Degrees of normal

The breathtaking hustle and bustle in the picture you're looking at is the main drag/business district in the very Dutch town of Orange City, Iowa. The wife and I spent this past weekend and then some visiting there. That’s incidental to the main point, but stick with me. It’ll come around eventually.

We went for my beautiful, intelligent, talented, strong, caring daughter’s college graduation. And I’m not too proud to say I was crying like Elliott watching E.T. take off for home. I was caught up in the moment either because of my daughter’s tremendous accomplishment of earning two degrees because she’s just that smart, or the fact that as of last Saturday I’m tuition free for the rest of my life.

Sometimes it's hard to tell which.

Anyway, like I said, this post isn’t about that. What it’s about is how I got there, where I stayed and what I did when I was there. Let’s take it in order.

To get to the very tulip-loving town of Orange City, Iowa, we had to fly from here to Phoenix, then from Phoenix to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Then drive another hour and a half to Orange City. Which if you’re keeping count is three airports, two airplanes and one rental car.

In the before times, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But like many people coming out of their Covid cocoon, this was the first time in over a year this flyboy had been up in the air.

I ain’t gonna lie—dipping my sanitized hands back into the real world was extremely anxiety inducing. My imagination was running rampant with visions of spiked Corona virus suckers floating invisibly around me everywhere I looked and touched. It didn't help that our 5am Uber to the airport cancelled on us at 4:55am, and the cab we wound up taking had a driver who trained on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.

Once we arrived at the airport, I kept reminding myself how prepared I was for my flights. I’m fully vaxxed. I had the requisite mask, but also donned a clear, non-fogging plastic face shield for that extra layer of protection. And pandemic fashion.

Despite the fact I looked like a 10-year old trying to be a spaceman, it made me comfortable and since it's all about me (only child much?) that’s all that mattered.

Having read all the airplane horror stories about angry MAGA asshats (is there any other kind?) refusing to wear a mask, I was fully prepared to join my fellow future airheros in tackling some Trump-supporting, conspiracy spewing, 2nd-grade level reading dipshit insurrectionist refusing to wear his. I even bought wi-fi on the plane so I'd be ready to record and post my heroics in almost real time.

Suffice to say it didn’t happen. Which was a good thing. Probably would’ve knocked off my face shield.

Not sure what I was expecting, but both planes were packed full—so much for the empty middle seat theory. But the flights were uneventful and everyone was mask positive so that was good.

Once we were in Iowa, we had an Airbnb but wound up at the Orange City Hampton Inn for four nights (that’s a whole other story coming up in a whole other post). However, like flying, staying at a hotel was also something I hadn’t done in over a year. Come to find out it was fine. Plastic shields at reception, hand sanitizer at every turn and stickers sealing the room doors shut, letting us know they'd been cleaned and disinfected and no one had been in there for over 48 hours.

The hotel wasn’t as strict on mask enforcement, but for the most part people wore them and it was easy to steer clear of the ones who didn’t.

Now the number of infections in this particular part of Iowa is almost as low as the number of Jewish democrats. So when we were there, we wound up going out to eat, indoors, with other people. You don't know what you got til it's gone and I knew I missed it, I just didn't realize how much. It was heaven.

Even though I was constantly looking around at the maskless crowd, the tables were distanced and we weren’t sitting near anyone we didn't know. In fact CRAVE, the sushi restaurant we ate at in Sioux City (spoiler alert: Iowa sushi was great) had a reassuring message right up front in their menu about how they've invested in an ionization HVAC system in all their restaurants that reduces airborne pathogens by up to 99%, although Covid by only 90%. Clean, safe and healthy air for my worry-free dining pleasure.

I have to say, after being that wiping-the-mail, bleaching-the-produce, Lysol spraying every touch surface in the house and mask policing the family for over a year guy, it was really good to do things that felt normal adjacent (not saying “new normal” – you can’t make me).

I’ll always remember the corn state for how nice the people were, the four years my daughter enjoyed there and the fact it made me forget the pandemic for a little while.

Truthfully, I don't think I'll be returning to Iowa. But I’m greatful to Iowa for returning me to normal.

Maskmaker Maskmaker

So I don't know about you, but since the COVID-19 pandemic has been hitting its stride, I've been alternating between devouring every bit of news about it that I can, and going days without letting myself hear a word. The second choice is the more relaxing one.

Anyway, today's been a news on day. And as a result, I've been spending a lot of time watching YouTube videos on how to make a mask—excuse me, face covering—at home without having to actually sew one.

Not that I couldn't. A couple years ago I took a sewing class with my friend Cassie, and while I never completed the apron we were making, I did learn enough to stitch up the sides of a mask. It's just that I don't want to, because I'm all about easy. I'd much prefer to have someone make one for me.

So that's the origin story of this reworked version of Matchmaker from Fiddler On The Roof.

In case you're not familiar with the song, here's the video. And once you can't get it out of your head, you'll be ready to sing the new lyrics to it below.

Meanwhile, I'll be looking to repurpose my Elvis bandana into a rockin' mask.

Maskmaker maskmaker make me a mask

Find one for me, that is your task

Maskmaker maskmaker start sewing for me

And make me the perfect mask

Maskmaker maskmaker I’ll bring the cloth

You do your work, I’ll drink some broth

Make me a mask for I’m longing to be

The envy of all I see

For papa, make it safe and effective

For mama, make it pretty and tight

For me well, I wouldn’t holler

In fact I would wear it all day and night

Maskmaker maskmaker make me a mask

Find one for me, that is your task

Day after day I don’t go out alone

So make me a mask all my own

Who's doing the talking here

I've always had a morbid fascination with ventriloquists. What other kind of fascination could you have with them?

Years ago, I was freelancing for the Fox Family Channel. One of the programs I had to write about was a special called the World Of Magic that was filmed at the Hollywood Palladium. I went to the show, and saw a lot of poofy sleeves, tired doves and startled looking rabbits.

But towards the end, there was a magician that had a grotesque looking mask on his face. He removed it, and underneath was another mask. And another one. And another one. He was pulling them off one after the other at an insane speed. He must've had fifty masks on.

I turned to the girl sitting next to me and said, "I'm going to go out on a limb and say he had a pretty screwed up childhood." She said, "If you think that's messed up, you ought to see the vents." By vents she meant ventriloquists. Come to find out she was Erica Larsen, daughter of the founder of the Magic Castle. We talked for a bit, and she told me about all the vents that performed at the Castle.

I was hooked. I decided then and there I was going to make a documentary showing the bizarre world of ventriloquists.

I met Erica at the Castle for lunch and told her the idea. She liked it a lot, and said she'd be happy to connect me with some vents. I also wound up going to the International Ventriloquist Convention in Las Vegas, where I shot a lot of video and interviewed many of the participants.

One of the things I remember most is the woman who'd only talk or answer question through her dummy.

It's a little surprising I could even look at a ventriloquist dummy after a prank my roommate Ned pulled on me years ago.

Ned owned a Jerry Mahoney dummy he knew creeped me out. He also knew I got up in the night to go to the kitchen. So he put the dummy on the kitchen counter right next to the frig. That night, about two in the morning, I went to the frig. I believe there's still a hole in the ceiling from when I saw the dummy sitting there.

And of course, I still get a chill thinking about the Twilight Zone episode pictured above, where a ventriloquist dummy is alive, eventually changing places with his owner - Cliff Robertson.

Anyway, add my documentary on ventriloquists to the list - along with accordion lessons, several screenplays, helicopter flying lessons and marathon training - of things I've started and never finished.

But the idea haunts me, and I imagine eventually I'll come back to it. After all the time and thought I've given it over the years, I'd be a dummy not to.