Netflix – “Buried: The 1982 Alpine Meadows Avalanche”: https://rb.gy/kn6se3

1

By now you’re probably aware of the tragedy at Palisades Tahoe, the in-bounds avalanche that took a life.

Now the odds of dying in an avalanche are miniscule. Assuming you pay attention to the rules, assuming you have respect for the outdoors, assuming you’re in the outdoors with an abundance of snow to begin with.

Now I’ve experienced the snow move three times. Only one time was it frightening to the point where I realized my life was in danger. But instinct kicks in, you get the hell out of there, at least I did, after the other five people immediately abandoned me. No friends on a powder day? Believe me, you’ve got no friends in an avalanche.

All three of these events happened in-bounds. Two at Mammoth Mountain, in California. Now in the third case, at Snowbird, they immediately closed that side of the mountain, and then the whole damn ski area, like they did today. Yes, both Alta and Snowbird, in Little Cottonwood Canyon, Utah, are closed today. Because it doesn’t stop snowing and it doesn’t stop sliding and it’s damn dangerous.

Not that you can convince people of this. Evidence is this movie. About the slide at Alpine Meadows in 1982.

Now the odds of having an avalanche, a life-threatening avalanche, in the northeast are miniscule. Yes, it can happen on Mt. Washington. But there are no lifts there. In other words, you have to put yourself in danger.

And people are putting themselves in danger all over the west. It’s the new new thing. To go out of bounds in search of untracked powder.

Which doesn’t float my boat. Not only going out of bounds, but the powder itself.

In truth, there’s very little light powder, of the kind you see in photographs and movies. You know, the kind where you can blast through the lighter than air snow like it’s not even there. It doesn’t even happen all the time in the aforementioned Little Cottonwood Canyon, which has the lightest snow in the U.S. Conditions have to be exactly right. And when they are, it’s astounding, you can literally blow the snow off your car, but like I said, it’s rare.

And when you’re in this kind of powder it’s completely different from the “powder” of the east coast. Of even the powder in Colorado. The new snow in the east is heavy. To ski it you must lean back, whereas when it’s perfect in Little Cottonwood Canyon you ski exactly centered. As for Colorado… I’ve never seen it as light as I have in Little Cottonwood Canyon, never.

As for Little Cottonwood Canyon, don’t confuse this with Park City and Deer Valley. The latter get much less snow and it’s heavier, because the altitude is lower and they’re not in a box canyon.

All this to say that I believe powder is overrated.

Have I gotten up at the crack of dawn for untracked runs?

Yes. It’s not a good experience. There’s a line before the lift opens. And when you get off you fight for the powder. And if you know what you’re doing you can get one completely untracked run, and then a couple of cut-up runs, and then…you ski the crud (cut-up powder) until it disappears.

Now the word is out. In the seventies in Little Cottonwood Canyon it would take nearly a day for the powder to get skied out. Well, maybe not that long, but hours. You wouldn’t continue to get completely untracked runs, but you could find a facsimile thereof. Today? It’s an hour.

As for Vail, my home mountain… Vail is so vast that it takes more than an hour, but after not much longer than that you won’t find any untracked runs. Unless you go in the trees. But you can ski good crud all day, maybe even the next day.

Which is why I no longer get up to get first tracks on powder days.

It’s not that I hate powder, I just ski it on storm days, which most people hate. As for the hard core, the very hard core is on my team, but the rest need to go out after a big dump for some kind of bragging rights, and believe me, there’s plenty of bragging in skiing.

Having said that, there are plenty of treed areas at Vail. But the vaunted Back Bowls are in most cases sans trees, which is why I avoid them on storm days, you can’t see a f*cking thing. And I’ve skied so much I have good judgment, as in this is not how I want to die, I play the odds. And if you can’t see where you’re going, the odds of getting into trouble are very high.

But there’s still that lure of untracked snow. Which is how those skiers got in trouble in Palisades Tahoe this past week.

2

Not that I want to blame these skiers. I blame the ski area.

Now that’s not what you’ve been reading. Everybody has been saying the ski patrol did all it could do. But it’s more complicated than that.

When I lived in Utah, the ski patrol and its edicts were inviolate. Cross the line, and in most cases this was a rope, and not only would they pull your ticket, they’d pull your season pass. So you’d be skiing the wide open Regulator Johnson in crud and just to your left, on the other side of the rope, it would be pristine, untouched.

But you knew the rules. And no one broke them. Occasionally a tourist, but they’d be yanked immediately and word would spread.

But something happened over the past couple of decades. Backcountry skiing became a thing. Furthermore, under the law, so much of the ski areas being on Forest Service land, you couldn’t prevent people from doing this.

Now get this straight… In most cases you have to hike to this out of bounds stuff. Sometimes from the very bottom up. Which is why despite all the hype, not that many people do it. And it’s very dangerous, and people think they’re inviolate, that they’ll survive no matter what. But statistics say otherwise. They’re dropping like flies. Because snow science is not an exact science, and so many of these bozos think they know more than the scientists anyway. And they can’t forgo that wide expanse of untracked snow.

So… This is not how I want to go. I don’t ski out of bounds. I just don’t want to take the risk. And what’s another untracked powder run anyway? I’ve had enough. But these same people who cross the lines are not silent about it, they like to brag, about where they’ve been and what they’ve done, telling you that not only was their ski experience better than yours, but they themselves are better than you!

And let’s not forget peer pressure. If you’re going with a group of guys outside the ski area boundary, it’s very hard to blow the whistle, to say no-go, you’re seen as a party pooper, a wimp. Which is why I avoid these circumstances to begin with. Worst are the weekend warriors, who despite riding a desk all week think they can ski like experts over the weekend or during a holiday. This would be like asking Mikaela Shiffrin to win World Cups only skiing two days a week. It doesn’t work that way. You need to ski every day to get a fine feel for your skis, for your edges, for the snow, in order to be able to compensate, adjust when you get in trouble. Which is also the reason you should be wary of skiing in-bounds with weekend warriors. They always want to ski the hardest slopes the second or third run. Their judgment is off, or nonexistent.

So, if you go out of bounds, be with others, wear a transceiver/avalanche beacon and pay attention to the reports, and when they say avalanche danger is high stay out. And beware when it’s lower than that. You’re alive until you’re dead, remember that.

3

So the truth is it’s been a lousy ski season so far. Well, at least until the last ten days or so. As in there hasn’t been much snow. Which hasn’t kept me off the slopes, I skied 28 out of 29 days last month, and the day off was for travel. And do you see that, how I was bragging right there? Yup. But I’m also saying that you’ve got to do it every day for that edge. Because you can get in trouble very easily on the mountain. And you want to be alert and experienced and in shape when you do.

And be exercising good judgment.

Like the day they opened the Back Bowls in Vail in December. I was on the hill, it happened around noon, but I didn’t go. Because I know. That until the snow is packed down you don’t know what you’ll hit underneath. I’ve had the bad experience, of hitting a gully and getting thrown forward out of my stopped-dead skis. I learned my lesson. I don’t want to sacrifice my entire season for one rope drop, for one untracked run.

But then it didn’t snow again. And Vail kept the Back Bowls and Blue Sky Basin open when they were nearly unskiable. The heavily tracked slopes were rocky, and that which was not heavily tracked was frozen solid. Only amateurs went back there.

But then it snowed.

So what you’ve got at these ski areas is pent-up demand. From the tourists who are there only briefly, from the locals champing at the bit. So ski areas are eager to drop the rope, open more territory.

And in truth, so much of Vail is flat. There’s very limited avalanche territory. But at Palisades Tahoe? That’s why people go there, for the challenge. And the biggest challenge, other than the cliffs you have to hike to at the very top of the ski area, is on KT22, named such because one of the founders had to kick turn twenty two times to get down. It’s just that steep.

Which yields bragging rights.

So, Palisades Tahoe was caught in a conundrum. Do they play it safe or give the people what they want, i.e. do they open up the KT22 lift and the untracked slopes beneath it.

Now I wasn’t there. I’m not a member of the ski patrol. Snow science is that, a science. However, this never happens in Little Cottonwood Canyon. People don’t die in-bounds there. Now the snow is very different, in Tahoe it’s heavy, with a high water content. But still…

I’m thinking there’s some bad judgment here. That the patrol felt pressure, whether external or internal, to open KT22.

4

That’s the deal you make. You ski in-bounds and you’re safe. They don’t guarantee it, but it’s evident nonetheless. Want to put your life at risk? Go out of bounds. But if you’re playing by the rules, the rules will save you, right?

Well, now I’m going to contradict myself. I just did some research, to find out if there’d ever been a death in an in-bounds avalanche in Little Cottonwood Canyon. And it turns out there was one as recently as 2008. And a skier even got caught in a slide on Lover’s Leap in Vail (however, they lived): https://rb.gy/283ifv

The previous in-bounds avalanche death was all the way back in 1977: https://rb.gy/yff9t7

However, the devil is in the details:

“Sunday was the first day Snowbird opened that part of the resort — the easternmost area — and crews had performed avalanche control that morning, Fields said.”

Hmm… So it seems to happen everywhere. Early in the season. So maybe in both these cases, at Palisades Tahoe and Snowbird, they felt pressure to open terrain before it was ready.

Or maybe it’s just the luck of the draw.

Or maybe you don’t want to be a guinea pig. Like I refused to be in the Back Bowls in Vail last month. Maybe there’s an inherent danger at the beginning of the season, and skier beware, but that’s not the impression one gets from the ski patrol, from the ski area itself.

5

So my friend Joe, a refugee from the music business, now lives in Tahoe. And after communicating about the avalanche last week he recommended I watch a documentary about the 1982 avalanche at Alpine Meadows, just over the hill from where last week’s avalanche took place. Yes, it used to be two different ski areas, Squaw Valley and Alpine Meadows, now they’re connected via ownership and a gondola. The Squaw side gets all the press, but a lot of the locals prefer the less-crowded Alpine.

So we pulled up “Buried” and couldn’t turn it off.

And you won’t be able to either.

First you’ll get the renegade ski culture of the era. Something I’m very familiar with. It’s hard to make a living, which is why most people move on, including me, but for a while there you’re living the life, long before the health problems that accost you as you get older, back in an era where you could at least pay the bills on minimum wage.

And in truth, avalanche science has progressed since 1982. Now they don’t fire howitzers, they have Gazex systems planted at the top of the avalanche zones, that essentially trigger slides via compressed gases. Remotely.

Not that avalanche danger has been completely eradicated.

So what have we learned? A confluence of decisions led to the loss of life last week. Will there be adjustments in the process? I believe there will be. Then again, guests who fly across the country, across the world, pressure ski areas to open terrain, and if you don’t, your competitor will.

But if you want to familiarize yourself with the game, what is involved, I highly recommend this documentary, it covers all the exigencies, and the decisions, and how events like this can haunt you forever.

As for me… Life is all about risks. And sometimes you get caught on the wrong side of the line. But if you never get up close and personal to the line, if you never cross it, you don’t know where it is.

Then again, not every decision is one of life or death.

Avalanches compact snow into the equivalent of concrete. Good luck if you get buried. It happens, but do your best to improve your odds of avoiding this situation to begin with.

I certainly am.

I’d like to talk about Gary Oldman in “Slow Horses.” We just watched the third season. I’d love to say I recommend it, but it’s not as good as what came before. Or I’m burning out on mediocrity. But one thing is for sure, Oldman is unbelievably good, fantastic, great. Yes, the role is over the top, kinda like Jamie Lee Curtis in the Christmas episode of “The Bear,” but you don’t see Oldman acting at all, he’s become the character, unlike the lauded Meryl Streep, who I see in all of her roles, as in I can’t stop seeing Meryl, no matter who she is playing.

Oldman gained notoriety in the U.S. via his appearance in the indie “Sid & Nancy,” but then gradually moved towards the mainstream without sacrificing his renegade reputation. Oldman has always been seen as somewhat dangerous, not someone who fades into the woodwork, but cuts a distinct identity. And in “Slow Horses”…

He’s overweight, got stringy hair, wears rumpled clothing, has an odor, and doesn’t give a f*ck. These people used to be our heroes. And in truth they still are. We want those who play against type, who cannot be compromised, who will not sell out. This is the rock star paradigm. You don’t want to get in bed with the Fortune 500 company, you want to criticize it, laugh at it if you pay attention to it whatsoever. You are not concerned with society’s judgment of you, you’re going your own way. And awards and chart achievements are irrelevant, you’re just doing what you want to, being who you are. And therefore we’re envious of you, bond ourselves to you, because deep down inside this is who we want to be too.

And as a result, Jackson Lamb, i.e. Gary Oldman, gains respect, draws people to him. They might judge him negatively, but they never discount him. Lamb always hews to his inner tuning fork. He always seems to be one step ahead, but he doesn’t need to tell anybody so. And he has contempt for just about everybody and everything, he’s above it all. Oldman is a hero, iconic, what we used to feature in the alternative universe of the alienated, when that was the goal, to be yourself as opposed to becoming a billionaire and lording it over us.

“Slow Horses” is not much of a commitment. Well, there are now three seasons, but it’s not a big chew. Season 3 is comprised of six episodes all under an hour. But you must watch the series to see Gary Oldman as Jackson Lamb.

He looks like he hasn’t showered in weeks. He’s the opposite of the vain icons we see in the news and even in social media. He’s not putting his best foot forward, he’s just being himself. And he’s not demanding attention. And he eats, seemingly unlike anybody in Hollywood. And he’s got the belly to show for it, and it’s not a prosthetic. Oldman has thrown vanity to the wind and instead or repelling us, he’s positively magnetic.

And one thing is for sure, I could never play this role, and neither could you. This requires studying. Training. Everybody thinks they can be in pictures, and in many cases they are. If you’re famous enough, or good-looking enough, you can get a role. You might even win an award. But don’t think you’re an actor. Just like if you win a Grammy you shouldn’t think you’re a musician, although some are. Acting is a skill. That takes time to develop. And when we see excellence, we’re wowed.

I don’t understand the nearly ten dollar a month Apple TV+. There’s just not enough on it. We bought a month just to see this last season of “Slow Horses” and I can’t say I’ve found anything else that’s floated my boat, that I haven’t seen previously.

But having said that, I do recommend that you spend your money just to see Gary Oldman in “Slow Horses.” Yes, he’ll seem cartoonish, but you’ll ultimately realize he’s not two-dimensional. And he never breaks character, never winks at the audience, you have to accept him on his own terms. And he’s cynical and knows those at the top are not usually to be respected, that they’re venal and flawed. And that the game cannot be understood by most people, even though they believe otherwise. Experience delivers wisdom, not that anybody respects wisdom, never mind age, they’re too busy sticking the knife into others to get ahead.

Oldman is not chewing the scenery in “Slow Horses,” and he’s not in every scene but you can’t wait for him to come back. If you haven’t watched him in this series already, you need to know. I can’t think of a performance this year which has stuck with me to this degree. That is not based on makeup, but the actor inhabiting the role. This is it. This is what makes stars our heroes. When you do it right, you don’t have to beg for attention. You own the camera without trying, we can’t take our eyes off you. And very few are this good. We’re overwhelmed with dross. But when you’re better than the rest we know it, we’re thrilled by it, it makes us tingle, makes life worth living.

I can’t say that I want to hang out with Jackson Lamb, but I can watch him all day long. Unlike seemingly everybody else with a name these days he’s not constantly in our face, and therefore we want more, much more.

This is how you do it.

Kudos.

Tune in Saturday January 13th to Faction Talk, channel 103, at 4 PM East, 1 PM West.

Phone #: 844-686-5863

Twitter: @lefsetz

If you miss the episode, you can hear it on demand on the SiriusXM app. Search: Lefsetz

1

Expect the unexpected. That’s my mantra for 2024. And my prediction. If you want to know what is going to happen this year, be prepared to be surprised. Trump might be fighting Biden for the presidency in November, but maybe not. Who expected the 10/7 war? Actually, that’s why you live. You think you have it all figured out, and then you find out you don’t.

So I think I caught it in the gondola at Vail. There are two. The older one, the Lionshead one, is a POS. Looks professional, industrial, bulletproof, but the head of lifts told me how it took over a year to get it to work right, and that it still required a ton of maintenance. As for Gondola One, the one I’m talking about… They installed it back in 2012, for the fiftieth anniversary of the resort. It holds ten, although they rarely squeeze them in that tight. Each car cost as much as a Lexus, this same guy told me this (which Lexus I am not sure), and best of all, they have heated seats! They get turned on just before the car leaves the station. And on a cold day it’s great to take off your gloves and put your hands on the faux-leather. But these cars also have a series of windows. Two above and two on the side. And for some reason everybody always pulls them down. I run cold, everybody else seems to run hot. I wear four layers when they only wear two. So you think with such great ventilation I’d have been safe, but this did not turn out to be true.

Oh, I could have caught Covid somewhere else. But no one else in the condo got it. And the only thing I did different from them was ski every day. So, that’s my theory.

Not that I thought I had it. My nose started to run a week ago, Wednesday the 3rd. Not uncommon when you’re outside in the winter, right? I didn’t pay it much attention, however I did notice it ran just a bit heavier on Thursday, when I was out there making some runs before we flew home. And when you fly for a few hours, you’re always discombobulated a bit when you land. I think it’s the low pressurization in the planes. Then again, I’d been at eight thousand feet for a month.

But Friday night, I was lying in my bed and it felt like I was swallowing something. Which seemed kind of odd, because there was nothing in my throat. And on Saturday my nose started to run a bit heavier, no biggie, that’s evidence of a cold. But on Saturday night I had trouble sleeping. Even worse than I normally do. I was running through the mental map in my mind, you know, trying to name all fifty states. And then bands and then performers with each successive letter of the alphabet. And then two letter words for each letter of the alphabet, then three, then four, then five and then, sometime after that, I did fall back asleep. But it wasn’t like I had that much anxiety, why was I having so much trouble catching z’s?

And then on Sunday, my nose really started to run. You know, when you carry a box of kleenex around with you. Not that I thought much of it. Isn’t this a typical cold? But knowing I was going to be out in society on Monday, having a couple of medical appointments, I started to wonder… I’m not one to cancel, I never cancel, I have to be dying to cancel. But what I had didn’t feel like RSV, and I got the shot for that, and my mind was starting to wonder, so I decided to do some research, you know, about JN.1, the latest variant. And having OCD, I didn’t check out just one site, I was doing a thorough investigation, and that’s when I found out one of the symptoms was difficulty sleeping. That’s when I decided to test.

All the tests are expired. We’ve still got plenty. But I didn’t have Covid anyway, I was just dotting the i.

And it had been so long since I’d tested that I had to read the instructions, which are not only way too complicated with too much information, but didn’t square with the test in the box. But I figured it out, went through the motions, put three drops in the slot, and nearly immediately I got a thick red line saying I had Covid.

Which I thought was maybe a mistake. Because it’s not supposed to happen that fast. Don’t they say to wait fifteen minutes for an accurate reading? But in that fifteen minutes I found research saying if the line was bright and rich, that meant you had it bad. Really?

So I decided to use a different test, from a different brand, and I got the same result, essentially instantly.

I had Covid. After avoiding it for nearly four years.

2

Now the truth is if I didn’t have the test, if I hadn’t taken it, there’s no way I would have believed I had Covid. You see my constitution is too strong. If I told my mother I was sick she’d say to go to school anyway, that’d I’d feel better. It’s not like I was dying, I just had a cold. But no…

So now what?

Well, I had to do the research on the Paxlovid. You need to take it early for it to work. They said five days. Well, if I got Covid on Wednesday, it was still within the time frame, so I decided to dive in. However, the Paxlovid was expired. Then again, so were the tests. Actually, I’m not anti-Big Pharma to the degree most people are, but most expiration dates are hogwash. So I took the three pills.

And e-mailed my doctor in the morning. Who got back to me right away. And told me to take the expired meds, don’t take a statin at the same time and to chew cinnamon-flavored gum to deal with… Exactly what? Well, I ultimately found out. You see Paxlovid gives you this taste in your mouth. Not quite metallic. Kind of dry. Definitely off-putting. But I don’t chew gum, so I endured it. Like I said, I’ve got a constitution of iron (and I’m not bragging about it, it’s gotten me in trouble).

Now the latest research is that the Paxlovid rebound is a myth. But don’t let science get in the way of anecdotal evidence. And I want everything I can throw against the illness. You always think stuff doesn’t apply to you, and then it does. I am over sixty five. Doesn’t matter how great a shape you’re in, how active you are, you can die. No one is immune.

Which is why I got the latest vaccine. Not that I got any antibodies. I’d be stunned if I did, because of the drug I take for my skin that lasts at least six months. But research showed, well, they were ultimately able to test, that people like me get T cell protection, and that helps.

I guess now I’m supposed to fight off the haters. But I’m not going to bother, it’s a fruitless effort. If you don’t want to get a vaccine, if you don’t want to take Paxlovid, that’s your right. I’d like to say that ultimately you’re selfish, because we live in a society, and it can affect those who are immune-compromised, like me, but I won’t waste my breath. I can’t get the MMR vaccine, so I’m no longer protected against measles, but I know you want to keep Olivia and River safe at the Montessori school so you’re not inoculating them, so I can get infected and get the spots, but it’s everybody for themselves in America today.

3

So I gave up. I had so much scheduled. I cleared the deck, wiped out the calendar. And lay down and read a book.

Well, Monday night I developed a sore throat, you know, the kind where it’s hard to swallow, which is never comfortable. Did I have a fever? Well, my mother really didn’t believe in that either. I mean unless you were burning up, and I wasn’t. I was just going to ride it out.

But I got very very tired. I mean to the point where I didn’t even want to sit up and watch TV. I tried that on Sunday night, it was nearly torture.

And then Marc Reiter, who’d just gotten over his third bout, told me Howard had it. Not being in my car, I hadn’t listened, so I did some research, and learned that not only had Howard had Covid, he was testifying how awful it was. Which reminded me of when my sister Jill had back problems. I asked her, on a scale of one to ten, how much pain she was in. She told me me “Ten, definitely!” I laughed. If she was at ten she’d be in the emergency room. Bottom line, everybody’s got a different perception of pain. Maybe Howard had it worse. Or maybe I’ve just had so many illnesses that unless I’m on the verge of death, it’s no big deal.

So I finished “Nobody’s Fool.” I’d read the third book of Richard Russo’s trilogy, “Somebody’s Fool,” over the summer. Over Christmas I needed something written on a higher level. That was more than just turning pages. I was sick of the dreck. Not that “Nobody’s Fool” is hard to read. But it is a whole separate world, which is a great perspective, a great respite from today’s constant yelling by know-nothings about important issues.

And when I was done with “Nobody’s Fool” I read “Everybody’s Fool,” the second book, completing the trilogy. A bit shorter than “Nobody’s Fool,” it’s not quite as good. But it does get better at the end. Not because something specific happens, it’s just the way it is written, the truths. And, in truth, I made a big mistake by reading the trilogy out of order. I almost want to read “Somebody’s Fool” again, but I’m not going to do that, I almost never do that, it’s long and I’d rather read something else.

Which I ultimately did. Peter Biskind’s “Pandora’s Box.” Biskind wrote the definitive book on seventies movies, “Easy Riders, Raging Bulls.” “Pandora’s Box” is about the television revolution. But it’s mostly gossip. He excoriates Garry Shandling. And while he’s at it, Matthew Weiner and David Chase take big hits too. And he obviously plays favorites, he can’t stop boosting Jenji Kohan. However, he says Shawn Ryan is from the backwater of Burlington, Vermont, when in truth he went to my alma mater, Middlebury College, and not only is that thirty miles from Burlington, Ryan grew up in Illinois. I’ve never even watched “The Shield,” but a quick check of Wikipedia delivered Ryan’s history, obviously Biskind didn’t bother. And if he got that wrong, what else did he get wrong?

4

Felice was waltzing along, but then she was convinced she had it too. She didn’t want to wear a mask and I was too sick to wear one, as in I was constantly blowing my nose, how much protection a mask would have afforded is questionable.

But she didn’t have the same symptoms, she barely had any symptoms at all. But we kept testing, and finally, on Wednesday, she was positive. She didn’t want to take the Paxlovid, but I made her. You don’t want to take the risk. What are you gonna say on your deathbed? And we’re all gonna pass, from Covid or something else.

And Felice has never gotten as sick as I have. Is it the early use of said Paxlovid or is it the antibodies she got from the vaccine that I did not? Good question. But she got it from me, guilty as charged. Not that she’s the type to apportion and reinforce blame.

Yes, I read those books, but I was foggy.

And very tired. I’d have trouble keeping my eyes open during the late afternoon/early evening but I refused to fall asleep, because then there’d be no way I’d sleep at night. And sleep got better, but just when I thought I was over the hump, last night I could not sleep again.

Actually, I feel worse today than I did yesterday. Let me clarify that. Today is the first day my head is somewhat clear, that I can think, but I’m dead tired.

So according to the data, I’m no longer infectious. Not that I’m going anywhere. But I did check my tire pressure and fill up with gas last weekend, not that I infected anybody, I was outside, not that I was even near anybody.

And now it is a holiday weekend. Which gives me room to breathe, but the quietude can be weird.

And I’m sitting on all this e-mail. And if I answer it will the work cycle just begin again? Or maybe it won’t.

That was another weird thing. I got Covid and nobody knew it. But then friends reached out… I’ve become a bad reacher. I hear from so many people. So I can’t complain when people don’t reach out to me. But they did, and it made me feel good.

So where does that leave me with Covid? Well, I should have some immunity for a while, they say up to six months, assuming there’s not some crazy new variant. And despite everybody saying it’s over, that’s not what the news says. In truth, no one cares if you have Covid, it’s nothing, get over it. But some people do not. No one seems to care about the people left behind. But I know so many who died of Covid. You don’t, good for you. But it happened. And is still happening.

Not that JN.1 is as bad as what came before.

But you can die of the flu too. I got that shot, I get it every year, but they doubt that that works for me anyway.

But I’m doing my best, I want to be here. As the crowd is thinning, as my generation is passing. They’ve already stopped working, if they’re not running the company, they’re out. They’re big on nostalgia, going to see the classic rock acts and in some ways they’re nearly dead, compromised. I don’t want to be like that. But these are my people, we share common roots.

And in a world where many are already over 10/7, they haven’t got the time to be antisemitic right now, what are the odds they care about the individual?

I don’t need you to care about me. But I’m trying to care about myself. I couldn’t fall back asleep and I was reading a new book and I wondered how long I was going to do this, be removed. I decided to tell my story. Here it is.