miss Trixie doesn’t ascribe to that method.

Most men spent a lifetime having to dress in a certain manner for work but when we retire evolved in a Darwinian process to the “what the heck” dress code. Soon a t-shirt that says “Eat At Joe’s Frito Pie” or a “Lulu’s Diner Has Big Meat” is good enough to go about anywhere short of church and even then would probably make the pot luck on Saturday night.

The woman who is partnered with a man who wears this type of apparel has long ago given up on changing it and just goes along to functions so she can hang out with the other wives of men of similar persuasion.

And yes there is always that one odd duck out there who shows up immaculately dressed and whom the woman swoon over at such gatherings but we all know that he probably cannot hunt and fish and so really is not to be considered a threat to our position at the head of the table as provider to the family.

So men, grab the t shirt, give it a quick sniff and enjoy the party. And have peace that at least your wife is going home with you even if she does like the suit that Barclay the third is wearing.

I've got a secret

Before we get to the “meat” of this week's column I have to at least touch on Valentine’s Day and how Ol’ Dutch out did himself once again for Miss Trixie. You see most men take their beloved out for a steak dinner and Miss Trixie loves a good rare steak like no one else.

On Friday, Valentine’s Day, a friend’s nice angus cow broke a hip and what’s a guy to do but help butcher it up? Instead of having one steak dinner in celebration of love, Miss Trixie spent the weekend with me, her true love, elbow deep in cow guts. Now that's some kind of cupid play there. And what sane woman wouldn’t rather have six months of rib eye steaks instead of a box of chocolates anyway?

The cow wasn’t the only sad news of the week. While walking along Venice Boulevard out in Los Angeles, 91 years old Orson Bean was fatally hit by a car. If you can't really place him trust me, you saw him somewhere on television in his decades long career.

I think I recall him most as a panelist on the show “I’ve Got a Secret.” This show had a long run and brought people onto the stage so the panelists could ask a few questions before guessing the famous story.

If you’ve never seen that old show, you still have a chance as it's out in syndication and still on the TV. I watched an old episode last month with a nonagenarian contestant who was the last surviving person who had been at Ford’s Theatre the night President Lincoln was shot.

Of course this show was WAY before Miss Trixie’s time and of course she is always kind enough to always point out the large span between our ages.

So I got to thinking -- a thing Miss Trixie calls dangerous at best -- about all the things that seem to be a secret.

One place that seems to be keen on keeping secrets is the Post Office. About every other day I get a notice from them that there is some piece of mail there for me but somehow “this one” can't be scanned for a photo like all the rest. For you see, it’s my mail but it's a secret.

Gone are the days when I would just open my mail as it came but now they bait me with the knowing something is coming just to be cruel.

Other things are secret of course like the true story about UFO’s, who shot JFK, Area 51, who built the Great Pyramid, where did the Anasazi go and last -- but certainly not least -- the secret recipe for Kentucky Fried Chicken.

But I do believe that one of the most frustrating secrets out there runs in the televangelist circles and concerns the end of the World. Now Ol’ Dutch is pretty sure that the Big Guy Himself said that no one knows that time but the money changers seem to milk a pretty good living off of promising to reveal that in some future show. Ol’ Dutch is still waiting and withholding payment until I actually get a time and date at the least.

Another secret seems to be the price of items offered for sale. A new car is probably the hardest item to get a final price on unless you sign some pre-offer paperwork and offer your first born child for human sacrifice. For you see the price is a secret.

Don't get me wrong, Ol’ Dutch has been known to keep a few secrets of his own like fishing hotspots, hunting hidey holes and sales on Gulf Shrimp. But of course, those kinds of things are supposed to be kept a secret.

And for a fact, no panel of Hollywood famous would ever get the location of an elk wallow from a decent nimrod, especially not from this one.

The devil is in the details

Ol’ Dutch has always enjoyed the different phrases that decorate the English language. Many of these are local in origin and use but some have become so commonplace that everyone seems to use these idioms to express themselves on a daily basis.

Now most of you probably know that Ol’ Dutch has had his share of experiences with idiots but this is a totally different animal completely -- which is an idiom in and of itself as that phrase has nothing to do with animals of course but means there is a difference between the word “idiom” and “idiot” just as there are between animals.

Down in Texas and across the South, people are always wanting to “carry” Miss Trixie and I somewhere and I always have to roll my eyes at that suggestion as Ol’ Dutch goes a solid 16 stones and would be quite the lift. I would comment on how many stones Miss Trixie weighs but she would just throw them at me so best leave a sleeping dog lie. Another idiom.

Other sayings such as “get off my back” and “the proof is in the pudding” are used by everyone to express an idea to someone else. I am not sure why we just can't say “leave me alone” and “the results are proof of your efforts?” But we tend to cling to those idioms like Cleopatra to Antony albeit a little less sweaty. 

Ol’ Dutch had to do some Googling to find out about the Devil being in the details and just like a lot of things these days, old Satan seems to have horned in on God even in that saying. For you see it really originated with “God is in the details” and was meant to mean that small things are important.

Going back to the Italian phrase, Il diavolo sta nei dettagli, we can see that they meant God all along. (I put that in there so I could impress you with my foreign language experience, thanks to the Internet -- again.) 

The originators of the Italian saying wanted people to be aware and check all the facts of any transaction or job. But as more and more scammers came along it took on a more sinister meaning and in fact pretty much guarantees a person that there is evil lurking in the fine print.

Which most of us can attest to having bought cars, rented hotel rooms, flown on airlines, attended school, joined a church or gotten married. 

That fine print has often risen up to bite us in the derriere after awhile and we all wish we had read the fine print BEFORE we signed on the dotted line. 

Ol’ Dutch heard about a little boy attending his first day of first grade. He got up at noon to go home and the teacher had to inform him that first graders go to school all day not half a day as in kindergarten. Dismayed at not getting the memo or reading the fine print he was heard to remark, “who the hell signed me up for that?”

To which all of us can say an “Amen.” Been there done that.

I can recall sitting in church while new members were sworn in - well not really swearing as that isn’t biblical - and the pastor went through a long list of what they were agreeing to as far as support and committee work. The look on some of the men's faces let Ol’ Dutch know that this was the fine print and that he didn't want any part of that monkey business. 

And while I am already in trouble for that last little story and this week is Valentine’s Day, I might as well mention entering into marriage definitely leaves out a lot of the details or none of us would do it.

I guess some of that can be attributed to being young and foolish, old and lonely or just plain crazy. And we know that all men want their wives to never change and the wives want their husbands to change a lot.  And they end up both being wrong. Darn those devilish details.

Offenses will come

I guess the best way to start this off is by first apologizing. Not for anything in particular I have done or some faux pas I may have committed. No, this is a blanket apology.

For you see in today's world it seems like no matter what you do, you end up offending someone. And unlike days past when a small boo-boo was forgiven, today there is no end to the misery someone with hurt feelings will give you back.

And so knowing that Ol’ Dutch sometimes has a fall from grace and opens his big mouth, please forgive me for past lip movements and future ones, too.

The big guy Himself, Jesus Christ, said exactly the same thing to the disciples about offenses presenting themselves to a person. I can recall my mom, Dodge City Lou and my father, Fast Freddy quoting that verse many a time when I would come home with a chip on my shoulder from something someone said.

They let me know right quick that there was no sympathy in that household for such things and a pity party would only be attended by me and me alone.

I guess what they were really trying to tell me was that there would be lots of opportunities to be offended and what I did with that offense is what would make the difference between grumping around or just moving on. I prefer grumping around as Miss Trixie can attest but I am getting better about it with each passing decade -- I mean, day.

Ol’ Dutch can tell you many a story about well meaning people who came along to deflate my balloon but honestly, it really doesn't seem to matter much anymore.

Some of that I think is the emotional move that I made when the ex-wife and I split the sheets and I began to take on the “I don’t care anymore” attitude. It was that caring that got me in deep doo-doo with her in the first place and moving into a brain dead mode seemed best for self preservation.

Miss Trixie always looks over my shoulder when I am writing this drivel and that last sentence about Ol’ Dutch being brain dead had her nodding her head in agreement. Nothing like a help mate helping?

Sunday was a day full of tractor repairs as I got a new clutch put in and in doing so missed out on watching the Super Bowl on the big screen. I had hired some guys to do it and felt obligated to stick around and handle some of the tools and other things.

I have to admit that their showing up on this particular Sunday really had me a bit peeved. And a great opportunity to be offended too since the Chiefs were playing and they are from my home state Kansas? Aren't they? Maybe not. It is all a bit confusing.

And really Ol’ Dutch has to say that maybe Jesus had a one up on the whole idea as sure enough, Kansas City offense did show up and finally won the game thereby proving my point once again. I didn't even know they had football back in Galilea. Offenses came - finally.

One thing that Ol’ Dutch is sure of is that since the Chiefs won there will be a lot of butt hurts about their mascot thereby proving my point again. Offenses will come.

But back to the tractor, I bellied up to the bar and bit my upper lip, took one for the team, doubled down, manned up, put my big girl panties on -- well now, maybe not that -- but you get the point. Ol’ Dutch needed that tractor and so I had to just forego the game and get ‘er done.

Miss Trixie, the Internet manipulator extraordinaire, did set up my phone to watch the game while we tractored ourselves and I even got to watch the halftime show. There were so many boobs on there I first thought it was a session of Congress but I have to digress. At least these boobs made sense.

The sky is falling

It seems like every morning, there is another tragedy or disaster either occurring or on the horizon.

Ol’ Dutch used to worry about such things and even though a good conspiracy theory still gets my blood to moving, the end of the world looming does not catch my attention anymore.

Ever since time immemorial, man has looked for the end of the world to come which pretty much shows us that man has always been tired of the struggle of everyday life. And the Bible particularly sends pretty alarming news bites about such a time to come and a lot of people seem to be looking for that day.

That foretold event has always been great way to raise funds for television preachers, freeze-dried food manufactures and prepper suppliers not to mention Cold War bomb shelters.

If you are not aware of the impending doom and gloom then you join Miss Trixie in having a positive outlook on life. I am not sure how you managed to steer clear of the roving snake oil salesmen, but hurrah for you.

Ol’ Dutch, on the other hand, does like to follow along and see what the next foretold disaster is going to be. However, I am getting a tad jaded waiting for them to occur.

I mean who among us hasn’t grown tired of waiting for California to slide off into the ocean? Depending on your point of view, they have been threatening or promising that for my entire 63 years. Yet there it remains -- full of fruits and nuts. And the produce ain’t bad either.

Ol’ Dutch does get a bit confused by the TV preachers who hawk all kinds of survival gear and food however as they are supposed to be trusting God in some manner or other. And they all promote maintaining an arsenal to protect the food you sock away like a chipmunk expecting winter. I am pretty sure that Jesus would not take up an AR-15 and shoot someone over some dried milk and hydrogen-preserved peaches.

I don’t know what I would do if faced with an angry mob wanting my food but I do remember when I was a little boy, my father fast Freddy bare-handed faced down a hungry bear in Yellowstone who was intent on grabbing our lunch. I learned then and there not to come between him and his viddles.

I think that sitting in a bunker eating while my neighbors are starving may be be a fast ticket to the eternal fire anyway so I think I will pass. That fire is said to be hotter than some measly atom bomb so I would like to avoid that one if at all possible.

Having read about nuclear war, EMP bomb explosions, earthquakes that split the USA in half, biological pandemics, famines, nuclear winters and every manner of slow death you can imagine, Ol’ Dutch is making his own preparations for just such a day.

While perusing the Internet, Ol’ Dutch found some cheap white and red paint and I plan to paint a huge bulls-eye on my camper roof.

That way if something happens Ol’ Dutch gets a nuke right on the old noggin and is the first to go, thereby saving all that pain and suffering. And it saves Miss Trixie from all that whining that I would do during those cold nuclear nights.

(Upon reading that paragraph, she had a rare religious moment and gave a hardy “Amen.”)

Ol’ Dutch came to terms with his own death many years ago and when I sit and look out at the stars at night I cannot help but think that the God who made all that can surely take care of the end as well and if he cannot, then he must not be much of a God after all.

Most of us don’t even want to spend a night camping unless it’s at the Holiday Inn let alone trying to survive the sky falling. Imagine laying around in some dark cellar with no showers, no toilets, no hot water, no vegetables or milk, no phones, no gas for your car surviving on freeze dried cookies.

And that, my friends, is why I have decided to go out in the first wave. Because without milk what is the use of having freeze-dried cookies?

Over the horizon

No week is complete without a challenge and this one was no exception.

A good share of my fans -- and detractors -- of these musings live in places with great views and even better sunsets as El Sol dips into the western landscape.

This week, though, that’s not the type of horizon I want to talk about.

Now Ol’ Dutch and Miss Trixie could be said to be heavy users of the online phone service and in fact, I doubt anyone uses their phones more than us. Miss Trixie can find anything you want and most of what you do not want with those magic fingers of hers. And Ol’ Dutch is always looking at the weather. Yeah, just a man thing.

But all that clickety clacking takes a phone and a phone takes service and service takes a provider. Since we travel extensively and depend on phones for everything from soup to nuts, we have found that one certain cell phone carrier works the best wherever we land.

And all in all they have been pretty good except when it comes to replacing a faulty device. Oh, you get one eventually but not without evoking a few Rosaries, prayers of intense fervor and fake tears.

This past year Ol’ Dutch has been in the replacement phone circle with my carrier whom we shall now call Horizon. As it has been horrible.

It all began some four years ago when I decided to get a new Android phone. I really liked it but about two years into this deal the battery life began to fade like an old man in his easy chair: he can still get up but really doesn't want to.

This began an almost constant communication between Horizon and my agent, Miss Trixie, and they have sent me so many refurbished phones that I have lost track. For those of you who do not know what refurbished is let me explain it to you.

The carrier takes in an old phone that has issues or has been traded in by some disgruntled customers and puts it through a 101 test regimen. Now what they do not tell you is if it passed said tests or just went through them. Kind of like marriage. Sometimes you just live with what you got.

The batteries in these rehab phones are the same batteries as it came with which means it’s just like the one causing me problems. And as the batteries are now built into every phone this

requires that you buy a new phone instead of a battery like we used to do. This is called good business for them and bad luck for all of us.

That is some kind of smart right there. So this past year the phones came and went and chargers and cords passed in the mail like ships in the night because each time I had a failure, the company insisted it was a bad charger or cord and so we got new ones. This means we have a cupboard with enough cords to connect Space X with the Earth while in orbit.

Of course it was not the accessories so after much whining on my part new but well-used phones came in the mail. Some lasted months but lately they are lasting anywhere from two days to two weeks and I have had three since Christmas alone.

This has led to what is known as a “mad hatter” syndrome as Ol’ Dutch is about to lose his mind over the phone quitting every few days.

But as they say, better lucky than good so now good vibes have smiled down on me and I now have a working phone.

I did have some expenses incurred from so much time on the phone like cauliflower ear and Miss Trixie learned a few new swear words as Ol’ Dutch would hit the wall every time he called about the phone.

It does appear that Ol’ Dutch will eventually have to buy a newer model just like I did when I got Miss Trixie and come to think of it, that worked out pretty well. Yes, pretty well indeed.

Scam-a-rrama

This week found Ol’ Dutch running the normal errands -- you know things like the farm supply store, Home Depot, the sporting goods store and the Big Box plus gas in the truck -- while Miss Trixie did the laundry.

It was business as usual for me and Cooper driving to these places and he hung his head out the window like a dog. Well, I guess he is a dog so there is that too.

My last stop before returning to find Trixie was for fuel. While there, two young men pulled up beside me and began to talk at me. While I have been blessed with hearing aids, I am reluctant to wear them and when strangers talk to me, they may as well be talking to a fence post.

They finally got out of the car and Ol’ Dutch immediately sized them up for the danger factor. Even at my advanced age, as Miss Trixie likes to say, I figured I could probably take both of them in a toe-to-toe so I hung around to hear just what they had to say.

It seems that their boss came into a windfall in the stereo and surround sound department and they were willing to pass that savings onto me. I could totally understand their generosity since I am such a good guy. Well I am a guy anyway.

They flashed brochures in front of my eyes like a Disney layout of the old cartoon drawings making a blur of numbers and models and figures without the cartoon sequence Walt Disney used to show us every Sunday Night.

Soon we got to the bottom line: how much would it cost me to get said stereo out the door of the mini-van?

Now Ol’ Dutch is usually pretty cautious around such doin’s and there is probably no bigger skeptic than me but I sure liked the looks of that stereo.

The boxes were all sealed with company logo tape and it appeared legit and they went from the starting price of $500 down to $100 in about three minutes.

I mean, how bad a deal could that be? Let me tell you EXACTLY how bad a deal.

So this being one of my saner moments I texted Miss Trixie who has those Internet magic fingers and within 15 seconds she was able to tell me that it’s the newest scam on the street.

Watching the video she sent I was able to see that inside the boxes is nothing more than cement and plastic. Saved by the proverbial bell. Miss Trixie. Ding!

Of late there are so many scams on Craigslist and Facebook Marketplace that the phrase “let the buyer beware” is not even close to how doubtful you need to be when you find the deal of a lifetime.

Boats and cars, tractors and event tickets and wheels and tires are the scammers favorite items to cheat people on so it seems. Most of the time you can tell it’s a scam as the seller lists an email separate and apart from the web pages. That way they are untraceable.

Most of them involve having the buyer wire funds for the purchase with a money back guarantee if you don't like the item. I have long been onto this game and often will respond just to see what their spiel is.

One guy even offered to ship me a bass boat from Greece and when I asked if they could just drive it over to Florida they said “sure.”

So, folks, always remember the old adage: if it sounds too good to be true it probably is. And as hard as it is to say this Miss Trixie came in handy once again saving me from the purchase as I am full up on cement blocks.