IT'S A GOOBER WORLD, WE JUST LIVE IN IT

Within minutes of getting home there was a region of sharp painful stinging in my right foot. An unusual sensation which did not endure, but resurfaces periodically. Something that's circulation related. My right leg has wanky veins, so it often acts like a Karen.
Fortunately that Karenitude ends at the hip.

Most days there are moments when that limb decides that it's just about had it with darn well everything and throws a tantrum. Most of the time it grumblingly goes along with whatever the rest of the body has decided to do.

I have learned not to castigate it in polite company.
Instead, I distract myself and count stuff.
It's almost obsessive.


This evening, while waiting for the bus, I mentioned to the bookseller that there are several things I count whenever I'm waiting for a bus. Waymo driverless taxis. Zoox. Street people. Dogs. Tykes. People whom I see regularly but don't actually know because I never see them except in connection with waiting for a bus or walking toward the bus stop. Plus goobers.

Many people severely on the neurotic spectrum (like myself) have routines that bring order into a chaotic universe. Counting goobers is just one of those. This city has surprisingly few truly prize goobers, we are mostly normal. So usually it doesn't get past two digits.
This evening the beer place and the karaoke joint were packed with goobers.
Too many goobers totally spoiling the collective broth.
Apparently there is a convention in town.


Tat Yee, we knew, was at the karaoke joint enjoying the company of many very unmusically talented white people, and the place looked like the seventh circle of hell. So we headed directly to the bail-out bar, having not even ventured into the beer place.

Over Guiness, Jameson's, and hot tea, we enjoyed the quiet.
Miss Vivien cleaned up while we chatted.
Then interacted with a dog.



How did we know that the karaoke joint was packed with squawling goobers?
Simple. We heard it from a block away while walking.
And we had seen Tat Yee outside.

When tiddly, he's a goober.



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