Coxackie. COXACKIE. C oooo (said with a wide open mouth for a good ol' tonsil check or a gaggle of angels opening the gates to the mothership 'ahhhhhh') X (cks) Aaaaa (as in AAAAApple season) Ckie—As in gazuntite, need a tissue?
I didn't know about coxackie. Did you? But you really don't want your kids running around hiccuping coxackie coxackie coxackie (say it 10 times fast). So... let's just call it intrusive, obtuse, and at times—inappropriately chaotic. And yes. My quarterly blog post is here.
So much has happened in the last few months. We moved (again). Settled, again. And, yet again, found ourselves amazed at how hard and easy it all was at the same time. We de-cluttered. We managed to open boxes, laugh and then throw away a few decades while realizing that we paid actual money to have our ancient trash held in storage for 9 months. We started schools. We took on big projects and rediscovered yoga (again). We relished in our new surroundings... all the while... whispers in our ears... (((coxackie))).
It isn't unlike our new unprivate private lives. You know it.... perusing to possible purchases on One Kings Lane. Wondering if that 'from a theater in India' bleacher seat is legit, or manically reproduced on a line out there elsewhere... Imagining yourself telling guests that it's a vintage piece from a reclusive part of the world that NO ONE HAS EVER heard of... duplicated in catalogs with names like 'Wisteria' or better yet, 'Ballard'. "I bought it from Ballard, but I swear it's vintage from INDIA." What? As you put your eyeballs back in.. Changing your mind you closeout the window and rush over to Facebook for the latest, only to come face to face with a targeted ad for the same chair that you never want to think about ever again—Now on Overstock.com! Discomfort sets in. Itch. Scratch. Itch. How did they know? COXACKIE.
Everything is viral. It's too crazy to even type. I should be whispering before the internet goes on a binge and eats it's own tail-tale... Only to blow it all back out again once we all start kicking it's innards. In the 'real' physical world we have to worry about hugging... shaking hands or (good god!) looking at each other. It's getting worse (coxackie). It's all very ugly and unhealthy, while rude and politically incorrect. If my friend Phil were here (and he might be) he'd liken this outbreak to the hand-held camera-movie phenomenon. Motion-sickening anyone that tries to watch.
EBO.....LA. La la laa....Ob-La-Di... Excuse me while I go wash my hands... and my keyboard... And, good grief, a power washer for the tots. As if saying it was enough. Itch. At what point did the real world become as viral as the internet world? And vice verse. When the chicken crossed the road, did he know about coxackie? Or targeted ads telling him to go back across, get his hand sanitizer while clicking on the dedicated email link so that Pottery Barn is made aware of his next recross—signaling an instant message coupon for $25 off his next purchase? All he wanted to do was cross the road... If he doesn't want the coupon, can I have it?
I don't mean to sound negative....Or, right. But when did we become so disgusting? I never would have imagined a juxtaposition between the viruses—real or otherwise. Itch. Scratch. Itch. Newly sanitized Jazz-Hands across the internet! Coxackie optional...